Lucivar stood over the broken body of the man, his expression unreadable, eyes aglow with a faint, abyssal gleam. The air was thick with the scent of blood—metallic and sharp—as crimson pooled around the man's trembling limbs. His breathing came in ragged bursts, more like a plea for release than a struggle to survive.
Kneeling—not in mercy, but so the man could clearly see the face of the one now holding his fate—Lucivar tilted his head. His voice was low and calm, almost gentle, like a god offering either salvation... or damnation.
"You have two choices," he said, his tone as precise as a blade. "You can die here. Forgotten. Bleeding into the dirt like all the other insects who stood in my way…"
He paused, letting silence pull the tension tight.
"…Or you can swear your life to me. Not as a man. Not as a soldier. As something more. Become mine—bound by blood, by soul, by loyalty absolute. Serve me, and I'll raise you higher than anything you ever dared to imagine. Refuse, and your story ends here. Nothing more than a stain beneath my feet."
The man coughed, blood flecking his lips, but there was a flicker in his eyes—not fear, nor despair, but something closer to acceptance. A terrible, desperate yearning for strength.
Lucivar rose, turning slightly, eyes still locked onto him.
"So?" he asked, voice now cold and final. "Will you die as nothing… or live as mine?"
The man's body trembled as he forced himself to breathe. Each gasp sounded like defiance given shape. Blood streamed from his wounds, but his voice, though fractured, came steady.
"I'll live…" he rasped, "…for you."
His fists clenched through the pain. "Just… promise me one thing. Make me strong. Stronger than this. Stronger than I've ever been. I never want to feel this helpless again."
Tears welled in his eyes, raw and unhidden. "Take everything—my soul, my name, my humanity. Just don't let me stay weak."
And then he bowed his head. Not in defeat. But in chosen surrender.
"Make me your weapon. Your shadow. Your monster. I'll follow you to the ends of the world."
Lucivar blinked once, then smiled—not the smile of a hero, nor the grin of a tyrant, but something colder. The smile of a predator finding the perfect hound.
For the first time since awakening in this world, he would create a demon.
Despite all the knowledge etched into his system, this was different. Theory could not prepare him for the intimacy of blood and soul binding. Reading about it was one thing. Doing it—feeling it—was something else entirely.
He knelt beside the man once more, glancing down at the blade he had carried since his first kill. Rusted. Chipped. It should suffice.
Lucivar pressed it against his fingertip—only for the blade to snap in half with a dull ping, the broken metal tumbling into the blood-soaked ground.
"…Seriously?" he muttered, brow twitching.
For a moment, it felt like even the trees were judging him.
Clearing his throat, Lucivar looked around—no one was watching, but embarrassment still prickled beneath his skin. With a growl, he raised his hand and focused. If a blade couldn't pierce him, he would pierce himself.
A little pressure.
Too much.
Snap.
His finger tore clean off.
"…Damn it."
A pulse of regeneration later, his finger had regrown. He stared at the severed digit in his hand. Then at the man. Then back again.
"Let's pretend I meant to do that," he muttered, tossing the finger with the exaggerated grace of a noble flinging scraps to a dog. "Eat it."
A moment passed.
Then, as if guided by instinct alone, the man opened his mouth and bit down—swallowing the finger whole. His body stiffened, eyes rolling back as he collapsed into the blood once more.
The system chimed.
[Perfect Demon Creation: Blood Transfer Recognized]
Subject Status: Compatible
Select Evolution Path:
• [Create: Regular Demon – Child of the First Drop]
• [Create: Dreadknight – Iron Circle]
Lucivar stared at the screen, weighing his options. He had intended to create something small—a test case. A Regular Demon would've been enough.
But he remembered the fire in the man's eyes. That vow. That hunger.
He moved his hand from the first option to the second.
"No," he whispered. "Let's see what you're really made of."
He chose Dreadknight.
The man's body convulsed. Veins blackened, swelling beneath his skin like writhing serpents. Muscles expanded violently, tearing and regrowing. Bones cracked and reshaped themselves. Horns burst from his skull, curling like a beast forged in hell. Glowing runes etched themselves across his chest in crimson fire. His spine arched, claws extended, and flame erupted across his back in wild arcs, licking the sky like malformed wings.
The transformation was monstrous.
And when it ended—he stood.
Ten feet tall. Horned. Clawed. Chiseled muscle bound by volcanic sinew. Obsidian skin pulsed with veins of molten red, like living armor forged beneath flesh. A weapon incarnate.
A monster.
Lucivar said nothing, merely watching, hands clasped behind his back. Calm on the surface.
Inside?
What the hell did I just create?
He had expected a demon—not this. Not a siege engine with a heartbeat. This wasn't some graceful spawn of Muzan. This was carnage made flesh.
His lips twitched. He adjusted his stance slightly, exhaling slow and controlled.
"Well," he said with mock serenity, "that escalated quickly."
The creature dropped to its knees.
Not out of exhaustion.
But reverence.
Head bowed. Muscles still thrumming with rebirth. The air around him crackled with silent, absolute obedience.
Lucivar stepped forward, eyes narrowed with calculation. Every inch of this being radiated power—rage refined into servitude. There was no trace of the frail man left.
A thought flickered: Are all Dreadknights like this? Or is this one… special?
He reached out, placing a hand over the glowing runes on the creature's chest.
"Rise," he commanded.
The demon obeyed instantly, towering, but never challenging.
Lucivar nodded slowly. "I'll name you…" His voice dropped low, firm with authority. "Kharon."
The name hung in the air like a binding ritual.
"You will be the first," he said. "My spear. My shield. My fury made flesh."
Kharon bowed deeply.
"I live only to serve," he rumbled, voice deep as thunder.
Lucivar turned, cloak billowing as the wind stirred once more. In the distance, storm clouds gathered—slow, dark, inevitable.
And with a new shadow trailing behind him, Lucivar Thornheart took his first step toward building a kingdom of monsters.