"Give me this world, Father."
"Yes, son, this world will be yours," replied the father, his voice calm yet resolute.
"Should we wake him? Is he dreaming?" one bandit suggested, glancing nervously at their leader.
"Do that, and you'll forfeit your life," warned another, both of them standing a cautious distance from their slumbering leader. The man they spoke of was none other than the bandit who had wiped out Kit Mi Kai's entire village and mercilessly slain his parents. Now, he lay restless, fidgeting in his sleep, but this was no mere dream. His mind was tormented by flashbacks—dark memories of his past.
The bandit leader, once the kindest man known to his village, had lived a different life long ago. He had been the man who ran errands for others, who watched over the village children while their parents worked. His village was peaceful, its people humble, preferring harmony to conflict. But this, in turn, made them naïve and weak, unaware of the danger lurking just beyond their tranquil existence.
One cold, unforgiving night, they were attacked. A neighboring, more violent tribe descended upon them like a storm. The village had no defenses, no warriors trained in battle. They were helpless. Many were slaughtered—those who fled and those who fought alike—while the invaders suffered no losses. The survivors were enslaved, marked with hot iron on their necks, a lifelong brand of humiliation and servitude.
The bandit leader had been one of them. He adapted to his new life as a slave, working tirelessly, mining ores—one of which was called **GARANG**, a special mineral that, when forged into weapons, imbued them with explosive power. Over time, the hard labor became routine, almost mechanical, until one day something happened that changed everything.
Returning to his quarters after a grueling day in the mines, he noticed a crowd had gathered. They stood around a woman writhing in agony on the ground.
"She's in labor."
"How could a slave get pregnant in a place like this?"
"I see the baby's head…"
"No one's going to help her?"
"Who cares? We all have our own problems."
The murmurs blended into a collective indifference as the woman continued to scream in pain. She gave one final, exhausted push, and the cries of a newborn echoed in the air.
"She did it… but wait—she's not moving."
The crowd slowly dispersed, unwilling to deal with the aftermath. The woman lay dead, her body cold, and the newborn—still attached to her by the umbilical cord—cried helplessly, abandoned by everyone. Everyone, except the bandit leader. He stood there, torn between his instincts and his conscience, gazing at the tiny life struggling before him.
"What should I do?" he whispered, guilt gnawing at him. "At least… I can cut the cord. That's the least I can do."
As he bent down to sever the connection, the baby grasped his finger with its tiny, fragile hand. His heart skipped a beat. In that moment, he felt a bond—an unspoken connection to this innocent child. He cut the cord and gently tied it, temptation overtaking him. He scooped the baby into his arms, holding him close to his chest.
The child instinctively searched for sustenance, suckling at the man's chest as if he were his mother.
"Kra-kra!" A whip lashed across the bandit leader's face. "What are you doing, slave?" The slave master barked, always leading with punishment before questions.
The man shielded the baby as he explained, "A woman gave birth and died. I was just passing by."
"Then why are you holding that thing? Get rid of it!"
"No," the bandit leader replied firmly.
"Kra-kra!" Two more lashes struck him, but he didn't flinch. "What I mean is—think of this child as an investment. You lost one slave, but this one will replace it when it grows."
The slave master paused, then grunted in agreement. "Fine, but it's your responsibility. If it dies, a thousand lashes will fall on your back."
Relieved, the man took the tattered cloth from the woman and wrapped the baby tightly against his back. "I will name you… **Pepo**," he whispered, a soft promise to the child.
Days passed, and the bandit leader carried Pepo with him everywhere—even into the mines. His fellow slaves murmured, doubting the baby would survive.
"Why does he bring the child here? It'll die in no time."
"What does the baby even eat?" one slave asked, puzzled.
"Just wait. You'll see."
At lunchtime, as the bandit leader sat to eat, he carefully untied Pepo from his back and cradled him in his arms. Taking a piece of **ugali**—a simple maize flour meal—he chewed it until it was soft and mushy. Then, like a mother bird, he passed the pre-chewed food into the baby's mouth.
"Disgusting!" a nearby slave exclaimed.
The bandit leader ignored the jeers and continued, his only concern the child's survival.
Nine years passed, and Pepo grew strong under his care. But one day, the bandit leader's worst fear came true. A slave master—vile and perverted—took an interest in the boy. He waited until Pepo was alone, then grabbed him, dragging him away.
"No! Papa!" the boy screamed.
The bandit leader arrived just in time. Without a word, he took his mining tool and drove it straight into the skull of the slave master, killing him instantly. Only when the blood splattered across his face did he realize what he had done.
"Oh no… what have I done?"
"Father, I'm scared," Pepo whimpered.
"Don't be, my son," he whispered, holding him close.
"Give me this world, Father," Pepo asked, his voice small but filled with desperation. "I don't want to live like this anymore."
"Yes, my son. This world is already yours."
Soon after, the bandit leader was caught and sentenced to death for murder. As he stood, hands bound, awaiting his execution, he was forced to stare into Pepo's eyes. The boy's tear-filled gaze was the last thing he would see before the blade came down.
But then, a stranger appeared. Clad in a traditional **turban** and bearing a red dot on his forehead, this strange **Indian god** approached the bandit leader. "I will grant you the power to conquer this world," the god whispered, "if you sign a contract with me."
"My hands are tied," the bandit leader protested.
"I only need your blood," replied the god, who then drew the man's blood with a single touch and completed the deal.
The god handed him a golden necklace, adorned with a devilish symbol. "This necklace will collect souls and convert them into energy. The more souls you gather, the stronger both you and I will become."
As promised, the god slaughtered every slave master in the camp, leaving only the bandit leader and his son alive. "Take their souls," the god said before vanishing.
But now, in his sleep, the bandit leader's mind wandered back to the moment Pepo was killed by Kit Mi Kai's father. Flames danced on his lips as he murmured, "My son… my son…"
"I told you not to wake him!" Suddenly, the bandit leader jolted awake, shouting, "My son!" A massive wave of fire erupted from his body, scorching the two bandits standing near him to ash. He stood, still in a trance, walking forward as flames licked the ground beneath his feet, turning his footsteps to molten lava. "My son… my son…" he cried out again, collapsing to his knees, lava-tears dripping from his eyes. Above, the firestorm condensed into a rain of lava, falling from the sky in a spectacular and sorrowful display.
"Run! It's raining lava!" screamed the nearby bandits, but none survived the inferno.
"Find that boy," the bandit leader commanded, his voice hoarse, referring to Kit Mi Kai. "If my son doesn't live, neither can he. I promise, my son… Father will find a way…"
Meanwhile, in a parallel world still caught in the Victorian era, **Loki** knelt before his daughter's grave. Smoke from nearby factories clouded the air, casting everything in a dim light. Silently, he laid flowers on the grave, his tears falling freely. "I met a kind boy during my travels in another world. You would have loved him," he whispered, his voice filled with grief.
"I knew I would find you," came a voice from behind him. A man, shaded by an umbrella, stepped forward.
Loki quickly shifted, changing his mask to one of seriousness, hiding his pain. "Dr. Frankenstein," Loki said, his voice steady. "I was just on my way to see you."
"You still hide your softer side, Loki," the doctor remarked with a smile.
"Soft side? Let's talk business. So, our attempt to manipulate time to bring my daughter back failed—and now I have a target on my back. More enemies. Are you sure the machine will work this time?"
"Of course. Don't you trust me, my friend? And don't worry about your enemies. I'll protect you."
"How?" Loki asked.
The **Evil Forest** is a vast, dangerous realm divided into three primary sections, each more deadly than the last. It is a place of overwhelming malevolent energy, with creatures and entities lurking in its depths that even gods fear.
- **The Core**: This is the heart of the Evil Forest, where the most concentrated and potent evil energy resides. The creatures that inhabit the Core are so powerful and dangerous that none have ever survived to describe them. It is rumored that **evil gods** and **god-like monsters** dwell here, making it the deadliest part of the forest.
- **The Inner Core**: Just outside the Core, the **Inner Core** is home to powerful demigods and monsters. The flora and fauna in this area are infused with mystical energy, with rare treasures and dangerous plants thriving here. This section is a hunting ground for those strong enough to survive, yet still perilous for even the bravest demigods.
- **The Outer Core**: The **Outer Core** is the outermost part of the Evil Forest. While still extremely dangerous, it is considered survivable compared to the other sections. It serves as a boundary between the normal world and the deeper, more hazardous parts of the Evil Forest. Those who venture here must still be cautious, as it is filled with deadly creatures and traps, but it is not as lethal as the Inner Core or the Core itself.