Chapter 1: Lucifer

  In the endless sprawl of the cosmos, among worlds beyond counting, there existed one that stood above all others.

  Its name was Chronos.

  Suspended in the dark like a black jewel burning with divine light, Chronos was whispered of as the pinnacle of creation.

  Across the universe it was known as the Planet of Warriors—a place where warriors themselves lived, fought, and fell.

  Even the air there shimmered with power, heavy with the echoes of celestial hearts still beating beneath the stone.

  The planet was unmatched in both combat and magic. Its skies shimmered with divine energy, and even the wind carried the faint echo of ancient battles.

  Alongside the Warriors lived powerful creatures—beings whose intellect rivaled that of the warrior’s themselves. Because of this shared brilliance, no war ever arose between them; respect bound them where fear could not.

  Unlike other worlds scattered through the stars, Chronos was ruled by one. A single sovereign held dominion over all lands and beings.

  His name was Tomas Salazar—the absolute ruler of the Planet of Warriors, whose word shaped destiny itself.

  He was a king among kings, a Warrior among Warriors.

  Though revered as a god, Tomas Salazar was still a man of principle. He had always placed his people before himself, his every decision forged in the fire of duty.

  Before the crown, he was a soldier—one who led countless campaigns across the burning plains and shattered moons of Chronos. His victories were legend, earning him the title God of War and, in time, the throne itself.

  To outsiders, Chronos appeared perfect—a world of divine order and unbroken strength.

  But even perfection casts shadows. And beneath the radiant surface of that holy planet, something ancient waited to be remembered.

  On the thirtieth day of December, in the year twenty twenty-one, a child was born beneath the steel-blue skies of Chronos. A boy.

  As was tradition, the newborn was brought for testing—to measure the spark of magic that slept within his soul.

  When the results came, the room fell silent. The readings burned far beyond expectation, pulsing with an energy greater than any recorded in years. His magic surpassed even the average warrior’s by a staggering margin.

  Whispers spread among the attendants—curiosity, awe, and a flicker of unease. What kind of man would this child become?

  Yet he was still an infant, fragile and unknowing. The decision was simple. The boy would be left in the care of his parents… for now.

  When the parents returned home, the quiet of their dwelling seemed almost sacred. They sat together, cradling their newborn, wondering what name might be worthy of him.

  Before a word could be spoken, a light appeared.

  It flared from nowhere—pure, blinding, and soundless—then vanished as suddenly as it had come, leaving only the faint scent of ozone in the air.

  For a heartbeat, the parents did not breathe. It was as if time itself had paused to watch. Their eyes, glazed and unfocused, turned toward the child.

  And in unison, as though guided by something unseen, they spoke the name.

  Lucifer.

  The Morning Star.

  Years passed, and Lucifer reached the age of three.

  One morning, he turned to his father and asked to be trained as a Warrior. The request was gentle, but his father’s answer was firm—he was still too young.

  Yet stubbornness already burned within the boy like a second heart. When no one was watching, he took up a stick and began to train himself. Swing after swing, he moved through the dust and light of the yard, alone. He had no interest in other children—only in strength.

  When evening came, he returned home, his small hands bruised and raw. His mother bathed him carefully, humming an old lullaby, unaware of the quiet fire she tended.

  Afterward, the family gathered at the dinner table. The scent of roasted grain filled the air, the soft clatter of dishes the only sound between them.

  This became their rhythm—day after day, season after season. Lucifer trained in secret beneath the watch of the pale Chronos moons, his body growing, his silence deepening.

  And when night came, his mother would lay him down once more, whispering blessings over eyes that never quite closed easily.

  That night, after slipping into sleep, Lucifer opened his eyes to find himself standing in an empty room—white, endless, and silent.

  At first, confusion seized him. There were no walls, no floor, no sky. Only light. Cold, unending light.

  Then, without sound or warning, someone appeared before him.

  A figure.

  It looked exactly like him.

  Lucifer froze, his small chest tightening. The mirror-image smiled—a calm, knowing curve of the lips that made the boy’s heartbeat quicken.

  For a long moment, they only stared at each other. Then the figure spoke, its voice neither loud nor soft, but echoing everywhere at once.

  “I am you,” it said. “The truth of you. The power that sleeps within your flesh.”

  Though only three years old, Lucifer understood the words as if they were being written directly into his mind.

  The being told him of the strength buried in his soul—of what he could become if he chose to awaken it. The boy’s eyes gleamed with fascination. Power called to him like a melody he had always known.

  But the reflection’s tone darkened.

  “All power demands a price,” it whispered. “And yours will be heavy.”

  The price was simple—but deadly for someone so small.

  Lucifer’s body was too fragile, too untested, to contain the full scope of his power. To wield it now would shatter him.

  His other self—his manifestation—devised a plan. Two years. That was all it would take to forge a body strong enough to hold the power sleeping within him.

  Lucifer listened, eyes wide, pulse quickening. He agreed.

  The schedule was brutal. Every day, without pause: three hundred push-ups, three hundred sit-ups, three hundred squats, and a thirty-kilometre run. No breaks, no exceptions.

  The manifestation explained the reasoning calmly, almost kindly:

  “This is the foundation. Strength first, control second. You are a child, and the basics must be mastered before the storm within can be unleashed.”

  Lucifer’s small hands clenched with determination. He would endure it all. He would survive. And when the two years were done, he would no longer be a child. He would be power itself.

  When Lucifer awoke, a strange panel floated before him, glowing faintly like starlight. It displayed his training schedule and recorded every repetition, every kilometre run, every drop of sweat.

  Without hesitation, he began. In secret.

  Two years passed in relentless routine. Day after day, the exercises, the runs, the endless repetitions became a rhythm that shaped his body and mind alike. The world outside barely touched him; all that mattered was the growth within.

  Then, on the night of his birthday, after sleep claimed him once more, he was drawn into the white room again.

  The manifestation of his power appeared—exactly as it had before—but this time, Lucifer felt no shock, no fear. He simply stood, calm, ready.

  The being studied him for a long moment, then spoke.

  “You have worked harder than I imagined. Your growth… surpasses all expectations.”

  Lucifer said nothing.

  “You are worthy,” the manifestation continued. “Worthy to become one with me.”

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  And in that silence, the weight of destiny settled upon him—heavy, absolute, and inescapable.

  Lucifer took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

  A warmth began in his chest, spreading outward like molten light. It was as if the very essence of magic itself was pouring into him, filling him, overflowing, reshaping him from the inside.

  When he dared to open his eyes, the white room around him was fracturing, cracking, collapsing into shards of pure light.

  He looked left. Then right. The walls, the floor, the infinite emptiness—they were all unraveling.

  And then, with a final, steadying breath, he closed his eyes once more.

  He awoke in his room, and from that day forward he devoted himself to mastering his powers.

  The years that followed were brutal. He shattered and rebuilt his body countless times, relying on Hyper Regeneration to stitch him back together.

  Seven years passed in this cycle of pain and rebirth. By the end of it, he had gained complete control over both his body and his abilities.

  When he approached his father to request entry into the Battle of Kings, the decennial rite that crowned new sovereigns, both parents rejected him without hesitation.

  So he made a proposition. If he could defeat his father in a duel, they would allow him to enter.

  They accepted, confident that no twelve-year-old could possibly match a reigning king.

  They stepped outside. The air was cool and carried the scent of distant storms. Father and son took their positions a respectful distance apart.

  The mother raised her hand to begin the match.

  Her hand had barely fallen before the world blurred.

  A soft thud broke the silence. The father lay flat on the ground, eyes wide, the dirt around him still trembling from the impact.

  Lucifer stood over him, a wooden stick pressed to his throat, declaring victory without a trace of triumph.

  A gust of wind swept across the yard, stirring Lucifer’s hair as his parents stared at him in disbelief.

  Then wonder slowly softened their expressions, and all they could do was smile at the child who no longer needed their protection.

  They agreed to let him participate in the competition.

  The Battle of Kings was no ordinary tournament. It consisted of three rounds, each containing a thousand one-on-one fights. Tomas Salazar had created it generations ago to identify the strongest youths for their defense and attack forces.

  Children from every corner of the world gathered there, each hoping to prove their worth. The next competition was only a few days away.

  One might have thought Lucifer too young, but the rules had a narrow exception. Thirteen was the official age of entry, yet exceptional twelve-year-olds were allowed to compete if they were formally approved.

  And Lucifer now was.

  When the day of the competition finally arrived, the sky hung heavy and expectant, as if the world itself sensed something shifting.

  Lucifer stood ready.

  The beginning of the end had begun.

  Days later The Tournament Begins

  The tournament began with an opening ceremony, all participants gathered together on the main stage beneath a sky humming with anticipation.

  Lucifer kept his posture relaxed, careful not to draw attention to himself as he stood among the other children. Still, avoiding notice was almost impossible for him.

  While scanning the crowd, his gaze accidentally locked with that of another contestant. The boy’s aura was sharp, confident, one of the stronger participants without question.

  The boy gave a small nod in greeting.

  Lucifer turned away as if he hadn’t seen it.

  A quiet ripple moved through the stage as the ruler of Chronos stepped forward and announced the official beginning of the competition. His voice rolled across the arena like distant thunder.

  With the ceremony concluded, the participants stepped down from the platform and filed into the waiting area behind the stage, where they would await the true start of the tournament.

  Lucifer was placed in the very first match, facing the child of a high-ranking noble. The boy was considered a prodigy, the kind adults whispered about with pride and envy.

  They stepped onto the stage.

  The noble’s son smirked and told Lucifer he would crush him. Lucifer stared back with a blank, unreadable expression.

  The officials prepared to signal the start of the match.

  His opponent tried again, telling Lucifer to surrender now and spare himself the humiliation. Lucifer didn’t bother to answer, his silence more insulting than any words.

  The signal echoed across the arena.

  The fight began.

  The prodigy lunged forward, charging straight at him. To Lucifer, the boy’s speed was painfully slow, almost disappointing. His first instinct was to end the fight instantly, but he decided to entertain the attack and take it head-on.

  The noble’s son closed the distance and threw a right hook aimed directly at Lucifer’s head.

  It landed with a sharp, echoing crack.

  Dust burst off the stage. The crowd gasped, convinced the match had ended in a single decisive blow.

  But as the dust thinned, something was wrong.

  Lucifer remained standing. Perfectly upright. His head was tilted slightly back from the impact, the boy’s fist still pressed against his cheek.

  His eyes hadn’t moved. They were locked on his opponent, cold and unblinking.

  He hadn’t shifted a single inch.

  The crowd fell into a stunned silence. For a moment, no one seemed to breathe. Then whispers spread like sparks across dry grass as people tried to make sense of what they had just witnessed.

  Lucifer’s opponent stumbled back, disbelief written all over his face.

  He refused to accept it.

  He charged again, faster this time, whipping his right leg into a roundhouse aimed at Lucifer’s head.

  Lucifer raised one arm and blocked the kick as casually as brushing aside a curtain.

  The noble boy hopped back, panic flickering beneath his bravado. He still couldn’t understand why nothing he did made a difference. Why this quiet, expressionless child seemed immovable.

  Lucifer had already seen enough.

  He had analyzed every movement, every weakness, every unnecessary flourish.

  It was time to end it.

  Lucifer pointed his finger at the little noble and flicked it downward.

  For a moment, the audience held their breath—nothing happened. Confusion rippled through the crowd, murmurs growing louder, questions hanging in the air like fog.

  Then, suddenly, the noble collapsed, face-first, hitting the floor with a dull thud. A collective gasp echoed through the arena.

  The judge, who also served as the ring announcer, hurried over to check on the boy. After a tense moment, the verdict came: unconscious. The match was over. Lucifer had won.

  Cheers erupted from the crowd, a roaring tide of disbelief and exhilaration. The air seemed to vibrate with their excitement, dust and light shifting in the chaos.

  Backstage, the other contestants watched him approach. Some offered tentative congratulations, eyes wide with awe. Others glared, their stares sharp and icy, as though they could pierce through him. But Lucifer didn’t notice. His focus was elsewhere, already calculating the battles to come.

  After some time spent relaxing alone, Lucifer was approached by a boy who looked about his age.

  The newcomer carried himself with an air of quiet importance and introduced himself as Kevin Salazar, son of the King of Chronos.

  Lucifer barely reacted. His eyes flicked toward Kevin, calm and unreadable, before he asked, “What do you want?”

  Kevin didn’t take offense. Instead, he smiled, almost amused. He said he was interested in Lucifer’s strength and asked if they could be friends. He extended a hand.

  Lucifer accepted the handshake.

  The request for friendship, however, went unanswered. Lucifer offered no promise, no smile, not even a change in expression.

  But from that moment on, they were acquaintances—an unspoken understanding forming between them like a thin thread.

  The competition continued. The second match, the third, the fourth, the fifth… battles rolled on with relentless momentum.

  By the time the first round concluded, those who had been defeated were removed from the participation list and guided to a separate backstage viewing area. From there, they could watch the rest of the tournament unfold, powerless but still part of the rising storm.

  The competition advanced into the second round, and Lucifer was placed in the first match once again.

  As he walked onto the stage, the crowd fell silent. A hush swept across the arena, heavy with expectation.

  Then his opponent appeared, and the silence shattered. The crowd erupted in fierce cheers, their excitement rising for the noble boy entering the arena.

  The signal to begin flashed.

  Lucifer’s opponent, another arrogant noble, smirked and offered him the first strike. Lucifer accepted without hesitation.

  He pointed a finger at the boy and flicked it downward.

  The noble immediately sidestepped and charged forward, convinced he had dodged whatever strange technique Lucifer was trying to use. Confidence lit his eyes. He thought he had seen through the trick.

  He hadn’t.

  The moment he reached Lucifer, his body was slammed into the ground as if struck by an unseen force. One instant he was sprinting, the next he was face-first on the arena floor, unconscious.

  The crowd roared. Cheers thundered through the air as they realized they were witnessing the rise of a child who might one day become one of Chronos’s greatest warriors.

  Lucifer was declared the winner.

  When he reached the waiting area, Kevin was already there, smiling as he congratulated him on his second flawless victory.

  Lucifer gave him a quiet “thank you,” though his expression didn’t shift even an inch.

  Matches continued. The second, the third, the fourth, the fifth… one clash after another shook the arena as the competition pushed forward.

  Soon, it was time for the third and final round before the quarterfinals. The crowd’s excitement swelled, a restless energy moving through the stands like a living tide.

  Lucifer had no idea, but whispers about him were spreading fast. Some spectators had already begun rooting for him, drawn in by the overwhelming displays of power he had shown so far.

  Lucifer’s match opened the third round, and once again he stood across from another arrogant noble child.

  The moment the signal was given, his opponent refused to give him even a second to prepare.

  A thick smoke screen burst across the stage, swallowing Lucifer in a shifting grey cloud. From within the haze, a volley of projectiles shot toward him with sharp, metallic whistles.

  Lucifer lifted his hand to block, but before he could, the noble appeared behind him and released another barrage at close range.

  Projectiles closed in from both sides, cutting off any easy escape.

  Lucifer sighed.

  He blinked.

  A sudden burst of pressure rippled outward from him, scattering every projectile into the air like dust swept off a table.

  The smoke thinned. Silence fell once again as the crowd tried to understand what they had just seen. Then the arena erupted in wild cheers.

  Lucifer turned his gaze toward his opponent. The moment their eyes met, a soft glow flared in Lucifer’s own.

  The noble instantly dropped to the ground, unconscious.

  Lucifer was declared the winner.

  As he stepped off the stage, the crowd chanted his name for the first time, their voices crashing together like a tidal wave.

  Lucifer didn’t acknowledge any of it. He had no intention of entertaining their admiration.

  On his way to the waiting area, Lucifer crossed paths with Kevin in the dim corridor. Kevin was warming up for his match, tension flickering around him like static.

  He asked Lucifer to watch. Lucifer gave a quiet nod.

  Kevin’s match was fifth. When he stepped onto the stage, Lucifer observed from the shadows.

  The fight barely entertained him. The cheers, the dust, the flashes of mana — all of it felt dull.

  But he noticed something. Kevin was holding back. More than half his true strength stayed hidden. That, at least, caught Lucifer’s interest.

  When Kevin returned backstage, Lucifer congratulated him. The gesture surprised Kevin more than the victory itself.

  Both were now set for the quarter-finals, scheduled three days ahead.

  Kevin invited Lucifer to the palace to celebrate. Lucifer declined and made his way home through the cool night.

  When he arrived, his parents were waiting with a warm dinner prepared just for him.

  They sat together, ate, and let the quiet settle around them.

  Afterward, his father asked how the tournament was going.

  Lucifer answered honestly.

  His parents stared at him, stunned. He told them he’d reached the quarter-finals without taking a single hit.

  Not one blow from all those high-ranking noble children.

  The room fell still. Even the candle flames seemed to pause.

  Lucifer’s parents remained in quiet shock, but they congratulated him on his accomplishments so far. Their voices were calm, measured, yet beneath them lay a flicker of unease.

  Once the formalities ended, they allowed him to retreat to his room. As he walked down the corridor, the fading light from the candles stretched his shadow long against the walls.

  Watching him go, his mother turned to his father, voice barely above a whisper. “Should we tell him who we really are?”

  His father’s eyes lingered on Lucifer’s retreating figure. “Not yet,” he said. “It’s too early. Let’s see if he can win the tournament first.”

  They did not realize that this decision would be their last chance. Fate had already begun to close the door on that truth.