He was at a vibrant ball, surrounded by people. More precisely, a humanoid race that gave off a vibe completely different from any humans he knew. Somehow, by instinct, he knew that they were demons of the Marturion race, a peaceful race of demons that possessed extremely high perceptions of magic that lived secluded from other demonic warring states.

“Lord ______, is something wrong?” asked an angelic voice to his left.

This turned his head to see who it was. It was Mira Vassago, the daughter of one of the ruling families of the Marturion race. She was a beautiful young woman dressed elegantly in a green dress, wearing a tiara decorated with a huge green emerald on her head. Furthermore, as if naturally, she had her arm coiled around his, it was obvious from first glance that she was his date for this ball.

“Lord ______, shall we?” she asked, pointing to the middle of the hall where many are dancing.

“Ahh, yes. Lady Mira, may I have this dance?” He hesitated before turning to her.

“It would be my pleasure,” she blushed, and held out her hand.

Leading Mira by her hand, he took her to the middle of the dance floor. There they danced naturally. He questioned how he was able to dance for a brief moment, but he couldn’t think of an explanation for it. His body moved instinctively, in synch with both the music and Mira’s movements as if they had practiced together for years. Their movements were perfect, even though they were surrounded by many who have learnt how to dance from a young age, their movements stood out from the rest. Soon, every one’s attention was on them.

“Lord ______, this is getting a bit embarrassing. It seems like everyone is looking at us..”

Without replying, he merely smiled at her. A dashing smile that seemed to captivate her heart. That seemed to somehow calm her heart down, and they continued to dance until the end of the next song.

When they stopped, the entire ballroom was filled with claps. Many were walking up to the pair, praising how amazing their dance was.

“That was an amazing dance with my daughter, Lord ______,” said an old man with a croaky voice. He was Duke Aodhan Vassago, father of Mira as well as a well-known magician throughout the entirety of the demon race. He was a middle-aged man, just past his prime, that towered over others with a physique that would not have suggested to others that he was in fact a magician and not a swordsman. Although his family was originally only of the Marquis rank, through exceptional achievements in the advancement of magic, the Demon Kings had granted him the title of a “Duke”, holding a rank just below the Princes and the Archduke. “Would you like to join us for a drink?” Then turning to Mira, he chuckled and said, “Sorry Mira, I would like to borrow Lord ______ for a while.”

Hearing Duke Vassago’s invitation, for some reason, he could feel a smile upon his face, “Then Lady Mira, shall I see you later?”

“Yes,” Mira replied, instantly turning away and leaving in grace towards other young people that she was acquainted with. Unbeknownst to him, she was blushing heavily, exactly how a maiden in love would when the man of her dreams invites her out for a date.

“Then Lord ______, let us proceed to the next room. Both Count Furcas and Earl Decarabia have also arrived,” said Duke Vassago.

If he could recall correctly, Count Furcas was originally a Knight that had gathered a lot of merits, an abnormally among the Marturion that loved peace. He was a Spellsword, a Magic Knight that commanded several legions of demons. One of his most outstanding achievements was the subjugation of a Greater Sphinx, that was said to be born once every century, it was a creature that possessed extremely high intelligence and could cast spells on par with a Great Wizard. In fact, the last subjugation of a Greater Sphinx was lead by the current Great King, and even his army had suffered quite a few casualties.

He’ll make a good sacrifice.

Wait what? Why did such a though pop up? There was no reason for him to possess that kind of thought towards Count Furcas. He couldn’t understand his own thoughts.

On the other hand, Earl Decarabia was another outstanding individual, who specialised in healing magic. Due to this, he was one of the court healers for the Demon Kings.

On that thought, he saw Duke Vassago walk away, so he quickened his pace to catch up. Together, they left the ballroom, and walked through a long corridor, decorated with paintings of famous events that have occurred. The wall was pained red like roses.

And like blood.

Once against, he decided to ignore the peculiar thought that seems to have popped up in his mind. He followed Lord Vassago and entered a large room, where a dozen people had already been seated around a large rectangular table with 2 seats left empty. At the head of the table sat Duke Anzu, an elderly man that seemed to radiate confidence.

It appears a troublesome fellow is here.

Just as that thought popped up, Duke Anzu began to speak, “Greetings Duke Vassago and Lord ______, please be seated. Although do relax, we’re all here to enjoy ourselves and make small talk. There is no need to be overly formal here.”

It shall begin.

As he and Duke Vassago seated, everyone began to talk about different things. Like Duke Anzu had said, nothing about it was too serious, nothing concerned politics or the fate of the world. All they talked about were their hobbies, their travels and their families. You could see that they were all truly at ease. But he was not, his head hurt. His thoughts were clouded.

Ahh, finally let it begin!

He could not comprehend his own thoughts at all. The headache he feels made him use his hands to hold his head.

“Lord ______, are you feeling unwell?” asked the person, no demon, beside him.

Let it begin!

His hands moved by themselves. With trained movements, he used the nail on his thumbs to make a cut on the tips of all his fingers. Blood began to flow out at an astonishing rate, like he was forcing the blood out with magic.

“What? A magic circle?”

“What are you doing?”

Accept who you are. Obtain what you desire.

“From blood to blood, my blood is black…” The blood began to move on the floor, flowing out in different directions, and it began to form the shape of a magic circle. Words began to come of his mouth, to him it sounded like a chant,

“Defile. Corrupt. Tarnish.

It is the beginning of the end.”

I shall leave no trace…

“I shall leave no trace…”

You fools shall perish.

“You fools shall perish.”

DIe.

“Die.”

“Stop this at once, Lord ______!”

People rushed towards him, many of them conjuring weapons that were only used onto the battlefield, others began to chant their spells. Despite all that, he still continued to chant. To protect him, red tendrils of blood from the ground wrapped around those rushing towards him, squeezing the life of them. He paid them no heed. He continued to chant, and the red tendrils continued to kill. Soon, not many were left.

Count Furcas stood before him, having cut down many of the tendrils that tried to restraint him. He finally stood up from his chair, but he didn’t stood chanting. A blade materialised in his hand. Count Furcas raised his sword high.

It was too late, as he began to loose his consciousness, he clearly saw that Count Furcas was already dead.

Screams filled the air.

“Please… I… I love you…”

When he finally regained his consciousness, a sea of red was in front of him. He was no longer in doors. He could see the night sky that was filled with stars. With moonlight, he gazed far into the horizon. All he could see was red. Red like roses. Red like blood.

Somehow, he felt different. Something changed. He had succeeded. At last he obtained what he desired.

____________________________________________________

Author's Note:

I hope you have enjoyed this prologue to what I hope will end up being a great story. The prologue itself is very vague and the person whose the POV belongs to is not very clear, but it won't be like this for the rest of the novel.