Stark stood in a vast white room that stretched endlessly. Before him stood a massive dark gate, bound by rusted chains and weathered talismans that pulsed faintly with an glow. At its center, a large purple eye swiveled, inspecting him intently, moving from side to side.

He was paralyzed with terror. He couldn’t move.

Another dream? Again...what the hell is this?

Stark glanced down at his body, only to feel a fresh wave of unease. He was floating in the air. Where his legs should have been was a swirling mass of black smoke. His entire form was translucent, with smoke curling up.

Huh?

The large purple eye narrowed, giving the uncanny impression of a sinister smile hidden behind the gate. The massive structure shuddered and groaned as it creaked open. Tendrils of dark smoke spilled forth, consuming the white light.

Stark gulped anxiously, despite his smoky form.

This time, no smoky hands lashed out at him.

Time passed.

Nothing.

Stark’s eyes remained fixed on the gate.

THUMP.

A heavy footstep echoed.

The sound grew louder with each passing moment. More black smoke poured from the gaping void beyond the gate.

A figure emerged.

It was utterly dark—an abyss in humanoid shape. No eyes, no face, no features—just a form of nightmarish black. An ominous red halo hovered above its head, pulsating faintly.

The figure stepped forward.

Stark began to shake, his entire form trembling uncontrollably. The air around him grew oppressive, suffocating in its sheer hostility.

Suddenly, a shadowy hand lashed out from the figure’s chest.

The hand coiled around Stark’s neck, its grip suffocating. He tried to breathe, but his essence seemed to tremble, snuffed out like a dying flame. His pupils dilated, trembling as if they could shatter under the fear.

The figure drew him closer.

A single eye snapped open on its forehead, its crimson pupil glowing.

A sound, cold echoed in Stark’s head.

“So You are the Prince of the False Heavens? Not bad….I shall use you to fulfill the pact.”

W-Who…? And Pact…?

“You are not worthy to know, yet.”

What do you mean? Worthy of what?

“Cross the Immortal Divide. Only then shall you have your answers.”

What if I don’t?

The weight in the air shifted, crashing down like a tidal wave. Stark’s form shivered violently as the force threatened to obliterate him entirely. His very soul felt as though it was unraveling, torn apart like threads.

“You are a bold one I give you that.” A cold, mocking laugh echoed. “So I shall leave you with a little parting gift.”

A dark hand pierced his chest, gripping his heart. A searing-hot pain erupted inside him, burning. His smoky body convulsed violently, his hands clawing at his chest, desperate to tear it open and relieve the agony.

The figure’s eyes burned brighter

“Choose your path wisely… O Chosen One.”

The world plunged into darkness as Stark was hurled into the gaping void like a rag doll.

He woke with a start, drenched in cold sweat. His chest heaved, and his heart racing uncontrollably. Stark clutched his chest, struggling to catch his breath.

“Haaa… Haaa… Haaa…” He took deep, shuddering breaths to stabilize himself.

What the hell was that?

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

Stark looked down at his chest. Apart from the slave mark, there were no injuries but he was sure that his chest was burning like molten lava but there was a mark on his chest, a small red mark right in the center where the hand entered his chest

This mark…was it there before?

His forehead dripped with sweat as his trembling legs refused to steady. The figure, the gate, the words—it was all burned into his mind.

Immortal Divide? False Heavens? Prince ! I am a Prince??? He racked his brain, trying to make sense of the phrase, but it was useless.

Stark’s head throbbed from the lingering fear and stress. He forced himself to his feet.

Fuck!! I need to clear my mind.

He began to exercise, hoping to push the thoughts out of his system.

Gripping his training sword, Stark began swinging it, repeating the basic movements Krul had taught him.

He fixed his gaze on the tip of the blade, channeling all his energy into the motion.

Again

And Again.

He swung the sword until his arms gave out.

This was part of his morning regimen. Krul had explained that he couldn’t teach Stark his style of swordsmanship, as it was heavily reliant on magic—which Stark had no aptitude for.

Instead, Krul had focused on building Stark’s foundation. Footwork, positioning, attack, and defense—these were the essential pillars of sword arts, and Stark repeated those drills endlessly.

His legs trembled again.

“Damn that… dream,” he muttered under his breath. “I can’t get it out of my head.”

Hundreds of Questions flooded his mind. The gate, the things beyond the gate, chosen one and the Immortal Divide stayed in his mind.

Stark shook his head in frustration.

He was confused—and the scared of the unknown.

After a few hours of rest, Stark set out to hunt. The devil remained in his study, engrossed in something. Stark had caught glimpses of Krul scribbling furiously on sheets of paper, but he didn’t bother to ask what it was. Whatever it was, Stark doubted he would understand it anyway.

Instead, he focused on the task at hand: hunting down some Stilos in the region.

Krul had instructed him about the areas where Stilos were most commonly found. Armed with his gear—a raggedy leather armor, a few daggers, a butcher knife, and his trusty metal sword—Stark headed out. The sword had become a reliable companion over time.

Hunting the Stilos had grown easier for him. They moved in groups, but Stark had developed a simple and effective tactic to pick them off. He targeted the stragglers, the ones lagging behind. Separating them from their pack proved to be easier than he expected.

Occasionally, two Stilos fell for his ploy, but Stark was capable enough to handle such situations.

“This is a good hunt,” Stark muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow.

After killing the Stilo, Stark began preparing the meat. He severed its head and limbs first, then sliced open its belly, carefully chopping the crimson meat into small chunks. Once he had enough to fill the entire leather backpack, he hoisted it over his shoulders and began the trek back to the cave.

The dry wind was heavy, stinging his skin as he walked. The air was thick with dust, that limited his visibility. The desert stretched endlessly around him, without any signs of life.

The cave lay hidden in the middle of a mesa, concealed by the dusty air. Reaching it was no easy task—Stark had to climb the rock face with the weight of the backpack slowing him down. Gritting his teeth, he made his way upward.

“Finally.” Stark put the leather backpack down. Patting down the sand from the journey.

Just then, Krul emerged from his study, his long hair tied neatly in a ponytail. He raised an eyebrow at Stark.

“You’re early today, child.”

“I just couldn’t sleep,” Stark replied, removing his armor and daggers before setting them aside. Exhausted from the trek, he sank to the ground with a heavy sigh.

Krul studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Hmm... I shall cook today.”

“Huh? What?” Stark looked up in surprise.

“You seem out of your mind, child,” Krul remarked. “And the last time...”

Stark winced, scratching the back of his head with an awkward smile. “Uh... yeah...”

The memory was fresh—he had set the cooking area on fire, charred the meat into charcoal, and added so many ingredients that the soup was inedible. It had been a disaster, a true trial by fire in the art of cooking.

Stark watched as Krul picked up the freshly-cut meat and headed to the cooking area.

“Wait…” He called out. Stark pointed at the red mark on his chest. “can you take a look at this mark”

Krul glanced back.

“What mark?” He asked with a puzzled expression.

Stark’s eyes widened. “Nothing…I must be imagining things. Sorry.”

With a sigh, he turned to his equipment. He unsheathed his sword and grabbed a cloth from the stand, wiping off the blood on both his blade and butcher knife.

Taking care of one’s tools was one of Krul’s lessons. Stark wiped, ensuring every spot was clean. Once satisfied, he held the blade up to the faint light peeking through the dusty wind. The clean surface shined faintly.

With a nod, Stark sheathed his sword and set the cloth aside.

Later, Krul brought over a steaming bowl of Stilo meat stew. Stark, hungry from the hunt, dug in heartily, savoring each bite.

“So, Krul,” he called to the devil between mouthfuls, “what was that beast we saw yesterday?”

Krul raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly. “Hmm?”

“The one that attacked after my fight,” Stark clarified.

“Oh... the corrupted ones,” Krul replied with a nod.

“Corrupted?”

“Yes. Those don’t have a collective name,” Krul explained. “Maybe humans have named them, but I don’t recall.”

“You call them the corrupted ones? Why, though?”

“It’s exactly as it sounds—they are filled with corrupted souls,” Krul said, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “They’re rare creatures, nonetheless.”

“Corrupted souls? Does our soul look like that?” Stark asked, his curiosity growing.

For Stark, Krul was a walking trove of ancient knowledge, and he never missed a chance to learn more about the world.

“No, no, child. Souls are insubstantial,” Krul shook his head. “You might ask how they’re made, then. There are those who can manipulate the souls of the dead—they derive their power from the misery and contempt lingering.”

“They inject these corrupted souls into inanimate objects, turning them into a rampaging beast.”

“So, those are the corrupted ones?” Stark asked, trying to piece it all together.

Krul nodded thoughtfully.

“How do you defeat them?”

“It varies for each one,” Krul explained. “You must find their Soul Point and destroy it. That is their weakness.”

“I see,” Stark said, finishing his bowl of stew and setting it down.

Krul’s face twisted into a smirk.

“Regarding your training,” he began, “I will be moving it up a notch, child.”

“Eh? Moving up?” Stark asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Krul replied with a amused look. “You will face much tougher enemies starting tomorrow, We need to sharpen those skills of yours.”