1 Outcast of Duskcrowned

The sky wore a blanket of delicate blue clouds, casting a serene, azure glow upon the world. A cool breeze whispered through the air, accompanied by the 'whoosh' of wings in flight.

Two figures adorned the heavens, adding a touch of enchantment with their presence.

The leading figure was of a woman with an otherworldly presence, with two long feathers in the shade of black and gray sprouting from her back. Clad in a Long-sleeved purple Medieval Dress, with golden Laces and Border.

As the breeze passed by her, it revealed her ample curves; most part was hidden by her dress, leaving just a hint of her cleavage exposed. No expression could be seen on her face that looked to be sculpted by gods.

Her almond-shaped Eyes were a mesmerizing shade of Aquarian Blue, reminding one of the tranquil ocean depths. Long dark lashes framed those eyes, adding a touch of allure to her gaze.

Following her was a slender figure, an embodiment of Death and Darkness itself. Hovering in the air, she defied gravity as if it didn't exist. The wind carried her around like a spoiled princess. She was draped in a flowing black dress, which veiled her form, revealing only her chest and face.

Her face was pale as moonlight, with skin as smooth as porcelain. Scarlet eyes glistened with a sinister enchantment. Beneath each eye, dark lines etched like tears, giving birth to an eerie contrast against her Bleached face.

A serious expression could be seen on her face that was enough to send shivers down the spine of anyone facing her.

Her lips, painted in black, moved slowly. "My Lady, why do you care about that boy? He has been a disappointment who has not even awakened half of your abilities."

"You are again starting with your rant; give him time, he will surely grow stronger." Replied the winged lady as a subtle smile curled the corners of her lips.

A disappointed expression appeared on the pale-faced figure as a glint of red glow appeared in her eyes. "Miss, you are getting emotional and not thinking logically. That boy is a gone case; he has not awakened any Element yet, nor do I feel him being proficient in Spirit Magic."

"I understand your feeling, Melusina, but at the end of the day, he is a Nephilim; it might be why his progress is slower than others." Said the lady with Blue Eyes.

Her silky brown hair danced in the wind, flowing gracefully around her as she gazed down the earth below before starting to descend. A vast land could be seen filled with countless houses of unique medieval design.

At its heart was a Tower with its top piercing the sky, made of big grey bricks, with its Spire, catwalk, and stripes colored in black. Below Spire was a giant circular Eye-shaped Magic Circle, Shining in a mysterious Purple light—symmetric Rune patterns connected to it through lines that scattered like veins across the tower.

The area around it had large, towering houses and structures, each an architectural marvel. Tower's Spire had a Giant spherical Orb, a symphony of magic, emanating an ethereal light that bathed the area around it in a mesmerizing Purple glow.

"Ma'am, please reconsider; he doesn't deserve to share your name being associated with him. Talent is not the only problem; he is Lazy and unmotivated. If it continues like that, he will only bring you more shame," said Melusina, her fingers clutching the fabric of her dress. The once-smooth material now bore the indents of her grip, wrinkling with tension.

"Let's give him some more time; I don't believe he has no talent. Don't you know whose blood runs through his veins? With even a fraction of his talent, Becoming a powerhouse should not be a big deal for Amon." Her lips curved into a confidant smile; her Blue eyes shone with unwavering light.

Melusina had just opened her mouth to say something when she was stopped by the Fallen Angel beside her. "Shhh.. Look there, something interesting is taking place."

Below them was a place of profound significance. Enclosed by imposing walls, Four majestic statues were placed on four corners, two men and two women, all with their wings unfurled, embodying elegance and might.

Within this hallowed training ground, a small group of five young Fallen Angels could be seen engaged in a heated argument with a lone boy who looked human. They circled him like vultures, their eyes gleaming with a sinister edge.

"Look at him," one sneered, his voice dripping scornfully. "A mere halfling dares to train with us."

The others joined in, their words cruel and taunting. "You don't belong here, Mixblood."

"Go back to your lowly father; you are a dirty scar in the Duskcrowned Family name." said the tallest one of them.

"Yeah, leave the clan halfling; you are born to be a slave."

Their wings rustled menacingly, and they continued their barrage of verbal abuse, trying to intimidate the human boy who stood alone as an outcast. "Leave me alone; I don't want to argue with you guys," said the boy as his hands covered his ears, his legs moving back as he retreated.

Taking deep breaths, he tried to calm himself down. 'Control, Mother has told me not to invite any trouble. I should follow her advice; I can't make it difficult for her.'

He moved to the corner and started training with a Sword; his fingers curled around the handle tightly before he started swinging it. They kept throwing verbal abuses at him, but he ignored them, concentrating his full focus on swinging Sword.

This was the only thing he liked the moment he picked a sword. He was able to forget everything. His moves smoothened with each swing, making them look polished.

He never received any guidance from anyone, nor did he try to imitate other swordsmen. From the first time he picked it up till now, he had learned everything by himself.

It was as if all his answers were inside; there was no need to look outside. When he swung his Sword, the sound it created told him if he was swinging it right or not. A pleasant melody created by the whistling of a sword was like music to his ears.

He was enjoying this moment, drifting into his own world. It was then he heard something that made him stop. Laughter suddenly erupted in the hall.

His calm and composed self washed away the next moment; he turned around and asked coldly, "What did you say?"

Noticing his reaction, the Fallen Angel at the back mocked, "Are you deaf or what?" before bursting into laughter with others around him.

"It was just a joke," said the other one.

He then noticed the cold expression of the Nephilim before him and said, "Ok, I will repeat it again for you. Keep in mind to pay full attention this time."

"Do you know a term for a Fallen Angel that has fallen further?" he said, holding his laugh.

"What?" his friend played along.

"Any guess, Amon? It might be easier for you," he asked as he looked at the boy staring at him with daggering eyes; seeing him silent, he continued with a disappointed look, "You are no fun."

"Defiled Angel," "Defiled Angel," The other kids replied. Instantly, laughter erupted again like a torrent, filling the hall with a cruel cacophony that echoed off the walls.

However, the laughter hurt the more than a dagger to the heart. He stared at them as if memorizing their faces, standing alone in the center of this maelstrom, his breath raised and fists clenched. The next moment, a cold presence lingered in the hall.