After losing everything, Daron Lamb is consumed by grief and guilt, until he's recruited by the Special Magic Force, an elite unit protecting the balance between magical and non-magical worlds. Together, they uncover a secret organization determined to free the God of Chaos, a force sealed away to protect humanity. As Daron investigates, he uncovers a chilling link between the group and his tragic past. Driven by revenge, he joins forces with his new allies to stop them. But as the truth behind the organization’s motives begins to surface, Daron is forced to confront a disturbing possibility: freeing the God of Chaos, though orchestrated by his enemies, might not bring the destruction he's been led to believe.
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Daron's gaze drifted downward to his chest. Below, the stark contrast of a faint blue light against his white skin caught his eye—a soft glow emanating from his own chest. It softly pulsed, a gentle luminescence that ebbed and flowed with the rhythm of his own heartbeat. Baffled, he just sat there for a few moments, observing.
As his fingers touched the source of light, he was surprised to find that everything felt normal, as if it had always been this way. It was like nothing had changed at all.
Daron's eyes widened in disbelief when he noticed a strange black liquid seeping into the wounds on his chest—a substance like ink, flowing from within him. It moved with purpose, filling the gaps left by the fat butcher and stanching the flow of blood that had painted his skin red.
"By the gods," he gasped, the sight both unsettling and miraculous. The black liquid quickly solidified, forming scars as black as the night sky. His eyes remained fixed on the eerie scene, his breath steadying to a normal rhythm.
He was a magician now… it felt strange. He didn't feel particularly different. Sure, a mysterious substance had just mended his broken skin, but other than that, he didn't feel like he could do anything… new, anything special.
He stretched out his hand, trying to summon a sharp wind to cut down his shackles. Nothing happened.
Next, a flame, to burn down his cell. Nothing happened.
“Figures,” he said to himself. “Why would it be easy?”
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