It's good to be alive, even if life itself isn't particularly kind. Even when the days blur together and the nights feel longer than they should, there's still something strangely refreshing about existence. The idea that something new might be waiting ahead—no matter how miserable things get—is enough to keep going.
I already know what you're thinking. That life isn't worth living if you're poor, that suffering makes everything meaningless, or that having no future strips life of value. And of course, that only someone privileged could ever say something like this.
Yeah, I've heard all of it before. So let me finish.
I was twelve years old when I got separated from my parents—and from the world I used to know. Did I cry, complain, or curse everything around me? No, because none of that would have changed anything.
Complaints don't alter reality, and tears don't stop time from moving forward. So instead, I chose something better. I endured, adapted, and eventually learned how to survive.
Then, I learned how to thrive.
"You'll regret this… you damned monster!" the knight shouted, his voice trembling despite his attempt to sound resolute. His words pulled me out of my thoughts, and I let out a quiet sigh, mildly annoyed at the interruption. "You're being rude, you know," I said calmly, glancing at him. "I was in the middle of a monologue, Mr. Knight."
The battlefield around us had long fallen silent, leaving only the aftermath of what had occurred. Bodies lay scattered across the ground, twisted and broken, their blood slowly seeping into the earth. The stench of death hung thick in the air, suffocating and inescapable.
As I stepped forward, I nearly tripped over a corpse lying at my feet. A small mistake—but enough. The knight's eyes lit up with hope, mistaking it for an opening.
He lunged without hesitation, gripping his sword tightly as he drove it toward my heart. The strike was precise, clean, and decisive—the kind that would have killed anyone else instantly. It was a perfect attack.
Too bad I let him see that opening.
The blade pierced my chest with a sharp, decisive motion, and for a brief moment, everything stilled. Pain spread through my body, raw and undeniable, enough to make anyone collapse. But pain is only a signal—and signals can be ignored.
Before he could react, I grabbed him by the collar and pulled him closer. Our faces were inches apart, close enough for him to feel my breath as I spoke. "Tell me," I whispered, a faint smile forming, "did that satisfy you?"
Instead of answering, he spat directly onto my face. For a moment, I simply stared at him, processing the gesture in silence. Then I sighed.
"How rude."
My leg moved faster than his eyes could follow, and a sharp crack echoed through the air. His knee bent the wrong way, collapsing instantly as the joint dislocated. His scream tore through the silence, raw and desperate.
I didn't stop there. Reaching down, I grabbed a corpse and lifted it effortlessly, its body stiff and lifeless. Slowly, deliberately, I brought it closer to my face.
Then I bit into it.
Flesh tore between my teeth as blood spilled into my mouth, thick and metallic. I chewed without hurry, maintaining eye contact with the knight the entire time. When I was done, I ripped out one of its eyeballs.
And spat it—along with a mouthful of blood—straight into his face.
The change in him was immediate. Whatever courage remained vanished completely, replaced by pure, overwhelming terror. His body trembled, his breathing uneven and shallow.
Good.
"Now we're even," I said quietly. I stepped forward and raised my hand, steady and precise. This time, he didn't resist.
I drove my hand straight through his chest. My fingers wrapped around his heart, still beating weakly in my grasp. Then, without hesitation, I crushed it.
His body went limp instantly, collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut. Another corpse among many. Another life extinguished without meaning.
I exhaled softly and wiped the blood from my face. "Well then," I muttered, glancing at the carnage around me. "That takes care of that."
But this isn't where the story begins. No, this is just the result. To understand how I got here, we need to go back.
Way back.
It started with a boy. Twelve years old, living in a modest home somewhere in modern Europe. Two bedrooms, a quiet neighborhood, and a family that looked normal from the outside.
But appearances can be deceiving.
His father gambled obsessively, throwing away money as quickly as he earned it. Debts piled up, tensions grew, and the household slowly began to crumble. Still, he never stopped.
His mother was different. Careful, composed, and good at hiding things. But not good enough.
Because the boy noticed everything.
Late nights, quiet calls, subtle glances—things others would ignore. He didn't need proof, because his instincts had never failed him. Not once.
His parents thought they were subtle. They weren't. Not to someone who had been forced to observe from such a young age.
After all, they were the ones who taught him.
Not through kindness—but through abuse.
At first, he thought it was normal. Something all children went through. But the internet showed him otherwise.
It gave him answers. It gave him understanding.
And with that understanding came silence.
He knew speaking up would only make things worse. So he endured, just as he always had. Quietly, carefully, and without resistance.
At twelve, he should have been outside, making friends and enjoying life. Instead, he learned how to measure every word he spoke. Every reaction became calculated, every mistake dangerous.
People weren't safe. Not strangers, not relatives, not even family. So he turned elsewhere.
Movies, series, novels, and games became his escape. Not perfect, but enough to keep him going. Enough to keep him moving forward.
He studied relentlessly, pushing himself harder than anyone else. Not because he loved it, but because it was his way out. His only path forward.
His parents became his example—not of what to be, but what to avoid. Everything they were, he refused to become.
And so, he continued.
Until one day, something impossible happened.
He saw a man.
The man stood out immediately, as if he didn't belong in that world. His appearance was strange—almost like something out of a fantasy, dressed in simple medieval clothing. And yet, there was something about him that drew the boy in.
The man turned and walked into an alley. Without hesitation, the boy followed. Like a moth drawn to flame.
The alley was darker than it should have been. The noise of the street faded unnaturally, swallowed by silence. Still, he kept walking.
Step by step, deeper into the darkness.
Until the light behind him disappeared completely.
He turned around, expecting to see the street—but there was nothing. No exit, no sound, no world. Only endless darkness stretched in every direction.
And yet, he felt no fear.
If anything, it felt comforting. Familiar, even. Like he had finally arrived somewhere he was meant to be.
Time lost its meaning. Hours passed, then days, then months. Eventually, even years slipped by unnoticed.
He didn't feel hunger, exhaustion, or loneliness. He simply existed.
Until he grew bored.
And with boredom came curiosity.
That was when he noticed it. The space around him was reacting—to him, to his thoughts, to his emotions. Subtle at first, but undeniable.
Something within him responded.
A dark energy, black as the void itself, began to move at his command. It flowed through him effortlessly, as if it had always been a part of him.
Carefully, he began to experiment.
He guided the energy through his body, letting it circulate in slow, controlled patterns. Gradually, it condensed, forming something solid within him.
A core.
Then another.
He repeated the process, forming them throughout his body—chest, head, arms, knees. Each one stabilized the energy further, making him stronger.
More complete.
More something else.
It was intoxicating. Dangerous. But he didn't stop.
Curiosity had always been stronger than caution.
When he finished, something changed. A soft light appeared in the darkness, slowly forming into a radiant, swirling circle. Bright, pure, and completely out of place.
The cores inside him reacted instantly.
Resonating.
Calling out.
He stared at it for a moment, wondering if he had created it. But the answer didn't matter.
Only what lay beyond it did.
So without hesitation, without fear, and without doubt—
He stepped forward.
And entered the light.