Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Beginning 

"Again." She commanded, looking down upon me.

I obeyed and raised my small body from the ground. I was covered in bruises and blood leaked from my broken lips. I lifted my wooden blade towards her in an amateurish stance, I could feel a rush of energy envelop me and with newfound strength I struck at her with my sword.

Faster than I could react, pain blossomed across my body, and a sickening crunch echoed within the empty chamber. My broken fingers let go of the blade, which fell to the ground with a thump, and my dried up tear ducts once again welled up with tears.

The woman raised her hand and casted a spell:

"Healing." A holy light covered my being, soothing and mending my form. Healing, a second tier spell that grants restoration to the living condition, a single target ability that is the direct upgrade of the first tier spell Light Healing.

I looked towards her waiting for the inevitable continuation of my training. But as I gazed into her eyes, something other than hatred seemed to flicker across her face. She suddenly spun around, her onyx hair whipping through the air as she left without another word.

As I watched my mother leave, my thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of someone's hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sure Lady Faine cares for you, though her actions might not give that impression."

"No need to comfort me Nazaire, I'm well aware of the loathing my mother has for me." I replied to the woman trying to reassure me. Her face gained a sorrowful look upon her visage, she then embraced me in a hug.

Nazaire has been my caretaker since the day I was born, a little over four years ago, and the one I suspect to have given me my name, Antilene, since my mother doesn't even seem to be aware that I have one. As the thought of her enters my mind, coldness spreads throughout my corporeal frame. 

The woman who gave birth to me, Faine, is the greatest god-kin, who are descendants of Players, given enormous potential, borderline divine. Due to this she is considered the Slane Theocracy's, the nation we live in, greatest asset. However, she was kidnapped and raped by an even more powerfull existince, the Elven King, resulting in me being brought into this world. Faine was eventually rescued by the Black Scripture, and now bears a deep seeded hatred for the king, and that resentment extends to me. 

I have been beaten everyday in the name of training since the day I turned four, though it isn't hard to see behind this facade to see that I am merely an outlet for her unchecked emotions, her hatred for me manifesting in unbridled violence. Even so, I must begrudgingly admit that her methods are somewhat effective, seeing that today was the third time I felt that rush, the sign of a level up, the increase in power of a class. However, since my training only consists of me getting physically pulverized, holding a sword only to maintain the illusion of actual lessons, I have only gained the Fighter class, the basis for nearly all warriors. My inner monologue is once again interrupted by Nazaire.

"Allright, I think we should get you cleaned up and it'll be bedtime for you, Antilene." She gently spoke as she carried me to the baths.

I yawned when she reminded me of the time, sometimes forgetting my young body needed additional recuperation. I wondered if those dreams will consume this night once again.

Images flashed before my eyes, of a future of unspeakable horror. Eldritch beings composed of oily black tentacles of darkness, twisting and swirling in a kaleidoscope of madness, thousands fell in bloody massacres, death being delivered on a scale of titanic proportions, to the innocent and guilty. The world became consumed by a manic mania, driving all into insanity, shattering the minds and psyches of those once revered as the bravest of heroes. Screams, wails of unimaginable agony slammed into my eardrums in a cacophony of tormented cries. 

A young girl with deathly pale skin, of beauty akin to a goddess, wearing an armor of blood adorned with wings of angels and demons, slaughtering dozens with her lance, pulverizing them into mincemeat with exuberant glee shining within her crimson ruby eyes. Walls of reality defying flames consuming flesh and stone alike, interdimensional demons poured out like a crashing wave out from the underworld, crushing the will of man with their every gut smeared steps. 

Pain, suffering, desolation, desperation, and torment, in the end, it all leads to one thing, a singularity in which all evil is perpetuated from, it's insidious roots burrowing into the very world we inhabit, the origin at the heart of it all, it's identity was one feared by every living thing, one which life itself was intimately familiar with. 

Death.

The incarnation of this very primordial concept sat upon an illustrious throne fit for a god, he had a fleshless ivory skull constructed with an inhuman bone structure, with a large imposing frame adorned with an ebony robe of such splendor it could buy nations, giving an air of divine majesty. 

In the sockets where eyes are ordinarily situated, flickered instead vermillion flames that shone with regal malice, demonstrating the will to do whatever necessary for his malevolent ambitions. Encompassing his being was a grand halo of evil, black as the night, emanating a chill that perforated every pore. His image forever seared into my mind, never letting go of it's grasp upon my soul, along with it came a single name that penetrated my core:

"Ainz Ooal Gown."