Location: Duskrane Castle, Duskrane County
Date: 25th, Month of Zephyris, XXXX
CLAP! CLAP!
"Hello, brothers!" Vincent barged into the nursery like he owned the timeline.
He threw his arms wide like he was hosting a game show. "Congratulations! You guys finally reincarnated. Round of applause! No? Babies these days..."
The two infants stared at him, horrified. One had brown hair, the other black. Both looked like they had made some cosmic mistake.
Vincent grinned, flashing all his teeth like a guy who's been banned from three different dimensions for smiling like that. "Now, now—save the emotional tears for your next tragic backstory arc. I'm here on business."
"Aboo!" protested Brown Hair indignantly.
"GAAH-GAAH!" Black Hair added, furrowing his tiny brows like a tiny CEO who's just been told his nap time was cancelled.
Vincent placed a hand on his chest and staggered back, mock-wounded. "Oh, the betrayal. The attitude. My heart—weeps."
Then, suddenly—
SNAP.
The air changed.
His eyes, those ever-swirling purple spirals, gleamed with... something off. Not "I skipped breakfast" crazy. More like "I replaced the sun with a screaming clown" crazy.
The room dropped ten degrees. The babies instinctively tried to scoot away using the sheer power of fear and soft baby kicks.
"Don't make those faces. You'll get wrinkles." Vincent leaned close, voice dropping low. "Ugly ones."
HUSH.
He placed a single finger to their lips. His grin didn't move. His eyes didn't blink.
And then, of course—
"HAHAHAHA—"
—ha."
The laugh died midway like someone pressed pause on his vocal cords.
His head dipped. Shadows swallowed his face. Only his eyes remained, glowing like eldritch disco balls.
"I'm sealing your memories." he said, as casually as someone deciding what pizza topping to get. "For, hmm... let's say... five years? Yeah. Round number. Everyone likes five."
The babies looked at him, pure terror in their eyes. They tried to resist. They really did. Wiggling. Flailing. Expressing all the anguish their 10-pound bodies could muster.
Vincent simply nodded in approval.
"This is good. This is healthy. See, this is emotional range."
He tapped one of their foreheads gently.
"Shhhh. No more questions. Brother Vinnie is doing you a favor."
The other baby whimpered, pleading with watery eyes.
Vincent sighed, deeply, like the weight of the cosmos was just so exhausting.
"Look. I can't have two grown men reincarnated into baby bodies running around with adult-level trauma on my aunt's—uh—let's call them comfort pillows—on their minds. That's just—" he waved a hand vaguely in the air, searching for the right word, "—illegal, I think? And emotionally weird."
He crouched down, tapping their heads.
"When you wake up, you'll remember cookies. Rainbows. Maybe a goat. I dunno. I'm not picky."
The sigils began to form—black spirals, jagged edges, creepy little details that screamed "yes, this is perfectly safe magic, definitely not forbidden in twelve heavens."
And then they fell asleep.
Just like that.
Vincent stood up, dusted off his hands, and strolled toward the window like he hadn't just performed psychological lobotomies on infants.
WHOOSH!
A crow the size of a small nightmare swept past the window, dropping a letter like a dramatic postman from a gothic opera.
It landed on the sill. The wax seal glinted in the gloom.
A crescent moon.
A vertical eye.
Feathers.
Three crow heads.
Ah, Nvyhar. Always had flair.
Vincent opened the letter.
Dear Mad God Vinnie,
It's me, old man Nvyhar. I'll croak in a few decades. Very poetic for a false god, no?
Since I dragged your crazy butt into the God Realm, you owe me a favor. Duel me. Kill me. Find a replacement. I'll take the blame. The other gods still think we're dead anyway. Very convenient.
If you're in, tear the letter.
Also, bring wine. Your stuff's better than the divine junk up here.
Yours in madness,
Nvyhar
Vincent exhaled. A sad smile flickered on his face for half a second.
"You old feathered bastard."
TEAR.
Reality agreed with the decision instantly.
WHOOSH!
The nursery dissolved. Vincent found himself in a tunnel lined with green-flame obelisks and enough bad vibes to qualify as a cursed amusement park.
At the end of the tunnel—the Colosseum of Silence. Or as Vincent liked to call it: Therapy with swords.
Perched on an altar of crumbling stone was Nvyhar, looking like a crow who'd read too much philosophy and seen too many apocalypses.
Long robes.
Translucent skin.
Eyes like secrets you regret asking about.
Floating iron-feather circlet. All very "final boss meets retired librarian."
Vincent stepped forward, cracked his neck, and crouched slightly—hands hiding his growing, deranged grin.
"Even after centuries in the God Realm—"
he bent lower, eyes glowing—
"—you still don't know why they call me the Mad God?"
He stomped the ground. Reality winced.
"Even Aerithar the First Flame can't stand above me!"
The room shuddered. Obelisks exploded in spectral green flame.
Nvyhar's altar crumbled—except the throne. The throne, of course, was fine. Dramatic effect.
Nvyhar rose. "Let's dance, you lunatic."
Vincent stretched out a hand, purple energy swirling around him like he just stepped out of a demonic gym commercial. His form shifted back into his prime—eighteen and terrifying.
His battle outfit?
A ratty old tracksuit.
Nvyhar stared. Blinked. "…That's your war form?"
"Comfort is confidence, my dude."
"That tracksuit hasn't been washed in centuries." Nvyhar gagged.
Vincent shrugged. "Adds flavor."
Nvyhar summoned his Featherblade, a thin, wicked blade shaped like a crow's plume.
Vincent popped his neck, his fingers twitching like he was about to break dance or obliterate a planet—could go either way.
[START]
A hologram flickered to life above them, flashing their names.
The silence stretched.
Then—.
RUSH!
CLANG!
Location – ????
Date – 25th, Month of Zephyris, XXXX
The clash of steel echoed like thunder across marble. Shockwaves rolled outward, rippling through polished stone.
Nvyhar took a deliberate step back.
"Vincent. Take this seriously."
He gestured to the object in Vincent's hand.
"That's literally a kitchen knife."
Vincent twirled it with a smirk. "It's all about the technique, old man."
"At least coat it with aura! I'm about to kill you with a relic-grade sword and you're holding cutlery."
Vincent sighed like a teen forced to clean his room.
"Fine."
A shimmer of light wrapped around the knife—thin as a breath.
"There. Happy now?"
Nvyhar squinted. "That's like... aura-flavored air."
"Still sharper than your punchlines."
BOOM!
Nvyhar blurred—his body snapped forward, faster than thought.
STAB!
Featherblade pierced Vincent's chest—
—but the body vanished like smoke.
"Behind you."
SLASH!
Vincent's aura-coated knife swept in.
[Black Shield]
CAW!
A burst of black feathers exploded between them. A murder of spectral crows swarmed the field.
"Seriously?" Vincent muttered. "Bird magic again?"
SWOOSH!
Featherblade cut through the veil—
—but Vincent was already flipping over Nvyhar's shoulder.
CLANG!
Their blades kissed midair. Sparks danced.
Vincent landed lightly and slashed again.
[Black Shield]
CAW!
Another burst of crows. Vincent growled. "You're just stalling so you don't pull a muscle."
Featherblade sliced a hair off his head.
Vincent skidded backward, sparks flying from his boots.
Then—
CRACK!
FLASH!
CLANG!
They moved at breakneck speed, blurring in and out of sight. Steel screamed as it collided.
[Crow's Eye]
Nvyhar's eyes shimmered. His strikes grew lethal. Precise. Surgical.
"Oh great. The evil grandpa mode," Vincent muttered.
[Embral Step]
Nvyhar disappeared.
Vincent's brow furrowed. "Always hated that move."
His knife flickered, its edge unstable.
[Murder Call]
A tidal wave of black crows exploded across the arena, screaming and shrieking—ripping air, bending mana, and crashing like a black tsunami.
Vincent just grinned.
BOOM.
An aura pulse burst outward from his chest—sending thousands of crows twitching to the ground like short-circuited drones.
Featherblade lunged.
Vincent ducked, twisted, and fired a kick.
Nvyhar blocked—but too high.
Vincent's eyes sparkled. "Oops."
CRACK!
A downward heel struck Nvyhar's ribs—bone gave like brittle candy.
The old man coughed and staggered.
THUNK!
Vincent threw his knife—Featherblade deflected it. Too late.
WHAM!
Vincent launched up.
Midair:
Uppercut.
Cross.
Spin kick.
Knee to the jaw.
Nvyhar flew.
Vincent followed like a missile.
He twisted—descending with godly precision.
Nvyhar saw it coming and baited him.
Just as Vincent's foot neared—
GRAB!
WHAM!
The old man snatched his ankle midair and powerbombed him into the floor.
[Namebreaker Bind: Vincent Duskrane]
Chains of jet-black energy wrapped around Vincent like vipers.
[Ultimate: Black Hollow Palm]
Nvyhar's palm slammed into Vincent's chest—releasing pure void.
Everything disappeared. Light, sound, mana—gone.
Vincent floated in pure silence. Like death. Or philosophy class.
But he smiled in that void.
Again.
A second strike neared.
Vincent raised his arms.
[Passive: Hawk Eye]
Light returned. Still no touch. No sound. But he could see.
It was enough.
Featherblade stabbed down.
Vincent twisted.
SLASH!
He reappeared behind Nvyhar.
[Knife: Hashashin]
His movements blurred—he stabbed in rapid succession.
STAB! STAB! STAB! STAB!
A dozen strikes in a second. The blade shattered into frost.
Nvyhar dropped to one knee, clutching his chest.
He raised Featherblade weakly.
"You held back," he said through bloodied teeth. "Even when blind, deaf, and numb."
Then, as if reading his thoughts,Vincent nodded.
"I didn't want to kill you."
His voice was calm. Gentle. Too calm.
"One last time then."
[Ultimate: Silver Crow]
Nvyhar's body turned silver, aura flaring like a dying star.
He vanished.
BOOM!
Featherblade collided with Vincent's fist—metal bent.
Vincent's knee surged up—
CRACK—CLANG!
Featherblade snapped in half.
His knee drilled into Nvyhar's gut.
Vincent zipped past him like lightning.
[CQC: D]
CRASH!
The old man cratered.
A crater appeared in the torso. Skin ruptured. His collarbone and temple caved slightly.
A breathless silence.
"I lost..." Nvyhar wheezed. A bloody smile on his face.
[BODY TIMEOUT]
His body stabilized. A faint hum.
[2:59]
Vincent rushed over, catching him before he fell over completely.
"You used CQC D? The tutorial-tier skill?" Nvyhar coughed.
"It's underrated," Vincent said, grinning.
"You show-off."
They slumped together against the wall like exhausted warriors after a festival brawl.
"Old man," Vincent said softly, "why…?"
"Don't ask," Nvyhar murmured. "Just open the wine."
Vincent uncorked it. The fruity scent curled into the air like incense.
Nvyhar took a deep drink.
Then he leaned in, gripping Vincent's shoulder.
"The Ashen Pantheon… they're moving again."
Vincent's aura flared.
"I'll crush them—"
Nvyhar yanked him back down.
"An angel is with them."
Vincent's heart stopped for a beat.
"An… angel?"
"Yeah. Pretty one too. Very stab-worthy."
Vincent blinked. "That's concerning on too many levels."
"There's still time," Nvyhar said. "Find me an heir. Before it's too late."
"Why not fight?"
Nvyhar lifted his robe.
A scar ran down his chest—lightning-shaped, pulsating faintly.
"This won't let me."
[0:10]
He pulled Vincent into a final hug.
"I'm proud of you, Vinnie."
[0:00]
The stabilizer ended. His body failed.
His eyes dulled. A quiet, peaceful smile remained.
Vincent held him until his form turned to ash.
Only a black cube and a silver ring engraved with three crows remained.
Vincent buried him anyway. Not because there was a body.
Because there was a bond.
He placed the cube on the throne, pocketed the ring, and stood tall.
Vincent turned back to his five year self.
Snap.
He returned to Duskrane County.
The sunrise greeted his grief-stricken face—
—and the quiet whisper of war on the wind
"Vincent?" The door groaned open, revealing Orianne.
Her breath caught when she saw him—eyes red, face streaked with tears. She rushed forward, pulling him into a tight embrace.
Neither spoke.
Vincent's small hands trembled as they wrapped around her waist.
"Where were you?" Orianne whispered, her voice cracking. "I searched the entire night... terrified something had happened to you."
A quiet sob broke through as her arms tightened.
Vincent flinched. Hearing her cry—it felt like a knife to the chest.
"I'm sorry, Mother." He pulled back, eyes low. "I won't do it again."
Orianne gently cupped his cheek, wiping away a tear.
"Mother is always here for you... even if you don't tell me everything."
Vincent looked up and smiled, a little brighter.
"Yes, mother of mine."
She let out a quiet laugh, brushing his hair back.
"You're becoming more and more like your father, son of mine."
Holding hands, they stepped out.
The door creaked softly behind them.
Orianne and Vincent entered the living room, where golden sunlight pooled across the floor. The air felt lighter here. Though the furniture was modest, the delicate engravings on the wood whispered of old elegance.
Amelia and Sophie, dressed in loose gowns, sat side by side on the couch. They waved with gentle smiles, beckoning Vincent over.
Across the room, Thomas sat in a high-backed armchair, his gaze steady as he took in the gathered faces.
"Let's continue with the naming ceremony," he said, voice calm but firm.