Cursed Heir System: Revenge Against the Gods

Clink. Crystal struck whisky. Except for that one sound, the duchy's private study was silent.

Duke Thomas Fitzgerald sat on the couch, pouring the whiskey into his glass which was trembling in his hand. He slammed the bottle onto the low wooden table with a sudden, frustrated movement, the sharp crack resonating in the room like a shot.

On the other side of him was Sauvanne Fitzgerald, his wife. Her grey eyes were filled with fear and rage. 

Alan sat on a couch close by, watching with a composure that concealed his pain, everything except him was black and white to him. 

A sick feeling grew in his gut as he looked at both of them. "This evening," he thought.

*The first time I died wasn't in the mines. It was here, on this floor, with my parents watching.*

His fingers moved through the whiskey bottle like smoke as he tried to reach it.

He was here, but not, he was trapped in a vision, a ghost in his own past, forced to relive the night that completely changed him.

"Centuries of honor, it's reduced to ash!" With a sour tone and a booming roar, Thomas snarled. "And it's all your fault, you cunning bitch!"

Sauvanne retaliated. "Me?" She stepped closer, her hands clenched, and said, "You dare blame me? That miserable boy, your son Thomas, is to blame for this! Your precious legacy is tarnished by him!"

Thomas leaped to his feet and slammed both fists down on the table creaking the wood. His veins bulged and his face was red with anger, "My son? Sauvanne, you think I'm blind? I know everything about your affair! You cunning whore, you passed off some bastard as my heir!"

Sauvanne didn't flinch, her lips curling into a cruel sneer. "Oh, please," she spatted.

She tossed her hair and sneered, "Of course I had an affair just as you've bedded half the court behind my back! However, Thomas, Alane is yours by blood and bone. Perhaps that explains why he is such a blessingless, worthless failure!"

Alan chuckled bitterly. "You two make the ideal couple," he whispered. "Rotten to the core."

Thomas got enraged. With a roar, he snatched up the whiskey bottle and threw it at the wall. Glass and liquor hissed across the room as it shattered.

He rushed to the corner of the room where a small body lay, battered and unconscious, his heavy boots stomping.

Alan knows who that kid is. He is, of course, his past self. 

Thomas loomed over the boy, engulfing Alane's tiny, quivering body in his shadow. "You are a useless rat…" He roared with a deep snarl of disgust, "you ruined everything."

He took Alane by the throat and lifted him off the ground, choking the boy with his massive hand. Alane's tiny hands scratched at Thomas's hold, his feet dangled, and his feeble gasps were hardly audible.

"You have destroyed us!" With a sickening crunch, Thomas's fist hits Alane's stomach, halting the boy's scream as blood spurted from his mouth and spattered the floor.

"Just a pitiful, sniveling embarrassment—no power, no blessing!" Alane's face was struck by another blow, causing his lip to split, his nose to crunch, blood to spill as he fell, and his body to tremble in agony.

"Please, stop, Father." Through his swollen throat, Alane screamed, his voice weak. His tiny hands waved, trying to protect his face, his body curling tight as he sobbed. "I… didn't mean...I'm sorry, please!"

Thomas was still enraged. With a loud thud, his fists came like heavy stones, cracking ribs and causing Alane's screams to fade to whimpers as blood dripped beneath him, leaving the shiny floor red.

"It's useless! Weak! You are not my son!"

Thomas grabbed Alane's right arm and twisted it until a sharp snap rang out, the boy's scream piercing as his arm hung broken. 

Thomas threw him down, kicking his small body across the floor, Alane's head hitting the base of a marble statue, blood smearing the stone.

Adult Alan stood still, the memory tearing into him like a beast, his heart thumping so terribly, he could only the colour of blood dripping from the child. He turned to Sauvanne, who stood by the couch, her lips curled into a cold smile, her eyes shining with twisted joy as she watched her own son suffer.

"You never gave a damn about me, did you?" Alan said, knowing she couldn't hear. 

With his fists dripping his son's blood, Thomas turned away, panting. Broken bones protruded beneath skin as Alane lay sprawled on the cold marble, twitching and breathing like a dying animal. The boy was barely conscious as his one good eye blinked slowly. There was a wet, choking gasp with each rise of his chest.

Thomas snarled, his voice raspy and shaking with rage, "Clean up that filth."

"I hope to never see him again."

His footsteps were bloody as he stormed out.

Sauvanne simply watched the boy with an odd, resentful interest, as if she was trying to decide whether it was worthwhile to step on or over him. 

After a while, she knelt next to him and, without being gentle, her hand wiped his bloody cheek like dirt off a boot.

She muttered, "You'll never be anything. You should have died at birth"

Then she got up, straightened her silk gown, and left with a funeral march-like click of heels on the stone.

Broken, bleeding, and crying without tears, Alane lay there by himself. Blood clouded his vision. His body wouldn't move.

He was cold.

So cold as Alan watched his younger self. There are memories that never go away. They ferment until they are either burned or consumed.

The chandelier swayed above, shadows writhing like demons across the walls. 

Too weak to even feel fear, Alane's swollen eye gazed at them. While one shadow turned toward Alan, another loomed over Alane.

Both monsters' voices were in unison as a hollow voice reverberated through the room like a whisper that only he could hear.

"How many times will you die before you learn?" 

Darkness seeped into the room.

___

A cold, endless void pressed down on Alan like a heavy weight. The silence shattered with a rough, glitching voice. "Well, well. Look who's back."

Alan spun around and saw a massive throne of jagged stone. Perched atop it was an entity—a churning mass of ash and shadow, like a storm trapped in the form of a man.

His heart pounded but masked it behind a cocky grin. "Fancy meeting you here," he said as he raised his arm, showing the blessing seal, thirteen twisting runes around a black void. "So you're the one who stuck me with this thing."

The entity tilted its head, its voice was a grating rasp, each word scraping like rusted metal. "Yes, it's me. You've been making good use of it, haven't you?"

Alan's smirk turned bitter, his eyes flashing with grim humor. "Good use? Dying many times? I thought I was losing my damn mind. This 'blessing' of yours is more like a curse."

The entity leaned forward. "A curse?" it said with dark amusement. "And yet, here you are, still standing. Still fighting. Most would've broken by now."

Alan's jaw tightened with suspicion and stepped closer. "Who the hell are you, anyway? I was taught only the Twelve Gods give blessings. You don't exactly fit the divine mold."

The entity rose from its throne, its tall form filling the void, its chilly voice rumbled with a mix of threat and laughter. "Oh, I'm no god. I'm something… older. Something everyone forgot." It drifted closer, its shadowy hand resting on Alan's shoulder, cold and heavy like stone. 

"I'm like you, boy. Betrayed. Shattered. Hungry for revenge. That's why I chose you."

Alan's eyes narrowed, voice steady despite his heart racing. "Great, so you're a sob story with power. That doesn't answer my question. What are you?"

The entity's chuckled, unnatural sound that echoed through the void, sending a shiver down Alan's spine. "You don't need it to know about me," it said. 

"But you can call me a… partner in your little vendetta. You want to burn it all down, right? your family, the nobles, the whole rotten system. I'm just giving you the tools."

"Tools? You mean dying over and over until I get it right? Real generous," Alan said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "What's in it for you? Nobody gives power like this for free."

"Let's just say I like a good show," it rasped, voice dropping to a whisper that clawed at Alan's mind. "And you, kid, are putting on a hell of one. Keep going. Kill whoever stands in your way, even the gods themselves if they cross you."

The entity's form began to dissolve, its ashen shape breaking into wisps of smoke curling into the dark. 

"You're not done yet," it said as its voice faded. "So go. Break them all."

Alan stood alone, his mind churned with the entity's words. Kill the gods? The idea was crazy, but it sparked a reckless fire in him. 

He clenched his fists. 

"Fine," he muttered to the empty void. 

"I'll burn them all down. But I'm doing it my way."