[A/N: Sorry that this isn't the usual chapter but I'm still writing out the singularities arc so I'll at least give you all this]
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Everyone has a story.
Whether they are just a simple 8-5 worker or the ruler of a whole nation.
All living beings have a little something to them, no matter how mundane their lives may be.
And I—I don't have that type of life. Especially as someone with my origins.
My mother, Valerie Tepes, is a descendant of an ancient vampire clan. Besides the usual vampire abilities, she also wields the power to create and control souls. Quite the terrifying ability in the right hands.
Luckily, they are in my mother's. It probably relates to the fact that she is quite a shy person but can be quite outgoing once you get to know her better.
There are also my brothers and sisters who are far from normal: my father's "Herrschers" and Longinus users—Himeko, Dulio, Lavinia, Vali, Gasper, Welt, Cao.
But that's the good thing about their lives—they are all interesting.
It might sound weird, but I have this little habit of writing down people's characteristics, such as their likes and dislikes, their favorite foods, their tics, everything.
And the skill father bestowed upon me helped me understand the people I write about even better. I write it all down in a special book father gifted me on my first birthday.
I was confused at first as to why he had given me such a thing. But father only told me, "Sometimes, for certain people, it is easier to understand their own and others' thoughts through writing."
And he was right, as always.
My hands, my soul, my very being was meant for ink and paper.
I realized that around the time I began writing about people.
Now that I think about it, when did my hands begin to write?
Ah! Now I remember.
It was around the time I was still learning, my knowledge was at the level of a carrot.
But it wasn't for long as my siblings and I were quick learners.
While we did learn much, there was this one lesson Father taught us: it was death.
Imminent and eternal sleep.
That very concept brought fear to my soul.
What happens when you die? Where do you go? Do you just go "poof" and disappear from existence?
So many questions yet so few answers, even Father could not quell the fear in my heart, as he himself didn't know them.
But once I pondered more about "death," I realized that "death" itself wasn't the scary part. It was the fact that no one knew what happened at the "end," the fact that anyone and anything could just cease to exist.
It terrified me to the core.
To die and to be forgotten as if I had never existed to begin with.
No.
For all of us to be forgotten.
That's why I wrote about us all in the book that Father gave me.
So that even if we may cease to be, others will be able to know and remember us through that book.
For even if we may not be eternal, I can only hope and pray that the book will be what we cannot be.
The ink, every brush, every stroke, every word written in it has a little piece of us.
Well, except for one person.
My father, Otto Apocalypse.
He is what you would call... a complex character.
My father, a self-proclaimed supervillain, can create monsters from his shadow, not to mention the "mysterious" power he wields and is able to "bestow" upon others.
Unlike others, who you could easily define as "Evil" or "Good," he was neither of those.
He wasn't even part of that little neutral grey line.
I couldn't even use my [Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint] on him to know his thoughts and characteristics.
He was the only blank in my book.
And to have one of the most important people in my life "blank" in my book that was supposed to record all of us was nothing but a disgrace to the concept and meaning of the book itself.
That's why I sought him out. After all, the best person to ask about him is the person himself.
When I did ask him, he laughed.
He laughed so hard that he dropped to the ground while holding his stomach in pain from how much he was laughing. I can still remember my face heating up from embarrassment.
"Haaaa~ that was good," Father said as he calmed down.
"I'll only say this once, Dokja. Don't fear death because it is inevitable, but look forward to it because it's not the end but the beginning of something new" A cryptic yet warm smile graced his face as he said those words.
It was as if he was talking about an old friend, perhaps father knew more about death than he led on to.
"And if you want to know more about me, don't bother. Because I am simply me, Otto Apocalypse, nothing more, nothing less." He simply left the room after.
Simply Otto Apocalypse.
That was it.
That's why I couldn't write him down.
Because words simply couldn't describe him. Neither is he good or evil, nor is he a happy man or a sad one.
He is simply himself.
A complex and incomprehensible being that I could never understand.
Well, at least not to an extremely deep level.
For now, he was simply my loving father whom I cared deeply about, just as much as he did for me.
And for what I wrote on his page:
[Person - Otto Apocalypse.
Age - 16? (Contains secrets that could change age number)
Characteristics: Simply himself]
That was all I wrote.
His page was the last page in the book despite there being so many left to be written in.
Because he was my beginning, and so will he be there at my end.
And I hope this book lasts beyond that end, for this is something I have written and dedicated to the world.
So that they might read about us, look at us, and think about us in their own way.
In their own Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint.
[An Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint - By: Kim Dokja]