Cursed Heir System: Revenge Against the Gods

It was all dark and deathly around her as the woman in a cloak stood in the middle of nowhere. Her hands trembled with fear. She had just seen something that could send cold shivers down anyone's spine.

The sky had been orange-red, as if the sun had set in a sea of blood. It was eerily silent, except for the sound of blood that dripped from corpses. The ground she stood on was soaked in blood, which clung to her black shoes.

She breathed slowly, looking around. It had been like a war zone, with countless corpses littered about, piled like mountains.

The girl, hooded in a black cloak, her pale face growing paler with horror, fixed her icy blue eyes on one of the corpses, then shifted her gaze to another.

She gasped and stepped back in horror.

They had all been the same person—same grey hair, same face on every corpse she saw. Worst of all, she knew who this man was.

"Oh, Zoe, you're here?" A cheerful yet hollow voice had come from behind, and she turned immediately, her heart pounding with fear.

There, sitting atop a mountain of corpses, was a young man in his mid-twenties, casually perched on his own corpse as if it were a monarch's throne. He looked down, his grey hair hiding his eyes. He wore a tattered red cloak that swayed in the breeze.

Zoe instinctively stepped back, staring at him. "Who… are you?" she asked, her voice breaking. Known as an infamous assassin, the Night Queen, she felt this fear for the first time in her life.

He lifted his head, locking his steel-blue eyes with hers. The sheer weight of his stare sent her stumbling back. She slipped, falling hard onto the blood-soaked ground.

Her gaze remained fixed on him. The light seemed to be swallowed by the ferocious, unstoppable killing intent burning in his empty blue eyes. It wasn't just fear that gripped her; it was a deep, primal dread, as if his stare could rip her soul apart.

He rubbed the back of his neck, mildly irritated.

"Oh, that hurts, Zoe. I thought we were partners, right? How could you forget the guy you tried to kill so many times? Remember when you tried to crush my skull between your thighs? Good times."

He gestured mockingly, pressing both hands to his cheeks.

"What are you blabbering about?" Zoe shouted, despite her heart pounding uncontrollably in his presence.

His eyes narrowed as he realized something, rubbing his chin in thought. Then, with a snap of his fingers, he exclaimed, "Oh! This was past Zoe? The first time we fought? That explains it! You don't even know my name yet. I'm Alan, so remember it for next time."

"Alan?" she whispered softly, her voice barely reaching him.

He smirked, lifting his right arm and turning it to reveal the dorsal side. A faint glow shimmered, and a grey glyph glowed on his hand—thirteen runes circling a black void.

Her eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. It was a blessing seal, but unlike anything she had ever seen.

"Shall I tell you a tale, Past Zoe?" he said in a calm tone, yet heavy with the pain he carried.

"Story?" Zoe whispered. "What story?"

"A story about a kid who had everything—until he was abandoned for the one thing he didn't have. A kid tortured for sins he never committed. A kid betrayed by the Twelve Gods. That kid was cursed by the thirteenth. He died… then died again… and again… and again."

"The story of Alane Fitzgerald."

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"You looked so handsome today, young master Alane," said Linda, the maid, her tone warm and playful as she combed back the boy's black hair.

"Trust me, Lady Velmira will absolutely falter when she sees you this evening," she added with a teasing smile, making Alane giggle with excitement.

Linda, Alane's personal maid, had practically raised him since birth. Stunningly beautiful for someone in a maid's uniform, her brown hair was braided and pinned with the flower clip he had gifted her years ago.

After adjusting his collar for the final touch, she stepped back and gestured toward the mirror.

"You're good to go now, young master."

Alane Fitzgerald, the first son of Duke Thomas Fitzgerald and Duchess Sauvanne, turned twelve that day. His steel-blue eyes brightened in the ornate mirror, his black hair neatly combed, framing a soft youthful face.

His hands trembled slightly, knowing what awaited him that day.

Though it was his twelfth birthday, that day marked something far more important: the Rite of Ascension, the sacred ceremony that would decide his fate. He had been groomed for this moment his entire life.

Everyone expected one outcome: that he would become the champion of the Sun God, Saurus.

Being the Sun God's champion wasn't just an honor; it was the highest position one could attain on the continent of Lavoris.

He had to become the Sun God's champion. Anything less would mean failing the expectations of his family, his house, and the world watching him.

A soft knock at the door broke his thoughts. He turned toward it.

"I'll get it," Linda said gently, walking quickly across the room. She opened the door to reveal Duchess Sauvanne Fitzgerald, who entered with the grace and presence of a queen.

"Mother," Alane said, running to her, his fear forgotten as he grinned broadly.

Sauvanne's grey eyes softened as her son approached. She chuckled slightly and patted his head. "Happy twelfth birthday, my dear son," she said in a loving yet graceful tone.

"Are you ready for today's Rite of Ascension?"

Alane nodded enthusiastically, raising his arms with excitement. "Of course, Mother! You'll see, I'll be hailed as Saurus's champion tonight."

The Duchess laughed at his enthusiasm, tapping his back. "That's the Fitzgerald spirit. Now, let's go to the church and complete your ascension. We can't keep your father waiting."

He nodded, and they stepped into the grand, opulent hallways of the Fitzgerald manor. Servants, maids, and guards bowed and greeted him with birthday wishes as they passed, and Alane politely responded to each one as the next Duke of Fitzgerald.

The grand doors of the manor opened, revealing a colorful garden prepared for the night's banquet. Alane's eyes turned to his father, Duke Thomas Fitzgerald, instructing soldiers on the cobblestone path, his blue eyes sharp and blond hair tied back. Beside him stood Alane's younger brother, Kaelen Fitzgerald.

"Father!" Alane called, approaching the Duke.

Thomas's stern face softened into a rare smile. "Happy birthday, my son," he said warmly.

"Happy birthday, brother!" Kaelen added, grinning.

"Thank you both," Alane replied with equal enthusiasm.

"Ready for the Ascension, future champion of Saurus?" the Duke asked, placing his hand on Alane's shoulder.

Alane nodded eagerly. "Yes, let's head to the Concordia Church, Father. I'm excited!"

Thomas's gaze softened, placing his hand on Alane's shoulder. "You're Fitzgerald's future, Alane. Our hopes rest on you."

Alane nodded, jaw clenched, and climbed into the carriage with his family.

In the continent of Lavoris, every child had to participate in the sacred and obligatory Rite of Ascension at the age of twelve, where one of the Twelve Gods bestowed a divine blessing that shaped their status and fate.

The carriage rolled through Aderoda's cobbled streets, the morning sun gilding the city. After an hour, it stopped before the Concordia Church, a grand structure of white marble and golden spires.

The Concordia Church was a neutral sanctuary in each region, unlike the separate temples devoted to individual gods. It worshipped all Twelve Gods together and served as the official location for the Rite of Ascension.

Alane stepped down, boots clicking on polished stone, and noticed a commoner boy his age emerging from the cathedral. A brown sigil glimmered on his hand, like a cracked stone.

"Dundhor's blessing! An uncommon one! I can become a knight!" the boy exclaimed as his parents embraced him.

Alane watched them briefly, then straightened his back as a church official, a priest cloaked in a white robe, approached the Duke's family and personally escorted them inside as honored guests. The interior of the church was magnificent: holy sigils carved into the marble floor, floating orbs of sacred aether, and vaulted ceilings. A glimmer of divinity filled the air.

At the far end, atop a raised altar, stood the High Priest, an elderly man dressed in ceremonial gold and white.

With a kind, practiced smile, he said, "Welcome, young Lord Alane. Happy twelfth birthday as well."

Alane bowed in the manner he had practiced and said, "Thank you, Lord Priest."

The old priest chuckled lightly. "Are you aware of today's ceremony?" he asked.

Alane nodded. From a young age, he had impressed his parents with his knowledge. He had learned that each of the Twelve Gods bestowed four types of blessings: common, uncommon, rare, and champion blessings.

Among them, champion blessings were legendary. Each of the Twelve Gods bestowed only one champion blessing per generation, and the current champion had to pass away before the blessing could be granted to another. Currently, only the champion of the Sun was available, as the previous champion, Katherine, had died five years earlier.

Alane had been groomed to bear Saurus's light as the Sun God's Champion. A prophecy foretold that a genius Fitzgerald would carry it. It had to be him.

The priest, impressed by his knowledge, nodded in approval and turned around. "Follow me, young lord. We'll begin your ceremony."

Alane glanced back at his family, who smiled encouragingly. He smiled back before following the priest into a vast circular chamber. The chamber was adorned with large portraits of the Twelve Gods, each accompanied by a blazing torch above.

At the center of the room was a small marble aisle. The priest gestured toward it.

"Young Lord Alane, kneel before our mighty gods and pray for their protection. One god will choose you and mark you with their blessing seal."

Alane nodded, walked to the aisle, and knelt before the Twelve Gods, clasping his hands and closing his eyes. His parents and the other priests watched from a distance, eager to witness the birth of the new champion.

He whispered the prayers he'd memorized. "O Lords of Lavoris, grant me your light, your strength…" His mind fixed on Saurus.

An invisible presence began to envelop the room. Silence fell, broken only by the crackling of the torches and Alane's prayers.

Then, a low hum shook the chamber, and everyone gasped.

Unaware of what was happening, Alane kept his eyes closed, continuing his prayers. The flames above the portraits roared, burning with unnatural intensity—red, green, orange, and blinding gold—each flaring brighter than the last, casting wild shadows across the divine chamber. The old priest stumbled back, his face pale.

Then, all twelve torches extinguished at once, swallowed by darkness, followed by a tremor that shook the altar. The clink of cooling metal was the only sound breaking the silence.

Alane opened his eyes, feeling the silence. He stared at the burnt-out torches, confused, and whispered, "What…?" His voice trembled.

The High Priest stepped back again, his face drenched in sweat. In his sixty-seven years, he had presided over countless Rites, but he had never witnessed this.

"The Cursed One…"