"How dumb you are," Mr. Thornwood said, and his voice was different now—layered with echoes, as if multiple voices were speaking in unison.
His jaw began to distort, the bone structure shifting beneath the skin. His mouth opened wider than any human mouth should open, revealing teeth that were too sharp, too numerous. His fingers lengthened, the nails extending into black claws that gleamed like obsidian.
"Everything that has happened to you," the thing wearing his father's face continued, walking forward slowly while Aster stumbled backward, "from the very beginning..."
Aster's back hit one of the broken pillars. Nowhere left to retreat.
"The party where you were first marked. The dreams. The spirits in your room. The woman with the vase. Even Silas finding you—all of it was orchestrated."
"You can't be," Aster whispered, shaking his head in denial. "You can't be my dad. You're not him. You're—"
"I am your father," the creature said, and for just a moment, the face shifted back to normal—Mr. Thornwood's familiar features, his kind eyes. Then it twisted again into something monstrous. "I am also something more. Accept it or not, you survived. You can't remember everything that happened at the party because I don't want you to. I've been controlling your memories, guiding your path."
It leaned closer, its breath cold and smelling of decay.
"Everything is done by me," it said. "Because I *am* the Altar of Evil. I am the monument. I am the conduit through which the darkness flows into this world."
Aster's heart stopped. His mind refused to process what he was hearing.
"And you," the creature added, its clawed hand reaching toward Aster's chest, "are the Heir of Evil."
"No," Aster managed to choke out. "No, that's not—"
The claws pierced through his jacket, through his shirt, pressing against his skin directly over his heart. Not breaking the skin, but touching something deeper. Something inside him.
"Feel the darkness inside you," the creature commanded. "See your own self. Understand what you truly are."
And Aster felt it.
Like a door opening in his mind that had always been there but locked. Behind that door was... darkness. Not evil exactly, but *potential* for evil. Power that could be used to destroy, to corrupt, to spread suffering. It had always been part of him, sleeping in his blood, waiting to be awakened.
The creature—his father, the Altar, whatever it was—smiled with satisfaction. "There it is. The truth you've been running from."
But even as the darkness rose inside him, something else remained. Aster's human consciousness, his compassion, his memories of his family and friends—all of it stayed intact, fighting against the corruption.
His eyes darkened, shadows forming around the irises, but the human inside didn't fade completely.
"But you've failed me, son," the creature said, and there was genuine disappointment in its voice. "You're far too kind to be the Heir of Evil. Too weak. Too human."
It stepped back, removing its claws from Aster's chest.
"So today is the day where you prove yourself. Where you choose who you truly are."
The creature raised one hand, and reality rippled. A man appeared out of nothing—literally materializing in the air and dropping to the ground with a startled cry.
He was middle-aged, dressed in simple clothes covered with flour. A baker, by the look of him. Just an ordinary man going about his day, suddenly transported to this nightmare.
"Where am I?" the baker gasped, looking around in terror at the ruined valley. His eyes fell on Mr. Thornwood—or the thing that looked like him—and widened. "Is that Mr. Thornwood? But wait, you're... you're a dark spirit. What's happening?"
The creature ignored him and focused on Aster. "Kill this man. Prove yourself worthy of the power I've given you. Show me that you can embrace what you are."
Aster didn't move. Couldn't move. His body was frozen, caught between the darkness rising inside him and his own will refusing to give in.
"Kill him," the creature repeated. "Do it, son. Now."
The baker looked between them, understanding slowly dawning. "Please," he whimpered. "Please, I have a family. Children. I just—"
"Aster. Kill. Him. Now."
Aster's hands trembled, but he didn't raise them. Didn't reach for a weapon. Didn't channel his magic toward the terrified man.
The creature waited, its expression unreadable.
Finally, it lowered its hand. "Alright then."
There was disappointment in that voice—deep, genuine disappointment. The kind a parent feels when a child fails to live up to their potential.
"I'm sorry, but you don't deserve the throne of the Underworld," the creature said quietly.
It turned and walked toward the execution platform. The massive Eye that had been hovering above descended slowly, positioning itself directly over the platform. The creature—Aster's father, the Altar of Evil—stood beneath it, spreading its arms wide as if in worship.
The baker saw the Eye clearly now, and his mind couldn't handle it. His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed unconscious on the corrupted ground.
But Aster remained standing, his eyes locked on the Eye.
And this time, he didn't fall. Didn't lose consciousness. The darkness that had been awakened inside him somehow provided protection—or perhaps it was the creature's power still flowing through him.
His hands began to move of their own accord, raised upward toward the Eye against his conscious will. Power flowed through him—vast, terrible power that felt both foreign and intimately familiar.
"THIS is what you can do with my power," the creature shouted, its voice echoing across the valley.
The massive Eye began to crack. Fissures spread across its surface like lightning. Light—or anti-light, darkness made visible—poured from those cracks.
And then it exploded.
The Eye shattered into a million pieces, each fragment dissolving into shadow before it could hit the ground. The force of the explosion shook the entire valley, sending shockwaves that knocked over already-fallen pillars and collapsed more buildings in the distance.
Aster stood at the center of it, his hands still raised, power still flowing through him.
"But will you accept it?" the creature asked. "Will you embrace this power? Will you take your place as the Heir?"
It gestured toward the unconscious baker. "Kill him now. Prove that you understand what you are. Do it!"
Aster lowered his hands slowly. The power was intoxicating—he could feel how easy it would be to reach out and simply... end the baker's life. A thought. A gesture. Nothing more.
But he looked at the unconscious man—just an ordinary person caught up in forces beyond his understanding—and made his choice.
"No," Aster said calmly, his voice steady despite the chaos. "I won't. I will never kill any human. Not for you. Not for power. Not for anything."
The creature's expression twisted with rage. It grabbed the baker by the throat, lifting him off the ground effortlessly. "Then I will! I will kill him right here! Mark my words, I will break you to the point where you hate this world! Where you BEG to embrace the darkness! Where mercy seems like weakness and power is all that matters!"
"Fine," Aster said, and there was steel in his voice now. "But I will never kill anyone. I'm not evil. I'm not like you."
The creature stared at him, and for a moment, something like pride flickered across its monstrous features.
"Then come and kill *me*," it said quietly, lowering the baker and stepping back. It spread its arms wide, exposing its chest. "I am the cause of all this. Millions have died because of me. This baker will die because of me. And many more will die unless you stop me."
It opened its arms wider, inviting the strike.
"Choose one thing, Aster. Let me continue spreading evil, or end it here. End me."
Aster stood frozen. His hands wouldn't move. His magic wouldn't respond. Because despite everything—despite the monster his father had become or revealed himself to be—he was still his father. Still the man who had raised him, taught him, protected him.
"I can't," Aster whispered.
"Then you've already failed," the creature said.
But Aster's hands moved anyway.
Not by his conscious choice, but by the darkness inside him that the creature had awakened. A magical weapon materialized in his grip—a blade of pure shadow, sharper than any physical sword.
His body charged forward without his permission.
And the blade pierced through Mr. Thornwood's chest, straight through the heart.
At the exact same moment, the creature pressed something on a watch it wore on its wrist—a device that Aster hadn't noticed before.
Cameras emerged from the ruins around them. Dozens of them, floating on magical energy, all focused on the platform.
Recording everything.
Behind Aster, there was a wet sound.
He turned his head—still moving in that dreamlike state where his body acted independent of his will—and saw the baker.
The man's head had been sliced cleanly in half. Blood pooled around his body.
Dead. Murdered by Aster's own magic, triggered by the same darkness that had driven the blade into his father's chest.
"Perfect," the creature—Mr. Thornwood—whispered with its dying breath, a smile of triumph on its face. "Perfect footage. Now... let the world see... what you truly are..."
It collapsed, and the illusions began to fade.
The cameras transmitted everything they'd recorded directly to every major city in the kingdom. To news stations. To magical scrying pools. To the palace itself.
---
**Across the Kingdom**
In the capital, in town squares where public viewing crystals displayed news and announcements, crowds gathered as the emergency broadcast interrupted normal programming.
They saw Aster Thornwood—the young heir of the prestigious Thornwood family—standing over his father's body with a blade of shadow in his hands. They saw the baker's corpse. They saw the dark marks around Aster's eyes and the way power radiated from him.
And they heard the voice of the newsreader, shaking with shock:
"Breaking news... Aster Thornwood, heir to the Thornwood family, has murdered his father and an innocent civilian in the cursed West Valley... Witnesses report... My gods, is this... Is this the return of the Cursed King?"
"No way," someone in the crowd gasped. "He killed his own father?"
"Look at his eyes," another said. "Those are the marks of the Eye. He's been corrupted."
"The prophecy," an old woman whispered. "The Cursed King's reincarnation... it's happened."
The news spread like wildfire. Within minutes, every household in the kingdom knew. The Thornwood heir had fallen to darkness. The Cursed King had returned.
---
**At the Thornwood Mansion**
Lily sat in the parlor with the seven maids, all of them staring at the viewing crystal in shock. The images played over and over—Aster stabbing their father, the baker dying, the cameras capturing everything.
"No," Lily whispered, her face pale. "This can't be true. Aster wouldn't... he couldn't..."
But the evidence was right there, undeniable.
"Is this why he took Father to the valley?" one of the maids asked in horror. "Was this his plan all along?"
Lily stood up abruptly, her chair falling backward. "No. There has to be more to this. Aster isn't... he's not evil. He's not!"
But even as she said it, doubt crept into her voice.
Margaret, the eldest maid, moved to put a comforting hand on Lily's shoulder. "Miss Lily, perhaps you should—"
"Don't touch me!" Lily screamed, surprising everyone including herself. Tears were streaming down her face now. "My brother isn't a monster! He's not the Cursed King! There has to be an explanation!"
But no one responded. They all just stared at the viewing crystal, watching the footage loop again and again.
---
**In Another Part of the Capital**
In a modest but well-appointed house, a young woman sat alone in her study. She was eighteen, with elegant features and intelligent eyes. She wore a simple dress, and books were scattered around her—she'd been studying when the emergency broadcast interrupted.
She stared at the viewing crystal, her hand covering her mouth in shock.
"No way," she whispered. "Is that... is that him?"
She recognized Aster from the party—the quiet young man who had watched her from across the room but never approached. She'd noticed him noticing her, had found it endearing how he'd seemed too shy to introduce himself.
And now...
"The Cursed King's reincarnation?" she said to herself. "But he seemed so... normal. So kind."
She continued watching as the broadcast replayed the footage, and despite everything, despite the horror of what she was seeing, a small part of her wondered: *What really happened in that valley?*
---
**Throughout the Kingdom**
The news spread and mutated as all news does. By evening, people were saying:
"The Cursed King has returned in the body of the Thornwood heir!"
"I always knew that family was suspicious. Too much power. Too much wealth."
"They say he's been possessed by the Eye of Evil itself."
"The prophecy spoke of this—when the Heir of Darkness rises, the kingdom will fall into a new Dark Age."
Fear spread faster than the truth ever could.
And in the West Valley, Aster stood alone over his father's body, the cameras still recording, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to do anything but stare at what he'd done.
The darkness inside him whispered that it had all been necessary. That this was who he truly was.
But the human part—the part that was still Aster Thornwood—screamed in horror at what he'd become.