They said I had a death wish, but what I desired was far more dangerous.
I wanted to live life on my own terms.
Looking back, I could not help but chuckle at the thought.
Living life on my terms meant embracing the chaos, dancing on the edge of the abyss, and flipping a defiant middle finger to anyone who dared tell me otherwise.
I wasn't interested in the safe and the predictable; I hungered for the raw and the unpredictable. The mundane was my enemy, and I was its worst nightmare.
I wasn't afraid of death; I was terrified of a life half-lived, of withering away in the safety of mediocrity.
My desire for something more dangerous than death was a rebellion against the mundane, a declaration that I would not be confined to the ordinary.
It was a brutal, beautiful dance with destiny, and I was determined to lead.
And then I was declared a genius.
A generational talent 'they' said.
When the world found out about my so-called "generational talent," it wasn't the moment of celebration and recognition that one might imagine.
Instead, it was the catalyst that widened the chasm between me and the rest of the world. I had become an enigma, a puzzle they couldn't solve, and it left me feeling more isolated than ever.
They say that great power comes with great responsibility, but in my case, it came with an undeniable superiority that I couldn't help but revel in.
I saw the world differently, that much was true. While everybody else struggled with their mundane existence, I soared above it all, basking in the glory of my exceptionalism.
My talent wasn't just generational; it was transcendent. I revelled in the adoration, the admiration, and the envy that my talents inspired.
They called it narcissism, but I called it self-awareness—a keen understanding of my exceptional nature.
It was as if I had been handpicked by fate itself to ascend to heights they could only dream of.
I, Alexander Neo Pennyworth, was simply the Main Character.
The ascent to the pinnacle of my glory had been a breathtaking journey, but the fall was even more spectacular—a descent into the depths of despair that only someone of my unparalleled brilliance could experience.
It began with the fall of my noble family, House Pennyworth, the very foundation upon which I had built my sense of self.
You see the House Pennyworth was not a run-of-the-mill noble house. It was a King Family, the bulwark of the west.
It was a name that once echoed through the annals of history like a thunderclap in a clear sky. Gallant tales of our glory and magnificence were not mere legends but a testament to our divine lineage.
We were the chosen ones, the aristocracy of the elite, and our story was the stuff of legends.
Just to put this in perspective, there are many ranks a noble house in Mythos could be. It ranged from Clans, Barons, Viscounts, Earls, Marquess, Dukes, Kings, Emperors, and Sovereigns, in ascending order of course.
Our greatness was only second to the Royal Family of the Starkov Empire, the Starkovs. One of the few Emperor rank Families in Mythos. With the absence of a sovereign ranked family, their power and clout were unmatched in the continent of Ophiria.
Creating a family in Mythos was not hard. You would start at the clan ranks and only through meritorious deeds would one ascend the ranks.
Ascending the ranks of power was a sacred pursuit—a twisted path, yes, but a path nonetheless.
It was a journey governed by the Heavens. This was both true in the metaphorical and literal sense as it was only at Heaven's will that one family could ascend, as well as descend, the ranks of power in Mythos.
Yes, the heavens had a will.
The origins of Heaven's Will are shrouded in mystery. Some believe that it was born from the chaos that existed before the creation of the world, while others believe that it has always existed and was responsible for the creation of the world itself.
Despite its immense power, Heaven's Will is often a neutral force in the world, neither good nor evil. It rewards and punishes without judgment or bias, guided solely by the laws of the world that it created.
Those who worship Heaven's Will will see it as a divine entity that deserves respect and reverence. They believe that it has a plan for every living being in the world and that its actions, however inscrutable they may seem, are ultimately for the greater good.
However, not everyone accepts the existence of Heaven's Will, and some reject the notion of a higher power altogether. They view the planet Mythos as a chaotic and random place, shaped by chance and circumstance rather than the will of any higher power.
So when a new family experiences a meteoric rise from a lowly clan-level family to a king-level family in just a Hundred Years, It is bound to be a big deal.
And this is exactly what my parents, Alfred and Martha, accomplished. Both were Geniuses in their own accord, albeit inferior to me.
I mean the greatest want of all parents is to have a better version of themselves as their offspring.
Anyway, I digress.
How we lost it all was nothing short of a cruel irony, a cosmic joke that left me shaking my head in disbelief.
In one of their business transactions my parents chanced upon a peculiar treasure, the Tears of Prometheus. It was said to awaken bloodlines.
The possibilities this treasure opened up were unfathomable as only Heaven's Will could grant bloodlines to families and even that was rare.
The treasure, that cursed allure of power, should have been our family's crowning glory, the jewel in the Pennyworth dynasty's already formidable crown. But oh, how it spelt our ruin.
Avarice, that insatiable beast, reared its ugly head, and even the iron grip of our family's hegemonic power could not keep the wolves at bay.
Leading the pack of those who hungered for our downfall was none other than the Starkov family, our sworn allies, who did not hesitate to turn their fangs against us. Loyalty, it seemed, was as fickle as the shifting sands of time.
Betrayal cut through our ranks like a poisoned dagger. The wealth, the prestige, the power—it all slipped through our fingers, leaving us broken at the hands of our former Allies.
The world watched as our once-mighty dynasty crumbled, as our power waned and our influence dwindled. The treasure that had promised untold riches had become a cursed chalice, filled with poison that seeped into the very foundations of our family's legacy.
My parents, the pillars of the House of Pennyworth, met their gruesome end beneath the damning banner of treason, their lives extinguished as swiftly as the flicker of a candle's flame in the face of a hurricane.
I, their scion, was not afforded the same fate; instead, I was condemned to the relentless torment of a life in captivity and slavery. They spared me, not out of compassion, but as a cruel display of their own ostentatious magnanimity.
Their "mercy," a hollow gesture designed to underscore their supposed benevolence, was nothing more than a twisted mockery of justice. It was a reminder, a cruel taunt that whispered in my ear, telling me that I was alive only because it pleased them to allow it.
In the shadows of my confinement, I vowed that their so-called benevolence would one day be their undoing. Their arrogance, their audacity in sparing my life, was a flame that ignited a relentless inferno within me.
I would not rest until their facade of magnanimity crumbled until the world witnessed the depths of their malevolence.
I vowed to become a phantom, a wraith in the darkness, plotting my revenge with a meticulousness born of fury and desperation.
I knew that one day, their self-righteousness would falter, their arrogance would betray them, and the world would see them for the monsters they truly were.
Their "mercy" had only postponed the reckoning that awaited them, for I, Alexander Pennyworth, was not a mere victim; I was a force of retribution, a shadow of vengeance, and the instrument of their inevitable downfall.
The day would come when their own cruelty would be their undoing when the world would bear witness to the poetic justice that had been my sole solace in the darkness of captivity.
And it was time to take my first step.