Cold stone pressed against Ronald's bare back, freezing him to the very bone. Dust coated his parched throat like crushed glass when he took his first ragged breath in seventeen years. Coughing violently, he rolled onto his side, his raw hands scraping against coarse gravel and debris. Darkness hung heavy in the air, smelling of ancient rot, damp earth, and long-forgotten secrets. Slowly, he pushed himself up, his stiff muscles screaming in protest at the sudden movement. Every joint in his body popped like dry twigs under immense pressure. Where was he? Memories swirled in his mind, chaotic and broken, refusing to align into any coherent thought. He remembered a name—Ronald—and a feeling of endless, suffocating water, but nothing else. Heavy stone walls enclosed him in a narrow, circular chamber that felt more like a tomb than a sanctuary. Above his head, a faint crack in the ceiling let in a single sliver of pale moonlight, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. Moonlight illuminated his hands, pale and unmarked, yet trembling with an unfamiliar, dormant energy. "Seventeen years..." a voice whispered in the deepest recesses of his mind, though he couldn't tell if it was his own or a lingering echo of a spell. Startled, he spun around, his heart hammering violently against his ribs as he scanned the darkness. Nobody stood in the chamber with him. Only a massive stone altar stood in the center of the room, cracked clean down the middle as if struck by lightning. Resting on the fractured stone lay two distinct objects that seemed to pulse with an eerie life of their own. On the left lay a shattered silver hilt, radiating a faint, warm glow that made his skin prickle with a strange comfort. Opposite the hilt, a jagged obsidian dagger oozed a dark, cold mist that felt heavy, suffocating, and terrifyingly cold. Hesitantly, he reached out, his fingers hovering in the tense air between the two relics. Ordinary humans would have died from simply breathing the toxic aura radiating from these weapons. Devils would burn to ash from the pure holy steel of the shattered hilt. Angels would perish from the corrupt demonic energy oozing from the black blade. Ronald, however, felt a strange, magnetic pull drawing him to both of them simultaneously, a deep resonance in his blood. Grip tightening, he grabbed both weapons at the exact same moment. Pure, blinding electricity surged up his arms, flooding his veins with a volatile mixture of fire and ice. He braced for the agonizing pain of rejection, expecting his flesh to melt away under the conflicting forces. Instead, the warmth of the silver hilt and the icy chill of the dark blade merged within his chest, finding a perfect, unnatural balance. Gold and purple light flared around his wrists, burning away the centuries of dirt and dust on his skin. "What am I?" he muttered, his voice hoarse, sounding like grinding stones after centuries of silence. A sudden tremor shook the chamber, sending dust and small pebbles falling from the cracked ceiling. Footsteps echoed from the dark corridor outside, heavy, irregular, and dragging with a sinister intent. --- Instinct took over before his conscious mind could fully process the approaching danger. Ronald slipped behind a collapsed stone pillar, holding his breath as the heavy footsteps drew closer. Unfamiliar scents filled his nose—burning sulfur, rotting flesh, and something metallic like fresh blood. Red eyes gleamed in the darkness of the doorway, glowing with an insatiable hunger. A massive, distorted silhouette squeezed into the chamber, its breathing wet, ragged, and heavy. It was a grotesque creature, a stray devil with multiple arachnid legs bursting from its spine and a human face twisted into a permanent grin. "I smelled something fresh," the creature hissed, its voice a grating chorus of whispers that echoed off the stone walls. "A human? No... too rich. Too pure." Ronald pressed his back against the cold stone, his fingers tightening around his weapons. Strangely, the weapons reacted to his rising adrenaline, as if feeding on his survival instincts. A blade of pure, blinding golden light erupted from the shattered silver hilt, illuminating the dark corners of the room. At the same time, the obsidian dagger began to burn with a dark purple flame, casting eerie, flickering light against the ancient walls. "What is that light?" the beast shrieked, backing away as the holy energy singed its sensitive, dark-adapted eyes. "An exorcist? In this forgotten hole of Tabay?" Ronald didn't answer, his focus narrowing entirely on the threat in front of him. Adrenaline surged through his veins, washing away the last remnants of his seventeen-year slumber. He lunged forward, his movements impossibly fast, defying the natural limits of a human body. With a swift upward slash, he swung the golden blade of light, aiming for the monster's neck. Screaming in agony, the beast tried to block with its massive arms, but the holy light sliced clean through one of its armored spider legs. Black blood sprayed onto the stone floor, sizzling as the holy energy purified the demonic corruption. "Damn you!" the monster roared, lunging forward with its remaining claws in a desperate bid to crush him. Ronald spun out of the way, his body reacting with a fluid grace he didn't know he possessed, dodging the razor-sharp claws by mere inches. Bringing the obsidian dagger down, he drove the purple-flamed blade deep into the creature's shoulder. Dark demonic energy erupted from the point of impact, rapidly decaying the monster's flesh and spreading like a virus through its veins. "How... how can you use both?" the beast gasped, collapsing to its knees as the conflicting energies tore its body apart from the inside. Holy light burned its soul, while demonic rot consumed its physical form, creating an agonizing torment. Such a combination should have been impossible, a violation of the natural laws established by the Three Factions. Ronald stood over the dying creature, his chest heaving as he stared at the dual weapons in his hands. Both weapons felt perfectly natural in his grip, like extensions of his own soul, balanced perfectly within his unique biology. "Who are you?" the monster whimpered, its red eyes wide with absolute, paralyzing terror. Before Ronald could speak, the rags covering his chest burned away, disintegrated by the heat of his awakening power. A glowing crest emerged on his skin, shining with a brilliant, ancient violet light. It was the shape of a coiled sea serpent, majestic and terrifying, radiating an ancient, primordial authority of the deep. "That mark..." the beast whispered, its voice trembling with a fear far greater than the fear of death itself. "Coiled serpent... Leviathan! You are the hidden..." A sudden burst of light consumed the creature before it could finish the sentence, reducing its grotesque body to a pile of gray ash. --- Silence returned to the ruined chamber, broken only by Ronald's heavy, uneven breathing. He stared down at his chest, tracing the glowing blue and purple lines of the serpent crest with his trembling fingers. Leviathan. This name echoed in his mind, carrying a weight that made his knees buckle and his heart race. Why did he have the mark of a Great Demon King? Why could he wield the holy light of the heavens alongside the dark flames of the underworld? Questions swirled in his head, but he had no time to search for answers in the quiet ruins. A sudden, massive pressure descended upon the ruins of Tabay, making the very air feel heavy and hard to breathe. Crimson light filtered through the crack in the ceiling, painting the stone chamber in shades of deep blood red. Ronald looked up, his eyes widening as a massive magic circle materialized in the sky above the ruins. Complex runes spun within the circle, radiating a power so immense it made his skin crawl with dread. Someone incredibly powerful had detected his awakening and was coming to investigate. Someone was coming to hunt him down before he could even understand what he was. He needed to run, but his legs felt like lead, the sudden exertion of using both holy and demonic magic draining his newly awakened body. A shadow fell over the entrance of the chamber, blocking the faint moonlight. Steps paced slowly toward him, accompanied by the soft, rhythmic clinking of heavy armor. Ronald raised his weapons, his vision beginning to blur as exhaustion threatened to pull him back into the dark. A figure stepped through the dust, clad in silver robes with a golden cross dangling from their neck. "Well, well," a smooth, dangerous voice echoed through the chamber, dripping with malice. "What do we have here?" Ronald gripped his weapons tighter, his knuckles turning white as he braced for another fight. But his body was failing him, his vision spinning as the golden light of his hilt began to flicker and fade. "A hybrid wielding both holy and demonic artifacts..." the figure murmured, stepping closer, their eyes locked on the glowing crest on Ronald's chest. "This is a sin that cannot be allowed to exist in this world." With a wave of the figure's hand, a bright circle of light appeared beneath Ronald's feet, binding his legs in chains of pure energy. He collapsed to his knees, his breath caught in his throat as the golden chains burned his skin. "Sleep now, abomination," the figure whispered, drawing a silver sword that gleamed with lethal intent. Ronald stared up at the descending blade, his heart hammering against his ribs as a surge of desperate adrenaline fought against his exhaustion.

Chapter 1: El Despertar del Híbrido