Prologue:

  The world was ending.

  Flames consumed the land, turning mountains to ash and oceans to steam. The sky bled red, the stars flickering like dying embers. The ground had long since shattered, breaking apart into molten chasms that swallowed entire cities whole.

  And at the center of it all—stood him.

  Lucifer.

  His black wings hung in tatters, feathers burning at the edges. His once-white cloak was now a torn, bloodstained rag. The air stank of iron and fire, but he barely noticed. His golden eyes, dulled by exhaustion, fixed on the seven jagged stones hovering before him—each pulsing with power enough to unmake existence itself.

  A voice, mocking and sharp, cut through the chaos.

  "You look pathetic."

  Lucifer exhaled slowly. He didn’t have the strength to look annoyed anymore. "So, just to clarify… This is my fault?"

  The figure before him sneered, draped in black robes that billowed unnaturally, as if reality itself refused to touch him. His eyes, the only thing visible beneath the deep hood, gleamed with something twisted—hunger.

  "You could have ruled," the Entity spat. "You had everything—the stones, the power, the right to end this cycle. And yet you did nothing."

  Lucifer wiped the blood from his chin. "Yeah, see, I could have done that." His fingers twitched as he gestured toward the stones. "But why should I?"

  "Why should you?" His voice rose, almost hysterical. "Because this is all YOUR FAULT! You stole them! You refused to use them! You could have saved this world, but no—too righteous, too afraid!"

  His hands twitched, eyes fixated on the stones.

  "And now? Look at it! A dying world! All because you hoarded what should have been mine!"

  Lucifer stared at him, then at the burning wasteland around them. He chuckled, low and dry. "Yours?"

  "YES. The gods did nothing to stop you. They let you steal them. They didn't even punish you. I don’t understand. Why?"

  "Who says I wasn’t punished?"

  He spread his arms, gesturing to his half-mortal body—his weakened frame, the human and dragon’s blood that burned beneath his skin, the exhaustion gnawing at his bones. "This is what I got."

  The Entity trembled. Then, as if unable to stop himself, he whispered:

  "Then I’ll fix it."

  His hand shot forward.

  "Give me the stones."

  Lucifer didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

  Instead, he smiled.

  "Well… third time’s the charm."

  The Entity froze.

  Then, fire erupted.

  It didn’t come from the ground.

  It came from Lucifer himself

  Flames roared to life, — from within him, consuming him instantly, turning flesh and blood to raw, searing agony. His wings disintegrated. His skin cracked, peeled, disintegrated. Fire poured from his mouth like a dying dragon’s last breath. The pain was beyond words—beyond screams.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  But he held firm. Because this was the only way. The stones—his stones—glowed like stars caught in the blaze, their power resisting, refusing to fade.

  Lucifer gritted his teeth. ‘Burn, you bastards. Burn with me.’

  The universe trembled. The gods watched.

  ‘If I can't destroy them...Then I will make sure you never find them.’

  His soul tore apart, unraveling like threads in a storm, each fragment latching onto a stone, seeping into them, binding to their essence.

  Pride burned, brilliant and untouchable.

  Greed devoured, bottomless and insatiable.

  Wrath seethed, relentless and consuming.

  Envy twisted, hungry for more.

  Sloth whispered, unmoving but inevitable.

  Gluttony swallowed, an abyss with no end.

  Lust beckoned, a promise, a curse.

  Each took a piece of him—his sins, his power, his very being.

  In the end—one final fragment remained. A piece untouched by sin. Neither light nor dark. A remnant of what he was before all of this. Before he fell from God's graces.

  The Eighth Stone. The Soul Stone.

  For the briefest moment, it suspended in the thin air. Waiting.

  But instantly they vanished. All of them. Gone. Beyond reach.

  And then—

  A thousand years have passed…

  "Lucifer Draekhyr!" The professor’s voice snapped, "If you cannot use any magic, what use do you have at this academy?"

  Lucifer swallowed hard. He had tried—oh, how he had tried. But no matter how many times he muttered incantations, traced the symbols, or focused with every ounce of his being—nothing happened.

  And yet, strange things kept happening.

  The students including the professor flinched as the classroom door slammed open.

  A senior student staggered inside, panting. His eyes were wide—wild. “Professor,” he gasped. “By the clock tower. Someone—something—there—there’s been an attack—!"

  Professor Varn’s expression darkened. “What?”

  "The east wing—it's burning! And—and something was written on it—" The student shuddered, his hands shaking. "It said—He has returned! The Devil!"

  Then came a scream. Sharp. Bloodcurdling.

  Lucifer’s breath hitched. His hands trembled on his desk.

  A second explosion rocked the academy, shuddering the floor. The students gasped as the ceiling lights flickered, then died.

  "Where are the stones?" A voice echoed from somewhere outside.

  ‘Stones? What stones?’ Lucifer thought.

  BOOM.

  A third explosion ripped through the academy. The windows shattered, shards of glass raining down like falling stars. A gust of scorched air rushed in, carrying the distant scent of something burning—something wrong.

  Someone sobbed. Someone prayed.

  Then—a voice. Cold. Mocking.

  "Found you."

  The door slammed shut. Slow, deliberate footsteps echoed in the hall, and the whispers rose into a frenzied chant.

  "The Devil! The Devil has returned!" Screamed someone.

  Lucifer squeezed his eyes shut. His head throbbed, flashes of a firestorm—of screaming people, of burning cities—but they weren’t his memories. Were they?

  'No. No, no, no.'

  .The presence loomed. Watching. Waiting.

  Lucifer’s chest tightened. His breath hitched. His hands trembled. His pulse pounded against his ribs, screaming at him to move—to run—but his body wouldn't listen.

  Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

  Then, finally, he forced himself to look.

  The room was deathly still.

  But every single person was staring at something.

  Wide. Unblinking. Terrified.

  And that’s when he realized—

  They were looking at him.