Journey to Become the Zenith-Chapter 2: Born into Weakness
Born into Weakness
Darkness.
Darkness without edge or end. Floating in silence so deep it presses. No up, no down - just empty quiet holding still.
Through the endless void floated Anos, known as history’s most powerful Demon Lord.
His body was gone from his mind.
He could not feel mana.
Frozen nerves left him numb to stings, joys, warmth, even frost. What stayed was a quiet disconnect - sensation gone missing without warning.
Thinking was all he did.
This is how it goes once life ends
Beyond death, silence sat where fire should have roared. A stillness stood instead of war.
No divine arena.
Fallen kings never meet in last battle.
Only emptiness.
Wrong I was, it turns out. Bitterly, he thought back on how sure he’d been - endless fights waiting beyond death.
Beyond that, a grin might’ve played on what remained - had there been skin left to stretch.
Even so, what I wanted came true after all.
Falling short left him breathless. Victory slipped beyond reach.
Not by age.
Not by decay.
Yet forged through iron, then broken by lies.
Through his blood alone.
By the blade I stood. Through the blade I fell.
It was enough just like that.
Maybe tonight will bring real sleep. Just endless quiet.
When that idea came into being -
Light exploded.
Not gentle.
Not warm.
Lightning cracks open the dark, sudden and fierce. It cuts without warning - sharp as if forged by something beyond. The void splits apart under its edge.
The darkness shattered.
-
Anos gasped.
Fire filled a space where nothing breathed just seconds ago.
Bamboo poles blocked his sight.
A ceiling.
A roof.
What - ?
Again, feeling came back to him.
Arms.
Legs.
Heartbeat.
Weight.
Footsteps slowed. The air stopped pulling him forward.
A shape gave way beneath him, gentle under his weight. Softness held his frame without protest.
Cloth.
Straw.
A bed.
A wild storm of not knowing crashed into his newly awakened thoughts.
He lay lifeless. Then - breath. A heartbeat cracked the silence. Stillness gave way to motion. The world blinked. He opened his eyes.
He was back, just like that. A blink, then there - present once more.
Up he pushed against the ground. His arms shook like weak branches.
His body refused.
His order met silence instead of power.
Empty spaces ran through his arms and legs, like something got lost along the way. A strange lightness stayed behind, not quite real.
Frowning inside, his hand moved toward the source of power.
Nothing.
Then -
No.
Something was there.
Not darkness alone.
Fire.
Water.
Earth.
Wind.
Light.
Darkness.
Faint traces of every element moved in circles near his body.
A tremor hit deep inside his thoughts. Stillness broke without warning. Everything shifted at once. His breath caught mid-air. The world tilted slightly off balance.
Impossible.
Back then, magic followed fixed rules.
Demons commanded darkness.
Beneath their gaze, soil stirred without touch. Air bent slow around whispered words. Rivers followed paths they’d never taken before.
Beast-kin used spiritual force.
Out of nature’s own rules came a strength that dragons simply had. Their power wasn’t learned - it showed up at birth, built into their bones.
Some vampires came from small families, their life force twisted and flawed. The old bloodlines could control just one natural power, nothing more.
Just people managed to reach every one of the half dozen pieces.
Even they managed it awkwardly.
Far off, each current came clear to him.
Weakly.
But clearly.
Fear gripped him tighter than the thought of dying.
Fingers pointed toward the sky, his arms rose slowly.
They were small.
Soft.
Delicate.
This wasn’t the form that split peaks apart.
These were the arms of an infant.
A quiet realisation began to spread through his chest. The weight of it pressed down slow, steady, different than before.
...I’ve been reborn.
Words caught in his throat.
A faint noise came out.
Words refused to leave his throat.
Something about him felt incomplete.
Unstable.
Something’s wrong - why is this going so badly?!
A sudden wave washed through, bringing panic first, then irritation tagging behind, confusion trailing last. Sharp edges cut in before there was time to look away.
It was the first time his thoughts slipped away from him.
This thing inside me stirs up feelings... quite a mess. It gets tangled without warning. Hard to ignore when it shifts like that. Quiet moments turn loud because of it. Not exactly helpful, this constant push.
Slow breaths came only after he pushed through the tightness in his chest.
Hold still. That’s right - it’s me, Anos. Ruler of demons once. My own child ended me. After that, I floated through endless dark. Then came a glow, sudden and sharp. Here now, inside a baby made of flesh.
Even if it seemed ridiculous, nothing else made sense like this did.
Could the gods be behind this suffering?
Footsteps ago, he’d killed more people than cities hold. A quiet number, really - just one after another until it wasn’t.
Still, he was called the monster who wiped out humankind - even though they struck first, century after century.
He started by holding his ground.
Later, he retaliated.
Finally, he eradicated.
Fake ones, he figured, quiet inside. Always beginning fights - yet somehow shocked when things go wrong.
A dragon - that’s what he’d pick if coming back were certain. Reincarnation never felt like a choice, yet dragons always caught his eye.
Fighting shaped their beginning. Warriors emerged right away.
A truth held tight in strong hands. Power shaped by silence, not words. Strength built where deception failed.
Fragile they might be, humans also hungered for more than life offered. Greed curled around their choices like smoke. Brief as sparks, their years flickered out too soon.
Fake kindness made him sick.
Yet now -
A sharp ache curled through his gut.
Real pain.
Sharp, urgent, humiliating.
Hunger.
True physical hunger.
Minutes stretched like hunger pains, though Anos needed only milk - no battle lasted that long anymore. Milkless moments bit deeper than past famines ever did.
Falling apart once more, his own flesh turned against him.
Out of nowhere, a scream ripped loose from his chest.
It was his attempt to halt things. Still, he moved too late.
He couldn’t.
Sound pressed its way from his lungs.
Crying.
This - what it felt like to live as a person. How strange, yet familiar, such a quiet truth.
Fragile when facing your own self.
Footsteps hurried in.
Out of nowhere stepped a woman, her dark hair spilling past calm eyes.
Into her arms she took him, gentle as breath. Carefully lifting, she held his weight like a secret.
Warmth surrounded him.
His eyes stayed fixed on her features. She stood still under his gaze.
She was... beautiful.
Quiet strength lives here. Not breakable, just gentle.
This time around, she probably stood as his mom. A familiar face from the start of his days.
Holding him near, her body knew just what to do - no thought needed.
The fabric slipped down as she leaned close. A quiet moment passed between them when he began to drink.
Fingers trembled as he lifted the glass. A sip slipped through, cool against his mouth.
Without thinking, his muscles moved into place.
Fear held him tight, unable to pull away.
Still, there’s heat. Food spreads through the body. Bodies near one another. Moments stick like sap on skin
Comfort settled in an odd way.
Quietly, he ate without speaking.
Afterward, indignity followed.
Something inside him let go on its own.
Crying returned.
Again, unstoppable.
Fingers moving slow, he watched her wipe his skin - suddenly it hit him, cold and clear
Living as a human was irritating.
Being a newborn felt like endless struggle.
Darkness pulled him under once more. Then a second time. Each pull deeper than the last.
Faint sounds reached him, muffled like echoes through fog.
A single term spoken out loud again on purpose
"Victor."
That became what he answered to now.
Victor.
Time lost meaning.
He was hoisted suddenly by powerful hands.
Foolish was the grin on his face, clutching the bow and knife tight. He stood there smiling, weapon in one hand, blade in the other. That look he wore - empty, almost silly - while gripping both tools of the hunt. A smile too wide, perhaps, for what those hands held.
The man leaned down, touching lips first to the woman’s cheek, then brushing softly against the baby’s forehead.
Could only be his dad - some kind of explorer, maybe a tracker.
Something strange moved inside Anos’s chest while he lay there. He had never felt it before.
Warmth.
Warmth spreads without sound. Stillness holds it close.
Not fear.
Not reverence.
Not ambition.
Affection.
Back then, people followed where he led - his strength made them listen. Power kept them in line, nothing else held sway.
This was different.
Folks held him dear, just for being there.
Family.
Something he hadn’t thought of in years. That old idea surfaced again.
Hmph...
Few might think it, but life as a young human could have its moments.
Darkness pulled him under again, without warning. He had no say in it.
Thus began the second life of Anos Superbia.
Reborn as Victor.
The most powerful demon lord ever known
Starting again as the weakest of infants.
