The Legendary

"Who are you? And what are you doing here?"

Cecil shuddered as the Grand Duke's voiced boomed throughout the training hall. It felt like the walls were shaking along with him, rattling the weapons in the rack. The clanking of metal was deafening.

"I could ask the same about you...sir." Cecil's hand subconsciously reached towards the hilt of his sword, preparing himself to defend himself if the need arose.

This man, the Grand Duke of the empire, had strolled right into the academy's training halls, only to immediately accuse Cecil of something he did not understand.

"You have the demon's mark, child."

"I don't know what you mean." Cecil shrugged, the light from the huge floor-to-ceiling windows glancing off of his scabbard.

The Grand Duke's eyes flared with recognition. "You...you are the prince who claimed the holy sword...the bastard prince."

"I would prefer if you didn't call me that."

"Should you ever wish to take the throne, I will cut you down and imprison you in the far depths of the underworld, where you shall never see the light of day ever again."

Cecil did not feel threatened in the slightest. In fact, he was a bit annoyed, since the Grand Duke had interrupted his training session.

"Then rest assured!" the prince said, filling his voice with as much sarcasm as he could possibly muster. "I have no intention of fighting my brother for the throne. And what is this about a demon's mark? Huh?"

"The demon's mark is a defining trait unique to demon kind. The first emperor, though you young people probably know him as 'the hero' or whatever, was a demon. Demonic energy should be in your blood, but it should've been diluted enough over the years to allow for the demon's mark to fade from the bodies of his descendants."

"Then why do I have it?"

"I do not know." Cecil rolled his eyes. "Perhaps it is because of your mother, whoever she may be. You may have inherited a purer demonic bloodline from her."

"And how does this affect me?"

"If you wanted to be the emperor, your sanity would slowly be eaten away by the demon within you in its attempt to seize power. You would become the Mad Emperor. You would become Lucien Lumen."

***

He went by many names. They called him a monster, they called him a hero, they called him a mystery, but to the people of this time, he was known as Lucien.

And he was ready to go home.

Except...

There was just one small problem.

His empire would collapse if he simply just...disappeared. And if he did, then he would never be able to have what he wanted. He would never be happy again, until the end of time.

Debating his options, he stepped into the cold, stone room where his subjects had built him a shrine. Through a small skylight in the ceiling, Lucien could feel the sun and wind pass over his long, silvery-white hair. He dragged a finger across the stone of the shrine, scraping away a layer of condensation, as he glanced at the silver platter placed before him. Catching his reflection, Lucien could not help but notice his eyes, cold and scarred from years of solitude and loneliness, color already faded to a weak cerulean.

He thought back to the time he had done that spell. But his clone would not have any consciousness. It would not be able to make his own choices. It would not be able to live without a shred of spirit.

Somehow, he needed to give it life. Real life.

Lucien sighed. He had a solution, but it was not a good one. It would solve all of his problems...but at what cost?

"I suppose that is the best option," he said to no one in particular.

The hero cast his spell. It was easier this time, now that he had some experience, and he completed it correctly on the first try. The hospital room flashed before his eyes, the artificial blue glow of the flickering lights still lingering in the background of his irises. The heart monitor's beeping before going silent. If she ever found out...

But he was to far along to be turning back.

With his clone complete, Lucien began the long and arduous process of separating the demon from himself.

***

Days had passed, and he was still not free from his demon.

Finally, Lucien decided to enter his mental space. Perhaps he could convince the creature to leave him of its own volition.

"Ah, my dear Lucien," it sneered. "How many times have we been through this already? I will never yield."

"What do you mean?"

"You can't fool me, Lucien. My power may have become diluted with the passage of time, but not to the point that I can't hold onto my memories. Unless..."

Lucien was paralyzed. If his demon found out about his secret, then he was doomed. It would try to hold onto each and every sliver of regret he possessed, and slowly rip him apart from within.

"I remember now...each time I feel as though you are different, yet everything remains the same. That's because everything is the same, isn't it?"

Lucien shuddered at the ominous mention of his deeds. "I-i don't know what you're talking about."

"You must know what I'm talking about. You know the terrible things you've done...to you, your family, and even her."

No, no, no, no...

"You're evil, Lucien. You've always been evil. In the past, present, and future, you will always remain the same. You will always be the monster that everyone fears."

"N-no...you're the monster...not me."

The demon ignored him, pausing to look at the paralyzed hero.

"You will always be the Collector. Nothing you do can change this fact."

No, he was not evil. He had been born with this. And she loved him for who he was. She always would, right? No matter what he did?

The demon grabbed onto that sliver of doubt, desperately trying to pull itself back into Lucien's mind. But the process was almost finished. With one final ear-piercing shriek, it tore through the hero's memories, bringing back all the painful and bitter moments he had experienced.

Lucien coughed, blood flying from his mouth and onto the floor of the stone room. The demon had wounded him, but the spell was done. It was sealed away into his clone. Now it looked back at him through ice cold eyes. His eyes.

Every inch of this new Lucien was his. From its silvery white hair to its body and face. Nobody would be able to tell the difference. Nobody except Eios, his sword's holy spirit

"Go," he said to his demon. "Go and be the emperor all you want. Go and make your terrible decisions. Go drive this world to insanity."

Without a word, his demon clone turned around and left the room, content. It had just occurred to it the best way for it to take power.

Lucien watched its shadow disappear around the corner. He observed how his demon had acted so...human. And then realization hit him. She was not real. She never was. She was simply another poor bodiless soul her "parents" had made a deal with. Her existence was the equivalent of the thing he had just created.

Eios had warned him.

And he had chosen to not believe her.

With a sigh, Lucien began to set up his final magic circle. This would be the last spell he cast in his life.

Sensing her master's thoughts, Eios appeared in the room. She looked around.

"Master, are you-"

Lucien nodded solemnly.

"No, master! Please don't let me go! I waited thousands of years for you to return last time. And the time before. And also the time before that. In fact, all you ever do is make me wait thousands of years again and again only for you to completely forget about everything we've achieved together! This time, I can't let you go."

"Eios, don't throw a fit." From the tone of Lucien's voice, the sword spirit knew that his mind was set, and the decision was made.

"I'm not throwing a fit!" she screamed, floating over to hover in front of Lucien's face. "As your sword spirit, it is my duty to make sure that you do not come to harm! If you relinquish me, then...then..."

"Then you will not be responsible for anything that happens to me afterwards," Lucien finished solemnly.

Eios glanced around the room again. The magic circle was almost done. It was a complicated one, and required the caster to physically draw the markings on the ground. He traced the swirling, curling white chalk marks. Stark, against the dark gray stone.

"Don't do it, Lucien. I swear to god, don't you dare."

But the hero did not care. Any vengeance of Eios' part would not be exacted upon himself. His deeds would eventually catch up to him, but now was not the time. And his wrongdoings would not be for himself, but another, to take responsibility for.

"Eios, the antique spirit of the sword known as Heaven's Light, I hereby release you from my service."

"No!" The spirit tried to stop him, ghostly arms grabbing at the hero, only for her to faze through him.

"You will be unaffected and unrelated to any dangerous or fatal situations I will end up in from this moment on."

"Stop it, Lucien!"

"May you find another master to serve as well as you have served me."

"Lucien, you son of a-"

The sword clattered to the floor. Eios was gone. Trapped. Until another came to pick her up again.

The hero picked it up gingerly, stabbing the point into the center of the room. One day, he would be back to retrieve what was his.

But by then, he would also be gone.