The Abused is The Abuser in Another World

Prologue

The sky had darkened long before nightfall, its purple hues swallowed by clouds that churned like a restless sea. Somewhere beyond the veil, stars winked out one by one, as if snuffed by an unseen hand. The air was heavy with the scent of ash and iron, the ground beneath cracked and lifeless, as though scorched by an ancient wrath.

In a forgotten valley, hidden from the gaze of gods and mortals alike, Asmodeus, Prince of Demons, stood alone. His once-mighty form, now diminished and frail, trembled with fury. The ritual he had prepared—a dark rite forbidden even among his kind—had taken everything from him. The valley, once teeming with infernal energy, now lay silent, save for the whispered echoes of his own despair.

He had sought power beyond power, a return to his former glory, and vengeance upon those who had dared defy him. Yet the price had been steep, the magic unpredictable. His body was preserved, yes, hidden away in this secret place, waiting for the day he would rise again and reclaim his throne. But in reaching out to the abyss, he had unknowingly beckoned another—a mortal soul filled with rage and a thirst for revenge as deep as his own.

Noir.

Dragged from the brink of death, Noir's soul had answered the call of the dark magic, colliding with Asmodeus's at the threshold between worlds. A desperate boy, betrayed and left to die, now fused with the essence of a demon prince. The ancient power surged and twisted, binding them together, neither truly alive nor dead—two souls trapped in one body, two wills fighting for control.

For a time, they had been locked in a silent battle, a struggle of wills within the dark recesses of their shared consciousness. Noir, driven by a singular desire to find the one who betrayed him, fought back with a ferocity that surprised even the demon. Asmodeus, torn between fury and fascination, found himself in an unfamiliar position—no longer the master, but something else entirely.

And then came the dragon.

Takir, the ancient beast bound by celestial chains, had sensed the disturbance. Drawn to the awakening of an old foe, he descended upon the valley with a fury that shook the earth. But instead of finding the demon prince he once knew, he found something else—a fractured soul, an alliance neither holy nor profane, a vessel that was both a prison and a weapon.

In the end, they had made a pact—an uneasy truce born of necessity. Now three entities shared one form, each bound by the will of another, each seeking something different from this dangerous union. Noir, with the demon's cunning and the dragon's strength, would face the unknown with a weapon of immense, insatiable hunger. A weapon known only in legends, spoken of in hushed whispers:

The Grimreaper.

A scythe forged in darkness, a blade that could consume the abilities of its victims, even the gods themselves. A weapon that called out to Noir's deepest instincts, promising power beyond reckoning, if only he could learn to wield it.

But as they stood on the brink of a world both familiar and foreign, they sensed a deeper game afoot. Forces unseen were already moving, threads of fate intertwining with their own, a tapestry of power, vengeance, and survival woven by hands far greater than theirs.

Noir took a breath, feeling the weight of his new reality settle upon him. His eyes, now burning with an unnatural crimson light, scanned the horizon with a determination that seemed to crack the air around him. The Grimreaper hummed in his hand, vibrating with a quiet, hungry anticipation.

I don't know what lies ahead, he thought, but I will find my way. One step at a time. One soul at a time.

The shadows thickened around him, a dark aura spreading, as the first step in a journey unlike any other began.

And somewhere, in the distant void between worlds, an unseen smile spread—a smile that knew the game had only just begun.