The Original Fuoco

The head of the Cattivo Family was taken aback as he witnessed his youngest son, at the tender age of ten, unleash a murderous intent more terrifying than anything he had encountered in his entire life. Despite facing countless battles and navigating life-threatening situations throughout his youth, he had never felt such a raw, vicious energy that sent shivers down his spine.

Fuoco's menacing aura prompted the patriarch to retreat his mana, withdrawing from the lively party hall. The oblivious attendees continued their festivities, unaware of the ominous atmosphere enveloping their surroundings.

"Is he truly my son? Or has some terrifying monster infiltrated the party, masquerading as my child? Yet, the Cattivo's silver moon mole adorns his neck."

Doubt gripped the patriarch's mind as he questioned. However, upon sensing him with his mana, the patriarch identified the Cattivo family's silver moon mole on Fuoco's neck—a hereditary mark passed down from the founding ancestor's encounter with the Divine Dragon, Creister, when he saved it. Despite the unsettling circumstances, the ancestral identifier reassured the patriarch, who fell into a contemplative silence while observing Fuoco in the party hall.

"Darling... Darling..."

The First wife of Patriarch gripped the patriarch's arms, her heart pounding as she witnessed his face contorted in a mix of fear and anxiety—a visage she had never before beheld.

"Hmm?" 

The patriarch responded, his head nodding slightly, his voice strained.

"Are you alright? You're sweating excessively, my love" 

She inquired, concern etched deeply in her eyes as she dabbed at his sweat with her handkerchief.

"It's nothing, perhaps just a misperception. I fear I'm aging, unable to wield my mana as I once could. It must be..." 

The patriarch's voice trailed off, fear and confusion evident in his trembling hands. He attempted to reassure himself that his instincts had betrayed him, for if they hadn't, he knew the Asgard Empire would face destruction beyond doom and peril.

It's not merely a single empire on the Eastern border of this small Lisdom Continent that faces a perilous threat. The gravity of the situation extends across Eight Continents, where 240 Empires and Kingdoms must bow before this formidable existence, pleading for mercy should it decide to vent out its wrath.

"The Grand Birthday Party of the Cattivo Family, in honor of our Patriarch's youngest heir turning ten, commences now!"

As the announcement rang out, the crowd erupted into cheers, launching into dance and libations to revel in the festivities. Fuoco observed the spectacle in silence, his eyes gleaming with excitement. 

Memories stirred within him; in the depths of hell, he had glimpsed similar celebrations in heaven, where angels and gods frolicked in merriment. Yet, the thought of joining them filled him with apprehension. He feared his presence would instill dread, misconstrued as a harbinger of doom. And so, despite his curiosity, he refrained from attending such events again. So, this marked the first occasion where people celebrated in his presence.

"Matila, go and enjoy the party. I will take care of myself"

Noticing Matila's lingering gaze on the spread of food and drinks, Fuoco assumed she was holding back because of him. Matila nodded in agreement, following his cue, and hurried towards the tempting array of dishes. With enthusiasm, she began piling her plate with a bit of everything.

"Ah, Young Master Fuoco, The Patriarch requests your presence."

The knight clad in gleaming armor whispered to Fuoco, his voice barely audible over the clinking of metal. His metal gauntlets clanked softly against his breastplate as he stepped forward, the crest of the noble house emblazoned proudly upon his chest.

"Mmm!" 

Fuoco nodded, trailing behind the knight.

"What does that dimwit want? Did he find out I've taken over his son's body as a vessel? Well, not that I care. If the situation escalates, I can simply wipe out this wretched family..."

**Kkrr**

As the Sovereign of Hell pondered wiping out the Cattivo family, a sharp pain gripped his chest. His heart burned, and breathing became difficult. Bowing his head, he began to cough violently. Sweat poured from his body, his eyes irritated and turning red.

"How dare you! How dare a mere wretched soul! Do you know who I am, you pathetic remnant soul cowering in the corner of this body?" 

The sovereign of hell gathered his aura around his being, solidifying it with intensity. His eyes blazed with fury, darkness shrouding his gaze, teeth gritted as his consciousness honed in on the tiny recess of Fuoco's brain.

"Do you think I don't know you're lurking here, the original Fuoco Cattivo, the true owner of this body? Out of some semblance of gratitude, I allowed you to remain and witness how I shall inhabit your existence. But how dare you inflict upon this deity a pain he has never before endured!" 

The sovereign of hell thundered with wrath, his consciousness taking on a spectral form as he addressed the hidden original soul of Fuoco within the recesses of the mind.

As the spectral form of the sovereign entered the consciousness, the body's awareness materialized into a white palace hall. Original Fuoco trembled in fear in a corner, tears streaming down his face.

"Why is everything here white, a color I detest? You, cowardly cowering in the corner, approach and greet this Sovereign if you wish to stay."

Demanded the Sovereign of Hell.

The Sovereign conjured a throne of dark red in the center of the hall. Seating himself with his left leg crossed arrogantly, an aura of arrogance and annoyance emanated from him.

"Forgive me... I beg of you... Please spare my life..."

Pleaded the original Fuoco, his voice trembling with fear. He dared not meet the gaze of the sovereign before him, his entire being quivering in terror. It was only natural for him to feel such fear; the presence looming over him exuded a domineering aura far more potent than even the patriarch of Cattivo, whom the original Fuoco had feared and respected all his life.

The sovereign's malevolent gaze, his arrogant demeanor, and the sheer pride evident in his posture sent shivers down Fuoco's spine. Despite being considered one of the most handsome men in the entire empire,the original Fuoco couldn't help but feel inferior in the presence of the sovereign's crimson-red eyes and jade-like white hair, which far surpassed his own appearance.