Accursed

A humongous painting of a flaming capital letter R.

The mural was so plain and simple that it looked like something someone had not taken that much time or effort into making.

However, if you asked anyone within the Edin empire, the emblem was not only a symbol of power but also of terror.

It showcased might that overshadowed that of other families, other clans, and other factions within the empire.

Heck, it even rivaled that of the royal family itself.

The sigil belonged to none other than the overlords of Harlston province, the notoriously infamous Ronen family.

...

Edin Empire

Harlston Province.

A tall handsome man stood before said mural.

He had shoulder-length jet-black hair, blood-red eyes, a fine square jaw, and good looks that were near the very definition of perfection.

If his face was flawless then his figure could only be described as godlike. The man had broad shoulders, long, toned strong arms, and a chiseled and all round well-defined body.

This unblemished embodiment of charm and dominion was the governor of Harlston himself, Supreme class magic practitioner, Castus Ronen. 

Surrounding him was an inherent domineering aura that seemed to warp space itself.

Even the giant man with piercing black eyes and a goatee on his chin standing to his right seemed to maintain a certain radius away from him.

"Dedric, have I ever told you the story of the father and the demon son?" Castus asked his companion, the mere sound of his voice sending slight shockwaves throughout the empty dark hall within which they were standing.

Dedric, the large man, did not respond to the query but Castus continued anyway.

"Once upon a time, there was a father whose son was possessed by an ancient devil...

"In search of a clue to his son's redemption, the father consulted a renowned wizard who was known throughout the land for his unparalleled powers in sorcery. The wizard analyzed the boy and came to only one conclusion- either the father killed his son or the demon within would devour him from the inside."

Castus paused in reminiscence.

"Dedric, do you know what the father chose?" He asked.

Once again, the large man did not reply, to which Castus chuckled mirthlessly.

"The father chose neither," he explained.

"Instead, he chose a third option- to make a pact with the demon...

"The demon would only try to take over the son when he was of a certain age and in return, the father would give up a portion of his life's soul."

Dedric visibly tensed at the last sentence but Castus pretended not to notice.

His red eyes traveled to his far left where a gigantic object, flat and covered by a thick black cloth, stood in intended isolation.

Castus immediately furrowed his brows. At that moment in time, all sorts of conflicting emotions reflected in his eyes. There was anger, sadness, and even desperation, however, also concealed deep beneath all that turmoil was a small flicker of hope.

Castus sighed helplessly as he forced himself to close his eyes.

"I'm afraid I can't bargain for any more time Dedric," he said, this time, his voice barely a whisper.

Just when it looked like Dedric was finally about to comment, suddenly, a very short and very thin bald man with black, hollow, somewhat apathetic eyes that resembled embers extracted from the depths of hell itself, entered the hall.

The imp-like individual appeared to be in his mid to late sixties, when in fact, he was actually much older.

He quickly made his way toward the duo standing before the mural at a decisive and brisk pace that betrayed his true age.

"My Lord, shall I wake the young master?" He asked.

All semblance of sorrow or regret that was evident on Castus's face vanished almost instantly.

He cleared his throat and straightened his posture.

"Yes," he replied shortly.

"It is time."

...

Hidden deep in a secluded corner of the same massive dark grey castle was a solitary room.

The minuscule amount of light that managed to pass through the tall crimson red curtains painted a red hue onto the porcelain tiled floor.

Despite its size, the room was very sparsely and scantily decorated. There was only a grandiose bed in the middle, a wardrobe, a desk, and a mirror on the wall.

The whole setup looked so incredibly bland it was like someone had actually made an effort to make it look dull.

Nevertheless, on the bed, you could make out a figure fast asleep, and evidently, soft snores reverberated all around the room, echoing out into the long empty hallways outside.

Suddenly-

*Whoosh!*

A very thin and very short figure, barely 5 feet, materialized out of nowhere to stand next to the bed.

Surprise surprise, it was Bartholomew, the bald man from earlier.

In one of his bony hands, was a black container wherein a liquid-like substance gleamed almost ominously.

A gloomy and foreboding sense filled the room as he drew ever closer. And then-

*Tap!*

"Boy wake up," said Bartholomew.

"Stop pretending to sleep. I saw you move when I came in."

The bald man waited patiently for a few more seconds, however, there was no reaction at all from the individual sleeping on the bed except maybe the incessant snoring.

"Oh well," Bartholomew sighed.

"Have it your way."

The very next second, he unhesitatingly hauled the bucketful of freezing cold water onto the bed!

*Splash!*

Almost immediately, a drenched and incensed redhead was jolted awake.

"What the hell is wrong with you old man?!" The youth leaped from the bed and screamed at the bald butler.

The young man, the unfortunate victim of the unwarranted assault had dark red hair, oddly thick black eyebrows, and keen deep brown eyes.

Interestingly, if it weren't for the prominent eyebrows, his looks would've easily passed as feminine.

"I told you to wake up, didn't I?" Bartholomew sighed as he walked towards the windows.

"A true Ronen should be prepared for anything, be it water... or fire."

*Flash!*

Copious amounts of light gushed into the room as he inconsiderately drew back the curtains.

The teenager, Hade, winced. His eyebrows twitched as he glared at the butler who in his personal opinion, should've been fired a long time ago.

Bartholomew shrugged dismissively as he held out his right hand. He did not see what all the fuss was about.

"Wait!" Hade tried to stop him but he was a second too late.

A strong gust of wind, conjured from Wind magic, blew from the bald man's palm and proceeded to blow dry him like he was a piece of clothing on a washing line.

"My bad," Bartholomew chortled, not looking at all sorry, as evidenced by the cheeky grin adorning his wrinkled face.

"But on a more serious note," he paused as his tone turned somber.

"It is time."

Hade sighed exasperatedly to himself as he ruffled his hair in an attempt to eliminate the remaining drops of water.

"I will go wash up... Tsk! Not that that's even necessary anymore!" He yelled.

After he disappeared into the ensuite bathroom, Bartholomew was left picking up the clothes his young master had dropped carelessly on the floor during his stomp to the bathroom.

"Spoiled brat," the bald man chuckled affectionately.

Internally, he was just praying that things would go smoothly today. After all, the boy's fate solely depended on it.