I’m Demon’s Son

In one swift rush, chaos stormed the night because the demon's soldiers fell on the minister's palace and burst its roof open in a black smoke and blazing shadows. Ruins covered once-imposing halls, where cries and screams were heard as they echoed in all directions.

The minister, pale and shaking, stumbled into her throne room as the soldiers materialized before her. Their forms were colossal and fearsome, wreathed in darkness, their glowing red eyes piercing through the dim light.

In a voice as if an earthquake rumbled across the ground, the commander of the soldiers addressed, "Where is your daughter? She stole the blood from our master, and she made our king stray away from us!"

The knees of the minister buckled under her and she fell to the ground, shaking her hands toward the heavens as if begging. "I swear," she stuttered, her voice breaking into a crack. "I haven't seen her since that day! I don't know where she is!"

Her words satisfied nothing in the soldiers. The commander stepped forward, his tall figure casting a suffocating shadow over her. His crimson eyes flared with fury. "Lies," he growled, raising his jagged blade.

Before the minister could beg further, the sword fell. With one swift, merciless stroke, her head was severed from her body, and blood cascaded onto the palace's cold stone floor, pooling around her lifeless form.

The soldiers did not waste any time. Like a dark storm, they spread across the world, their forms changing into streaks of smoke that swept through towns and villages. Wherever they went, their towering, fearsome presence struck terror into the hearts of all who beheld them. They interrogated everyone they met, their thunderous voices demanding, "Where is the minister's daughter?"

Those who could deny knowing her met with merciless ends. Heads rolled, and the streets ran red with blood as the soldiers continued their remorseless search. When the sun had reached its zenith, the whole area of the minister's settlement lay as silence and ashes as they continued leaving their deathly trail to countless lives and silenced the voice of the minster.

Whispers of their hunt spread like wildfire. Villagers fled in fear, towns barred their gates, and the name of the minister's daughter became one spoken only in hushed tones, a symbol of doom that carried with it the wrath of the devil himself.

_________________________

The sun was hanging low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the riverbank where Louis, a burly blacksmith with calloused hands and a kind heart, loaded supplies onto his wooden cart. The quiet hum of nature surrounded him—until it was broken by the faint sound of a baby crying.

Shocked, Louis rotated his head towards the river. There, floating softly along its banks, was a basket. His heart racing he dropped what he was holding and ran to it. Kneeling along the edge, he reached into the water and tugged the basket out of the water, his strong arms shaking in ways that he could feel, but had never seen.

Inside, a tiny baby lay crying, its cheeks flushed and its small hands clenched into fists. Louis glanced up and down the riverbank, calling out, "Hello? Is anyone there?" But his voice echoed back unanswered. The area was eerily still, save for the gurgle of the river and the baby's wails.

He raised the baby from its basket. Something in the other man's vision caught his eye. Around the baby's neck was a dainty necklace sporting a shimmering blue stone whose surface held a hypernatural glow. Louis furrowed a brow. He recognized it: a demon-warding charm. They only reserved this kind of artifact for when the need was absolute.

He hesitated, his mind racing with questions. Who would leave such a child here? And why? But the baby's cries grew louder, tugging at his heart. "All right, little one," he murmured, cradling the infant in his arms. "Let's get you fed and warm."

Back at his modest home, Louis prepared milk and gently fed the baby, who quieted and stared up at him with wide, curious eyes. As the hours passed, a sense of purpose settled over him. This child, abandoned yet adorned with a powerful charm, was now his responsibility.

"You deserve a name," he said softly, smiling at the baby. "Andrzej. That's what I'll call you."

That day changed the life of the blacksmith. From then on, Andrzej became the light of his small home, and his cries were replaced by laughter as Louis raised him with care and love.

___________________________

Seventeen years had elapsed since Louis had discovered the basket by the river. Time had aged him; the once robust blacksmith now moved slower, his beard streaked with silver. Andrzej, however, had grown into a striking young man—tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp features and eyes that seemed to hold storms within them. He was unlike anyone else in the village, his strength and presence almost otherworldly.

That evening, Louis stood in his small kitchen, his hands shaking as he stirred the stew over the fire. Tonight, he had decided to reveal the truth—a truth he had carried like a burden all these years. He placed two bowls on the wooden table and waited, the room filled with the crackling sound of the hearth.

The door creaked open, and Andrzej stepped inside. His frame filled the doorway, and snowflakes clung to the dark hair that had always suited his pale face. The cold had flushed his cheeks, making them flush with color as he set down the bundle of wood he carried and took his usual seat at the table. His silence was heavy, but not unusual; Andrzej had always been more introspective than the other boys in the village.

Louis set a steaming bowl of stew before him and sat down across the table. They ate in silence for a time, the only noise being the clinking of spoons against bowls. Finally, Louis mustered up the courage to speak. His voice was low and hesitant.

"Andrzej," he started, "there is something I need to tell you."

Andrzej looked up. His piercing gaze met Louis's.

"You are not my biological son," Louis said, his voice cracking. "I found you by the river when you were just a baby. But I have loved you as if you were my own flesh and blood. You are my son in every way that matters."

Andrzej didn't respond. He placed his spoon on the table and stood up, his actions slow and deliberate. For a moment, Louis thought he was going to walk out without a word, but Andrzej stopped at the door.

"I know this for a long time," Andrzej said, his voice steady but laced with an unsettling calm. "My father visits me in my dreams. He tells me who he is, what he is. My father is a demon."

Louis's breath caught. He reached out, grabbing Andrzej's arm, his eyes brimming with tears. "Andrzej, please. I raised you. You're my son, no matter what blood runs in your veins."

Andrzej looked down at the hand clutching his arm, then back at Louis. For the first time, his voice softened. "Thank you, Father. For everything. But I need to find him. I need to understand why he abandoned me. and I need to stop him."

With that, Andrzej turned and walked to his room. Louis sat frozen, his hand still outstretched, tears streaming down his face.

Louis awoke in his chair by the hearth, the fire long since burned out. He did not remember falling asleep. Panic gripped him as he realized the house was silent—too silent. He rushed to Andrzej's room, but it was empty.

On the table, he found a folded piece of parchment. With trembling hands, he opened it and read the words written in Andrzej's bold, confident hand:

*I'm going to find my father. He has caused enough destruction. It's time for this to end.*

Louis sank to his knees, the letter pressed against his chest, as great wracking sobs shook him. The house seemed empty of air, Andrzej's absence an aching void in his chest.

Outside, the sun crested the horizon, casting its rays over the snowy landscape. Out there, Andrzej embarked on a journey that would forever alter the world—and himself.