Immortality, something which has been sought after by nearly every mortal being in the entire multiverse. Never ageing, never dying, no longer bound by life span like mortals.
Yet rarely, if ever, can something obtain 'true' immortality: immortality of the soul. It matters not how powerful your vessel is; the husk which shelters your soul. But how great your soul is, the very source of your life.
True immortals never die. Their 'deaths' are merely the expiration of their vessels. As a hermit crab must find a new shell once theirs is lost, so too must an immortal's soul find a new body to shelter them.
Whereas those who possess immortal bodies are merely mice who have found a hole to hide in. Granted, a nigh indestructible one, but still no more than shelter. The mice within can still die, and so can an immortal who only possesses and immortal body. Should their souls be damaged or destroyed, their bodies will be nothing more than empty shells; abandoned houses left to rot till they're buried deep beneath Gaia's flesh.
The requirements to become a true immortal differs in every world. However, in the Magus Realm, the world Miragus hailed from, one must reach a certain level of power, or they must absorb the mana of ten thousand mages after converting their bodies into pure mana.
Miragus had chosen the latter option, and ten thousand less mages occupied the Magus a Realm.
Evil, ruthless, cold blooded, cunning; these were only a few of the words used to describe the man known as the King of Mages.
And yet, this very same man found himself in the body of an infant, being rocked back and forth in his mother's arms as she spent what she believed would be the last day with her first born child.
'My power has been sealed...' Miragus contemplated inside his head as he tried to investigate the cause of his lack of strength. It had been three months since his reincarnation, and yet he had made no progress whatsoever. 'It must've been the dagger Malum used.' He concluded.
If he had his original strength, perhaps he would've ripped his mother's arms off to stop her from rocking him and thus, disturbing his thoughts. However, he was unfortunately (or fortunately, from his mother's perspective) unable to do anything about it.
'The seal is only temporary, however it will take ten years to wear off. That sly old mute.' Miragus cursed Malum in his head. Ten years was nothing for an immortal. Still, too many things could change in a mere ten years, and he could not allow Nexal and Malum to stay in the realm of the living any longer. A slow, painful death by poison was what he had in mind for these rebels.
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Queen Elisa sat on a cushioned mahogany chair, rocking her baby to sleep for what would be the last time in the three months that her son was expected to live for. Valerius, her husband, sat on an identical chair just across from her. His green eyes were bloodshot, and his golden hair showed signs of being pulled.
Elisa was not in a better state. Dark bags were visible under her dark blue eyes; evidence that she had spent day and night on her son, and her raven black hair was disheveled.
This would be the last day that their son would spend with them in the realm of the living. The mood was solemn, and even the flora of their private garden seemed to respect this; the flowers had all lowered their heads in what seemed to be silent mourning for the cursed boy's short life.
The couple sat in grim silence as they awaited the moment of their son's passing into the afterlife. Yet it never came. Had the mages erred in predicting the day of their son's passing?
Even after three months, their son showed no signs of illness or pain, despite having been diagnosed with the Devil's Curse. On the contrary, he was perfectly healthy, even more so than most children.
Hope. Perhaps the royal mages had made a mistake. The eyes and teeth may be nothing more than a deformity. It would be hard for their son to live peacefully in this world with such traits, but they didn't care so long as he survived.
And survive he did. In the five months following, their son merely grew up like a normal, healthy boy, and the mages were left in confusion.
Two more names were added to the indeterminable list of names the King of Mages possessed in that time: Demon Prince, and...
"Sirius. For he is our brightest star." Elisa named her son. Sirius meant "Bright Star" in their tongue, and it was the name of Luxian ancient hero.
Valerius nodded in agreement. He was their brightest star indeed. A star that they believed would fade away, but returned when they least expected it, shining it's brilliant light onto the world below.
Sirius... A name most unfit for the killer of thousands, a man who has fallen into the darkest pits of the abyss. And yet, also so fitting. Like how a star shines in the endless void of night, so too does Miragus, King of Mages, shine in the abyss into which he has fallen.