Cursed Heir System: Revenge Against the Gods

"What a pity," cackled Snaggle, a horned imp barely the size of a toddler, his bat-like wings full of holes and his jagged teeth clacking like dice. "You gonna take this brat, Master? Or shall we let him die like every other cursed?"

The entity was a shadowy figure, shrouded in ash, its form shifting like smoke, watching Alane through the floating screen that glowed in the darkness.

"Let's see if this boy is worthy," it said, resting its head on its hand. "Worthy of my blessing."

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"What are you talking about?"

Alane, confused, rose to his feet, but everyone around him stepped back instantly. "Why are you saying I'm the Cursed One?" he asked, looking at his hand. To his shock, there was no blessing seal on it—no champion seal, not even a common one.

He glanced up at the portraits where the torches had burnt out, smoke curling upward.

"I'm the champion of Saurus, aren't I?" he pleaded, clinging to the prophecy that had defined his life.

"Champion?"

The High Priest shouted, turning to the crowd and thrusting a trembling hand toward Alane like casting away filth. "He's the Unblessed, the devil who could bring destruction to Lavrios!"

Collective gasps echoed through the church. The priests, who had come to witness the birth of the Sun Champion, step back at the sight of the devil's emergence, their faces twisting in disgust as if his presence polluted the sacred air.

"Unblessed…"

"Impossible…"

"Is that the Devil's omen?!"

"I'm witnessing this for the first time!"

Alane's eyes widened with fear and disbelief, hoping this was just a nightmare. Each stare made his body tremble, his breath catching in his throat.

He knew the fate of the Unblessed. They were those who carried the power of destruction, a negative energy opposing the gods. If someone was not blessed by any of the Twelve Gods, they faced execution under the church's orders.

He gulped, his legs shaking with fear. He looked at his father. "Father, please tell them there's a mistake, I'm your son!" he pleaded, hoping for support. But his father's blue eyes met with disgust before turning away.

"Guards, seize the devil immediately," the Duke ordered in a low voice. The temple guards stationed nearby approached Alane, surrounding him and pointing their spears, daring him to move.

"No—no, it has to be a mistake. Please believe me, I was meant to be Saurus's champion!" He pleaded, tears streaming down his face as he raised his hands, his voice cracking with fear.

"Mother," he cried, turning to her, but she, too, abandoned him. She didn't meet his gaze, staring at the floor while clutching Kaelen's hand tightly. "Mother, please, look at me! I'm your son, not a devil!" he begged, desperate for at least one ally.

Sauvanne's lips parted, but no words came. Instead, she turned her face away, a single tear glistening on her cheek, not for him, but for the shame he brought upon their name.

The rejection hurts more than any wound, leaving Alane gasping for air, his chest heaving with sobs.

The guards closed in, their spear tips aimed at him while he stood in the aisle. His tear-streaked face turned from his mother to the high priest, searching for any sign of mercy, but found none.

"Please," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I'm not a devil. I'm Alane Fitzgerald, your champion…" His words trailed off as the high priest raised a trembling hand, silencing him.

"The Unblessed cannot be allowed to live," the High Priest declared. "The Twelve Gods have spoken. You have no seal, no blessing. You are an affront to Lavoris, a carrier of ruin."

Alane's knees buckled, and he sank to the marble floor. The cold stone pressed against his palms as he shook his head, his tears pooling on the marble.

"The prophecy said a Fitzgerald would carry Saurus's light," he rasped, his voice barely audible.

"It was supposed to be me…"

"Enough with your nonsense!" the nearest guard roared, striking Alane across the face with his gauntlet arm. The blow sent him sprawling to the floor, his head hitting the cold marble aisle.

The world tilted, and sounded muffled, but through the haze, his eyes locked onto his younger brother, Kaelen, standing behind their mother.

Only Kaelen was visible in his fading sight, his blue eyes staring at the miserable Alane. In his eyes, there was no sadness. Only satisfaction.

Then, slowly, unnoticed by those around, a small smirk formed on Kaelen's face, seen only by Alane before he lost his consciousness.

Why? The single thought echoed in his mind.

Why is this happening to me?

This was supposed to be his day of glory, the moment he became Saurus's champion. Instead, he was a pariah, betrayed by his family, his gods, and his destiny.

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Alan gasped, waking up with unstable breaths, his body drenched in sweat despite the cavern's chilling cold. His hands, bony and calloused, trembled in their iron cuffs, the long chains clinking softly. He ran his fingers through his matted, grey-streaked hair.

His tattered shirt, barely clinging to his body, was soaked with sweat.

Yes, he was a slave now, an ordinary slave toiling in the harsh mines of Parheller.

His chest heaved, still haunted by the nightmare he'd just had. No, it was a memory of his last night, disguised as a nightmare.

He exhaled slowly, trying to relax, and looked around the dark, expansive cavern where countless slaves slept on the cold, stony ground without blankets. The air reeked of a foul stench he'd grown indifferent to.

It had been six years since that incident, when he was branded the Cursed Devil and declared a criminal for a crime he never committed. His parents had abandoned him for something he didn't do. He had narrowly escaped execution, becoming a fugitive, only to be unknowingly trapped in slavery.

"Alan? What happened?" A small, sleepy voice, accompanied by the rattling of chains, broke through his thoughts. He turned to his side, looking at the beast-race girl sleeping beside him—Moriko, a cat girl.

She sat up, rubbing her drowsy eyes. "Something wrong?" she asked softly, her black cat ears twitching, a slave collar fastened around her neck just like Alan's. Her tattered cloth barely covered her body, exposing much of her chest, but Alan's gaze didn't linger there.

"Just a dream," Alan muttered. "Try to get some sleep, kitty."

Moriko yawned and lay back on the cold ground. Better rest. More lashings if we're late tomorrow," she mumbled, curling into herself against the cold.

His eyes drifted to the chains around his wrists, and he remained silent.

He touched the collar around his neck. Disobedience brought punishing pain. The scars from his first rebellion still marked his back.

Yet something resolute burned within him, a spark that refused to die despite years of labor, beatings, and hunger.

Alan sank back to the floor, the chilling stone biting his back.

He'd thrown away his old name, Alane Fitzgerald.

To the slaves, the guards, and the world, he was just Alan now. A nobody.

A burning desire for revenge flared in his chest. He would not die in the Parheller mines as a pathetic slave.

Not until he confronted everyone who had betrayed him, including his mother, his father, his family, the gods who had cursed him, the servants who had abandoned him. That thought kept him alive, focused.

He closed his eyes. A chance would come somehow. All he could do was wait. To live. To endure. And when the time came, he would burn their world to the ground.

—-

As usual, the morning arrived too quickly. The slaves were jolted awake by the loud ringing of the guards' bell.

Alan rose from sleep, tying his grey hair tightly behind his head as he moved to his work.

The Parheller mines were a maze of dark tunnels filled with gravion deposits, a rare, lightweight metal more valuable than steel, used for armor and weapons across Lavoris.

It was the Verdelane Dukedom's wealth, mined by slaves worked to death for every gleaming fragment.

The repetitive thud of Alan's pickaxe echoed through the tunnel as he swung. Dust clung to his sweat-soaked shirt, but his strikes never faltered. He alone could unearth five times more gravion than other slaves.

The tunnel's rhythm broke with a sharp shout.

"Accident! The wall's collapsed!"

A slave's scream reverberated through the tunnel, and Alan paused, resting his pickaxe on his shoulder. The other slaves halted, their eyes darting toward the sound.

"What happened?" Alan muttered.