Cursed Heir System: Revenge Against the Gods

Two weeks had passed since the Rite of Ascension, and Alan sat curled in a corner of his own dukedom's prison, clutching his broken left hand. He was still in his birthday attire, now torn and bloody, marked with boot prints.

His face ached, swollen and bruised from the fists of soldiers who once bowed to him, their punches harder when he begged for mercy.

He should have been hailed as the successor to Natalia, the former Sun God's champion.

Instead, he was thrown into this cell, branded a devil by his parents, family, and loved ones.

On a wooden bench in the same cell, another prisoner lay snoring quietly. Alan assumed he was a debtor or small-time thief.

Alan envied that reckless ease, the ability to sleep peacefully after everything had collapsed.

Sharp, steady footsteps echoed down the hallway. Alan's heart leaped with faint hope as he looked up.

Beyond the bars stood Linda, his nanny, the woman who had raised him.

Her face was pale, her eyes glistening with what he assumed were tears. Hope bloomed in his chest, and he forced a weak smile despite the pain. "Linda, you came? Are you okay? You… you really came to see me?"

She felt like a lifeline, someone to pull him from this suffocating darkness.

But her lips curled into a sneer, her face contorting. "Shut your mouth, you wretched little monster," she spat, her voice icy and cruel.

Alan froze, his smile fading as he stared into her eyes, searching for the woman who had sung him lullabies and laughed at his silly gifts. There was only a cold, piercing stare that made his heart skip.

"Linda?" he whispered. "What's wrong? Why are you… like this?"

She stepped closer to the bars, her voice rising, face twisted with disgust.

"You disgusting brat, you destroyed me. I poured years into you, hoping you'd be Saurus's chosen, the next great champion. I was going to serve the mighty Alane Fitzgerald and live in luxury. And now? Because you're a damned, dirty devil, I'm back to cleaning floors like a common drudge!"

"You're a stain on this world. You should've been executed at the Rite."

"Linda… I thought you loved me," he choked out.

"Love you?" Linda laughed, a harsh, cruel sound that echoed through the cramped cell.

"You're nothing but a walking curse. I wasted my life on you, and now I'm paying for it. You deserve to rot in here, you disgusting wretch. I hope you suffer every second of it."

Tears streamed down Alan's face. Before he could speak, Linda stepped aside, revealing another figure.

His younger brother, Kaelen, peered out, his blue eyes once filled with admiration towards Alan, now glinting with a sly smirk.

Foolish hope flickered again. "Kaelen?" Alan's voice was barely audible. "Did you… come to help me?"

Kaelen's lips curled into a sneer. "Help you? Don't flatter yourself. I just had to see the sorry mess you've become, even after Mother warned me not to go near the devil."

He stepped closer, eyes narrowing as he looked Alan over with undisguised contempt.

"All those years, you strutted around like the sun rose for you. Every noble smiled when you walked by. Father called you the heir, like it was written in the stars. And me? I was the shadow. The spare. The one who had to scrape and claw just to be seen. But now?" His mouth twisted into a cruel grin. "Now they're finally looking at me. Not because they have to, but because I earned it."

He leaned in, whispering, "I wonder… when Saurus saw what you really are, did he recoil? Or did he just laugh?"

Alan's eyes widened with shock and pain. Linda and Kaelen stood together, their faces unrecognizable, twisted into cruel masks. They weren't his family or friends, they were strangers, monsters in familiar skins.

"Young master," a prison guard said, approaching them, "you should leave. Your parents will have my head if they find you here."

Kaelen nodded, his smirk lingering. But before they turned away, Linda reached into her pocket and yanked out the flower-shaped hairpin Alan had given her as a child.

She threw it at him, the metal striking his bruised cheek with a sharp sting. "I'd be cursed just for touching your filthy gifts," she spat. "Keep your devil's trinkets."

The hairpin clattered to the stone floor. Alan stared at it, tears falling faster as he sank to his knees, clutching it in trembling fingers.

As they left, the guard glanced at Alan, his expression not angry but tinged with something else—pity, maybe?

"Why?" Alan sobbed.

"Why is this happening? Why won't they just kill me right now and end it?"

A low, rough voice answered, calm and almost bored. "Why beg for death when they're making you suffer so well?" The other prisoner, still lying on the bench, hadn't moved, his eyes closed.

Alan's head turned, tears blurring his vision as he stared at the man. "What?" he whispered.

"Have you made any mistakes?" the man asked, sitting up on the bench. Strangely, Alan couldn't see his face—it was a blur, as if his mind refused to piece it together.

Alan shook his head. "Never," he whispered.

"Then why are you asking for death? That's the coward's way out. Pretty dumb for someone who's done no wrong."

"Then what should I do? What can I do?"

The prisoner leaned back against the wall. "Revenge. The sweetest thing. Want to taste it?"

Alan's eyes widened, his breath catching. "Revenge?" he echoed, the word new but stirring something inside him.

The man leaned closer. "Revenge is making them feel every ounce of your pain, your parents who cast you out, your brother who mocked you, that nanny, and the gods who branded you a devil while they sat on their thrones. It's tearing down their lies, their power, until they're the ones begging. You want to make them suffer, don't you? Every last one of them?"

"Can I… make them pay?"

"Our paths cross for a reason, kid," the man said, extending a rough hand. "I, Vanzoeath, can guide you to that vengeance, show you how to break them all. But it's your choice. Take my hand, or stay rotting in those mines. What'll it be?"

Alan gulped, his cheeks still wet. He saw his family's betrayal, Linda's hairpin striking his face, Kaelen's mocking smile. Why shouldn't they hurt as he did? Why shouldn't the gods pay?

His small hand reached out, paused, then grasped the prisoner's hand.

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Present Day

Alan lay dead from the fall, his body crumpled on the ground. Before him stood a dark figure, shrouded in ash, its form shifting like smoke.

A rasping, chilling voice spoke. "Well, you made the right decision. Accept the Thirteenth God's blessing now."

A grey glyph ignited on Alan's hand, thirteen runes circling a black void. The mark burned, searing into his skin before vanishing.

The voice lowered, almost a whisper. "Go. Seek your revenge. And vengeance… for me, Vanzoeath."

"Don't try to die, kid. Even if you do…" The figure leaned in.

"…I'll drag you back. As many times as it takes."

"Now go wild."

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[Skill: Return by Death activated!]

"I… I tried to fight," Moriko whispered. "I couldn't… I couldn't stop them…"

Alan froze, blinking, his vision clearing. Moriko knelt on the tunnel floor a few feet away, her torn cloth barely covering her body. She clutched herself, trembling, tears streaming down her face, flattening her cat ears.

Sweat trickled down Alan's face as he puzzled. He was certain he'd seen Moriko's death, her legs collapsing as a monster ate her upper body. More importantly, his body felt lighter, free of the pain from Dakel's punishment.

He was at the same spot where he killed the slave last night, he glanced down to see the body laying on the ground and turned to Moriko.

"Moriko?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "You're… alive?"