In a distant realm beyond the known world lay Astara, an ancient land of demons. The young prince, Feng Deming, who appeared no older than ten years of age by human standards, raced through fields alongside the lieutenant. The grass brushed against his legs as they sprinted into the fading daylight on the horizon, hope and uncertainty pushing them forward until they stopped in the center of the field.
Deming's breath caught as hundreds of high fairy lords loomed ahead, blocking their path. "Enemies," he murmured, fear dilating his pupils at the sight of the fairies. Preparing to flee, he quickly shifted his gaze to the lieutenant, ready to anticipate his next move.
"Lord Muchen," the lieutenant whispered.
"Muchen?" Deming's heart raced, a knot forming in his chest as he locked eyes with the fairy leader. 'He killed my father.' A tear escaped his eye, and his fists clenched in fury, replaying his father's last words in his mind.
"Take my son to safety, Lieutenant. Protect him with your life."
Without a word, the lieutenant slowly lowered his sword. The silence thickened with tension, broken only by the prince's rapid breaths and the distant murmur of the fairies.
"What are you doing? You're going to get yourself killed!" Deming cried out as the lieutenant approached the fairy leader.
"My lord, you have arrived early," the lieutenant smiled.
"What? Him?" Dropping his jaw, Deming turned to the lieutenant and the fairy leader, eyes widening at the lieutenant's indifference. Like a setting sun, the vibrancy in his golden eyes dimmed as the truth sank in. "Don't tell me... that you..."
"Truthfully, Lieutenant, I had concerns that you would not uphold your end of the deal. However, I admit I was mistaken." The fairy leader, Lord Muchen, nodded and commanded, "NOW!"
With a flick of the fairies' wrists, they activated the chains wrapped around Deming's limbs, empowered by twenty layers of glyphs.
'What... is this?' Eyeing the phantom chains encircling his wrists, Deming struggled to free himself, but the chains held firm, resisting his every effort. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he grasped the futility of his attempts—the glyphs reinforcing the bindings proved too powerful to overcome.
"I promise I shall take good care of my slave."
"Me? A slave?" Deming's jaw clenched, eyes boring into Lord Muchen in anger. He turned to the lieutenant, gaze intense as he whispered, "What is happening?"
The Astaran lieutenant's eyebrows furrowed as he moved forward with suspicion, capturing Deming's attention. He whispered, "What is happening? Your father was a coward who prioritized himself and his son over his own people. I am only doing what he lacked the guts to do for the safety of Astara. And as its new ruler, I will do it right." With a deep bow before the fairy leader, he swept his hand from his chest toward Deming in a grand gesture. "Lord Muchen, as you requested."
With a quickening pulse, Deming's gaze hardened as he fixed it on the lieutenant with a piercing glare. "You..." his voice trembled.
The lieutenant sneered, savoring his victory while maintaining his facade in front of the fairy leader. "In exchange for my life and the Supreme Throne of Astara, I present Feng Deming—the crown prince."
Disgust etched itself into Deming's features. "You despicable traitor!" he spat, voice quivering with rage. "My father was blind to trust a coward who stoops to slavery. You are a mockery of a king."
The lieutenant stepped back, eyes darting between Deming and Lord Muchen, sweat trickling down his forehead. 'I have no choice... If I don't hand over the prince, Astara is doomed. The fairies would wipe us out,' he agonized, guilt tearing at his soul. "I am aware that slavery goes against our principles. However..." Sighing, he acknowledged his treason and the strict prohibition against slavery, a code ingrained within his tribe since its foundation millions of years ago. 'There's nothing I can do now.'
In a final attempt, Deming's eyes pleaded with the lieutenant, silently begging for compassion, even as the chains held him firmly in place.
Unable to meet Deming's eyes, the lieutenant stared at the ground, his face burning with shame. "He is all yours," he stated and walked away, not once looking back.
Eyes flickering with pleasure, Lord Muchen stepped forward with grace, eyeing the prince with satisfaction. "A most generous offering, indeed."
Fury blazed in Deming's molten eyes, clenching his fists as his once-prestigious life crumbled into a living hell. "One day, the Fairy Realm will fall, and its name will be forgotten forever—along with yours," he declared, voice fuming with anger. "I promise you this!"
As the fairies approached Feng Deming, their footsteps pounded like drumbeats against his chest. His breaths grew shallow as the lieutenant shrank from view and the fairies drew nearer.
"You will all regret this, mark my words!" Deming raged, his muscles straining against the chains. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms as he fought the overwhelming force pressing down on him. Resisting tears, memories of his father's teachings echoed in his mind, urging him to stand firm in the face of hardship.
"Listen closely, my son—never allow yourself to be trapped... You are our only hope against their millions of years of oppression. The fairies want to crush our pride and destroy our culture. If we lose our identity, everything our ancestors achieved will turn to dust. We will be nothing... They want to weaken us by making us less protective of our heritage, dividing Astara. If they succeed, fairy worship will occur here and doom us all... that even death is a mercy.
Even if they take away our lands and try to break our spirit, we must never turn the other cheek and abandon our ideology... We are Astarans; we never surrender to oppression or lose our dignity, even if death comes near.
One day, you must lead our people because only you can stand up to the fairies. When the time is right, I will reveal who you truly are. Until then, never forget our legacy, our culture, and who we are as a people... Always remember who you are, Feng Deming."
Hope brightened Deming's eyes. Frowning with determination and lips pressed tightly together, he exhaled sharply through his nose. 'Now I see why he never wanted me to waste time and play like the other kids...' Memories of grueling training sessions flooded his mind. 'That deciphering technique... I haven't mastered it yet, but I will... Father, I promise I'll restore Astara's glory... and once I decipher these seals, I'll break free...' A knot of dread tightened in his chest. 'But what if I fail after breaking out... and be trapped again... and never see my home again? What will they do to Astara... and my people?'
"Take this... monster... away," Muchen hissed.
Deming's heart clenched at the accusation. 'Monster,' the word twisted his insides. 'Father knew something about me that he didn't tell. Maybe that's why he trained me all my life. Maybe I am... a monster.'
Thousands of years passed since Feng Deming's imprisonment. Deep underground in a dungeon, the young prince, now in his late teens, possessed strikingly handsome features, sculpted precisely according to the golden ratio: a pointed nose, defined cheekbones, and eyebrows as sharp as daggers. His long, dark-brown hair flowed down to his thighs, enhancing his captivating appearance.
The dungeon emitted a musty odor, its walls marked with droplets of his blood, reminders of years of insufferable torture. Focused solely on breaking the phantasmal chains that bound him, he had studied the twenty seals during his captivity. With closed eyes and a glowing forehead, he diligently deciphered them, yearning for the liberty to walk free once more.
'How satisfying it would be to see no trace of their world, all by my own hands,' Deming entertained as an evil, pleasure-filled smirk curled his lips. 'Their mutilated bodies shall be my masterpiece, and their painful screams, well, the sweetest melody to my ears... And all of that is within my grasp now.'
With his eyes tightly shut, he listened intently as heavy footsteps approached the dungeon and male voices murmured.
Aware of Feng Deming's immense power, many self-proclaimed 'gods' had gathered to prevent his escape. The fairy general, also known as 'the god of war,' shouted through the dungeon, "Cease, demon!"
Deming did not open his eyes, not when he was this close to breaking the seal. 'Now, they shall witness the true meaning of what they call... a monster,' he sneered, continuing to decode.
The general's voice grew more forceful. "I said, stop!" His hand formed a beam of light.
Despite the repeated warnings, Deming did not halt his work.
Frustration and dread gripped the general as he turned to his troops. "Attack!"
The group fired brilliant beams of light at the chained demon. Even when they joined forces, their combined strength could not hold Deming back.
At that moment, Deming's efforts to break the seals paid off. In a seamless motion, the chains that had constricted his limbs and neck vanished. His golden eyes, like molten metal framed by long lashes, held a deadly beauty forged from untold suffering and the promise of vengeance as they opened, sweeping a terrifying glare over the group.
With a smirk, Deming taunted in his deep voice, "I wish you could see your faces."
"Stay alert, everyone!" the fairy general ordered. "Lord Muchen is nearly here! Stay put!"
"What? You cannot stop me without him?" Deming taunted, though the mention of Muchen made his eye twitch and his jaw clench. 'Does Muchen have another trick up his sleeve to trap me?'
Locking eyes with the terrified general, Feng Deming smirked, his eyes flickering with malevolence as his arrogant confidence veiled the suspicion of Muchen's abilities.
"How amusing... I suppose it is your lucky day. I may have to postpone my plan to obliterate this realm. But do not worry, I always keep my promises. And when I return, perhaps I start with your loved ones first. I shall chain them deep in your dungeons, make them yearn to see the light and sky again, knowing they can only dream about it, day after day. They shall scream in agony while you watch helplessly, begging me to stop. And I shall remain still, just as you did all these years, watching me suffer."
The general narrowed his eyes, confusion etched across his face. 'What is he... talking about? I've never...'
Deming's voice dropped to a vicious whisper. "And it shall not stop there. On the lands where you have raised your children, I shall build statues of our people from your ashes. And as for Muchen, he shall be where he always needed to be—under our feet."
The general's face drained of color, and his lips parted in a silent gasp. His eyes widened, his hands trembled, and his breath quickened—shallow and ragged.
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