The torchlight flickered violently against the cavern walls.
Jiyul stood in the center of the chamber, his body rigid. His chest heaved in shallow, ragged gasps, but the air offered no relief.
He staggered forward a step, clutching his chest as a fresh wave of agony washed over him.
"…What… is this?"
His voice cracked, brittle and weak. It wasn't strength flooding his veins; it was war.
From the base of his spine, the Blood Ember surged upward a torrent of cold, dark energy that coiled around his heart like a serpent made of shadows. But beneath his skin, something else fought back. The Flower of Askaroth burned from his left palm, sending streaks of blinding, ancient gold light racing through his bloodstream to meet the darkness.
They collided in his chest.
Zekiel, the Demon Warden, took a cautious step back. His massive trident, usually held with arrogant ease, lowered slightly. His glowing eyes narrowed as he watched the boy.
"You should be dead…" Zekiel muttered, his voice low, filled with a reluctant awe. "The Blood Ember alone consumes mortals".
He watched the veins in Jiyul's neck bulge.
"But you… you are holding both."
Jiyul's legs gave out. He fell to his knees, the impact cracking the stone beneath him. His mind was fracturing, splitting under the pressure.
"Aghhh!"
He slammed his fist into the floor to ground himself. The rock shattered under the blow. His eyes rolled back. The two auras weren't just fighting for dominance; they were trying to annihilate each other, using his body as the battlefield.
Zekiel took another step closer, his expression hardening.
"You weren't chosen," the demon said coldly. "The universe never chooses, boy. It punishes."
Jiyul looked up, his vision swimming. Sweat and blood mingled on his forehead.
"Ze…Zekiel… what's… happening to me?"
"Your body is trying to house two ancient forces" Zekiel answered, his voice devoid of pity. "This isn't power. It's a curse."
Far above the clouds, beyond the reach of the Death Spring Mountains, the realm of the Heavens stirred.
It was a world of pristine light, where silver clouds drifted between castles and the air hummed with purity. But today, a ripple of panic disrupted the eternal calm.
The gods of the high realm had felt it.
The Flower of Askaroth the ancient force that had incinerated divine flesh eons ago had awakened. It wasn't just a tremor; it was a shockwave that rattled the golden gates.
"He lives…" one god whispered, his face pale as he looked down through the clouds.
"Then the prophecy…" another began, cutting herself off as fear took hold. "The war must not happen again."
Panic spread like wildfire through the divine halls.
Back in the suffocating dark of the cave, Jiyul let out a guttural scream.
His left palm throbbed with a searing heat, the mark of the Flower glowing brightly, then dimming, pulsing like a dying star.
"Stop… STOP!!" he shouted, his voice tearing at his throat.
But the power didn't listen. It only intensified.
Jiyul trembled, his spirit tearing at the seams. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He was drowning in his own blood.
Zekiel slowly raised his trident. The metal hummed with killing intent.
"You are not in control," the demon stated simply. "If I leave you alive, this mountain may fall before the gods even arrive to finish you."
He launched himself forward, the trident aimed squarely at Jiyul's heart.
Jiyul flinched. His eyes widened, seeing the death blow coming, but his muscles refused to obey.
Move, he screamed internally. Move!
But just before the cold steel pierced his chest, something inside him snapped.
SLASH.
Jiyul's hand shot up instinctively.
A violent burst of energy a chaotic swirl of black shadow and golden light erupted from his palm. It slammed into the trident with the force of a cannon.
CRACK.
The tip of the ancient weapon shattered. The shockwave lifted Zekiel off his feet and hurled him backward. The demon crashed into the stone wall with a bone-jarring thud, shaking dust from the ceiling.
Jiyul stared at his own hand, wide-eyed and trembling. Smoke curled from his fingertips.
"What… was that?"
His palm burned as if he had held a hot coal. He tried to summon the feeling again, clenching his fist, but there was nothing. Just exhaustion.
Zekiel pulled himself out of the crater in the wall. He coughed, spitting out a mouthful of blue blood. His eyes glowed red, not with fear, but with rage.
"You don't even know what you're holding!"
He charged again, faster this time, abandoning his weapon to strike with his bare claws.
Jiyul barely moved. He didn't think; he couldn't. Instinct took over raw, survivalist footwork he had absorbed from the memories of Velkhan and the dead god in the village.
He spun. He ducked under Zekiel's swipe, the wind of the blow ruffling his hair, and drove his elbow into the demon's ribs.
It connected, but it was weak. He was still too slow.
"HRAAAH!"
Zekiel roared, catching Jiyul's arm mid-strike. With effortless strength, he tossed the boy across the cave like a ragdoll.
Jiyul smashed into the far wall and slid down, leaving a smear of blood on the rock. He landed hard, gasping for air as blood dripped from his mouth onto the cold floor.
"This is no victory," Zekiel growled, looming over him. "This is a mutation. You are flailing."
Jiyul forced himself up. His legs shook violently. His hair was soaked with sweat, and the mark on his palm had gone dim. The healing factor of the Ember was working, but it was sluggish, tired.
"I want this power," Jiyul whispered, wiping his mouth.
Zekiel paused. "Then why are you barely alive?"
Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.
Then, the mark on Jiyul's palm pulsed once more. Faint, but steady.
Jiyul straightened his back. He looked at the demon, his eyes clearing.
"I may not control it yet. But I'll learn."
He raised his sword, pointing the trembling blade at Zekiel.
"Not to win. Not for glory."
His voice hardened.
"But because there is a man waiting for me. And I can't defeat him like this."
Zekiel's eyes narrowed. "Who?"
Jiyul nodded.
"Two months from now… he'll either kill me, or I'll prove I deserved to survive this."
The torchlight flared, casting Jiyul's shadow long against the wall.
For the first time, a small, begrudging smile touched Zekiel's lips. It wasn't kindness—it was the respect of one monster recognizing another.
"Then train, boy," Zekiel said. "Or that flower will consume you long before the gods ever reach you."
The torchlight dimmed again. The chaotic auras inside Jiyul receded, settling deep into his bones not merged, not tamed, but sleeping. Waiting for the next time they would be called to wake.
And on Jiyul's left palm, the flower mark pulsed slowly, like a warning heart.