Ryan shouldn't be here, sitting in this bare cell. He gazes out between the cold steel bars and checks the time. What he sees makes him dread what awaits him when those same bars open. Amongst these real murderers with nothing to lose, he doesn't stand a chance. He honestly did nothing wrong, but here he is all the same, serving life in prison for taking a life he tried to save.

For the millionth time, he replays those memories that led him here.

"Watch out!"

Reaching ahead of himself, Ryan grabbed ahold of the hood attached to the random young boy's exceedingly fluffy jacket and pulled him back onto the sidewalk just as an electric car zoomed past, being far more quiet than it had any right to be.

---Vroom!---Beep-Beep!

As the sleek, overpriced, black plastic car flew past, the young boy pulled free from Ryan's grip and turned to face him. All the while, taking a few steps back out into the street with a scowl on his face and harsh words already leaving his mouth.

" What the fuck? Keep your hands off me! "

When the young boy stumbled back into the street before Ryan's eyes, time for him slowed. Ryan watched in silent horror as the young boy got run over by a jacked-up truck, a truck that looked like it had never seen a carwash in its life. Rusty, covered in road salt, mud, and now the blood of this young boy.

First, what looked like a homemade steel push bar, slammed the boy in his upper chest which knocked the boy down hard. Hard enough, that his head made an audible sound as it smacked the road, yet he was still awake, the truck not moving fast enough as it rounded the corner for a painless instant kill. The enraged expression the boy's face showed was quickly replaced by fear as the front tire began rolling over him. The tire started its lesson between his legs, at his family jewels, before moving across his chest over his shoulder, barely missing his face.

The first tire made the boy regret everything as he let out a quick horrified scream before his body spasmed, his ribs cracked, and his arms and legs flailed about, hitting the still-moving truck as if he may somehow push it off of him.

Not a second after the first tire finished its assault, leaving the boy unmoving in its wake, did the truck begin to slow. The brakes screeched and they tried their best to stop the vehicle, however, it was too little, too late.

Ryan watched in shock as the second tire followed the first, coming to a quick stop upon the unmoving boy's head.

In those precious few seconds, as everyone around began to scream and panic, Ryan rushed to his side in a useless effort to render aid.

The moment Ryan took the boy's hand into his own, the weight of the truck took its toll and crushed his skull underneath the tire, sending pink fluid out of his eyes and snuffing out the young life.

That’s when Ryan heard the women. She was the first to say Ryan pushed the boy, but not the only one who seemed to believe that he was responsible based on the testimony that left him here, in this situation, in a state pen for murderers, with the infamy of being a child killer. To say he is popular among his fellow convicts would be an understatement.

Outside of his cell, he can hear the voices of those around him ring out threats and promises one after another. Each is more gruesome than the last.

At the end of the day, the incarcerated animals he is housed with just want someone to lord over, any excuse will do. He is simply convenient, and running out of time.

The clock strikes seven a.m. and the cell doors all open automatically, letting the convicts out, yet Ryan doesn't even leave his cell. Based on the sounds, Ryan knows that the occupants on either side of him haven't left either. Their shadows show that they don't intend for him to leave as they stand guard.

Time passes slowly for Ryan as he reflects on his life and regrets. Including all that was taken from him by some bystanders and a few words no less.

His family, friends, and property are all gone.

Now, in a cynical twist of fate, the pitiful absentee father of the boy of whom Ryan has been convicted of killing makes his way towards him, backed up by the gang he is part of.

Looking up as they arrive, Ryan can see that they are all carrying homemade shanks, while he sits in a cell lacking everything but the clothes he wore when he arrived. No pillow, no mattress, not even a cellmate. He knew from the moment he arrived here, that he was a dead man, and as he's swarmed by a half dozen men creating new holes in his body, his assumptions are proven correct.

He tries to shield himself, out of instinct. Using his hands to cover his face and body, but it is useless. He falls into the fetal position and can only hear the enraged father among them as he stabs him over and over. The shock of the assault and the loss of blood numbs the pain. But even then, he can feel the jagged blades as they plunge into him, scraping against the bone, often breaking off inside of him in their combined attack.

At some point, he begins to feel like a passenger in his own body, and the sounds around him all begin to fade away... yet, not quite disappear.

The screaming and hollering of his fellow convicts is replaced by the soothing sound of water. He feels like he has been floating for days while he tries to understand what is happening.

His mind seemed to be clouded in a fog or haze, but at times, it cleared. So far he has discerned, nothing he can believe. He is seemingly floating in some kind of barrel. His body is unresponsive, he feels too weak or perhaps unable to move. He can only say that he is disturbingly warm and cozy, despite the feeling of waves rocking him about. Maybe this is a dream and he is in a medically induced coma?

This makes absolutely no sense to Ryan and he keeps trying to figure out what kind of hospital treatment would make him feel like this. He keeps trying to rationalize his situation however, his ruminations come to a halt as he finally hears the iconic sound of waves breaking.

The sound of the waves stirs something inside of him. The sound is like that of a siren calling out for him. The louder the crashing of the waves, the more he feels the need to make it there. The excitement keeps the haze away from his mind while the waves become more violent, and louder. This continues until he feels himself being pushed along with one. The sudden change in speed snaps his mind fully awake, allowing him to move for the first time while bracing for impact.

If one were to ask Ryan, he would tell you that the feeling of floating in the dark has some semblance of stability, whereas being flung through the air has a distinct lack of it. The newfound sensations only made this worse as he suddenly felt like he was drowning inside his cramped prison.

The panic was short-lived. His ascent quickly became a descent until he crashed into rocks. His container breaks apart and frees him on impact. The dim light now available allowed him to see again, and the air allowed him to breathe, however, the water he rode in on, wasn't giving him the chance to even think as another wave came dragging him along the rocks and threatened to pull him back out into the surf. As he slipped and fell, the water did nothing to stop the jagged rocks from cutting into his hands and feet, but the idea of being stuck in the water and battered against the rocks was plenty of motivation to get up and get moving even as the absurdity of the situation presented itself to him in the form of an eggshell.

He watched the comparatively giant shattered eggshell flow past him, with most of it getting stuck in a small pool of oddly colored red water as he grasped the jagged rocky outcropping and got his balance.

The first thing that Ryan recognized, was the egg itself, colored unnaturally black and silver. Then from the pool of water it laid in, stretched a red rope of mucus that connected to him. The next observation was his body, appearing to be that of a young boy, colored in a matching black, with silver lines running across his skin. Stubby hands and feet with dull, very human-looking nails and a pair of nubs for horns. The only consolation was his equipment being the same package he remembers.

Looking up towards the sky, he gazed upon a purple glowing moon, that shone down upon him. Looking around, he noticed the green smoke coming from the egg-littered beaches nearby, then soot that filled the air. That same soot came from a giant volcano that birthed the island and continued to belch smoke even now.

Taking in all the sights and the thousands of eggs littering the island left Ryan with all the clues he could ever need. He came to the natural conclusion for any cultured fan who has read the novel.

“ Somehow, I am now a demon, and this setting reminds me of Roy's story, or it should have been. Perhaps Roy is still here? ”

"Time for a freakout later," he told himself. Early gains are a must if he wants to survive.

Moving quickly, he stumbled over his own tiny demon feet and snatched up the shell including all the pieces he could find, stacking the bigger ones together as he moved about, stuffing his face with the smaller shards. He hopped about until he could be seen dragging his shell behind him while he avoided being swept away in the ever-crashing waves. Within a few minutes, he had made it further inland, where the other eggs nearby rested unmoving before he began to eat. Ryan stuffed his face without even thinking about what he was putting into his mouth, and without any prompting by his stomach.

The tiny reborn Demon ate his shell with gusto, including the goop that remained inside, knowing full well that he was far too small, having been born without the necessary incubation period on the island itself. If Roy was a premature newborn, Ryan would be a miracle to even be alive.

Unlike Roy’s shell, Ryan’s was tough and leathery on the interior where it had yet to grow brittle. Ryan had no intention of wasting any of it though. He ate every scrap he could find until he got his new name and then kept eating.

Vir, Reditus, Daemon, Algens, Convivium, Anima, Osiris.

A new name appeared before Ryan. If he knew any Latin he may have understood some of it, but to him, it was nothing but a weakness. What he desired was the system, the system that made this novel so intriguing.

Ryan slurped down the last of the goop before he ate the last piece of shell, the goop had resided in before he looked down at the sack of mucus still attached to his stomach.

"Nothing to it, but to do it."

After eating the last remnants of his birth, Ryan grew increasingly worried until a sound resounded in his mind, body, and soul.

"Ding! Custom Made Demon King System, activated!"

Ryan didn't hesitate and took off, finding a large rock, then an egg, nearby but relatively isolated from the others. With a short running start, he bashed the rock onto the shell of his brethren cracking it slightly, but to his dismay, it held fast, protecting the unborn demon.

Ryan slammed the rock down again and again, if one were watching they could see the sight of a tiny demon all alone on the beach as he raised the rock above his head, straining his body as blow after blow rained down on the defenseless egg making a mess of things in his frantic rush.

Ryan failed to see when exactly he struck the killing blow or even when he started making contact with the creature itself and not the shell. The creature, whatever it was, never even let out a whimper before a soft, small, glowing light appeared. This caused him to drop the rock, nearly crushing his foot as he was enraptured with the soul before him.

It took Ryan considerable effort to mentally will the soul into his system rather than trying to eat it. He can tell that if he ever tried to, he would be lost and may never be able to come back from the addiction. Losing himself to the consumption of souls until he either died or gained his intelligence back.

With a deep breath, Ryan opened the system and skipped reading anything else, looking exclusively, towards making his first creation. In front of his eyes appeared an ethereal screen with a blank canvas and a box for text. Unlike Roy's system, Ryan's was far more simple, responding to the mental images of his desires, both the text and the picture.

"-Low-quality Soul Bean - A magical bean created using one or more souls that can heal lethal physical wounds and restore stamina upon consumption. The amount of restoration is dependent on the strength of the user VS the soul or souls used in its creation.

Cost-1, low-quality soul."

The creation was anticlimactic but needed after the harsh birth he experienced.

With a flex of his will the magical bean appeared in his palm, before being unceremoniously consumed. To his dismay, the taste was just as expected for a raw legume, but his injuries disappeared one after the other. It was not as magical as the legendary Senzu bean, but it did its job. The cuts on his hands from the rock used to kill his kin and the gashes on his feet earned during his arrival faded away, leaving only tender lines where bleeding gashes once lay. The healing of Ryan continued inside and out until he felt like a new demon, ready for more infanticide.

Feeling far better, he picked up his rock again and selected his next victim. Looking around the rocky surface, he located another lonesome egg where the rocks gave way to sand. This egg was green with black spots on its surface. Ryan ran towards it, picking up speed for his charge. With much more strength behind his footing, the rock punctured the shell deeply and continued deeper, slamming into the unborn Demon that let out a wail of fright and pain.

The loud, pitiful scream stung Ryan's ears however, it failed to stop his attack for a second. Picking up his rock covered in green gore to reveal the infant demon underneath with a cracked black shell and its bulbous eyestalks filled with fury. The pitiful bug demon could only glare hatefully as its attacker brought down the large rock on its face until its soul was ready to be claimed.