Chapter 1
Edmund Bluefield had always known he was different. Born into the Demonblood Clan, he carried the weight of generations on his shoulders—expectations, power, and the unmistakable aura of magic that hung in the air around him. But as he approached his thousandth birthday, the glittering life he led took a sharp turn into the mundane, tangled in the web of political alliances that came with his lineage. The announcement hit like a thunderclap. Reginald Kingsley, the high lord of the Ninety-Nine Heavens, had issued an edict that sent ripples across both the mortal and magical realms. Edmund was to be betrothed to Rowena Stormrider, the infamous scion of the Kingsley line and a woman notorious for her romantic escapades. She was more myth than person—a ferocious warrior woman with a silver spear who had roamed the lands, capturing hearts and causing chaos wherever she went. Marrying her was the last thing on Edmund’s mind. Rowena, the epitome of temptation and trouble, was hardly someone he could imagine settling down with. He could already hear the whispers behind his back—the cowardly talk of a love so obviously illegitimate. No way was he going to tie the knot with a woman who made a sport out of heartbreak. So Edmund did what any self-respecting demon might do: he bolted. With a heart pounding louder than a war drum, he slipped away from the obligations that draped around his neck like an ancient yoke. The world outside his gilded cage beckoned, and he'd rather face whatever lay out there than walk down an aisle with Rowena. On his escape route, fate intervened in the most peculiar form. His path crossed with John Strong—a name that already felt like a punchline. John was the kind of guy who stood out simply because he didn’t belong anywhere. A wanderer who drifted between the veils of dimensions, a mix of raw charisma and utter absurdity. He had that irresistible charm, that spontaneous energy, and more than a pinch of peculiarities that would either enchant or repel. "Hey there, buddy!" John grinned, his wild hair dancing in the wind. "I was just thinking about how dull this place is. You look like you could use a little excitement." Edmund narrowed his eyes, taking in the sight of this strange man. "Excitement, huh? What do you have in mind?" John’s laugh rang out like the tinkling of bells. "Life's too short for all that serious business. Who needs a wedding when you can chase an adventure instead?" Edmund could appreciate a good escapade, especially one that came free of bridal veils and bouquets. There was a captivating madness about John, something that beckoned him to step out of his carefully crafted life and into the unknown. "Alright, stranger. Let’s see just how wild it can get," Edmund said, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips. And with that, two unlikely allies set forth, racing away from the future that had been mapped out for them and toward whatever chaos awaited. They were a study in contrasts—Edmund, all sharp edges and burdens, and John, a whirlwind of spontaneity and chaotic charm. Together, they dashed into the world beyond. Little did they know, they were about to stumble into a shape-shifting adventure that might just redefine what it meant to live, love, and smash the constraints of fate. As they faded into the horizon, the chains of obligation rattled behind them, replaced by the thrill of possibility that tingled at their fingertips. It was time to rewrite their stories, one reckless choice at a time.
Chapter 2
**Prologue** The thunder rolled heavy in the distance, an ominous blanket of gray swallowing the sky. “Demon Lord commands that Edmund Bluefield return to the palace at once,” came the sharp voice, cutting through the thick tension in the air. A woman with long, golden hair tied back securely danced defiantly with the wind. Edmund Bluefield, a name known to all, stood tall in a fitted black cloak embroidered with vibrant peonies—flowers that mirrored her fierce spirit and indomitable will. “This queen does not take orders,” she declared resolutely. “No one commands me.” “Then, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Robert Gray replied with a flick of his wrist. Two figures emerged from the shadows, positioning themselves like a pincer, cornering Eleanor Blackwood in a tightened grip of menacing resolve. “To dare block my path—now that takes guts,” Eleanor's eyes hardened, her silver spear whirling in her grip, the blade slicing through the air like a flash of lightning. “Come at me, then.” The two men exchanged wary glances, but before they could hesitate further, Liam Ashford, waiting just behind Eleanor, suddenly drew his sword with alarming swiftness, a fierce energy driving his attack. “Liam Ashford, don’t be reckless!” Robert yelled, yet his warning fell on deaf ears. Eleanor’s brows arched in surprise, but without a fraction of hesitation, she met his advance with lethal grace, their weapons clashing with a resounding ring that reverberated in the thickening atmosphere. The other two men exchanged begrudging glances before they steeled themselves and lunged in to form their deadly encirclement of Eleanor. Each of them was a formidable warrior in the Shadowrealm, but they found themselves at a distinct disadvantage against Eleanor’s strength. Despite her talents, the numbers pressed in on her, and soon enough, a flaw emerged in her defenses. Liam took his chance, thrusting his blade dangerously close to her heart. “Liam Ashford! You mustn’t harm the queen!” someone shouted. But Liam didn’t waver. His sword cleaved through fabric, embedding deep into flesh and sending a shock wave of pain through Eleanor, who staggered backward. “You’ve got guts, kid,” she gasped, anger boiling beneath her calm exterior. “I trained you better than this.” But Liam, silent and resolute, deceptively shifted just enough so that the other two couldn’t see him as he willingly offered his neck to her spear’s point. Blood sprayed into the air in a grotesque arc, and Eleanor’s wide eyes mirrored disbelief. “What the hell are you doing?” she gasped. “Queen,” he murmured, his voice low yet steady, “Liam Ashford can only help you this far. Take care.” With that, he pushed her with what strength he had left. The blade slid from its deadly mark, and as Eleanor plummeted away from the tangled melee, she grasped the situation. Through the chaos, she understood: Liam had sacrificed himself for her escape. In this moment, she realized he was as loyal as they came—someone she could always count on. Thunder cracked overhead, and dark clouds swirled above Stonehaven, where citizens sheltered in their homes, trembling at the storm. Yet one resident, unbothered by the brewing tempest, stepped outside, the wild winds whipping through his long hair and clothes. He squinted up at the sky, where he caught a glimmer of silver spiraling downward into the woods beyond the walls. “Something’s off,” he mused with a subtle frown. The next day, Ellis Walker strolled through the bustling marketplace wearing a simple green and white outfit. Amid the cacophony, an odd sound seemed to reach out to him, halting his steps. “Fresh chicken, folks! Big, fat roasters here!” the vendor cried, his voice slicing through the noise. Ellis turned, intrigued. The chicken coop was packed with clucking birds, but one hairless chicken caught his eye, its feeble posture suggesting it was near death. He watched it closely for a moment, then broke into a smile. “I’ll take that one.” The vendor raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that? Ain’t exactly a beauty. I can give you a discount...” “No need,” Ellis replied, pulling out bills and handing them over. “It’s worth it. If I pay less, it’ll just be unhappy.” As Ellis walked away, the vendor’s jaw fell open. “Hey! You didn’t give me enough for that bird! Wait! You little brat, come back here!” But Ellis had already vanished into the crowd. In a haze of confusion, Eleanor found herself confronted by a burly man with a scruffy beard, who grabbed her roughly. His smirk sent chills down her spine. “Who do you think you are? Let go of me!” she snarled, struggling fiercely against her restraints. But weakness from her previous encounter dulled her strength, and before long, she was bound tight, her legs immobilized. Without mercy, he started to pluck her of her feathers. “Coward! Have the guts to face me unbound, and I’ll show you what a real fight looks like!” Eleanor raged inwardly, brimming with defiance, clutching desperately to the flicker of hope that surged inside her mind.
Chapter 3
Eleanor Blackwood jolted awake from her nightmare, gasping for breath. It took her a moment to gather her wits and slowly raise her head from the grass. As her vision cleared, she scanned her surroundings. This wasn’t some deserted forest or lonely glade; it looked like a backyard—a homey place complete with a pebble-lined pond and tender green vines just starting to sprout. Underneath the draping tendrils of grapevines lounged a man in a simple white shirt, the sunlight casting playful shadows across his skin. This guy wasn’t the rotund Garrett Hunt or that leering chicken vendor; this was something entirely different. He had an ethereal quality about him, a calmness that seemed almost otherworldly. Eleanor frowned, shaking her head to rid herself of such distracting thoughts. Enough daydreaming. She was in danger of being found out, and she had to move fast… “Ah, you’re awake,” the man spoke, his voice rough with sleep. “For a moment there, I thought I might not make it.” He remained sprawled in the rocking chair, not bothering to shift as he regarded her with a lazy smile. He tossed a handful of crumbs from a bun her way before teasingly clucking his tongue, “Bawk, bawk.” Eleanor froze, her indignation flaring. Though she had seen her fair share of handsome faces, an encounter like this was frankly unacceptable. Here she was, Eleanor Blackwood, a figure of power in the Shadowrealm, reduced to the status of a mere chicken, all because of a stupid joke. The humiliation was unbearable. She gritted her teeth, pushing herself to stand, but agony shot through her as she remembered the sword Liam Ashford had buried deep in her chest. It hadn’t just hurt—she still felt paralyzed, clutching at the grass in some desperate struggle to regain her primal form to fight back. Instead, all she managed was a futile twitch before glaring at him. The absurdity of it all made her blood boil as he grinned and beckoned her closer, “Come on, chicken. Time to eat!” “Eat this!” Eleanor exploded, forcing herself to leap up, but in a fit of indignation, she stumbled and crashed back to the ground, her beak nose-diving right into a leftover crumb. “Easy, easy, there’s plenty to go around.” The man laughed as he stepped inside the house, emerging moments later with a massive bun. He squatted before her, a disarming grin on his face. “Here you go.” “Who asked for your charity?” Eleanor seethed, her mouth drawn tight with rage. Yet, with resignation settling in, she closed her eyes, shoved her beak into the dirt, and pretended to dig a hole in a futile attempt to hide from her own embarrassment. “Well, if you’re not hungry, how about a bath?” He grinned, his eyes sparkling with something that made Eleanor's gut twist. Before she could get a handle on what he meant, he seized her wings and hoisted her toward the pond. “Wait—what? I’m not bathing!” Eleanor squawked, squirming in his grasp. “Let go of me, you fool! I’ll have your head when I return to the Shadowrealm, just you wait!” But he paid her no heed, dragging her to the water’s edge. She couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of her reflection—her once-proud feathery form stripped away, leaving her stark and ashamed. Yesterday, in a moment of reckless indignation, Liam Ashford had struck her down. She’d fallen into this godforsaken wilderness, where a hulking Garrett Hunt had taken her, honestly caring less about her dignity. Now, stripped of all feathers and pride, she felt like a pathetic joke. “Time to wash,” the man said, playfully flipping her over before tossing her into the pond. Sinking beneath the surface caught her off guard, and panic flooded her lungs. She kicked furiously, her featherless wings flapping in desperate rhythm. The man merely laughed at her struggles, “You can’t swim, can you?” How the hell would she know? “You think chickens swim?” she thought, her irritation bubbling up. But before defeat could settle in, the man swooped in with a bamboo pole, fishing her from the water and plopping her back onto the shore. He crouched beside her, pressing a hand gently against her slick chest. “Just breathe. Hold on, and you’ll be okay.” Her body trembled from the jarring shift—the waterlogged feathers and this sorry state made her feel smaller than ever. As she fought to stay conscious, Eleanor glared at him, her eyes accusing. This guy was doing this on purpose, wasn’t he? Just a casual kick out of making her life miserable. Just as Eleanor felt her consciousness slipping, he merely chuckled and poked her shiny dome. “You’ve got to learn some manners. I’m Ellis Walker, not just some nobody.” Eleanor Blackwood could barely muster a retort, her mind swirling in confusion and fury. She was at the mercy of this man while her reputation lay in tatters. All she could do was plan her escape and dream of revenge against the fool who dared to mock her.
Chapter 4
The storm rolled in like a dark tide, heavy clouds threatening to tear apart the little town of Stonehaven. The air crackled with energy, and the townsfolk hurried to their homes, seeking refuge from the impending chaos. Yet, in a modest house on the western edge of town, one man pushed open the door to his backyard. The wind howled through the bamboo and vines, creating a symphony of rustles that echoed the turmoil brewing above. "It’s getting nasty out here," he murmured, a wry smile dancing on his lips as he gazed at the ominous clouds. Just beyond them, a flash of silver seemed to fall, vanishing over the hills. "Change is coming." The following day, Ellis Walker stepped through the bustling Marketon dressed in a flowing blue and white ensemble. The lively chatter and clamor of the market blended into a unique rhythm, and amidst it all, a different beckoning sound caught his attention, compelling him to pause. "Fresh chickens, fat and juicy!" A vendor’s call rang out, jolting him from his thoughts. Without a moment’s hesitation, he pivoted and approached the stall. Inside a wicker basket, hens huddled closely together, but one in particular caught his eye—a plucked chicken, its skin pale and exposed, projecting an aura of despair. It drooped its head as if any more weight would crush it. Ellis fixed his gaze on the unfortunate creature for a long moment before breaking into a grin. "I'll take this one." "You sure? This chicken’s a real looker," the vendor replied with a chuckle, scratching his head. "I can let it go for a steal if you want." "No need." Ellis pulled money from his pocket and handed it over. "It’s worth every dime. Selling it cheap would just upset it." The vendor blinked, watching as Ellis casually walked away, an unease creeping in as he glanced down at the bills. "Hey! Wait! You didn’t give me enough for that chicken! Hey, you! Come back here!" But there was no sign of Ellis as he melted into the crowd. Somewhere in the blurry haze of her dreams, Eleanor Blackwood found herself face-to-face with a burly man sporting a rough beard. Without warning, he seized her, a wicked grin stretching across his unkempt face. "You’ve got some nerve, don’t you? Let me go!" Panic surged through her as the heat of his grip ignited pain across her skin. No matter how she thrashed, she was held tight—arms twisted, legs bound, her dignity ripped away as he plucked away every last feather. “Coward!” she seethed, vowing vengeance if only he’d release her. “You dare challenge a queen? I’ll blind you with your own stupidity!” She jolted awake, gasping for breath, confusion spreading as she blinked against the morning light. Grass tickled her skin, and as her eyes adjusted, she realized she was in a backyard. A quaint stone pond rippled nearby, vines freshly sprouting beside a bamboo chair occupied by a striking young man. He was dressed in an ethereal blue and white, relaxed against the sun’s warm embrace, the dappled light painting him in softly shifting patterns. Eleanor was momentarily captivated, despite herself. Even amidst a realm of beauty, he radiated a kind of otherworldly charm that left her stunned. Shaking the daze from her mind, she reminded herself of the urgency to leave—still reeling from her transformation and constrained by her circumstances. "Ah, you’re awake," the young man’s voice broke the tension, raspy from sleep. "I thought I’d wake up dead or something." Eleanor turned, noting that he hadn’t moved an inch. Instead, he offered her some crumbs of steamed bun, tossing them like bait. "Here, chick-chick," he teased, a playful glint in his eye. Her blood boiled at the mockery. She might have been born a phoenix, shaped from celestial power, and adorned with an ancient artifact—Celestine Pearl—but today, she felt like a prisoner in her own skin. There was no pride left when a mortal dared to treat her like a pet. Fury bubbling inside, she tried to push herself up, but the force of the betrayal still ravaged her, leaving her powerless. Instead, she writhed in frustration, only to glance up and see him grinning more broadly. "Come on, chicken," he coaxed. Eleanor had had enough. With a burst of indignation, she sprang upward in a flurry, only to crash back down, her beak crunching down on a chunk of bun. "Whoa, easy there." He chuckled, retrieving a larger bun from inside the house, squatting near her with a smirk. "Want some?” She glared daggers at him, but the situation was so ridiculous her outrage threatened to boil over. Instead of accepting his taunt, she harshly pecked at the ground, wishing the earth would swallow her whole. Watching her, he laughed, a smooth sound that grated on her nerves. "No? Then maybe a bath?" He lifted her by her wings, pulling her toward Silverpond. “Wait, what? You can’t be serious,” Eleanor protested. "Let go of me! I’ll have the last word!" But he didn’t seem fazed, and as she realized what was about to happen, panic coursed through her. So much had been taken already, and now he would humiliate her further? She just couldn’t believe it. In a swift motion, he tossed her into the water. She splashed down, shocked and sputtering, her wings flapping wildly as instincts kicked in. Heaven help her, there was no way this was how it ended—with a mortal man drowning her like some barnyard fowl. Just as darkness crept in at the edges of her vision, a bamboo pole extended toward her, lifting her from the water’s grip. He leaned over, pressing lightly on her still-wet chest. "Breathe. You gotta live," he murmured, his tone oddly calm. As her vision faded, all she could do was glare at him, a mix of resentment and begrudging respect coursing through her. He smirked at her, tapping her bare head, and said, “C’mon now, be polite! Name’s Ellis Walker. Not just ‘some guy.’” Eleanor felt like laughing and crying all at once, grappling with the realization of her ridiculous predicament. All dignity lost, she drifted into unconsciousness as the world faded away, but not before thinking—was this really how her story would unfold?
Chapter 5
In the early morning light, Eleanor Blackwood stirred awake, just in time to see a man kneeling by the edge of a shimmering pool, casually tossing bits of bread to the fish. He seemed utterly absorbed, sleeves dragging through the water, blissfully unaware of the sun illuminating his profile in a way that made him seem almost... sacred. Sacred. A mere mortal. Memories of their chaotic encounter came rushing back, and Eleanor blinked hard to clear her mind, fixing him with a guarded stare. Maybe her gaze was too piercing, as Ellis Walker turned slightly to glance at her, his tone flat as he said, “I’m Ellis.” It felt deliberately emphasized. Taken aback, Eleanor watched as he pushed himself up, brushing off his robe while muttering to himself, “Ah, time for my meds.” He limped away, a somewhat comedic sight, and Eleanor shook her head in disbelief. How could such a mundane man exude an air of divinity? He was just... ordinary. She was done wasting time on someone so banal. Eleanor willed herself to rise, secretly amazed that she could stand after the injuries from the previous day, but to her surprise, her strength had returned more swiftly than expected. She didn’t dwell on it. Focusing inward, she sighed quietly; of course, her powers wouldn’t come back so soon... but perhaps that was for the best. The people from the Shadowrealm wouldn’t be able to sense her for a while. Still, with Malcolm Darkbane’s ruthless determination, it was only a matter of time before he found her. If her powers weren't restored by then... “Hey there, c’mon!” Eleanor’s thoughts were interrupted by a voice behind her. She spun around, irritation flaring as she caught sight of a young man in a blue and white outfit sitting on the stone steps, offering a soft white bun. “Food time!” Eleanor scowled, turning her head dismissively but suddenly recalling the torment she had endured the day before for refusing food. Stiffening for a moment, she wrestled with herself before finally striding over with aloof defiance. As she breathed in the faint scent of herbs radiating around Ellis, she took a closer look at him, noting the bluish tint of his lips and the dark shadows under his eyes. It was clear he wasn’t long for this world. Perfect, she thought. Even if he’d seen her at her worst, at least he wouldn’t be around to remember it. Once he passed, she’d still be the illustrious Edmund Bluefield, unmarred by any lingering stains. With that thought, her mood lightened. She leaned forward, taking a tentative bite of the bun; it was surprisingly soft and delicious. So good it was nearly unbelievable. Before Ellis could react, Eleanor had snatched the bun from his hands and laid it on the stone step, devouring it greedily. Unlike those who didn’t require food, members of the Demonblood Clan needed sustenance just like humans. But Eleanor had always been a meat lover, so the fact that she'd gobbled up the bun was no small feat. As she finished, crumbs dusting her hands, she glanced up at Ellis, only to find him propped on his elbow, casting a gentle, amused gaze her way. The expression was somewhat akin to how one might look at a pet, yet Eleanor felt a peculiar flutter in her chest. She quickly averted her eyes, an unfamiliar feeling rising within her. She was used to being feared by scholarly types and respected by warriors; men usually kept their distance. Who dared to look at her like that? But this moment of unease was fleeting—she’d dealt with worse storms. Shaking off the sensation, she poked Ellis’s knee with her elbow and gestured at the spot where the bun had been. “Yeah, I could use another,” she said, challenging him. Ellis just smiled, “All gone. Made just enough for today.” With that, he stood and retreated inside. Eleanor was momentarily stunned, following him inside. How audacious of him to think one bun would satisfy her! She was definitely getting two. She hobbled after him, but her energy gave out as she crossed the threshold. By the time she stumbled into the main room, panting like a dog, all hope of chasing him down was lost. He was already out the front door, a heavy bag slung over his shoulder. “Take care of the place! I’ll be right back!” he called back, his voice fading. That bastard actually thought he could assign her guard duty. But wait... sell? What was he talking about? Eleanor bent to survey her surroundings. His living situation was modest, but not impoverished. A capable man like him could surely do anything; why would he resort to... ah, well, maybe he just had a penchant for this lifestyle. With her thoughts drifting, she glanced at the sky, realizing it might not be wise to conduct such business during daylight hours. But then again, who was she to judge? She decided to rest for a few days, nursing her wounds and letting him be. Eleanor leaned back against the threshold of the backyard, the sun carving its way across the afternoon sky. The subtle rustle of leaves in the breeze lulled her into an unexpected calm. It felt good to disengage from the weight of her usual troubles, and just when she was about to drift off to sleep, a faint sound broke through the tranquility.
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