Blood, Crimson Blood. The color of a certain boy. Deprived of everything because of the desires of others. Village burned while parents died. Yet a hand stretched out to save the boy. No mortal, no savior, the filthy hand of a demon.
“Answer me, why art thou lost all heartfelt and dear?”
“Because I wasn’t strong enough.”
A young boy sat hopelessly next to a wall with corpses and blood splattered over it. In fact some otherworldly creatures may call it modern art. However that statement would neglect the lack of life and destruction of a whole livelihood.
“Cease thy speaking. You have no thought. If thy was in thou situation, instead of whimpering like a cowardly goblin, thy should have used the brain to contribute to defend all dear. Power cannot consolidate protection alone. Even dragons, who dominate who territories cannot use express their dense without wisdom.”
Towering over the boy was a demon, three horns stretching out from a revealed spine with a face indescribable by any common language deeply contrasting his fanciful Western attire.
“Hmmm?”
In the corner of his eyes, the Duke perceived a bookshelf full of antiques in the burned remains of a hut. Sticking out was a thin and flat screen with a protective cover surrounding half of the mechanism. The demon reverted his attention back to the child still in a state of fear and dismay.
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“Son of man, retrieve that Grimoire for thyself.”
The child still tearful, slowly stood up and retrieved the Grimoire. Upon touch, the screen lit up and flashed, recognizing its new owner.
“Brilliant. Son of man, thou has had all devoured by slaughter. Instead of falling to the depths of despair I pronounce hope upon thou. Hope paved with the blood of thy enemies and fight against the vile desires which mortals succumb to. With Grimoire in hand, become might and find thou path. Be warned though, path does not matter as bloodshed will follow. Young son of man, does thou desire wisdom to accommodate strength?”
The demon extended his hand.
“Come and I will teach you wisdom.”
At that point the young boy made a decision affecting the fate of his life. He would be feared and revered. As the boy took the Duke’s hand the demon spoke.
“I, Dantalian will teach you not to struggle and be weak, not with power but with wisdom. All you have to do is wear my sigil. Son of man what is thy name?”
The child stood up still clearly frightened and traumatized
“Akieal Fanlus, sir.”
“Well then young Akieal, don’t leave anything behind.”
The young boy stared at his home before entering the remains of said house to handle a black garb, simple and dark on the outside but a mild layer of scarlet on the interior; a mask of a sinister smile and dark, sharp eyes presumably worn by his deceased father; and finally a misty pearl orb.
“Come, salvation from this place awaits.”
The young boy nodded and the demon snapped his fingers.
After this day this world would be forever changed, for better or for worse.