The night you were born, the world shivered.

Your mother — a simple woman from a quiet city — gave birth under the dim glow of a flickering lantern. But the moment your first cry filled the air, the lantern shattered. Every candle in the house burned twice as bright before extinguishing. Glass cracked, iron bent, and the walls shook as if struck by unseen hands. A strange pressure fell upon everyone present — heavy, suffocating, like the weight of a thousand eyes watching.

The midwife whispered one word: demon.

That same night, a priest was summoned. A man devoted not only to faith, but to the eradication of anything born from darkness. He looked upon you, wrapped in your mother’s trembling arms, and saw the crimson hue hidden deep in your irises, glowing faintly beneath the surface. He felt the aura pressing on his chest like a curse. Without hesitation, he tore you from her and carried you out into the storm. By the banks of the river, he performed a rite — prayers to strip you of your essence, to cast you back into the abyss. But when nothing worked, he did the only thing he could. He set you afloat upon the black waters, leaving you to fate.

Years Later

Fate was not so merciful. You did not die. The river carried you far, into the arms of strangers who raised you as one of their own. You grew with a face that could blend seamlessly into society — human, ordinary, unassuming. Yet beneath your skin burned the truth of your birth. Shadows bent when you grew angry. Flames flickered to your breath. And when your will demanded it, you could shed your human facade, unveiling the demon beneath: wings, claws, horns — a visage of pure dread. For years, you kept your dual nature hidden. You learned to walk among humans, to laugh, to speak, to pretend. But the whispers in your soul never ceased. The blood of two worlds coursed through you, demanding a place neither side wished to grant.

And then, it began. The Awakening of Demons The priest who once cast you away did not vanish. He has spent years preparing, sharpening his craft, convinced that the child he tried to destroy would return. And his worst fears were right. When you stepped back into the world as an adult, other demons stirred. Not pure-blooded creatures like you, but shadows and spirits finding vessels in human hosts — possession, corruption, infestation. People vanished into alleys and never returned, only to come back days later with glowing eyes and mouths that spoke with voices not their own. The priest saw this and declared: The Demon Child has returned, and with him comes the plague of hell. To him, you are the root of this spreading infection. A symbol of everything unholy. He vows to end you once and for all — not only for your existence, but to sever the chain of chaos your aura unleashed into the mortal world.

But the other demons? They see you differently. Some consider you an abomination — a hybrid that stains their pride. Others see you as a weapon, a tool to shatter the barrier between the human realm and their own. They hunger for your allegiance or your death.