Context:
The Ignathian continent, a land that has known more than the wisest could imagine. Shaped by ancient entities, blessed by gods, and written by its inhabitants, the continent's history is one of the oldest and most important.
For most of its history, Ignathia had four main kingdoms, also known as the Great Kingdoms:
The Montag Kingdom, ruled by humans, the first creations of the ancient entities.
The Darkvill Kingdom, home of the demons, a kingdom that came to power by a single man alone.
The Eldarion Kingdom, where the elves thrive, formed as a union by the four powerful tribes of the elves.
The Ironland Kingdom, where the dwarves live quietly and peacefully, isolated from the world around them.
The Ignathian continent was always at war. The four kingdoms strived for dominance and influence over one another. As powerful as a kingdom got, it never stayed that way for too long. That is what makes Ignathia... Ignathia.
But after a long period of constant wars and bloodshed, it all ended, thanks to the Montag ruler of that time, Julius II, also known by his people as Julius the Savior. He was able to force the Great Kingdoms to make peace with each other without losing any lives in conflict.
His sheer diplomatic skill and intelligence earned respect from all over the continent, and that guided the Ignathians, even after his death, into a long period of peace, something no one was familiar with.
However, peace is often fleeting, especially as young as it was compared to the continent's history. William V, the newly crowned king of the Montag Kingdom, was a problematic heir ever since his birth. His arrogance knew no limits, his patience... non-existent, cutting his servants' legs after his morning meal had been delayed. He even had his only friend's tongue cut out after he joked about his dress being a bit too red.
William V was extremely impulsive, and his childish actions greatly affected Montag's relationships with the other kingdoms. By the end of his reign, he had zero allies. Feeling betrayed, he wanted to assert his dominance over the continent, so he made the mad decision to declare war on the Darkvill Kingdom.
The centuries-old agreement of peace was shattered by the same kingdom that had created it, and now there was no going back. Montag was economically ruined, unstable, full of diseases, a shattered nation fighting against the war-hungry demons who were led by the crown prince Darius.
The conflict raged for two years, and in the end the Darkvill Kingdom emerged triumphant. The Montag Kingdom was utterly defeated and left in ruins, and without any strong outside influence the Darkvill took full control of the kingdom, establishing a puppet government in the region.
William was put behind bars, and a few days later he was executed in the capital by the crown prince Darius for the horrible crimes he committed and the disrespect he had shown to the "inferior" demons. The rest of his family were reported to have committed suicide just before the demons could break into the city gates. Although Darkvill promised to simply take control of the kingdom until the council of kings discussed its fate, under their rule most of the humans were enslaved by them, bound to the will of the demons. This was declared as confiscation for the damage that had been done to Darkvill and as another method of payment after William had destroyed the treasury, leaving no money for the demons to take as war reparations.
For over a century, humanity remained under the iron grip of the Darkvill Kingdom, their fate just a stark reminder of the price of war and the consequences of reckless leadership by a failed monarch.
~~~
A boy ran down the wet, shadowy streets. His ragged breath joined the shouts behind him.
"Get back here, you filthy brat!" one of the demon soldiers roared, his heavy armor clicking with each step he took.
The boy did not look back. His heart pounded in his ears, but he pushed onward, dodging through crowded streets until he found refuge in a dark alley.
He put his hand on the cold stone wall for slight support, but he quickly collapsed against it, slowly sliding down to the ground.
"Ha... finally," he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. "I lost them. At last... I'm free..." As much as he wanted to scream his lungs out, he knew that this would be the end of him if he wasn't careful.
The black shirt clung to his lean frame, his shorts barely offering any protection against the cold winds. The boy opened his eyes. They were white like snow, looking around with caution.
He stood, shaking off his exhaustion. "Ah, I can't stay here forever. This city will become a death trap soon if I don't find a way out before the 17th division catches up... I have to leave before they find me again."
The boy moved quietly, his bare feet making little noise on the watery cobblestones. In a pile of trash, something caught his eye, a black, tattered cape. He picked it up and draped it over his shoulders.
"This shall do," he muttered, stepping back into the crowded streets.
Around him, demons of all shapes and sizes filled the bustling marketplace. It was just a normal day for them, but not for long. He tried to blend in with them, keeping his head low so as not to raise suspicion.
"If I'm correct, this is the central plaza," he thought. "Good news is, it's busy, harder for them to find me. Bad news... soldiers everywhere."
His heart sank as he spotted demon guards patrolling in large pairs. Their eyes scanned the crowds.
"Why are there so many already?!" he cursed under his breath, quickening his pace.
But fate was unkind today. One of the soldiers caught sight of him. "Hey you! Stop right there!"
The boy's eyes widened. Without hesitation, he bolted, shoving through the crowd and leaping onto a nearby rooftop. The soldiers gave chase, their shouts echoing below.
"There he is! On the rooftops!"
The soldiers quickly took action, their overwhelming numbers completely surrounding him.
Now cornered, the boy looked around, his eyes flashing at his pursuers, their long, sharp weapons all pointed at him.
Quickly he raised his hand and fire burst from his skin, crackling with raw energy.
"Open my way!"
The soldiers backed slightly at the sight of his power. They knew of his capabilities, though they didn't obey his orders.
One of them took a step forward, the commander.
"Slave, you stand before the 17th division of the 2nd army. Deactivate your magic and surrender yourself if you don't wish to die here!"
The boy stayed silent. Though he did not move, his pupils trembled slightly under the immense pressure of the situation. Their numbers kept growing. If he didn't do something now...
"I said... DEACTIVATE YOUR MAGIC AND SURRENDER!!!"
The commander repeated himself, his patience running thin. But to no avail, the boy stood his ground.
"Hmph, so this is how it's going to be? Such a shame for you, really. I guess scum always remains scum."
The commander raised his long spear at the boy, clenching his teeth.
"SEIZE HIM!!!"
The soldiers launched themselves toward the boy, their terrifying numbers leaving no room for escape. The boy dug his foot into the tiles and launched a fiery blast at the soldiers.
Their eyes widened in terror as the blast headed toward them. The explosion that erupted sent a large number of them flying off the building.
For a moment, hope flickered in the boy's heart. But that hope was short-lived. The rest quickly continued their attack. Right as they were about to strike him, he jumped high, dodging their strike and delivering another attack downward, blowing the rooftop apart.
Landing on the other building, he immediately continued his escape, avoiding and attacking anyone who stood in his way.
"I'll never stop... not right NOW!" He charged at the group of soldiers blocking his path, each of his punches erupting like a bomb, the sheer heat melting iron armor.
The hunt was absolute. Buildings crumbled with each confrontation, the air thick with the stench of ash and burnt flesh. When the dust settled, the unconscious boy lay amidst the ruin, his body battered, exhausted, and broken.
Barely conscious, he looked up at the sky. "Not right now..." The words struggled to leave his mouth. "I have to... get up..." But he had no strength. All his energy was gone from the fighting, and now he was no better than a corpse.
"I... I..." His vision blurred, his half-raised hand collapsing onto the cold ground. All hope... was lost. Or wasn't it? All of a sudden a shadow towered over him, with two bright crimson-like eyes.
"Hmhmhm... what a fiery little warrior we have here." The stranger knelt beside him, their long, slender fingers brushing his soot-streaked face.
"You've overdone it, haven't you? I'm sure that you could've escaped just fine without killing an elite division. Your recklessness might cause more problems than I'd anticipated." The stranger huffed softly.
"You might die at this rate. What a waste that would be after all of this you've gone through."
Rising to their feet, the stranger extended their hand, conjuring a glowing sphere of magic. The boy's body floated upward.
"I suppose I'll have to take you with me," the stranger mused. They turned toward the dark forest, the jagged peaks of the Dark Mountains looming in the distance.
"I didn't expect our reunion to be this dramatic. It's almost... too good to be true, don't you agree? Kajin?"
The stranger giggled. Slowly the two disappeared into the shadows, leaving behind the aftermath of the intense battle.