The sky was blood red.
Leon Astaroth collapsed onto the wet ground, a human sword still embedded in his chest. Thick, black blood pooled beneath him, soaking the earth already saturated with death.
"Heh... how ironic..."
His cracked lips formed a final smile. In the distance, the victory cheers of the human army rang out.
"Another filthy demon dead!"
"Look at his crazy face! Still smiling even in death!"
But they didn't know—
That smile wasn't madness.
---
Three days earlier...
"You were born to die, Leon. At least be a useful decoy."
The demon commander kicked him forward to the front lines.
No weapons. No armor.
Only a coarse uniform and a pair of useless small wings.
"Do your job, young demon."
Leon rubbed the fresh wound on his shoulder, still unhealed from yesterday's battle. "Yes, Commander," he replied, with the same smile as always.
The smile he wore every time he was mocked by fellow demons, every time he was pelted with stones by middle-class demon children, every time he was abandoned by those who once cared.
But this time...
Something was different in his pocket. A fragment of black stone he had found on the battlefield yesterday. Warm to the touch. Pulsing like a heartbeat.
He didn't know why he kept it. Perhaps out of desperation. Perhaps it was fate.
---
With only 12% consciousness remaining, Leon was neither alive nor dead.
In the void between existence and nothingness, he felt his soul being pulled—not upward, not downward, but inward. Into himself.
And there, in the deepest darkness, he saw it.
A throne. Thousands of skulls piled high as its foundation. And atop it, sat a shadow figure with blazing red eyes.
"Finally... after thousands of years..."
The voice shook his very soul. Not merely a sound—but an echo from the depths of time, from millions of souls who had once died by his hand.
Leon wanted to run, but his spectral body couldn't move. Wanted to scream, but his voice was gone.
The shadow descended from the throne. Each step left burning black traces. The closer it came, the more Leon could see its face.
Long black hair. Red eyes, but deeper than any he'd seen. Across its body, ancient wounds were visible—scars from battles against something immensely powerful.
"Do you know who I am?" the shadow whispered, now directly before him.
Leon shook his head, though it was difficult.
The shadow laughed—a sound that shattered the darkness. "What did those who survived teach you about history? About the war millions of years ago?"
Leon opened his mouth, finally finding his voice. "The... the war...?"
"Yes, the Peak War," the shadow continued.
"When demons fought against the tyranny of the gods. When I..." its eyes dimmed, "...nearly killed one of them."
Leon gasped. Killed a god?
"I am SATAN. Ancestor of the demon race. Leader of the Seven Demon Kings in the war against the gods." He brought his face close, until Leon could see the cracks in his spectral skin. "And you... are the demon who will help me achieve my goal."
Leon processed this information. Too much. Too fast.
"But... but I'm a low-class demon. I have no power—"
"BECAUSE THEY SUPPRESSED YOU!"
Satan's rage shook the void. The throne and surroundings trembled.
"Our power, the demon ancestors, should flow in all your bloodlines, boy. But for generations, it has been buried, locked away by cowards who feared true strength." He pointed at Leon's chest.
"You can save me," Leon said, suddenly understanding. "That's why you're here."
Satan smiled. Not an evil smile—but a satisfied one. "Clever. I can give you the power to live. But there's a price."
"What?"
"Your body. Your soul. I will temporarily use them as a vessel for my resurrection." Satan stared at him sharply.
"Don't misunderstand. I won't control you... as long as you're strong enough. But each time you use my power, I will gradually return. And one day, when you're strong enough... you will help me reclaim my original body."
Leon fell silent.
This wasn't an offer. This was a pact. Two parties in mutual need.
"If I refuse?"
"Then you die here." Satan turned, walking back to his throne. "The choice is yours, boy."
Leon clenched his fist. Blood still flowed from his wound—in the real world, in his soul, wherever he was now. Time was running out.
He thought about his life. Mocked, stoned, betrayed, sent to the battlefield as bait. No one cared about him.
And now, for the first time, someone was offering him power.
"I ACCEPT!"
Satan stopped. Slowly, he turned. His smile widened.
"Good."
He lunged. In an instant, his hand pierced Leon's chest—but not to wound. From his palm, darkness flowed in. Filling the empty cavities in Leon's soul. Burning the veins that had long been dead.
Leon screamed. Not in pain—but like a rebirth.
"Feel it, boy. This is what it truly means to be strong."
---
In the real world, Leon's eyes opened.
With a hoarse cry, he screamed. Not in pain—but shock. He pulled the sword from his chest.
"I'm... alive?"
His wounded hands now glowed with black lines—darkness veins burning faintly. Each breath he took released thin black mist.
And most terrifyingly...
He could hear them.
"Awaken us..."
"New master... finally..."
Dozens—no, hundreds—of voices from the corpses around him.
"That's the power of Necromancy," Satan's voice echoed in his head. "You can summon them. Make them your soldiers. But don't expect me to always help. Use your own head, boy."
Leon looked toward the human soldiers staring at him in disbelief. Without thinking, he raised his hand.
Just instinct. Pure will.
And from his fingertips, darkness shot forth.
CRACK!
The soldier's body exploded—shattered into pieces.
Leon stared at his own hand, stunned. Fresh blood splattered across his face.
He had just killed with a single motion.
The previously silent battlefield transformed into a second hell.
Leon didn't hesitate. He unleashed his rage.
Within his mind, only one command—
Kill them all.
With each life he took, soldier after soldier fell. Leon reached out, and their ribs reshaped into weapons. Others died, and their entrails twisted into spiked whips. Skulls fused together forming walking shields.
He didn't count. There were no numbers. Only a thirst for more power.
Until he stood atop a pile of corpses, gasping for breath.
Before him lay a corpse different from the others. A human who looked strong, with a demon spear protruding from his back.
"That's a powerful warrior," Satan whispered. "Could be useful."
Leon knelt, placing his hand on the corpse's chest.
"If... if only you could..."
From his palm, darkness flowed into the corpse's body. Not mere animation—but like breathing false life-fire into ash.
Black darkness began to envelop the body. Its blue eyes opened—empty, but obedient.
"Congratulations," Satan chuckled. "You have your first soldier."
Leon smiled wearily. The new being stood beside him, awaiting orders.
In the distance, shouts arose—reinforcements, both human and demon, approaching.
But Leon didn't care.
"Rest, boy. Tomorrow... you will begin your true journey."
Leon fell to his knees. His vision blurred.
But on the edge of unconsciousness, he saw his new soldier standing tall, protecting him.
And for the first time in his life, Leon Astaroth felt...
Perhaps he was no longer alone.
=== CHAPTER 1 END ===