Heir of the Demon War (Lost Ones’ Legacy)
Prologue
Prince Daemon
Demendia, the City of Walls, bustles high above my head while I skulk beneath its streets, hunting the only being who can give me the power I crave. I’ve been looked down on for far too long, and it's finally time to claim what’s rightfully mine.
Surrounded by humid darkness, I shift my gaze to the muted green light shining from the glass-paned lanterns abandoned on the ground. Dripping stalactites cover the undeveloped caverns, a sound that echoes filling my head. The green, glowing moss of the lights cast long humanoid shadows across the walls.
“Can you contact the entity or not?” I demand, crossing my arms over my chest.
Ormir, a sorcerer, kneels in front of the altar of bones he constructed. I don’t inquire about their origins, though a shiver runs up my spine. Ormir’s hands touch the ground, and he tilts his head back as his eyes flutter closed. I can’t be sure if he can hear me while he communes with the unseen.
We are at the lowest point of the palace, surrounded by black stone cavern walls. The sound of dripping continues to rhythmically echo through the still air. I’m below the dungeons, deep in the earth where I first felt the dark entity while exploring the emptier parts of the palace. I feel like a shadow in the dim light. My slim build is exacerbated by my shoulder-length black hair, slicked back against my scalp with expensive Affyrian oil.
“Prince Daemon, a summoning will merely invite the spirit to this plane. The true question is whether this spirit is strong enough to answer.” Ormir’s face is that of a young boy, his cheeks soft and full, still rounded, but I know better. He’s thousands of years old, kept young by the dark magic he wields. He bends over the altar, pausing every so often to listen to the nearby dark spirit. His murmurs of response are in a language long dead, and one I have never heard before.
“Well, is he strong enough?” I grumble, irritation creeping in my tone. The toe of my shoe taps against the rock floor to the rhythm of the echoes around me.
“We’ll need a sacrifice to ensure it. Human blood is the strongest usually,” the sorcerer speaks, undeterred from his task.
“I’ll take care of it,” I say, a plot already forming in my mind.
A man with unruly midnight hair and a matching beard admires the new portrait of his family hanging over the fireplace. I observe him while blending into the shadows to ensure I remain unseen. My eyes scan the painting, loving how the vibrant colors appear to glow from every sweep across the canvas. I’m going to have to contact the artist for paintings I can hang around the palace.
I creep along the wall, staying hidden in the shadows. Each step is silent and sure. Anxiety courses through my veins like a drug. I can’t be seen. Not before I’m ready. He moves close enough to me, and stepping out of the shadows, I close the gap between us. Pressing a cloth to his face, I hang on, tightening my hold around him as he bucks against me. He was always stronger than me, but I’ve always been meticulous. He digs his fingernails into the side of my hand , trying to pry it off. I hiss at the pain, but the man’s attempts to fight me off grow weaker and weaker with each second. Sadness twinges in my chest; I can’t believe this is finally happening. Everything I’ve always wanted is sitting right in the palm of my hand. I can't stop now. I have no choice but to continue. I stomp out the regret that tries to regurgitate into my heart knowing if I ever want to reach my goals this is the only way. I press into the chemical laden cloth over his mouth and nose. Bloodroot doesn’t take long to take effect, and he drops unconscious in my arms. If I stop moving, I’ll change my mind. If I want everything I’m owed I’ve got to keep going. There’s no turning back now.
Dragging the unconscious man into the pit of the palace, I struggle with each step. It takes longer to return than I could’ve anticipated, and there are a few moments where I pause, wondering if I should dose him again. Being twice my size, if he were to rouse and start struggling, I know I could never fight against him. And given who he is, if he wakes I won’t get a second chance at this. It's now or never.
I drop him at the foot of the altar. I should feel remorse for what I’m about to do, but I can’t find it in me. He spent most of our childhood reminding me how unworthy I am, but today I’ll get the final word.
“Your brother? Are you sure?” Ormir’s question grates against my ears, and I shoot him a lethal glare. Raising his hands in surrender, Ormir starts the ritual.
“I call on the dark powers of Hel.” The sorcerer burns incense and chants in a voice that makes the air vibrate. “Bring your servant to this place, accept our sacrifice.” He follows this with chanting in a language that sounds more like growling and hissing than words. His ceremonial blade glides across my brother’s throat, and blood spills over the altar. His breath sputters as blood flows, pooling on the dark stone floor, stopping only when his life fades away.
A cloud of red smoke gathers, taking form until Mannon, the Demon Lord of Pestilence, manifests in front of me. His long, black and red , striped horns are thick at the top of his head; they curve down his back and end in a sharp point. His skin is a deep , leathery garnet, and I have the urge to run my finger against it to see if it's as soft as it looks. Mannon’s onyx hair is pin-straight and falls between his horns down his back, and a matching goatee darkens his chin.
“Why do you wake me from my slumber, human?” His voice is a low growl, no hint of humanity can be found in his tone.
“I wish to make a deal , ” I say, my confidence a fa?ade. Nervous energy builds inside of me, ready to burst at any movement. “You have nothing I want,” the demon says flippantly, studying my oily black hair and dark eyes. I’ve been told before that my thin pointed face makes me resemble a rodent. That’s probably why he’s staring.
“I could pursue the one you seek. A human is far less noticeable than a demon,” I promise, pressing a fist against my heart. “I will give you fame and worship while you wait.”
“And what do you want in return?” The demon cocks an eyebrow. Time to get everything I deserve.
“I want to be Emperor of Renathia for as long as I live.” I spread my arms wide, my grandiose plans finally coming to fruition.
“While I want to accept your deal, there is no magical power that could control the entire empire. I could make them forget …” Mannon sucks his teeth and my arms drop to my side as he strokes his beard.
“The city then. I want ultimate power and control of Demendia. Make the city forget they have allies.” I spread my arms wide again to encapsulate the city above my head. “The city will be mine, ergo we will be spared from demon attacks since we are now aligned,” I finish, tilting my head as his gaze crashes into mine.
The demon takes a moment, his fingers continuously stroking his beard. “I accept. You will find the power I seek, and I will do this for you,” the demon says.
I step forward, hand outstretched to shake and seal the deal. Mannon’s warm fingers close around mine, and he pulls me in. Warmth rushes through me when our lips meet as he presses me to his chest in a heated kiss.
Mannon’s shadowy essence enters me, branding my soul. The sensation sends a wave of passion through me. The demon’s rough calloused hand caresses against my cheek before he pulls away to meet my gaze, holding it for a moment , like he’s looking for some kind of confirmation.
“You’re mine now.” His breath warms my cheek.
Mannon dissipates in a puff of red smoke. It hangs in the air for a moment before rushing up my nose. The invasion burns , and I can’t stop the coughing or sneezing that follows as I try to expel it. When I finally catch my breath and adjust, Mannon’s consciousness curls up in the corner of my mind.