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God Marked

Bengal_Tigress
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Synopsis
【WSA Newbie 2024 Entry Novel!】 "Don't kill me, I'll eat dog shit!" The above line was for drawing attention, so sorry and don't be hard on me if it ruined your time. Synopsis: In a world plagued by unleashed horrors from the depths of hell, Earth stands on the brink of annihilation. The devil himself has swung wide the gates of hell for the reclamation of the throne of heaven, allowing all evil monsters and demons to roam freely, spreading chaos and destruction. Yet, hope flickers in the horror of darkness as God unleashes the hidden powers within the people of the world and blesses the worthy chosen few with supreme power to rise against the encroaching evil known to the world as the Avernus Slayer. Among them is our protagonist, who, along with a fraction of humanity, was granted extraordinary abilities, divided into four categories based on their unique powers, which are classified as: 1- Miraculars 2- Berserkbleeders 3- Whisperers 4- Antitheusars However, amidst this struggle for power, a secret remains buried. There is a hidden entity among the chosen few who was blessed by all four categories, yet he or she stays neutral, avoiding conflict as a supporter, but to whom? God? Or The Devil? Read to know the fate of humanity unfolding through letters.
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Chapter 1 - Eclipsed Identity

Social hierarchy is the modest definition of placing the lives of people to go f*ck yourself!

It's not a saying, nor is it a quote by someone wise. But rather, it's the life motto lingering within a peculiar boy, devoid of any memory of his past self.

Even in his profound oblivion, his natural instincts didn't fail to kick in when he sensed danger from the man currently in front of him, who a while ago readily tried to end his life, but the karen rule of the universe's unwritten rulebook is that no bad deed goes unf*cked.

"Wait!"

"Don't Kill me! Please!"

"I beg of you! Please, stop!"

Despite the man's plea for mercy, the boy was still approaching the scared, terrified man with the objective of eradicating his life from the tapestry of existence.

"Don't come near me, you monster! Stay away from me!"

However, the boy didn't halt, as his current unfazed approach was solely driven by his strong instinct for self-defense rather than a desire to extract revenge. It was as if an existential command switch for survival was embedded deep within his brain that initially activated and compelled him to move forward with the bloodlust of killing the battered man, begging for his life to be spared, which he had to abide by at any cost.

Half an hour ago...

Two tall white hulking men were rigorously guarding the entrance door of a prestigious casino where only high-class and big-wig people are permitted to gamble to either rip off their money or to strike further fortune overnight.

Unlike other casinos, this one didn't have a long line, which would have wasted a lot of time. But with all due respect, casinos are mainly for people who are looking forward to wasting both time and money.

In this cruel world, money is undoubtedly sweeter than honey, and those who have it can never swear to taste more of its sweetness. It's not a given situation but rather a guaranteed one, because no matter how much money one has, it's never enough until they are six feet under.

The main reason for this never-ending struggle is that to live life to the fullest, one needs to ensure that they have flowing access to this printed piece of paper a million times more than they need toilet paper to wipe daily. Due to that, money has now become a standard quality mark of one's claim to higher respect and power, which is judged by one's ability to accumulate immense wealth. Anyway, let's not start an argument about money further and focus on the story.

Today the casino was interestingly empty of gamblers, as some of the notorious crime syndicate members of the country had fully reserved it for their hush-hush meeting on weapon dealing.

Bang! Bang!

A sudden, nonstop burst of gunshots rang out outside the casino while the mafia members inside were going through an important part of a bargaining conversation about the final price of the secret weapons being dealt.

"What the bloody hell is going on outside? Larry, go and check it out," said a muscular man with spasms of annoyance all over his face.

"Oh! Come on, Argon, chill out. The two muscle-ass guards outside are each individually capable of triumphing over ten powerful agents of the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) with ease," said a handsome-faced man with a confident grin of assurance.

"That's why I freaking despise your shitty gut, Romen, you nefarious psychotic asshole," said Argon with a disgusted look.

"Oh my! That's a tremendously hurtful thing to say. You might get killed for that," said Romen in a calm tone with a serious bloodlust gaze.

"Try me then! You plutocrat bastard!" sprang back Argon at Romen.

"I don't have to. I'm much better off not wasting my precious time arguing with pedantic and impulsive filth like you," said Romen, looking down at Argon with disdain.

"What the f*ck did you say?..."

Argon stopped talking abruptly as the sacrificial lamb, named Larry, was flung in front of them like a ball of unneeded paper thrown in a dustbin.

The solid steel entrance door yielded effortlessly, like a branch snapped with a bare foot. Before them loomed a masked figure, sending shivers through the onlookers as he entered the casino through the shattered entrance. His presence set off alarms, invoking caution due to the unmatched, imposing aura he radiated.

The medium-built boy slowly walking towards them was wearing a Japanese traditional cloth named 'Kimono' and had silky hair as white as egret feathers. The vibrant mask he was wearing, which resembled the face of a dragon, was undulating with blood that was dripping onto the ground bit by bit as he was closing in.

"Who are you, and what's your name, boy? Leave this place now, and we'll forgive you as if it never happened in the first place," asked Argon in a threatening voice while perspiration trickled down his forehead.

"Me!? I am...wait, who am I?" uttered the masked boy with confusion and touched the back of his head with a pained expression, as if he were undergoing a state of unbearable agony.

"Stop joking with us, you brat, and get the f*ck out of here now!" exclaimed Romen furiously.

"Don't provoke him, you idiot," yelled a suited and booted man sitting in the middle of Argon and Romen.

"James is right! We may be the kingpin members of the two notorious crime syndicates named Team Rocket and Psycho Mania in this country, but this boy is not an enemy I'd willingly cross paths with, judging by his ominous presence," said Argon reservedly.

"Now that's hilarious! You're afraid of a single, snotty boy like him. I heard that Team Rocket was made up of scaredy-cats, but it seems that it's not a lie," replied Romen, and he started to laugh disparagingly.

"You lousy ass bum, he entered by beating all the people outside of whom you were visibly proud a while ago. At least show him some respect, you psychotic dickhead," said Argon while taking a puff of a cigarette he lit.

"I guess I was wrong about those guards because being defeated by a boy like him is beyond revolting, which not only ruins our good image in society but also lessens people's fear of us," replied Romen, spitting.

"Couldn't agree more. Letting him go without a scratch will tarnish the prominent reputation of my murder record of killing a hundred people till today," said Argon, stretching his neck sideways.

"The reputation of our organizations will also be stained, and your kill count is only one hundred?" asked Romen, holding back his laughter.

"The number of people killed in our line of work is a game of increase, so you having wasted more lives than me doesn't change much. Besides, as a matter of fact, you should be ashamed of yourself since I'm in the same position as you in our respective organizations with fewer murders, which further proves my excellency over you," replied Argon, letting the inhaled smoke out of his mouth that formed tiny circles and faded in the fleeting air.

 "I am currently not in the mood to argue because, as a mutual interest, we need to kill this boy right here right now to set an example for those who dare to stand against us," said Romen resolutely.

"The buzzing question is, can we?" spoke up James, standing up and taking a fighting stance.

"Let's figure it out hands-on," replied Argon as he snapped his fingers and lunged forward to throw a punch.

Noticing the sudden act of confrontation, the boy stood still without budging, which gave Argon the chance of landing a clean hit on the boys chest.

The impact was heavy, as Argon used gravity magic infused with his punch to knock the boy out with a single grievous blow, but he failed.

"Damn this motherf*cker! My hand is supposedly fractured," groaned Argon as he was gripped by intense pain.

"What!?" said Romen, appearing distraught.

Even though Romen hated Argon, from deep within there exists a bit of admiration, as Argon is an ideal warrior known to almost every crime syndicate member of the country as Black Boulder, which he earned for his unstoppable fist of gravity magic.

"Don't get distracted, you numbskull! Look ahead!" yelled out James.

The boy was about to punch Romen in the guts, but Argon intercepted and took the blow instead.

In a flash, Argon's back rapped against the wall behind him, and he immediately lost consciousness after coughing up blood as an aftermath.

Being enraged by the sight of Argon being beaten up for him, Romen used his fire magic and sprinted towards the boy while rapidly increasing his body temperature to melt the boy to death by hugging him tightly.

When Romen was about to clasp him in his embrace to hug him to death, he unexpectedly halted and dropped to the ground, being on his knees.

It was as if Romen's life force was sucked out of him like the last sip of a drink that made his complexion lose all of its vibrancy.