Introduction

I was a god among mortals. Now, they see me as nothing.

Power. Fear. Obedience.

For centuries, the world bowed before me. I was Azareth, the Demon Lord, the Tyrant of the Black Throne, the Master of Chaos. My armies burned cities to the ground, and even the gods feared my name.

And yet, as all great rulers do, I fell.

The betrayal came from the one I trusted most—Vaelin, my strongest general, my right hand. The one I had lifted from the dirt and forged into an unstoppable warrior. I had given him everything—power, purpose, a place at my side.

And in return, he plunged a holy sword into my chest.

I remember the pain—the first real pain I had felt in centuries. Holy magic burned through my veins, ripping me apart from the inside. My own castle, my own throne room, became my tomb.

The last thing I saw was Vaelin standing with the heroes of humanity, his blade dripping with my blood.

I cursed them all.

And then… I died.

Or so I thought.

---

When I opened my eyes, I knew something was wrong.

Gone was my towering form, my armor of obsidian and blood. Gone was my power—the unshakable presence that had once made entire armies kneel in terror.

I lay on a soft bed, my body frail, my limbs weak. My breathing was ragged, my fingers trembling. I felt small. Human.

Panic surged through me as I forced myself upright, my muscles screaming in protest. A large mirror sat across the room, its golden frame adorned with royal engravings.

I looked into it—and what I saw made my blood run cold.

A boy.

Pale skin, sickly, silver hair dull and lifeless. His body thin, fragile. His violet eyes held no authority, no power—just exhaustion and despair.

This was not my body.

And yet, the boy staring back at me… was me.

Memories that were not mine flooded my mind. The name Lucian Everhart surfaced. Third prince of the Everhart Kingdom. The weakest son of King Aldric Everhart. A failure in the eyes of the royal family.

My hands clenched into fists. No. No.

How had I gone from ruling an empire of demons to… this?

It was humiliating.

I tried to call upon my magic, to summon even the faintest flicker of my power. Nothing. Not even a whisper of the abyss that once answered my command.

I had not just been reborn—I had been stripped of everything.

But the gods had made a mistake.

I was still here.

And as long as I lived, I would not remain weak.

If they thought they had destroyed me, they were wrong.

If this kingdom thought I was useless, they were blind.

I would rise from the shadows, claw my way back to power, and make them all regret ever underestimating me.

And when the time came, I would find Vaelin. I would carve his betrayal into his bones, make him suffer in ways no hero ever had before.

They thought they had slain the Demon Lord?

They had only created a monster far worse.

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