Chapter One: Rags to Riches

I’ve been writing this original book for nearly a year now. Since it’s pre-written, the readers can’t decide the ending. This was supposed to be up on the first Friday of the year, but nah, school and daily procrastination brings us here today. SINCE IT WAS MY BIRTHDAY YESTERDAY (or 2 days ago for you Asians), I’m POSTING THREE CHAPTERS IN ONE DAY.
DISCLAIMER: If you don’t like gore, controversial topics, no religion, messed up main characters, weird universes unlike our own (you may not agree with the way the law works), I recommend you to find another book to read. It’s not everyone’s cup of tea. 
Also it’s a short chapter. CHAPTERS UP EVERY FRIDAY/SATURDAY. (It depends on which part of this planet you live in.) 
Enjoy. (THIS CAN ALSO BE FOUND ON WATTPAD AND AO3, check them out on my profile!)


“Would you like to know the truth, my child?”

“Yes, please!”

“Only if you’re ready.” She chuckled.

The five-year-old nodded exuberantly. The young lady pulled out a book from behind her back, handing it to the innocent boy. He grabbed the book, eager to read. He recognized the book as the lady’s journal. “This?”

“Yes.” She rose to her feet, grabbing her things that were packed neatly into a bag, “It is time for me to go. Remember this. Anything that happens next is for your sake, and yours alone. My best interests are in you, your Majesty.” With a grim face, she spun on her heel and left the small apartment. The boy sat on the pillow, staring at the door. He clearly didn’t understand, but remembered anyway.

She will come back, right? Oh, how wrong he was.

So, he opened the book.

It was empty. The middle was cut open, the pages stuck together. A small note sat in the neatly cut pages of the book box. The boy took it out and read it.

If you are reading this, I must have left already. Keep this letter with you and read it when you are older. You will understand the true meaning of my departure.

Your mother had entrusted you to me a long time ago, to protect you from the evil and the conflict. Eighteen years later, I was supposed to tell you about this, but that is too far. I must tell you early, so you understand, and will not detest me.

The rest of the words had their letters scrambling here and there. Strangely enough, the words seemed to be buzzing around. He flipped to the next page. The last line was the clear.

Thank you for all that you have done for me. I wish you a blessed life ahead of you. This is the last time you will be hearing of me.

He felt betrayed. He wanted to cry; he wanted to scream, beat his head on the floor until his head split apart, and then… But he didn’t know what to do. So, he just sat there.

The sky crackled ominously outside. The kid dropped the book and climbed to the window, peering outside. The lady could be seen 20 floors below, walking away from the apartment block. He looked up to see swirling black clouds, then a bright flash streaked downwards. He cringed, clapping his hands to his ears. The woman trembled, covered with soot. Another bright flash of light, and she was down on her knees. Another, and another.

When the boy opened his eyes, all he saw was a pile of ash where she stood, the dust flying away in the wind.

“What did I do to deserve this?” The eighteen-year-old yelled, pulling on his chains that were attached to the walls of the basement. The light swung, making screechy noises. The razor tipped cat o’ nine tails sliced deep into his back, splattering blood onto the stained floor. He gritted his teeth.

“You took your first breath.” The voice cackled, going for another whip.

It seemed to go on for hours, until he passed out.

A sharp pain exploded in my back, jolting me awake. “Fuck, ow.” I wheezed, gritting my teeth. My voice was muffled in something soft. It was a soft feather-filled pillow. A pillow…?

I should be sprawled over the basement floor in my own blood. My back was tingling with the recent application of antiseptic. With all the effort I could muster, I pushed myself up and turned on the lamp. Three rolls of bandages sat underneath.

As I tried my best not to scream while bandaging myself, focused on studying my surroundings. The walls were covered with pale and dark blue damask wallpapers, a chandelier hung from the ceiling. The room was furnished with mahogany chairs, beds and tables; padded with velvet.

It was the most expensive room I’d ever seen. I got up, satisfied with my makeshift Egyptian mummy shirt. A door on my left was ajar. The toilet was fantastic. There was a nice bathtub, sink and toilet bowl, all of which shimmery white and clean. After washing up, I entered the walk-in cupboard. To my absolute horror, it was filled with dress shirts of all colors and designs, matching ties and suit jackets, a row of shiny black and brown suede shoes. No shirts, jeans, converses, hoodies. I didn’t feel like dressing up today, but it seemed like I wasn’t given a choice. I frowned and pulled on a plain set, minus the jacket and tie.

I pushed open the door, careful not to tear open my wounds. I leaned over the banister to see a copper brunette in his thirties reading the New York Times. “Morning. Come down and have your breakfast.” He said.

I took my time to go down the stairs and sat down cringing in pain. “Don’t feel like eating. Stomach’s all screwed up. I don’t eat much for breakfast anyway.” A floating glove lifted the metal dish cover in front of me. “You’ll have to get used to seeing that.” He chuckled at my wide eyes of disbelief. I poked the white gloved hand. The hand waved at me, then shook my hand. The glove was smooth and velvety, and strangely warm.

“Oh, my god.” I breathed. He laughed again, putting away the papers. His cheery amber eyes twinkled at me. For some reason, I knew that he was someone to trust. He wasn’t seeding the idea in my mind.

There was a large glass of thick golden liquid sitting on the placemat. I picked up the glass and examined it further. “That’s ambrosia. Drink of the immortals in mythology. Mortals who drink this incinerate their organs. Why don’t you give it a shot? Here’s some encouragement. We aren’t exactly mortals. Don’t believe me?” He raised one eyebrow, taking a sip from his own drink. “Ahhhh! I’m burningggggg!” He shrieked, trembling, then bursting out into laughter. “I actually got you. Come on! Give it a shot.”

I blinked, then sipped the liquid. Surprisingly, it tasted just like warm honey. “Now that you are one step closer to believing me and understanding, let me introduce myself. I’m Lysander Montgomery, advisor and informant of the Court of Steelthorne. Nice to see you again after eighteen years, your Majesty.” He chuckled and flourished his imaginary fedora with a bow. I barely understood what he said, but at least I got his name, right?

“Someone called me that thirteen years ago,” I sighed. “She tried to leave, then was smited to ashes because of that.”

“She was your mother’s last maidservant. All the faithful members in her entourage have died trying to preserve your lives. Okay, maybe not. I’m not dead. Unfortunately, she was the last resort, and since everyone else that knew about how to survive in this realm died, you were entrusted to her and she left you when you were five? I thought she loved you like her son.” He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

“Yeah, she did. Or at least I thought she did.” I sighed, recalling the great flash of light and the pile of ashes that drifted away in the wind. “‘Forgive me, it is for the greater good.'” He falsettoed. I nodded. “Typical Imogen.” He scowled. “It’s your turn. I’ll explain later.”

“I’m Ryan Steele. You know the rest. Since you know more than I do, you should go ahead.”

“Nearly there. You were given a pseudonym. Unfortunately, your life up till now has been a lie.” He smirked. I suppressed the need to gasp like a girl and faint. Instead, I laughed. “It’s a tradition for names of royalty to be a mouthful. Fortunately, I’m a lord’s son, so it’s easy to pronounce. Anyways, your actual name is Rythian Azrael Steelthorne. As you would realize by now, I serve you and your family.”

“I don’t think I should believe you, but I do anyway. The name’s too long; just call me by the first name I already use.” I said, placing the empty glass on the table. Moments later, the gloves picked up the glass and floated back to the kitchen.

“Please explain everything, because I barely understand what you’re saying.” I pleaded.

He chuckled again. “Sure. Ahem,” He cleared his throat.

“Let me tell you of a world closer to this one than you think.”

Get ready for the long ride to hell with our fucked up main characters.