Cursed Heir System: Revenge Against the Gods

At thirteen, Alan sat on the cold stone floor of his family's dukedom prison, leaning against the damp wall and hands resting on knees. His black hair, streaked with early grey. Scars criss crossed his cheeks, marks from his parents' whippings and beatings to punish him after he tried to escape once.

Across from the bars, his younger brother, Kaeln, sat on a stool, his blue eyes locked onto Alan with a smirk, he enjoying his brother's suffering.

He waved a hand, and the guard behind him unlocked the cell gate with a rusty creak and slid a plate of steaming food containing roasted meat, fresh bread, and a slice of ripe fruit onto the filthy floor, then slammed the gate shut.

Alan grabbed the plate and used his bare left hand to eat the food.

"Alane, you don't fear poison?" Kaeln's eyes shone with a cruel joy, but he asked with a mock concern. "You are brave."

Alan used the back of his hand to wipe oil off his chin. he met Kaeln's gaze, Refusing to show weakness, "Maybe a better death."

"Heard you're Suarus's champion now."

Kaeln raised his hand, and a seal appeared, a glowing, circular glyph with twelve sun-spokes forming a golden crown. At its center, a solar eye glowed, half-lidded, glowing with divine power that mocking Alan's lack of a blessing.

Kaeln's smirk widened. "Impressed, brother?" he asked with arrogance, taking the chance to show off his divine favor.

Alan leaned back against the wall with a smirk, hiding the pain of seeing his younger brother raised up while he suffered. "Congrats, little brother. You're their shiny new toy," he said with a mockery tone, refusing to give Kaeln the awe he wanted.

Kaeln's eyes narrowed. "As Suarus's chosen champion, I've earned my place," he said, his tone smug. "Unlike you, the family's shame, locked away like a rat. Mother and Father have plans for you, Alane. They're arranging your execution."

Alan's expression remained the same; his blue eyes were lifeless and nearly bored, as though death were just one more cruel thing in a long list. Church and his parents were so frustrated that they had kept him in this cell for a year, starved him, and allowed the guards to beat him for enjoyment.

Alan's expression stayed frozen, his blue eyes dull and almost bored, as if death was just another cruelty in an endless list. The Church and his parents, tired of his existence, had kept him in this cell for a year—starving him, letting the guards beat him just for entertainment.

"Really? When?" he asked, tearing off another piece of bread, chewing slowly.

Kaeln's chuckle began as a low rumble, then twisted into a wild, unhinged laugh that echoed off the cold stone. He leaned forward, his own blue eyes burning not with mercy, but pure malice.

"When? Like I'd let them finish this quietly," he said, each word cutting sharp. "I begged them to delay your execution, told them I was the good son who still cared for the devil they locked away. But we both know that was just my game."

Alan smirked bitterly. He knew Kaeln's 'mercy' had always been a mask.

"Yeah… you don't want me to die quietly. You want me to die with suffering, that's why you made sure my execution was delayed until you get championship blessings."

Kaeln grinned, wide and gleaming like a predator savoring blood. "Exactly," he said.

"Alane, a quiet execution would be far too kind. After announcing your tragic 'accident' on your twelfth birthday, our parents wanted you dead quickly, privately as they were embarrassed. I told them that was wasteful. You, the unblessed mistake born first… you took the place meant for me. And they listened."

He stepped closer, voice dropping to a chilling whisper.

"I convinced them to let me kill you. Personally. In front of the Church. In front of the nobles. In front of everyone who once believed you mattered. I want them to see your blood stain the altar. I want your screams to echo louder than their prayers."

Alan's smile vanished, his hands stilling on the plate, a bitter taste rising in his throat. His parents' cruelty had shaped his cage, but Kaeln's cruelty carved deeper, intimate, obsessive. This wasn't about execution. It was about spectacle. About domination. About rewriting Alan's entire existence with pain.

Kaeln rose from the stool, his shadow stretching over the bars, his laugh victorious.

He turned with a final, cruel glance. "Enjoy your meal, Alane."

"It's your last meal before execution."

The guards followed him out, leaving Alan alone there, he's staring at the empty plate.

The guards followed him out, leaving Alan alone in the cold, staring at the empty plate, his fingers still frozen.

"Hey kid," he heard a rough voice and immediately looked up to see one of the young prison guards standing there; he was alert, like he was looking if there was anyone coming.

"You really want to live?" he asked with genuine concern, his heart aching to see the kid suffering. "I'll help you to escape; run as far away as possible and live."

Alan looked at him with tears; he was jailed for almost a year, and never ever did a single person show him mercy.

—---

Alan's nightmare melted into the soft purple light of dawn. He woke with a start, heart racing, breath uneven. Thin smoke drifted from the fading campfire. He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes.

"Stupid nightmare," he whispered.

When he tried to stand, something held his right hand. He looked down.

Moriko was curled up next to him, her hand gripping his wrist. Her face looked calm in sleep—more peaceful than he'd ever seen.

Since escaping the mines, he'd wanted to leave her, to give her the freedom she deserved. But she stuck to him, never leaving his side. He assumed it was her trauma binding her to the only familiar presence left.

With a soft sigh, Alan gently tried to free his arm.

Moriko stirred, mumbling something in her sleep.

"Still a damn leech," he grumbled, whispering.

His joints cracked from days of walking as he stood and stretched. The grass, slick with morning dew, squished under his foot as he walked to the riverbank.

Kneeling, he splashed his face with icy water, the cold snapping him fully awake.

In the rippling water, his blue eyes stared at his face, a stranger's even to himself. He had changed so much; he was certain even his family wouldn't recognize him now.

"I'm coming, everyone," he whispered, voice steady. "I'm not done yet."

******************************************************************************************************************************

Meanwhile, a luxurious bedroom at the Petersen estate was filled with morning light.

Paul Petersen groaned and stirred as his messy orange hair glowed in the light. He sat up and ran a hand through it. His muscles tensed as he cracked his neck, the sound echoing in the quiet room as he yawned.

His eyes turned to the sleeping noblewoman beside him, naked, tangled in the bedsheets. The air filled with the faint scent of perfume, wine, and last night's excess.

Paul groaned, massaging his temples. "Damn," he muttered as his head throbbing.

Flashes of the banquet came back to his mind, dancing, too much wine, shameless flirting, and eventually sneaking this married noblewoman back to his room.

He stepped onto the cool marble floor in barefoot and crossed the room to pull open the curtains. Bright sunlight flooded in.

A moment later, heavy footsteps echoed through the hall outside.

"Paul? You in there?" An authoritative female voice called.

The double doors flew open, and Riina stepped in. With each stride, her high ponytail of ash-grey hair swayed. She was wearing a tight-fitting white shirt that was partially unbuttoned, exposing her cleavage. Just a glimpse of her toned body was visible through the fabric, which clung to her shape after being slightly soaked by a run.

She paused, her green eyes first landing on Paul's naked body sprawled by the window, then shifting to the noblewoman in the bed who was just beginning to stir, clutching the sheets to her chest with a guilty squeak.

"Obviously," Rinna muttered in annoyance. It wasn't the first time she'd walked in on a scene like this. Growing up with Paul meant covering up more than a few of his scandals, sleeping with the wives of high-profile nobles included.

Paul grinned as her presence didn't bother him in the slightest. "Morning to you too, Riina."

As Riina focused on the noblewoman. "Out."

With a yelp, the woman got out of bed and wrapped the sheets around herself before running past Riina, her face flushed with embarrassment. The door clicked shut.

Riina turned to face Paul, her arms crossed. "Paul, you are the Fire Champion. Can you fucking act like it?"

Paul snorted, wearing his silk robe lazily. "You know me, Riina. Flames don't stay contained."

"Save your metaphors," she snapped in a sharp, urgent voice. "We're leaving for Teranese immediately."

Paul raised an eyebrow, pouring water from a crystal pitcher. "What's the issue? Another summit? Another scandal?"

Riina stepped closer with a serious face. "The High Priest of Concordia is dead."

Paul paused as the glass halfway to his lips. "Old man was ninety. Not exactly a surprise."

"He wrote a Revelation Scroll before he died."

The glass stopped at Paul's lips, his easy attitude fading. "A Revelation Scroll? What did it say?"

Riina's green eyes met his eyes. "Let's ask them directly."