Chaos Child

  Chapter Two - Born

  "Poor boy."

  Adjusting his gold monocle, a proud, overweight man stood with an air of nobility, his gaze unwavering as he looked upon a boy slowly being crushed beneath a pile of junk and scrap.

  At first glance, one might assume the man was of noble birth or held some high status. His fine brown suit was smooth and well-fitted, his demeanor composed, almost indifferent to the scene before him.

  With a measured voice, he spoke. "You will be useful."

  Reaching down, he pulled the boy out with surprising gentleness. From inside his jacket, he retrieved a small leather satchel. As he unfastened it slightly, a mystifying glow seeped out.

  Clink.

  He snapped it shut immediately, standing still as an eerie silence filled the air. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. "Merely scrap," he muttered, wiping it away before reopening the satchel, this time allowing the white light to fully emerge. Carefully, he took the boy’s frail hand and guided it inside. The glow rapidly enveloped the child's entire body.

  Zip.

  The boy vanished in an instant into the satchel. A satisfied grin crept onto the man’s face as he readjusted his monocle. He stood up, letting out a contented hum before whistling a cheerful tune, his chest puffed out as he strode toward the junkyard’s entrance.

  He closed his eyes and spoke in a monotone voice. "Arceus."

  For a moment, nothing.

  The land around the junkyard was barren—no life, no songs of the forest, only silence and the distant sound of sizzling air, like a desert under an unrelenting sun.

  Then, faint galloping.

  A black shadow surged in the distance, dust kicking up behind it. As the sound grew louder, so did the storm of dust and debris following it. Within moments, it arrived, halting just before the man.

  "Arceus, how was your run?" he asked casually.

  The massive horse grunted, steam snorting from its nostrils.

  "Next time, hopefully, you get to go even longer, aye?" He chuckled, patting the beast’s thick neck. Arceus stood at an imposing 219.7 cm, its bulky frame adorned with a mane of light grey and gold, contrasting against its deep ash-colored coat.

  Struggling at first due to his round belly, the man eventually hoisted himself onto Arceus’ back. "Giddy up!" he commanded, digging his heels in. "Full speed, Arceus! We must return at once."

  The steed took off like a bolt of lightning, kicking up dirt and stones, the sheer force denting the ground beneath its hooves.

  Time passed, and evening fell. The sky swelled with thick, churning clouds.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  "Looks like rain again... it's been falling so frequently lately." The man sighed.

  Arceus neighed, signaling their approach.

  "Almost there, I see."

  As they arrived, the first raindrops began to fall. The mansion before them was grand, its entrance door alone towering over the man. He lived in solitude, surrounded by wealth, with only his horse as a companion.

  "Arceus, head to the stables. Stay inside—a thunderstorm might start."

  Dismounting, he entered his home, immediately shutting the door behind him. "Home at last..."

  The dimly lit living room was vast, with an elongated dining table sitting at its center. To the left, a cobblestone fireplace stood, a pile of wood stacked beside it. Further left, a grand mirror with a gold frame was mounted high on the wall.

  Seeing the dying embers, he threw in more firewood. The flames roared to life, illuminating the entire space in warm light.

  Removing his hat and suit jacket, he tossed his monocle onto the table, revealing weary eyes yet a joyous grin.

  "I must get to work now!" he declared, excitement brimming in his voice.

  With a golden candleholder in one hand and the leather satchel in the other, he strode toward the spiral staircase. Taking the path downward, he descended into darkness. The deeper he went, the colder it became until pitch-black engulfed him.

  Snap.

  A flick of his fingers conjured a tiny burst of fire, which he used to light the candle. The dim glow revealed the stone walls around him. He turned, reciting in a low voice, "Abyssal door, I call on thee... open for me."

  A magic circle flared beneath his feet, glowing ominously in deep purple. Within moments, he vanished.

  He reappeared in a narrow, cobblestone corridor.

  Walking forward, he soon reached a sharp turn, entering a wide chamber. To his right sat a stone desk cluttered with sacrificial tools—among them, a gold-hilted dagger and a large velvet book embedded with a glowing purple sapphire. To his left, a solid stone wall.

  Straight ahead, a small staircase led up to a grand sacrificial altar. The entire room pulsed with an eerie, luminous glow, a deep purple hue casting long shadows. The air was heavy—almost suffocating.

  But to him, this was home.

  "Tonight may be the night I finally see you, Mistress."

  Approaching the desk, he placed the candle down and turned toward the altar.

  "Magic bag, bring me my dead body."

  Silence. Nothing happened.

  Puzzled, he muttered, "Huh...? I thought—"

  His breath hitched.

  "Is it not dead?!"

  Eyes widening, he barked, "Magic bag, take my most recent item!"

  Zip.

  The boy appeared atop the altar. The man rushed forward, pressing two fingers to the child's throat.

  A pulse.

  "Breathing... but barely." His voice dropped to a whisper. "That doesn’t explain why I couldn't sense his mana earlier."

  His expression darkened. "No matter—it changes nothing."

  Lifting a bowl of blood from the desk, he muttered, "The last sacrifice should suffice."

  He ran his fingers along the Abyssal Book, whispering, "Abyssal book of the Deluxe, heed my plea and open."

  The book groaned, its pages parting begrudgingly, as if annoyed.

  Flipping through, he found the diagram he sought and carefully replicated the intricate magic circle around the boy using the blood.

  Once done, he grinned, his face and hands smeared red.

  "Finally."

  Grasping the dagger, he ascended the stairs, looming over the boy.

  Cold eyes met blank ones.

  The flickering candlelight danced across the blade.

  Tension thickened.

  "Sorry you had to experience this... but you're not the first. And you won’t be the last."

  His face twisted with fervor. Muscles tensed, he raised the dagger high.

  "For the Mistress Alana!"

  The blade plunged deep into the boy’s chest. Blood pooled, his body still.

  The man knelt, chanting from the book.

  "Oh great Chaos of the Abyss, I bring a vessel for the Dark Saint Alana, so she may use it as she pleases!"

  The altar pulsed violently. The magic circle crackled with energy.

  Then—

  A sudden, overpowering gust surged through the chamber, rattling the walls.

  The boy's body lifted, light bursting from his form.

  His eyes snapped open. Violet energy spilled from within.

  The man’s heart pounded.

  "A-A-A—" The boy's voice trembled.

  Then, he grinned.

  "I CAN FEEL."

  "I CAN TOUCH."

  "I CAN SEE."

  And the room trembled beneath him.