At eighteen, Ash's life was a mess. There were no clear ambitions, no goals to chase—just day after day of drifting aimlessly through a world that felt empty. To most people, he was just another face, maybe even less than that. He wasn't someone people noticed, or even remembered. His days were spent in a haze of indifference, with no sense of purpose to ground him. He would wake up, eat, waste time with meaningless activities, and repeat the cycle. He wasn't even sure why he kept going, but he did.
Most of the time, he found solace in taverns, where he would drink away the hours. It wasn't that he was an alcoholic, but he had nothing else to do. His fingers would occasionally flip through a book that he never bothered to finish. The words blurred together, the stories meaningless. Ash knew that these things didn't matter—he didn't care about the books or the people or the wealth surrounding him.
His family—the Ashriyat Al-Kharab Nafath—was one of the most powerful and influential in the world. His father, Apophis, was the God of Chaos and Destruction, and his mother, Syria, was the Goddess of Creation and Existence. They were beings of unimaginable power, yet to Ash, their legacy was just another weight around his neck. He couldn't live up to their expectations. The endless praise and admiration they received didn't faze him. He didn't want any of it.
No one in his family believed in him, and why should they? He had no ambition, no drive. To them, he was the failure, the one who would never amount to anything. He was nothing like his powerful parents, nothing like the great figures of myth and legend. He could never hope to be like them, and that fact haunted him every day. He was the last person anyone would ever expect to rise to greatness.
Ash didn't care about being a hero. He found their stories laughable. The noble sacrifices, the unyielding dedication to a greater cause—it was all just a bunch of nonsense to him. Heroes were idealized, celebrated, but they always ended the same way—dead, lost, their sacrifices in vain. What was the point of dying for a world that didn't care? Why sacrifice everything for people who would never appreciate it?
One evening, after yet another long day of self-doubt and aimlessness, Ash collapsed into bed. He didn't expect anything to change. He just wanted to sleep through the night, to forget. But sleep didn't come easily that night.
When he woke, everything felt different. At first, it was subtle. The air in his room felt heavier, thick with something he couldn't quite place. The stillness of the night felt unnatural. It wasn't just the usual feeling of isolation that had always surrounded him. This was something else, something deeper. The room seemed darker, as if the shadows had grown longer. And then, as his mind began to stir, a sudden surge of power coursed through him.
It was overwhelming. He felt it in his bones, in his blood, in every inch of his being. His senses sharpened, as though the world around him had been suddenly brought into high definition. His body felt stronger, more alive, than it ever had before. It was as though he had been reborn, remade from the inside out. He was no longer just Ash—he was something else entirely.
Then, the truth hit him like a wave crashing onto the shore. This wasn't a dream. This wasn't just a passing sensation. He had been reincarnated. The life he once knew was gone, and in its place was something new, something ancient.
A voice echoed in his mind, deep and resonant, a sound that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. It wasn't a voice he had ever heard before, yet it felt strangely familiar. It spoke in a language that was not of his world, yet somehow, he understood every word.
"You have been reincarnated into this form. The vessel you once inhabited is no longer yours. You are now the heir of the Ashriyat Al-Kharab Nafath. Your task is simple: destroy the heroes who will one day rise to become gods."
The words reverberated through him, making his heart race. Destroy the heroes? But he wasn't a hero, wasn't anything like them. He had spent his life avoiding any responsibility, running from any kind of expectation. The idea of him—someone who had never achieved anything—being asked to destroy the very people who were meant to save the world didn't make sense. Yet, the power flowing through him made it feel undeniable. It felt... real.
The voice continued, as though it could sense his confusion.
"You are the son of Apophis, the God of Chaos, and Syria, the Goddess of Creation. You are meant to rule this world, to shape it as you see fit. Your path is one of both destruction and creation."
Ash's mind reeled. His parents—his powerful, god-like parents—were asking him to embrace his destiny. They were telling him that he was meant for something greater than anything he had ever imagined. But it all felt so far from the life he had led. How could someone like him, a failure by his own standards, suddenly become a force of such magnitude?
And then, it clicked. This was his chance. This was what he had been waiting for without even knowing it. The power he had always lacked was now his. The world around him, with all its limitations and constraints, suddenly seemed malleable. He could reshape it. He could destroy the things he despised and create something new, something that would be all his own.
For the first time, Ash saw a path before him—a path that was entirely his. He didn't need to follow in anyone's footsteps. He didn't need to live by anyone's rules. The weight of his family's expectations no longer hung over him.
He was no longer the weak, aimless boy who had spent his days drifting through life. He was now a force of nature. He could destroy the heroes who would rise to become gods. He could tear down everything that stood in his way.
The rush of power surged again, this time with more clarity. He could feel the destruction coursing through his veins, but there was something else there as well—creation. A desire to build, to shape the world into something that suited him. He could destroy and rebuild it, piece by piece, until it was everything he had ever wanted.
Ash stood up from his bed, looking out the window at the vast world before him. The night had fallen, and the city below was alive with the hum of distant voices and flickering lights. It seemed so insignificant now. He could change all of it.
For the first time in his life, Ash felt truly free. Free from the chains of his past, free from the expectations that had weighed him down for so long. No longer was he a puppet on strings. He was the one pulling the strings now.
He would have to face challenges ahead—enemies who would try to stop him, heroes who would rise against him—but he wasn't afraid. He had everything he needed. The power, the purpose, the clarity.
The world was his to command.