The air in the dukedom was cool and still as Vergil and Frederick walked toward the palace.

  The tension from the week’s diplomacy had faded into a weary quiet.

  "I’ll leave tomorrow,"

  Frederick said, his eyes fixed on the horizon toward his own lands.

  "I see,"

  Vergil replied.

  It was a short exchange, but for once, it lacked the biting edge of their usual interactions.

  Neither of them realized that the dawn would never bring the peace they expected.

  In the heart of the Demon King’s Castle, the atmosphere was far more sinister.

  The First Prince—the greedy heir to the throne—stood before a map of the continent.

  His right-hand man stepped forward, his voice trembling.

  "Are you sure you want to proceed, Your Highness?

  To strike at the Primordial Dukes?"

  "Yes,"

  the First Prince replied, his shadow stretching long across the floor.

  "With both Primordials occupied and isolated, I can seize control of the entire continent.

  Those two are too powerful to be left as 'subjects.'

  The throne must have no rivals."

  He began to laugh, a sound of pure, unchecked ambition.

  Back in the dukedom, Mitsuo was fast asleep.

  In the gardens below, Hana and Vergil walked hand-in-hand under the silver moonlight.

  "It’s been so long since we’ve walked like this,"

  Hana said, leaning her head against his shoulder.

  Vergil nodded, a rare sense of contentment washing over him.

  "Finally, things are peaceful."

  Suddenly, Vergil’s instincts screamed.

  He sensed a faint, oily presence crawling in the bushes.

  With a blur of motion, he crushed it—a Spy Worm, a high-level surveillance organism.

  His blood ran cold.

  Does that mean—?!

  Before he could finish the thought, the ground groaned.

  A massive ritual circle, glowing with a sickly violet light, ignited around the entire dukedom.

  "Tch! Damn it!"

  Vergil roared.

  The ritual attempted to drag the entire province into a separate, hostile dimension.

  Knowing he couldn't let his people be taken, Vergil unleashed his signature move:

  Space Territory: Primordial Pearl.

  The air fractured as he fought to anchor the dukedom to reality.

  Even for a Primordial, the strain of countering a ritual of this scale was immense.

  Just as he reached his limit, a second ritual completed—

  a specialized Space Territory meant to bypass his defenses.

  Vergil felt a flash of genuine fear for Hana and Mitsuo.

  But then—

  A surge of familiar, violent energy erupted from the palace guest wing.

  Space Territory: Primordial Crimson.

  Frederick had sensed the trap.

  From his room, he unleashed his own terrifying power to bolster the defense.

  The two dukes, without a single word, fell into a silent, instinctive agreement.

  They pooled their auras, the Pearl and the Crimson merging into a blinding white flash that shattered the enemy's rituals.

  But the First Prince had planned for their strength.

  As the rituals broke, the feedback loop created a localized rift.

  Instead of the whole dukedom being taken,

  the spatial energy focused entirely on the two sources of power.

  In a final, violent burst of light, the brothers were snatched away into the void,

  leaving Hana and the dukedom behind in a deafening, terrifying silence.

  As the blinding light of the teleportation ritual faded, the dukedom was plunged into chaos.

  With the Duke gone, the shadows moved.

  Assassins flooded the palace grounds like a dark tide.

  One lunged for Hana, but she didn't hesitate; she conjured a cluster of Mana Voids that imploded, erasing the attacker from existence, before sprinting toward Mitsuo’s room.

  Mitsuo was already moving.

  The twelve-year-old was a blur of motion, taking down four assassins with brutal, instinctual strikes before sliding to a halt in front of his mother.

  But the air warped once more.

  Reality folded, dragging them both into a familiar, jagged dimension.

  "Finally, we meet again, Primordial brat!"

  A voice hissed from the dark.

  It was the lead assassin from years ago, his face twisted in a predatory grin while his partner anchored the space.

  "Those will be your last words,"

  Mitsuo growled.

  His voice was no longer that of a child.

  Having spent years refining his power, he didn't fear the void.

  He acted on pure impulse, his heart hammering against his ribs.

  "Territory Expansion: Primordial Sapphire!"

  A wave of brilliant, crystalline blue light erupted from Mitsuo.

  It didn't just counter the enemy; it shattered their space from the inside out, rewriting the laws of physics as his sapphire domain expanded to swallow the surrounding palace grounds.

  But as the enemy territory collapsed, Mitsuo saw the assassins smirking.

  A cold dread washed over him.

  He turned to find his mother—

  only to see a blade protruding from her stomach.

  The second assassin had used the transition between spaces to strike.

  "Dumb kid,"

  the assassin hissed, blood leaking from his mouth.

  "You were so focused on your power that you forgot your mother.

  That white-haired girl isn't here to save her this time."

  At the sight of Hana bleeding, Mitsuo’s control snapped.

  The Primordial Sapphire territory, usually a stable and protective space, began to vibrate with a violent, erratic frequency.

  The blue light turned incandescent, beginning to incinerate the assassins like dry paper.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Hana looked at her son, her face pale.

  She tried to smile, her lips moving to whisper a final message, but she never finished.

  The burning assassin, fueled by a final surge of spite, unleashed a jagged Aura Slash from behind.

  It struck Hana with terminal force.

  Mitsuo’s mind fractured.

  The "Sapphire" territory didn't just burn now; it became a localized sun of grief and rage.

  As the assassins were reduced to ash, they didn't scream in agony—

  they laughed.

  They died satisfied, knowing they had destroyed the man who dared to make demons and humans equal.

  The young Mitsuo stood in the center of the inferno, paralyzed by the sound of that dying laughter.

  His territory grew out of control, dragging in everyone nearby—loyal servants and hiding assassins alike—consuming them all in a blue fire that refused to distinguish between friend and foe.

  Far away, trapped in a void where time had no meaning, the Primordial brothers stood back-to-back.

  The sky above them was a swirling vortex of forbidden symbols.

  Standing before them was World Organism 1: The Chronos Sentinel.

  They realized the depth of the First Prince’s cruelty.

  This wasn't just a prison; it was a forbidden dimension designed to trap the strongest beings for eternity.

  They were locked in a stalemate with the ultimate guardian,

  while their world burned behind them.

  The morning sun rose over a landscape of ash.

  The brilliant blue fire of the night before had left nothing behind but scorched earth and the hollow skeleton of a palace.

  The first to arrive were the envoys from Frederick’s northern dukedom, sent by the stewards left behind.

  They had expected to find survivors—

  but as they stepped through the blackened gates, they found only a single figure.

  Mitsuo stood in the center of the ruins, alone.

  The once-vibrant sapphire of his eyes had turned dull, like glass that had seen too much heat and finally cracked.

  The news of the double tragedy—the disappearance of the two Primordial Dukes and the total destruction of the Southern Dukedom—shook the world.

  Under the guise of "protection," the Royal Palace moved with predatory speed.

  The First Prince declared the Primordial lands seized by the crown.

  But the Prince didn't just want the land;

  he wanted the lineage.

  He ordered both Mitsuo and Jack to be "adopted" into the palace.

  They were no longer heirs to a noble house; they were to be refined into the Crown’s personal weapons.

  The Demon King had conveniently fallen into a mysterious coma, leaving the First Prince as the sole ruler.

  Standing beside the throne was a cloaked figure, his hair a chilling match to the planner from the rebel base.

  The coup was complete.

  In the cold, sterile halls of the Royal Palace, the two young Primordials met for the first time.

  Jack looked at his cousin with a disturbing, wide-eyed curiosity.

  He had seen death and suffering his whole life,

  but he had never seen anyone as "broken" as the boy standing before him.

  A twisted blush crept onto Jack’s face as he stared into Mitsuo’s hollow, sapphire eyes.

  Looking at Mitsuo’s raven hair, Jack saw a mirror of himself—

  but a mirror that had been shattered.

  "You! You’re my brother!"

  Jack exclaimed, his voice high and cheerful, completely devoid of the weight of their situation.

  "Young Master,"

  a maid whispered, bowing low,

  "he is your cousin, Mitsuo."

  Jack ignored her completely.

  He lunged forward and grabbed Mitsuo’s limp hand, shaking it with manic energy.

  "Brother! Your eyes are so pretty!

  They look like the sky right before a storm hits!"

  Mitsuo didn't pull away.

  He didn't speak.

  He stood there like a statue, his soul buried under layers of trauma,

  while Jack looked at the royal guards and the mourning clothes as if they were all just part of a new, exciting game.

  One had lost everything and been reduced to a core of silent grief.

  The other had lost everything and found it fun.

  Months had passed since the fall of the Southern Dukedom,

  and the halls of the Royal Palace had become a gilded cage for the two cousins.

  Mitsuo moved through the corridors like a ghost,

  his gaze fixed on nothing,

  his spirit still trapped in the blue fire of that final night.

  Beside him, Jack was a whirlwind of terrifying energy.

  He was always smiling, always cheerful,

  but his cruelty had become the talk of the palace.

  He would dismantle living things—insects, birds, even the palace hounds—

  with a surgical curiosity, laughing as he watched the life fade from their eyes.

  "The golden-haired one is a monster,"

  the maids would whisper in the dark of the servant quarters.

  "But the black-haired one...

  he isn't even a person anymore.

  Have you ever seen him blink?

  Have you ever heard him breathe?"

  During a grueling endurance trail through the jagged mountain passes surrounding the palace,

  the cousins were forced to march under the watchful eyes of the Royal Guards.

  Mitsuo walked several paces behind Jack,

  his movements mechanical.

  Suddenly, a heavy stone thrown by a hidden, resentful guard struck Mitsuo squarely in the temple.

  Blood began to bloom across his forehead, trickling down his face and staining his collar.

  Mitsuo didn't flinch.

  He didn't cover the wound.

  He simply kept walking, his rhythm unchanged.

  Jack turned around, seeing the blood.

  Instead of helping, his eyes widened with a sickening, manic excitement.

  He watched the red liquid drip onto the snow,

  fascinated by Mitsuo’s total lack of reaction.

  To Jack, Mitsuo wasn't a cousin;

  he was the ultimate toy—

  one that didn't break, didn't cry, and didn't fight back.

  By the time the trail ended hours later,

  Mitsuo’s face was a mask of dried blood.

  It was only after they returned to the barracks that a few pitying maids cleaned the wound.

  Throughout the entire process, Mitsuo remained a statue.

  He didn't speak.

  He didn't acknowledge the pain.

  He had become a machine made of flesh.

  The next day, Mitsuo was summoned before the New Demon General,

  a man loyal only to the First Prince.

  "You are useless to the Crown like this,"

  the General barked, pacing the room.

  "A Primordial with the strength of a god and the mind of a corpse.

  Talk! Scream! Do something!"

  The sounds hit Mitsuo and slid off him like rain on glass.

  He stood in the center of the room, his dull sapphire eyes staring at a point on the wall behind the General.

  Standing in the corner of the room,

  the Cloaked Planner watched the scene.

  He let out that same eerie, high-pitched chuckle that had signaled the destruction of Mitsuo's home.

  He stepped forward, his eyes glinting with a dark, hidden agenda.

  "Perhaps he simply needs a different kind of... stimulus,"

  the cloaked man whispered, his voice sounding like dry parchment.

  The Cloaked Planner led the silent Mitsuo deep into the heart of the demon slums,

  a place where the sun rarely touched the soot-covered streets.

  Once they reached the center of the squalor,

  the man threw back his hood, revealing shocks of crimson hair and jagged fangs that glinted in the dim light.

  "Young Master Mitsuo, allow me to introduce myself,"

  he purred, his voice like silk over gravel.

  "I am Robert."

  Mitsuo’s hollow eyes didn't even flicker at the name.

  Robert ignored the silence, gesturing toward a muddy field

  where slum children were clawing at one another for a single loaf of moldy bread in front of a ration house.

  "Do you see them, Young Master?

  Like mutts, aren't they?

  Pathetic insects crawling at your feet, fighting for crumbs."

  When Mitsuo remained a statue, Robert’s smile widened.

  He reached into a heavy pouch and scattered a handful of gold coins into the dirt.

  The desperate scramble that followed was animalistic;

  the children shrieked and fought with bared teeth.

  "Don't they make you feel... superior?"

  Robert whispered into Mitsuo’s ear.

  Finding no spark of pride or disgust in the boy,

  Robert chuckled darkly.

  He turned to the crowd and projected his voice:

  "Subjects!

  Won’t you thank the kind Angel Prince who has graced you with this gold?

  To every soul who worships him with all their heart,

  I shall grant fifty pieces of silver more!"

  The effect was instantaneous.

  Greed and desperation forced the children to their knees.

  They bowed their heads in the filth, chanting praises to the "Angel Prince,"

  unaware that the "Angel" was a hollow shell that couldn't even hear their prayers.

  Weeks passed, and the routine became a fixture of slum life.

  Robert continued his "charity," always bringing the catatonic Mitsuo as the face of the operation.

  To the dwellers of the abyss, Mitsuo became a literal saint—

  a silent, beautiful savior who appeared in the darkness to feed them.

  One particularly curious ghoul girl, emboldened by his constant presence,

  grabbed Mitsuo’s limp hand and pulled him toward a group of children.

  "Come play, Angel Prince!"

  she chirped.

  Mitsuo allowed himself to be moved like a doll.

  He sat where they placed him and stood when they pulled him up.

  The children began to treat him as a friend who simply didn't speak.

  They brought him their secrets:

  some nagged about their parents,

  others whispered about their crushes,

  and some even slandered their rivals.

  Mitsuo’s sapphire eyes remained dull, offering no nod, no smile, no reaction.

  But the children didn't mind;

  they took his silence for granted, viewing it as a patient, divine listening.

  Robert watched from the shadows of a nearby alley, his eyes glowing with a sinister hunger.

  He wasn't building a sanctuary; he was building a target.

  One afternoon, as the children took Mitsuo for their usual play routine near the ruins of an old warehouse,

  a piercing, jagged cry echoed through the alleyways.

  The oldest boy in the group skidded to a halt, his face turning pale as he counted heads.

  "Wait..."

  the boy whispered, his voice trembling.

  "Where are the others?

  Three of us are missing!"

  The "Angel Prince" stood among them, staring at nothing,

  while the shadows of the slums began to stretch and move with a predatory intent.

  To be continued....

  ? MYukH. All rights reserved.