The sky over Mustafu was the color of ash, dimmed beneath the unnatural weight of a world bent to the will of a single man. The streets, once teeming with bustling life, now whispered with dread. Shadows stretched longer than they should, twisting in response to his mere presence.
At the heart of it all stood **Samael**, a man untouched by time, draped in black, with eyes that seemed to see through reality itself. His throne was not made of gold or marble, but of the very earth reshaped by his whim—a constant reminder to all who approached that reality itself was his servant.
He watched the city through the wide windows of his palace, an empire he'd built on the backs of those who once thought themselves heroes. They had come for him, at first, emboldened by their ideals and quirks—quirks that bent like reeds before a storm the moment they entered his domain.
Samael lifted a hand, feeling the familiar pulse of his power hum beneath his skin. A soft knock came at the door, almost hesitant. **Alva**, his most loyal lieutenant, entered, her eyes cast downward in deference.
"They're waiting for you, my lord," she whispered, her voice trembling. She was one of the first to fall, a former hero turned into his willing servant. Her loyalty now was unshakable, driven by the quirk Samael had bestowed upon her—a bond of obedience she could never escape.
Samael's lips curved into a slow smile. He could already feel the fear radiating from the gathering in the chamber below. The so-called *resistance*—a pathetic last gasp of defiance from those who still believed they could oppose him. Their leaders had already fallen, broken under his control, their minds twisted into loyalty. But this was different. **Today, he would make them witness true despair.**
Descending the stairs, his boots echoed against the cold marble, each step slow, deliberate. He had no need to hurry. Time itself was his to command. The great doors to the chamber opened with a whisper, revealing a small crowd of captured heroes, their faces pale with fear.
Among them stood **Yuki**, the leader of this latest futile rebellion. She had resisted for months, her ice-crafting quirk once feared across the country. Now, her wrists were bound with chains that were more symbolic than necessary—her will had already been shattered.
Samael approached her slowly, his gaze locked on her trembling form. "You came here to fight me," he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority. "Yet here you are, kneeling before me. How does it feel to know you can't escape? To know that your resistance was nothing more than a fleeting thought in a world I control?"
Yuki looked up, her eyes filled with defiance, though her body betrayed her. "I'll… never… give in," she whispered, though her voice faltered.
Samael chuckled, his hand brushing against her cheek. With a thought, her quirk melted away, leaving her utterly powerless. Her body trembled under his touch, not out of fear but from the creeping realization that she was no longer her own.
"Give in?" Samael leaned closer, his voice a whisper in her ear. "You already have."
With a flick of his wrist, reality itself bent to his will. The chains that bound Yuki dissolved, but she remained kneeling. Her mind, broken by his quirk, was no longer capable of standing. Her body had become his to command, and with that, he had claimed her.
He turned to the crowd, watching the horror grow in their eyes. "Let this be a lesson to all of you," he declared, his voice resonating through the chamber. "No one can stand against me. Heroes, villains, civilians… it makes no difference. In the end, you all belong to me."
The room was filled with silence. The despair was palpable, suffocating. The resistance had crumbled, and with it, the last flicker of hope in Mustafu was snuffed out. Samael smiled, knowing that he had what he wanted: not just control over their bodies, but their very souls.
As he turned away, Alva approached, her gaze lingering on Yuki, now nothing more than a puppet. "What should I do with her, my lord?" she asked quietly.
Samael's smile darkened. "She'll serve me, as all others will. Prepare her for the night."
Alva bowed and left to carry out his orders. Samael remained in the chamber, gazing out over the city he had claimed. He felt no remorse, no hesitation. This was his world now, reshaped by his hand, and soon, there would be no one left to oppose him.
But for now, he had other desires to fulfill. The night was still young, and the world was his playground.
---
**End of Chapter 1.**