A weak and frail boy stood there, no hope in his eyes. To those around him, he was less than human—more a specter than a person. They tormented him relentlessly, yet he did not cry, nor did he curse them. It was as if he had died long ago.
His face was forced into the toilet, his lungs screaming for air. Yet, he felt no disgust, no fear—just an empty void where emotions should have been.
"Stop it! You're going to kill him!" a voice pleaded.
A dark silhouette loomed over him, hands tightening around his throat. "I know what I'm doing," the figure muttered.
Air. Air. The only thought in the boy's mind.
His vision blurred. He didn't have the courage to meet their eyes—only the sight of their shoes remained in his fading consciousness. And then, everything went black.
"Nobody here is sane anymore! Don't you see? Your gods have forsaken you!"
The madman's voice rang through the disease-ridden streets, but no one flinched.
Crows cawed hungrily, their beaks tearing into rotting flesh. A thick, putrid stench filled the air as they feasted upon the dead—humans and monsters alike. The great wooden gates of the city loomed in the background, their presence overshadowed by the grotesque sight before them. Corpses were piled upon one another, some freshly slain, others long decayed. Among them, a few still clung to life, gasping weakly, their bodies tossed into the heap without mercy.
Plague and starvation had spread like wildfire, consuming the city from within. The people—gaunt, hollow-eyed—stood in eerie silence, their expressions devoid of emotion, as if their souls had already withered away.
The madman continued his rant, voice hoarse but unwavering.
"We are all doomed! Every last one of us! Our sins will be repaid in full!"
No one objected. No one resisted.
There was no hope left to hold onto.
"No matter what a soul does… there is no escape. No matter where they go."
His words dissolved into the heavy, suffocating air, sinking into the bones of those who still stood. Yet, none moved. None spoke.
Because deep down, they knew.
He wasn't wrong.
Decades ago, the world was a peaceful place. People lived together in harmony, working hard to make a living. Life was harsh, sometimes cruel, yet most did not complain—they simply endured, doing their best.
But one day, without warning, monsters emerged from the unknown.
They swept across the land like a plague, slaughtering the innocent, turning lives into nightmares. It was as if humanity was being punished for a sin they never committed. The very nature of their existence was thrown into question. Beasts that once belonged in children's stories now roamed freely, devouring all in their path.
Yet, among the helpless, there were a few who stood against the darkness.
Not chosen by the gods, but bound by their bloodline, they were different. Marked not by divinity, but by heritage, they wielded powers beyond mortal understanding—fragments of a concept passed down from the gods themselves.
They did not fight for humanity.
They fought for themselves.
And in doing so, they changed the fate of the world forever.
As the boy regained consciousness, the first thing he saw was his father—crying. He had never seen his father cry before, yet somehow, he knew he was the reason for it.
But even in his father's tears, a void lingered in his own eyes. His face was devoid of emotion.
Stay strong. Stay strong, Arav. Stay strong. Stay strong, my son.
Memories. Memories. Memories.
I was fourteen. Those were the last words I ever heard from him.
After that, I stopped talking altogether. No one to talk to. No one to rely on. I changed schools, but they always found me. My courage had been crushed long ago.
Yet, he was always there with me.
"Hey, let's go to PlayStation."
It was my fault they found him. I never budged, but he... he used to cry a lot. And one day, he broke.
I don't know why, but I acted in a way I never had before. And after that, they stopped bothering me. After all, they had all grown up.
But when he woke up… he wasn't the same.
(Memories of their screams echoed in his ears.)
I felt something. A sense of power.
Was that all it took to break you Weakling?
A grin—twisted, unnatural—slowly crept across his face.
And soon, everything went dark—silent, empty—like reality itself had swallowed him whole.
For a moment, it felt as if time had unraveled, pulling him back into the present. The weight of the past, the echoes of screams, the taste of despair—all of it faded into the void.
And then… reality came rushing back.
"Where… am I?"
A sharp crack split the air.
Pain—raw and searing—lashed across his back, unlike anything he had ever felt before. It wasn't just his flesh that burned; it was as if something deeper, something within his very soul, had been torn away. His body trembled, his breath caught in his throat, and his vision blurred.
Before him stood a woman—tall, imposing. Her presence alone was suffocating. A single eyepatch covered one of her piercing eyes, and her long, golden hair cascaded smoothly down her shoulders, swaying with the wind.
She spoke.
Her voice was sharp, commanding—yet the words were meaningless to him. A foreign tongue, one he could not understand.
Not that it mattered.
The pain had already consumed him whole.
The girl's expression shifted. Shock flickered in her eyes, but only for a moment. Then, as if some hidden realization dawned upon her, her lips curled into a slow, sinister grin.
It wasn't amusement.
It wasn't joy.
It was something far worse—an anticipation laced with malice.
As if, in that very instant, the boy's fate had already been sealed. His doom had arrived, and she was merely watching it unfold.
"Where… am I? Again?"
Arav's body ached as he stirred awake, the cold bite of stone pressing against his bare skin. A damp, foul stench filled his nostrils—piss, shit, and something even worse, something rotten. His stomach turned as he pushed himself up, hands sinking slightly into the grime-covered floor.
What the hell is this place?
The walls were jagged, rough, and stained with filth. A dim, flickering light seeped in through iron bars at the far end, barely illuminating the squalor around him. His breath hitched. He didn't remember how he got here. He didn't remember anything.
What did I do?
Why was he here? What had he done to deserve this?
"No. Just… no."
Arav's breath came in sharp gasps, his chest rising and falling in panic. His mind was in chaos, his thoughts colliding, refusing to form anything coherent. He stumbled to his feet, his body trembling.
"What is going on?"
The cold, filth-covered stone beneath him sent a shiver up his spine. The stench made him gag, his stomach twisting in protest. His hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his skin as if the pain would ground him, bring him clarity.
"This place… I'm not supposed to be here."
His head spun. Just hours ago, it was a normal day. He was there, in his world. Finally, he was happy.
But now—this?
"Why? Where… am I?"