Purgatory domain

The battlefield fell silent, save for the crackling of the magic and the faint groans of the dying. Hawkin, his polished armour gleaming under the sunlight, turned away from Ser'gu's lifeless body, a smirk playing on his lips.

He had won. The Berserk Lord was dead, and the boy, Jorghan, was nothing more than a helpless child. Or so he thought.

But then, the air shifted.

A low hum, almost imperceptible at first, began to resonate through the ground.

Hawkin paused, his smirk fading as he felt the faint tremor beneath his boots. He turned, his eyes narrowing as they fell upon Jorghan. The boy, barely five years old, was trembling violently, his small frame convulsing as if caught in the grip of an unseen force.

"What is this?" Hawkin muttered, his voice tinged with unease.

Jorghan's body began to glow faintly, a deep, ominous red light that pulsed like a heartbeat. Scarlet blood—thick and viscous—began to seep from his pores, snaking across his skin in intricate, swirling patterns. The patterns were ancient, primal, and seemed to writhe with a life of their own, as if they were alive and hungry. The blood moved in accordance with his tiny little frame, and the boy was no longer conscious; his eyes were shut.

The negative energy from around the area and from his father too was flowing continuously into his little frame.

Hawkin took a step back, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword. "Stop him!" he barked at the dark mages. "Whatever this is, end it now!"

Dark mages quickly surrounded him.

The mages raised their hands, their chants weaving a web of mana energy aimed at the boy. But before their spells could take hold, a blinding burst of blood-red light erupted from Jorghan's body, shattering the dark magic and sending the mages flying.

The patterns on Jorghan's skin had completed their formation, covering every inch of his tiny frame. A rhombus-shaped, blood-coloured ruby materialized on his forehead, pulsing with a sinister light. His head, which had been slumped forward, suddenly jerked upright, and his eyes shot open—no longer the innocent eyes of a child, but twin beams of blood-red energy that pierced the darkness like the gaze of an ancient beast.

Jorghan screamed.

ARRRHHHHH!!!!!

It was not the cry of a child, but a primal, guttural roar that seemed to echo through the very fabric of reality. The sound was deafening, a cacophony of rage, pain, and power that sent shockwaves rippling through the air.

The ground cracked beneath him, and the sky above churned with dark clouds, as if the heavens themselves were recoiling in fear.

Hawkin stared at the boy with interest. He had seen this power before, but this time, it was so intense and raw.

He could see the faint traces of energy being transferred to the boy; he didn't know what it was.

"Such a troublesome kid; they are a lot too stubborn to die."

The negative energy from Ser'gu—the rage, the despair, the unrelenting fury of the Berserk Lord—was now flowing into Jorghan.

The boy hovered in the air, his small body radiating an aura of overwhelming power. The blood-red patterns on his skin glowed brighter, and the ruby on his forehead pulsed with a rhythm that matched the beat of his heart.

Red pattern, like daggers formed around his ear, onto his neck.

Jorghan's scream grew louder, more intense, as if he were channelling the wrath of a thousand forgotten gods. The energy around him coalesced into a swirling vortex of crimson light, and the air itself seemed to burn with his fury.

Hawkin's men, once bold and bloodthirsty, now cowered in fear. Even the dark mages, masters of magic, could do nothing but watch in horror as the boy transformed before their eyes.

"What the hell is this?!" Runga whispered, his voice trembling. "He's just a child…"

But Jorghan was no longer just a child. He was something more—something ancient and terrible. The bloodline of the Berserk Lord had awakened, and with it, a power that had lain dormant for generations.

As the vortex of energy reached its peak, Jorghan's scream finally subsided, replaced by an eerie, unnatural silence. His small body still floated in the air, and his gaze locked onto Hawkin.

Hawkin narrowed his eyes as he could feel his gaze, his bloodlust aimed at him.

Hawkin caught hold of Runga, seeing that Jorghan moved.

It was a blur, too fast for the eye to follow.

One moment, he was standing there, small and fragile. Next, he was in front of Hawkin, his tiny hand gripping the hilt of his father's discarded axe.

The axe, which had once been too large for him to even lift, now felt light as a feather in his grasp. The blood-red patterns on his skin flared to life once more, and with a single, fluid motion, Jorghan swung the axe.

Hawkin threw Runga at his axe and Jorghan swung the axe in vertical motion. Runga, who was caught off guard, could not react in time as he was licked in half; his whole body was cut in half by the axe.

Even in his rage state, Jorghan cut him precisely.

Hawkin chuckled, "Impressive, just like your brute father."

Jorghan, who was in a dazed state, shot him a glare and lifted the axe again and swung it towards Hawkin again.

Hawkin barely had time to raise his sword in defence. The clash of steel echoed through the mountains, but it was clear who had the upper hand. Jorghan's strength was unnatural, his movements precise and deadly. With a roar that echoed his father's, he brought the axe down again and again, each strike driving Hawkin further back.

Hawkin smirked; even though he was being pushed back, he wasn't showing any signs of fear.

Instead, he dodged the axe and delivered a brutal kick to the boy's chest. Jorghan was sent flying, his body propelled like a ragdoll. He crashed into the ground with such force that the earth split beneath him, carving a deep trench as he skidded backward. His momentum carried him straight into the smoldering ruins of a burning house, the collapsing debris burying him under a cloud of smoke and embers.

Hawkin then turned to the remaining mages and said, "Open the portal to the purgatory domain."

Those mages stopped and looked at Hawkin and asked, "What?"

"But it is forbidden to open in these lands," one of them said.

Hawkin turned to them, but his attention was on the burning house where the boy was crashed.

"I know; I deal with the aftermath, so open the portal right now and be quick about it," he ordered, and he turned to see Jorghan coming at him without the axe this time.

While they were fighting each other, the mages started chanting a deep incantation, which made the atmosphere change drastically.

The clouds thickened around the area, and an eerie sensation crept all over the place.

The mages stood in a circle, hands joined. It was a deep spell and required their life essence, which not everyone would do. But right now they had no choice; it was what they were ordered to do.

Then suddenly, a dark, eerily liquid-like portal started to form in the centre of the area; it was taking the shape of a circle, swirling around with dark mana. The portal gave off a malicious aura, which made the mages shiver, but they didn't stop. They focused on keeping the portal.

Hawkin smirked seeing that the portal was shaping, and he pushed Jorghan towards the portal, and with a swift kick, he sent Jorghan inside the portal.

Then he ordered the mages to close it down immediately.

They stopped chanting, and the portal closed as if it wasn't present.

The dark clouds still loomed above, and the rumble sounds of thunder could be heard in the distance

Hawkin sighed, seeing that threat was gone. He was sure he couldn't kill the boy in that state. The boy seemed to have awakened his bloodline powers.

"At such a young age, I can't help but envy you, bastard brother. What a monstrous child you've brought into this world."

Hawkin turned to see the area where the bodies of all those clan were lying around. Every one of them was dead.

It was a total massacre, and the ground was filled with blood and bodies.

Hawkin grinned as he turned and walked out of the place.