When did it start?

No one remembers or rather no one knew but it all began here.

Once in the red moon, that time a rustling sound was audible in the deep of the wilderness. The man with the white coat was grasping in the soil, with all his best he carved a symbol. Hard to decipher what though. Beside him, a sword was stabbed into the earth waiting for its master in earnest. Waiting for the hate of his master burning desire in life. Drip! Drip! Drip! Blood dripped out from the man's countless wounds countless as though this man had just gone to a battle that would settle everything and barely escaped alive.

         Van’el. Was the name of the man.

         Chosen of the red sword avarice of the seven sinful swords. The sword that said was capable of cutting even logic and reasoning for its wielder's desire. And creating a path for its wielder and at the same time ruining.

         “huff! huff! huff!” Van’el gasped for air. It feels like his breathing was slowly leaving him behind, bidding its farewell that his last was near. Even still, stopping never come to mind. Van’el despite his blurred vision that seems to sip into the darkness at any given second, worked himself out.

         Carving on the earth the desired symbol. Engraving every detail without missing even a bit.

         Carve! Carve! Carve! Carve!

         Then moments afterward as if to reward Van’el hard work finally the symbol came to completion. Van’el stood on his knee and gazed down at the fruit of his struggle. Even though a smile never came.

          He took a deep breath, and still, on his knee, “I!” he shouted balding his hand into a fist. “Van’el dis’olpia, prince of the kingdom of dis’olpia and wielder of the sinful crimson sword avarice seeking your audience and realize my desire/dream in exchange for sipping my life/soul in the deep of the Abby's.”

         “Answer me!” face faced up he ended. Van’el intense and burning passion was by all means admirable Yes! Even so, what changes it received back was nothing but utter silence. Nothing but sheer silence that had swallowed Van’el and his fire.

         And so he groaned, pain in the face.

        “—!”

        But not until the wail of desire, resentment, anguish, grief, and sorrow of hundreds—no, thousand—no, millions of souls crawling from the depths of the earth were heard. For the moment, Van’el thought his ears were fooling him. Taking him into a fool. Or was it he who was fooling himself? emotions driven him?

         “discard the idea.”

         Not the case at all. Someone's voice admonished him for having doubt after all.

         The voice kept on. “it's really ironic to think that sacrifice must be made for one's dream and desire.” the voice said. “if I were to say, it's frightening.”  frightening, was what said but for Van’el the voice alone was what more frightening. It was as though the hell itself crawl into the land scorching straight to heaven.

         Van’el whipped himself, direction, towards the source of the voice, upon doing so freight was in the eyes.

         “don't you think so?”