There's a saying my father always used to tell me: "Truth is stranger than fiction." For a long time, I thought it was just one of those things parents say to teach us a lesson, but now I see how wise he really was...
"Real events can be much more ridiculous than a science fiction story," haha...
It's almost funny how brutal reality is. Like so many others, I was born into poverty. Born in a third-world country, I lived in a poor orphanage, with hardly anyone to talk to. Those were dark times. The kids in the orphanage were abused daily and forced to work for the owner. People knew what was happening, but no one ever did anything to change it. The caretaker had ties with the underworld, and everyone in the area feared him and his workers, who constantly harassed and robbed people.
I was just a small, weak child. My father abandoned my mother and me before I was born. She tried to handle things alone and raise me, but the pain was too much for her. She would take it out on me, insulting and beating me, blaming me for my father leaving. When I was eight, she decided to leave this world and find peace. That day, I remember men coming to our home to collect money from her, and when they found her dead, they took me instead. That was the day my hell began at the orphanage. Being weaker than the others, I was constantly bullied by both the caretakers and my fellow orphans, who despised me.
Days passed in a monotony of abuse and silence, a vicious cycle that trapped both children and caretakers. I had learned that pain didn't always come from a blow; sometimes, it was born from indifference—the deaf laughter in the dining hall while I curled up in a corner, or the stares that passed right through me, as if I didn't exist.
With time, I started hearing voices. I think the loneliness led me to seek comfort in myself. I began talking to Twilight. I didn't know who he was, but I knew he was part of me. He was always with me, the only one who supported me, talking and playing with me to keep me from feeling alone.
Twilight became my only friend, a shadow in my mind that whispered to me when the nights were coldest and the hunger most unbearable. At first, I thought it was just the desperation, a child's mind conjuring company where there was none. But over time, I realized Twilight was more than a comfort. He was an extension of my will, a voice that knew neither fear nor surrender.
While the other kids laughed in cruel ignorance or huddled under tattered sheets, Twilight whispered to me about things I didn't understand, about invisible forces and secrets hidden in the folds of darkness. "Not everything you see is all there is," he would say, and his words echoed in my mind, opening paths I'd never imagined walking.
One night, while the rats fought in the darkest corner of the room and the caretakers drowned in their alcoholic laughter, I felt Twilight closer than ever. He whispered something that seemed to hang in the air: "What is your greatest fear, Luther? It's not pain; it's not loneliness. It's that the world stays the same, that everything you are is lost to oblivion." A shiver ran through me, and for the first time, I understood that fear wasn't mine alone. It was ours.
That night, Twilight asked me, "Don't you want to be powerful?"
"What does it mean… to be powerful?" I replied, with innocence.
"To be powerful, Luther, is to have back the control they stole from you. It's to never fear anyone again. It's to do as you please, without asking permission."
The idea slid through my mind like a sweet poison. For a second, I imagined what it would be like to walk those halls without the constant feeling of danger, to feel my skin warm for something other than the pulse of fear. But even then, a part of me resisted. I was still a child, though Twilight made me feel like something more.
"And how… how do I get it?"
"Start by taking revenge on those who have taken everything from you. Look around, Luther. What do you see? They laugh while you starve. Take your revenge on them…"
My breathing grew heavy. The sounds of the orphanage—the creaking of broken beds and the drunken murmurs of the caretakers—faded into a distant hum. At that moment, Twilight urged me with overwhelming intensity, and I felt a wave of heat course through me, like a spark igniting in my chest.
"Kill them all, Luther," Twilight whispered. "Be free."
With an unsteady step, I rose from my corner. The room was dark, except for a sliver of moonlight filtering through the cracked window, casting elongated shadows that danced on the wall. My bare feet made no sound as I slipped down the hallway. I knew exactly where the caretakers were: one in the office at the end of the hall, and the other—the cruelest of all—snoring in the small room that served as a dining area.
The rusty kitchen knife I had hidden weeks earlier felt heavier in my hand than I remembered. "I'm not sure about this, Twilight…" I thought, but Twilight responded immediately, "Do it for yourself, Luther. To be free."
I pushed the office door open softly, the rusty creak making the man lift his head, confused. His eyes took a second to focus, but by then, I was already upon him. There were no words. The knife pierced his chest with a wet sound, and the surprise froze on his face in a silent grimace. I watched him fall, his trembling hands futilely trying to stop the blood that spread like a dark river across his shirt.
"The next one," Twilight ordered, and my body obeyed before my mind could react. The second caretaker barely had time to open his eyes before he felt the blade at his throat. It was quick, almost silent. His eyes met mine for a brief instant, and I saw the reflection of what I was becoming: a predator.
The orphanage was asleep, but the echoes of my actions resounded in my mind like a war drum. I knew I didn't have much time before dawn would bring questions and screams. Without looking back, I ran down the hallway, my breath roaring in my ears. The back door was slightly ajar, and the cold night air slapped my face like a blow.
"Run, Luther. Run and claim what's yours," Twilight whispered as my feet hit the dry earth and the dogs' barks shattered the silence. Darkness closed behind me, but for the first time in my life, I felt it like an embrace, not a prison.
The chill of the night stabbed my skin like needles, but adrenaline kept my steps swift and light. I ran without direction, guided only by the desire to leave the orphanage behind and the echo of my crimes. The air was dense, and the dogs' barks seemed to chase me even as I disappeared into the city shadows.
But in my desperation, my foot caught on a loose stone, and before I realized it, I fell to the ground, scraping my hands against the pavement. In pain, I looked up to see a huge man standing before me. Broad-shouldered, with weathered skin and wrapped in a dark coat that seemed to absorb the light around him, his face was almost entirely hidden beneath a thick beard. His expression showed little emotion, but his eyes studied me with the intensity of a predator evaluating his prey.
"Where do you think you're going, kid?" His voice was deep, resonating from the pit of his chest.
I tried to stand, but my body refused to move. My legs trembled from sheer exhaustion and fear, and I remained there, kneeling before him, panting like a cornered animal. The giant watched me in silence for a moment and, after a pause, allowed a faint smile to appear.
"You look like a scared cat… but I like that look," he murmured, kneeling to get a closer look at me. "Tell me, boy, why were you running like that?"
I didn't know what to say. Still, my lips moved, and the only thing I managed to say was the truth: "Revenge. I… want to be powerful."
The man let out a laugh that echoed through the alley, looking at me with a mix of curiosity and approval. "Revenge, huh? Well, revenge and power are good friends. Maybe you have guts after all," he said, laughing heartily.
Without another word, he extended his hand. His fingers were thick and strong, the hand of someone who had worked and fought for years. "Get up, boy. I can't promise you'll become powerful, but I'll teach you how to survive."
Without fully understanding what was happening, I accepted his help, and with a single movement, he pulled me to my feet. That man, whose name I would later learn was Salvatore, the head of a powerful criminal faction, took me under his wing. He didn't say much that night, but from that moment on, my life changed forever.
The days at the orphanage became a distant memory. Salvatore took me in as if I were his own son and taught me the rules of the underworld, showing me how power was built and maintained. I learned to move in the shadows, to use every weakness of my enemies to my advantage. For him, loyalty was sacred, and under his guidance, I developed a deadly skill with knives and firearms, learning that in the life he offered me, strength and control were everything.
Years passed, and Salvatore made me his right-hand man. Every lesson he taught me was a tool in my arsenal,
And soon, the law of the underworld became my law. I learned how to negotiate, how to intimidate, and how to remain calm amid chaos. He saw something in me that no one else had seen—a leader in the making. And with Twilight still as my only confidant, I became the son he never had.
When he fell ill and death's shadow began to pull him under, he looked at me one last time, and in a voice worn thin, said, "Luther, now all this is yours. Become the king. Do better than I did, and remember where you come from."
With those words, Salvatore closed his eyes, leaving me his legacy and a kingdom of shadows at my command.
Before long, I made a name for myself. Those who once ruled the underworld fell before me, one by one. And when I finally claimed absolute control, I knew I had achieved what I had promised myself that dark night—I had taken power and found my place in a world where no one could ever threaten me again.
The underworld was mine, and for a time, I believed power would be enough to silence the voices. But Twilight never stopped whispering; his murmur grew deeper, like a dull drum that echoed in the back of my mind. "Danger," he warned, again and again. At first, I thought it was just a shadow of paranoia, an echo from years spent in misery, when any corner could hide a threat. But as the days went on, Twilight's tone grew more insistent, almost urgent.
"What are you talking about?" I asked in a moment of solitude, hoping that, as always, Twilight would throw me some piece of wisdom. But this time, I got no clear answer, just that word repeating over and over, like a relentless buzz: danger, danger, danger.
Uneasy but with no concrete reason, I chose to ignore it. I had learned to live in constant alertness, and fear no longer had a place in me. Yet, some unknown instinct kept me vigilant, watching dark alleys and the fleeting glances of those around me, looking for any sign that something was wrong.
But that day, there was a heavy air in the city, as if the very concrete knew what was about to happen. I left for my usual rounds, ensuring control over the territories that now belonged to me. But the moment I stepped outside, a sudden nausea overwhelmed me. The ground swayed beneath my feet, and my vision blurred for a moment. I stopped, confused, feeling a tingling at the back of my neck, an unknown sensation that made me wish I'd listened more closely to Twilight's warnings.
Then I heard the roar of an engine. Before I could react, a car shot out from a corner, its headlights blindingly bright. I tried to move, but my body was paralyzed. The impact threw me to the ground like a rag doll. I felt searing pain in every bone, but before darkness completely overtook me, I glimpsed a dark figure stepping out of the car, walking toward me with determined steps.
When I regained consciousness, an indescribable pain coursed through my body. I tried to move, but the ropes binding my wrists and ankles held me firmly, pinning me to a hard, cold chair. The room was dimly lit by a couple of flickering bulbs, casting shadows that seemed to close in around me. I could hear voices, muffled laughter, and the crunch of their boots against the floor.
One of the men approached, his face twisted in a mocking smile as he held a knife that glinted in the dim light of the room. "So, Sleeping Beauty finally wakes up? The great Luther, who would have thought you'd fall like this from one day to the next."
I tried to keep my voice as cold as steel—the steel Twilight had taught me to wield. "My people will come for me, and when they do, I'll make sure none of you make it through the night."
But as I struggled in the darkness, the familiar silhouette of a man emerged from the shadows. It was my friend, my right-hand man, the only person I had trusted with everything. His presence baffled me for a second, until I saw his expression: there was no surprise or guilt in his eyes, only a calculated, almost ruthless stillness.
"You… you planned this?" My voice was barely a whisper, strangled by disbelief.
"You always underestimated me, Luther," he said, his calm wounding me more than any blow. "Years in your shadow, following your orders, while you took everything. And for what? To always be your loyal dog? What good did that do me, huh? You were always the one who got all the credit. But that ends now, friend. Goodbye…"
Betrayal was an invisible dagger, one that cut deeper than any weapon. But he was determined, and as he approached, I felt a final coldness in the air, as if death itself were in the room, waiting patiently. With a precise motion, he raised his hand, and the knife sank into my side. The pain was sharp, but the last thing I saw was his face, watching me without a trace of regret.
Darkness enveloped me, and I thought that the end had finally come.
When I opened my eyes, I found myself surrounded by a landscape I couldn't comprehend. Around me stretched a vast prairie, the grass tall and a vibrant color, yet strangely dull, as if it belonged to another world. Upon closer look, I noticed I wasn't alone. Hundreds of people lay unconscious around me, scattered across the field like fallen leaves.
I tried to sit up, taking in the unfamiliar faces of those lying on the ground. Uncertainty gripped me, and, for the first time, a flicker of fear settled in my chest.
"Twilight?" I called softly, hoping to feel his presence, his words, his guidance. But silence was my only response.
A gust of cold wind shook me, and then, on the edge of my vision, something moved. I turned my head and saw it: a small creature with greenish skin, yellow eyes, and an expression of cruelty on its angular face. Its hunched body was thin and twisted, with long hands clutching a rusty knife. Its teeth, sharp and crooked, protruded in a twisted grin as it watched me, evaluating me like a predator that had found its prey.
My instincts tensed, and before I could react, the goblin—looking as if it had stepped straight out of a fantasy tale—let out a scream and began to run toward me, its knife raised and ready to strike.