The days passed in Hell, each one a blur of survival and agony.
At first, Kael had been uncertain of what his body was capable of. The healing had been the first sign—healing faster than any creature he know of . But as time went on, he began to experiment, pushing his limits further, learning just what his new body could do.
He spent the next few weeks carefully testing his regeneration. A scratch here, a wound there—nothing that would leave a lasting mark. The first time he deliberately pushed it, he had taken a blade to his side, letting the injury tear deep into his flesh. The pain had been excruciating, but within a few moments, his body had started to close up, the skin knitting itself together. The healing wasn't just quick—it was complete, as though the injury had never existed.
Kael ran his fingers over the smooth, unmarred skin. The experience had been unsettling at first, the sensation of being broken only to become whole again. But now, it was a tool, a gift, something to keep him alive. Something to keep him one step ahead of the ever-present danger around him.
What had once been a surprise had become something more familiar. Something Kael could rely on.
And it wasn't just his healing. The shapeshifting had been a mystery at first—an instinctual reaction to danger, a survival mechanism. But now, he sought to understand it.
In the days that followed, he found he could shift into more than just a crow. He could feel his body change, the muscles shifting and reforming as he took on different forms. He experimented with the smallest alterations first—a change in skin tone, a slight shifting of his features—but then he grew bolder.
One evening, under the cover of darkness, he became a larger creature—a hulking demon, similar in form to those who hunted the weaker ones in the village. His body bulked out, muscles expanding, his skin taking on a darker, rougher texture. He could feel the power surge through him, the strength in his new form giving him a rush unlike anything he had experienced before. It was intoxicating.
But that wasn't the limit. He could feel the shape-shifting ability stretch even further—finer, more controlled. His body could change, to whatever he needed.
The more Kael learned about his abilities, the more he realized that his body was no longer the same. It was morphing into something else, something beyond what he had ever been.
But what was it making him into?
One day, while Kael was walking the outskirts of the village, he stumbled across an old barn. It was abandoned, untouched by the usual chaos of Hell. Curious and desperate for a quiet moment away from the noise of the village, Kael ventured inside.
The barn was dark, its walls lined with rotting wood and rusted tools. It smelled of dust and decay, but it was a welcome change from the overwhelming stench of sulfur and smoke that usually filled the air.
Inside, a few demons were gathered, murmuring quietly to one another. Kael didn't approach them immediately. Instead, he leaned against a beam, watching from a distance. He wasn't particularly interested in starting a conversation, but something about the way they spoke caught his attention.
One of the demons, a tall figure with jagged horns, was speaking in a voice low enough that Kael had to strain to hear.
"The King of Hell... the one who sits on the throne, decreeing the fate of us all," the demon said. "There are rumors, though. Some say that Sparda had his blood in his veins, and he's more than just a Hell-born."
Kael's mind snapped to attention at the mention of Sparda . He had heard the familiar name before, but not in any meaningful way. Now, something in him stirred, a deep curiosity mixed .
"Who's Sparda?" Kael asked.
Another demon scoffed. "Sparda was a traitor and the right hand of king Mundus. He turned against his own kind. Saved humans. That's the legacy of that bastard."
"What do you mean?" Kael said, taking a step closer. "What did he do?"
One of the demons, a smaller, wiry creature, sneered. "Sparda was a fool. He went against his own specie, fought against the demons of Hell to save the humans. And for what? What did it accomplish? He was killed in the end, betrayed by those he tried to protect."
Kael's mind raced as the words hit him. Sparda—this demon who had fought against his own kind, his kind, for humans. The betrayal rang through Kael's chest like a cold blade. There was no reason for Sparda to have done it. No reason to turn against those who were his own.
"Not only that," the jagged-horned demon continued, "but he sealed the barrier between the human realm and the demon realm. He created a wall, a rift, that keeps the two worlds separate. The humans can live in peace, ignorant of our existence, and we can no longer invade their world. All because of Sparda."
Kael froze. A barrier. Sparda had done that? He had cut off the only way for demons to enter the human world, protecting the humans from them.
His thoughts began to race again, faster and more furious. Not only had Sparda betrayed the demons, but he had doomed him to this hellish existence—separated forever from the human world. What could possibly justify such an action?
"What happened to him?" Kael demanded, his voice thick with disgust. "What did they do to him?"
The demon with the jagged horns shrugged. "Killed by the humans. That's how the story goes. Some say his bloodline still holds power. That anyone with the right strength could claim it. But what's the point? The humans ended him."
Kael stood in the center of the barn, his body rigid with the weight of the conversation. The anger, the bitterness in his chest grew sharper. Sparda had saved the humans, fought against his own kind—betrayed them. What kind of fool would do that?
He shook his head, anger flooding through him. "I hate him," he muttered under his breath. The words felt heavy, but they felt right. He couldn't stand the idea of a demon who would sacrifice his own kind for humans. For a specie that didn't belong in Hell, that didn't belong in their world.
The demons around him fell silent. Kael could feel their eyes on him, but he didn't care. He turned and walked out of the barn, his fists still clenched, his mind consumed by the thought of Sparda. His legacy—whatever power he left behind—was something Kael couldn't respect.
Sparda had betrayed everything he was. Everything Kael had come to know and more importantly doomed him to suffering.
And Kael would never forgive him for that.