The Demon King's Obsession

Lysan Dusk lay on his bed, watching the crack on the ceiling as tears spilled from his eyes, his heart contracted painfully inside his chest. 

He tried to call for help, but his voice barely came out as a whisper.

He heard voices in the next room, “He has to go, he knows too much.”

More tears spilled from his eyes as he struggled to breathe.

Three years ago, he killed the ruthless Demon king. He delivered humanity from suffering. He stopped the Demon king before he could unleash hell on earth, and this was how he was rewarded. By being poisoned.

Lysan laughed through the tears, the sound coming out dry and broken that turned into a cough. Blood poured from his mouth.

The hero of humanity, dying alone, with no one bothering to help him.

The door creaked open and he saw one of his most trusted men. 

A ray of hope shimmered in his eyes as he struggled to lift his hands to signal him.

The man walked towards Lysan's bed, a frown visible on his face. He looked at Lysan, “You can rot in hell.” Then he spat and walked out.

Lysan's heart squeezed painfully inside his chest, every hope lost. He was at the brink of his demise. He just closed his eyes and waited for death to come, bitter memories of the war flooding his vision.

He opened his eyes again, the pain of the slow death hitting harder. His throat tightened, his hands lying limp at his sides that he couldn't feel, his body feeling heavy, his breath slowing down, and the darkness began to creep at the edge of his sight.

His life flashed before his eyes, the war, the day he stood before the Demon King’s twisted corpse and felt triumph.

He should have run, taken a new name, lived a simple life somewhere quiet, but he didn't. He stayed, he thought the people needed him. And now the people were the cause of his death.

His eyes closed, darkness finally taking over, the sound of his heartbeat slowed down.

And then he took his final breath.

*******************************

Lysan gasped as he jerked off the bed before his mind could catch up.

He swallowed and exhaled repeatedly, like he had forgotten how to breathe.

One hand gripped his chest, his heart was pounding fast.

He was alive.

His eyes scanned the room, but it looked wrong. Clean white ceilings, afternoon sun from the window. The air smelled fresh—like soap and perfumes. No single smell of blood lingered around.

His head throbbed, he raised a hand to massage his temple. He stopped mid air. That hand was not his.

It was too smooth for someone who had spent half of his entire life fighting wars. No calluses from swords, the scar where the Demon king's claw gripped him in the battle field was gone.

He turned the hand over, examining it carefully.

“What the—” His voice came out cracky and soft. 

He sat on the bed, staring into space.

“Quite a pretty bad dream you had there mate,” an unfamiliar voice called out to Lysan from behind.

He swallowed, then turned around to check where the voice came from. An unfamiliar face he hadn't seen in his entire life. 

“Where am I?” He asked the unfamiliar boy.

“Have the dreams taken away your memories, mate?” He snorted. “You're in your dorm silly, same dorm you’ve slept for three years. Combat exams are in a few minutes, get ready quickly, I didn’t want to wake you earlier.” The boy said, while buttoning his uniform.

“Combat exams?”

“Yeah,” he said tugging at his collar. “You overslept again, and forgot—again.” 

Lysan forced a laugh, “Nah, just nervous, tension and all.” he said, waving a hand.

The boy narrowed his eyes. “We already trained this morning, and you were fine. What tension are you talking about?”

Lysan held his gaze and smiled. “It's just…bad dreams.”

“Hmmm.” The boy patted Lysan in the shoulder and walked out.

As soon as he stepped out, Lysan threw the blanket from his body, stood up and walked to the mirror. 

He gasped and touched his face as he looked at his reflection.

He was in a stranger's body, the face young and smooth, his chest clean, no blemishes from the war. 

He staggered to the calendar beside the mirror and his mouth widened in shock.

The date was sixty years before he was even born.

“What?” He touched his face again, and walked back to the mirror. “This is impossible.”

But reality stared at him in the mirror. 

Lysan grabbed the desk to steady himself, his reflection still stared at him from the small mirror. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a handsome face, so smooth without blisters, and he was even a student.

He was no one, sixty years before he was born, in a body that wasn't his.

And the Demon king, the one he killed, was still alive, walking around somewhere in this timeline, young, healthy and free.

And he had not yet became the monster he killed.

His mind was still spiraling, then a knock jolted him out.

“Lysan, the combat exams start in about ten minutes, are you ready yet?” Another male voice came through from behind the door.

Lysan froze, it was the same name!

The door creaked open. A red headed student poked his head in. “You look pale Lys, are you sick?”

Lysan's mind raced with different possibilities. Life had given him another chance. And it was his decision to choose, whether to accept it—pretend to be this body owner, go to the exams, showcase his skills and become a known person again.

Or decline it—fail on purpose, retire, and live the life he had amways dreamed of. 

Him saving the world in his previous life had already cost him a lot.

He cleared his throat and looked at the boy that had already stepped into the room. “I'm fine, just bad dreams.”

The red headed boy grinned, “You're always having bad dreams, Come on Lys, let's go fail together.” he punched Lysan playfully and walked out, whistling.

Lysan looked at the mirror one more time, he was in the body of a young student—the body of someone who hadn't seen hell yet.

He thought of being no one.

Just… living a quiet life.

Then he made his decision., 

He was going to rest. He wasn't going to play hero this time. He was going to sit in the shadows and enjoy his new self. He didn't let himself think about the people who would die because he chose peace over war. Life had given him another chance, now he was going to ace it.

He dressed up in the uniform, adjusted the collar, practised a smile, and stepped out into the hallway.

Lysan reached the combat grounds and waited for his turn. The red headed guy came to stand beside him. The guy from the room was already in the combat ring. 

The instructor called out to him. “Lysan Dusk? You're up next.”

Thr red headed guy leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Break a leg Lys, I mean it.” Then he winked at him.

Lysan pressed his lips together and walked towards the instructor. His plan had already formed in his head. Fail on purpose. 

He entered the combat ring, his eyes scanning the crowd, and he froze.

Standing among the nobles, dressed in black, a man Lysan hoped he would never see again.

Roman Da'Luka.

The young version of the Demon king Lysan had killed in his previous life, looking extremely young and charming, with pale grey eyes.

And he was looking directly at Lysan.