The Damned Demon

803  The Undying Warden

Luna took a step back, her mana crackling faintly around her, her mind struggling to grasp what she had just been told.

"How can that be possible?" she muttered, shaking her head in disbelief. "Humans existing in a world like ours? Radiant mana shouldn't even be able to exist here."

Lupus remained composed, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared at the tower's inner veins of pulsating energy.

"You are right," he said, his voice calm yet carrying the weight of revelation, "But our world was not always the dying land we now know. The decay you see—the endless cycles of destruction—it wasn't always like this. Hundreds of millions of years ago, this world was near perfect, a paradise that could sustain radiant mana, and not a speck of darkness existed. How else do you think those immortal humans were able to live here?"

Luna's eyes flickered with turmoil, her thoughts racing.

"Are you saying the First Demons came millions of years after they disappeared?" she asked, still grappling with the enormity of what he was saying, "How could beings so powerful just... vanish without a trace?"

Lupus exhaled slowly, his expression darkening, "They did not vanish without a trace. Their remnants exist, scattered and forgotten, hidden beneath the weight of time and buried in places few dare to tread."

He took a slow step forward, the crimson leylines of the ritual array casting strange shadows across his regal face.

"In fact, there is still one being from that era who still exists to this day."

Luna stiffened, her brows furrowing, "One of them is still alive?"

Lupus gave a slow nod, his eyes narrowing slightly, "Not alive, but not exactly dead either," he corrected, "He exists as an undead, a warden of something none of us truly understand."

Luna's mind raced at the implications.

"An undead that's hundreds of millions of years old?" she murmured to herself, the sheer impossibility of it making her stomach coil.

Immortality was already a terrifying concept, but an undead being that ancient?

The mere thought made her instincts scream.

She had fought the greatest warriors in this world. She had seen monsters of unthinkable power—beings whose very presence could shake the foundations of kingdoms.

Yet her grandfather, the revered Moon Guardian, one of the most powerful beings she knew—was saying there existed a being beyond their comprehension? In their world?

"You're saying that there's an immortal undead strong enough to wipe us all out, and he's been hiding in secret all this time?" Luna's voice was low, wary, "Why? How does no one know about him?"

Lupus folded his arms, his gaze drifting to the pulsing leylines that fed into the Void Reaver's crimson glow.

"Because it is not his purpose to be known," Lupus murmured. "His existence has only been remembered by those who were meant to know. The First Moon Guardian somehow came to know about his existence, and this knowledge was passed down."

Luna stared at him, stunned.

"Then what is he doing? What's his purpose?"

Lupus's expression darkened slightly.

"No one knows," he admitted, "But the legends of our ancestors call him the Undying Warden. They say he stays beneath the ruins of the city of the immortals, a city that predates everything we know. There, he waits... or perhaps, he watches."

Luna's fingers twitched, a surge of restless energy running through her,

"And what exactly is he waiting for?"

Lupus shook his head, "That is a question we may never answer. All we know is that anyone who has ever stumbled upon those ruins or upon him... has never returned."

Luna's jaw tightened, "So he doesn't like visitors," she murmured, her mind still struggling to accept the gravity of what she had just learned.

But something still wasn't adding up.

Her gaze hardened as she lifted her chin.

"But does all of this have to do with what you're trying to do here?" she demanded. "You're channeling something through that key—the Void Reaver. And I already know from my visions that whatever you're doing is going to unleash something evil."

She took a step closer, her voice dropping into a deadly whisper, "Why?"

"Let's just say... it is a necessary evil for all our sakes."

Luna's fists clenched, "That's not an answer."

Lupus's gaze sharpened, but his tone remained composed.

"It's the only answer I can give you for now," he said, "I will tell you everything when it is time. But until then..."

He stepped closer, his towering presence looming over her, "You will have to honor the deal we made and help me complete this ritual."

Luna's breath came slow and steady, but her mind was raging.

She didn't like it. She hated being kept in the dark.

And yet...

She had no choice.

Her lightning flickered once, mirroring the turmoil within her, before she gave a slow nod.

For now, she would wait.

But if her grandfather was truly about to unleash something beyond their understanding—

She would be ready.

—

Oberon Drake walked the dim-lit streets of the Nightshade Kingdom, his frame wrapped in a tattered black cloak that concealed his once-proud features. He kept his hood low, his steps slow and deliberate, not wanting to be recognized—not that many would.

His hands curled into fists beneath the fabric.

"A traitor."

That was what they called him, what he had to become. And yet, here he was, walking among the very people whose gazes once held fear and respect for him. Now, if they knew who lurked beneath the cloak, their eyes would burn with resentment instead.

His mother wanted him to stay here until she found a safer place, and his aunt, Esther was ensuring his survival.

But survival for what?

His kingdom was gone, his status stripped, and the power he once wielded meant nothing anymore. He was neither a prince nor a man of worth. He was just... here. All he had now was his mother. As he wandered deeper into the streets, the scent of burnt wood, unwashed bodies, and despair filled the air. This part of the kingdom had become a shelter for refugees from Bloodburn, those who had lost their homes, their families—everything.

The sight of them gnawed at him.

They were his people, and seeing them reduced to this state pricked at him more than he ever expected. He had never cared about them before, so why was he feeling like this?

His gaze flickered toward a small, fragile-looking boy sitting beside a woman whose legs were nothing but withered stumps, scars, and burns marking the places where flesh once existed. She wasn't even that old but her eyes were hollow yet filled with fierce love as she reached out with shaking hands.

It was obvious she became crippled because of the war.

The boy, no older than seven or eight, was carefully feeding her small morsels of stale bread, his hands trembling yet determined.

Oberon stood there, frozen, his breath caught in his throat.

The sight was painfully beautiful, and it left a crack in his already broken soul.

And then—

"You little thief! You dare steal from me?!"

A burly, green-skinned goblin lunged at the boy, grabbing him by the collar and lifting him off the ground.

The child yelped in terror, the half-crippled mother desperately reaching for him.

"P-Please!" the boy gasped, his voice thin. "I only wanted to feed my mother! We have nothing—"

"You filthy rat! You dare steal from me?" the goblin snarled, his yellowed fangs bared in rage.

The mother threw herself at the goblin's feet, her frail body bowing low, forehead pressing into the dirt.

"I beg you, kind sir! P-Punish me instead, not my son! Please… he only wished to keep me alive—"

Her words were cut short as the goblin rudely kicked her away, sending her fragile form sprawling onto the cold ground.

11:34

Oberon's breath caught. His hands trembled, his vision darkening.

He moved.

The sound of flesh colliding with flesh rang through the air as Oberon's palm slammed across the goblin's face, sending him flying backward.

The goblin crashed onto the stone road, his body bouncing once before he skidded to a stop, coughing blood.

The refugees around them froze, eyes wide, mouths slightly parted as they turned toward the cloaked stranger who had just effortlessly struck down the scary goblin.

The boy trembled, his wide eyes darting from his savior to the unmoving goblin. His mother, half in shock, half in fear, could only stare.

The goblin lifted his bloodied face, his yellow eyes filled with terror.

"Y-You… Who the hell are you?" he gasped.

Oberon didn't answer.

Instead, he reached into his cloak, pulled out a single life crystal, and tossed it onto the ground before the goblin.

"Take it. And run before I change my mind." His voice was cold, final.

The goblin's eyes flared with greed at the sight of the crystal. This crystal was at least 1000 times worth what that boy stole!

Without hesitation, he scrambled to his feet, snatched it up, and disappeared into the alley without looking back, accepting the brutal slap he received as a generous price for gaining a life crystal.

The moment he was gone, the boy and his mother turned toward Oberon, their expressions filled with awe and gratitude.

The boy fell to his knees, his hands trembling as he bowed deeply,

"T-Thank you, my lord! Thank you for saving us!"

His mother, still shaken, forced herself to bow as well, her voice weak with emotion. They guessed this young man had to be some powerful young lord or noble in disguise to get rid of that goblin with such ease and throw out a life crystal without a second glance.

"Bless you, kind sir… May the devils protect you for what you've done today…"

Oberon's throat tightened.

A sharp ache swelled in his chest, but he swallowed it down.

He reached into his cloak once more, this time pulling out a small pouch, the weight of dozens of life crystals inside.

He extended it toward the boy, placing it in his tiny, trembling hands.

The child's eyes widened.

"Take this," Oberon said, his voice firm, yet quiet, "Look after your mother. Never do anything that would cause her pain. Instead, become stronger so that you can protect her, no matter what."

The boy's chin quivered as tears pooled in his large eyes. He struggled to pull together his emotions amidst his overwhelming gratitude,

"Y-Yes! I swear it, my lord!"

Oberon turned away before they could see the tears slip down from his own eyes.

He walked away, his boots echoing softly against the ground.

The boy and his mother watched his back, their expressions filled with wonder and gratitude.

"Who was that man, Mother?" the boy whispered, still clutching the pouch tightly.

The woman shook her head, her gaze soft yet still shocked that someone like him had come to help them.

"A kind man," she murmured. "A man who carries a heavy burden…"

They watched until his figure disappeared into the shadows, never realizing they had just bowed to the very prince they had once served.

A prince who was no longer a prince.

A man who had nothing left—

Except the pain that would never leave him.

Who feels bad for Oberon? :/

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