While Elian grew up with his mother, was kidnapped, tortured and marked by the Divine Vision, and learned to live with the voices of his angel and demon…What became of the other child whom S had also implanted with that vision at birth?
Prince Alhazen had become a full-fledged beast. At seven years old, S handed him a training guide—his infamous little black notebook—and washed his hands of him, ignoring Aidrien Alhazen's explicit order to instruct the boy personally. From then on Prince followed those impossible exercises to the letter: suicidal trials conceived only by a deranged mind. And he survived.
By nine, after awakening his Elyth—Adaptability—his body had reached an absurd level of regeneration. At first, after breaking bones or tearing muscles, it took him forty-five to fifty minutes to recover. Now it took twenty to thirty seconds. Where others died, he rebuilt himself, hardened and ready to endure more.
One morning, while training in Level -1 of the Alhazen mansion, his father entered the hall.
"Prince," he said in a grave, firm voice.
The boy straightened with difficulty. He was nine but had the torso of an adult: white hair like his late mother's, purple eyes like his father's, skin marked with cuts and fresh scars. Before him stood a wall of Vitryum, the most resilient mineral in the world, mined in Dravograd — Petrov territory. Still, the child had just shattered his arm trying to strike it.
"F-father," he murmured, pushing himself up, the bone protruding from his forearm and blood streaking his face as ruptured vessels bled from the effort. "What brings you here, father?" he asked as his body began to regenerate.
Aidrien watched him without an ounce of compassion.
"Your public appearances leave much to be desired. You can play at being strong however you want, but if you don't learn to deal with people, the populace will rise against you."
His tone was so icy it turned words into sentences. "The only redeeming quality you have is your brain: top marks in every subject, sporting genius, the youngest student president at Fallen High." He recited his son's achievements with the indifference of someone reading an accounting ledger.
Prince inhaled deeply.
"I know, father," he said tensely, eyes fixed on the floor. "But it's not enough to be the perfect boy. My duties as an Alhazen go beyond leading Lirium." He ground his teeth, the rage vibrating through each word. "We control the Order of the Black Mantle, the underworld's crimes. If I want to be a proper leader, I must train so that neither the people nor our subordinates dare challenge me."
His eyes flared with contained fury. "For a year now, no one in the Order has been able to stand against me. Everyone fears me… and that, father, is also power."
Aidrien snorted, weary.
"Prince, you are perfectly aware the Order will never be yours. You are a disappointment for the Alhazen line, a stain on our name since the day you were born. You are the dishonor of our blo—"
"I KNOW!" Prince shouted, cutting him off.
The floor trembled. Dark energy, violet in tone, erupted from his body and enveloped him. The air grew heavy, vibrating with terror. It was the Demonic March, a technique of S's that had never appeared in the notebook. Prince had developed it alone three months earlier.
That ability did not belong to his Elyth. It was a manifestation of pure will: a field of mental domination that crushed the psyche of the weak. Those who felt fear at Prince's presence fell unconscious. Those who doubted themselves froze. Only those of unbreakable will could remain standing—albeit crushed by the sensation of imminent death.
"I know, father," he repeated, now sounding calmer, his eyes flashing a sharp purple glow for a brief instant—proof of an incomplete Divine Vision.
Aidrien didn't flinch. He activated his Gravity Elyth and in an instant the child's body was pressed into the floor. The pressure multiplied a hundredfold.
Prince felt his lungs explode, his bones groan. He tried to regenerate, but the gravity kept him at the edge, preventing his Adaptability from working quickly.
"You are still an immature brat," his father said with contempt. "I thought you could surpass me… your body is an insult to the Alhazen bloodline. While our ancestors mastered matter, fire, even the soul itself, you only adapt." The word fell like poison.
"S-sorry, father…" Prince stammered, voice choked under the invisible weight.
Aidrien slowly deactivated his Elyth.
Prince sat up coughing blood. "Cough, cough… So, father… what is your visit about? I don't imagine you came to see me out of affection."
"You're right," he replied coldly. He looked toward the door. "You may proceed."
The doors opened and a ten-year-old girl entered: brown hair, green eyes, wearing the Alhazen military uniform. She walked silently to stand beside the president.
"She is Irene Vermeer, general of the eleventh platoon of the army," Aidrien announced. "The youngest and most talented of our ranks. Although she hasn't awakened an Elyth, she can face several Novalyth at once. I doubt she has one, but she is… useful."
The man's gaze didn't even rest on her.
"From today she will be your training partner and, in the future, your assistant in high-level meetings. Take care of her; she is an asset to the family."
"Yes, father," Prince replied without even looking at her.
Aidrien turned and left.
"One last thing, son: abandon your dreams of grandeur. When you inherit Lirium, General Vermeer will command the Order of the Black Mantle until you have a worthy heir. You are not fit for that role." He left without looking back.
Prince bowed his head—more to swallow his rage than out of respect.
"A mere soldier… in my place."
"I— I suppose… I hope we can get along, young heir," Irene said calmly, offering her hand.
Prince looked at her with disdain.
"Shut up, bitch. I won't let a dog take what's rightfully mine." He leaned his forehead to hers, the violent aura still humming around his skin.
Irene didn't flinch. She grabbed his arm and in one movement brought him down.
"If you'll allow me, young heir… I expect much from you as well." Her voice was calm, almost mocking. She took a combat stance.
Prince rose furious and invoked his Demonic March again, this time concentrated into a radius of only five meters. He expected to see her collapse.
But she stepped forward. Then another step. She kept moving.
"How…?" the boy thought, stunned.
If she had been behind the door while he argued with his father, she had been exposed to his March as well. Why was she still standing?
"That pressure you try to exert… it's too low," Irene said calmly. "Your father's was much stronger."
Then she attacked.
For the first time Prince received a real beating. The girl knocked him down repeatedly until his Adaptability forced his body to adjust to the blows. Still, humiliation consumed him.
"How?!" he gasped between breaths. "How can you move under my power?!"
"Because it's not as terrifying as you think," she replied coldly. "If they sent you to me, it's because the other ten generals were no longer worth keeping."
She attacked again.
That was Prince Alhazen's first real lesson. The first time he understood what it meant to be weak.
Meanwhile, in the upper office, Aidrien Alhazen received an email.Sender: S.[CLASSIFIED EMAIL — HIGH PRIORITY]From: STo: Aidrien AlhazenSubject: Status of Project Weapon X
Oh, dear Hazen:
The project has been a resounding success.Fifty-five children with my physical capabilities… and a new Genesis for the world.I have already begun training your shiny Legion, your perfect soldiers.The new Genesis is in adaptation phase; barely a week since the implantation and it already shows potential that I find… delicious.I can't wait to see it break this world.Enjoy your boring life as president.
—With affection, S
P.S.: Go fuck yourself.
Aidrien exhaled in visible repulsion as he read the message, but inside he smiled. After all, the Alhazen would finally have a perfect army, a Legion capable of executing impossible missions. And if they survived under his son's command… perhaps Prince would prove his worth. Perhaps he would deserve the name.