The Superior Rebirth: A Hero's Awakening

The King in Black

In the earliest days of creation, when the first great war broke out between the four races, hatred began to seep into every corner of existence. It did not come suddenly—but spread like a plague. Trust decayed. Morality broke. People killed, betrayed, enslaved, trafficked, and slaughtered without remorse. Acts once deemed unthinkable became common.

And from this swelling storm of darkness—from a universal string of hatred and wickedness never seen before—something terrible was born.

Raegott.

Otherwise known as... Evil.

It was not summoned, nor shaped by hand or spell. It emerged, an immensity beyond mortal comprehension, forged by the collective malice of the four races. Their hatred for one another gave it breath. Their cruelty gave it will. A godlike force made not by love or purpose—but by pain.

As desperation swept the world, a few discovered the existence of this transcendent force. Secret worshippers, heretics cloaked in shadow, offered blood and sacrifice to earn its favor. They did not understand what it was, only that it answered. It gave them strength. Power enough to kill, conquer, and destroy.

But Raegott was no god.

Even the Supreme Beings—those radiant titans above all others—were not true gods, but servants to the one being who was: Origin.

Those who earned Raegott's favor believed themselves blessed.

They were not.

Its power corrupted their very essence. What they called a gift was a seed of doom. When they died, their souls did not pass on. They were devoured—dragged back into the force, as if they had always belonged to it.

Raegott grew stronger.

But then, something unexpected happened.

It grew... curious.

Though it had no heart and no mortal shell, it began to observe its worshippers more closely. It saw something strange, something inconsistent. Even amidst their hatred, there existed moments of something else.

Love.

Even as the races waged a devastating war against each other, they still clung to their kin. Still embraced. Still cried for each other. Died for each other.

This confused Raegott. It found the mortals—these shallow, broken creatures—hypocritical. Disgusting.

Yet it was envious.

What was this thing they shared that it could not feel?

Time passed. Lives crumbled. And Raegott's envy grew.

Until finally, it reached a breaking point.

It no longer wished to watch from beyond. It wanted to know. To feel. To experience.

And so, it descended.

Not as flame or shadow, but as flesh.

A human child—born of a king and a prostitute. A bastard no one would expect.

At birth, it forgot what it was. But deep down, the truth remained. It did not need to pretend. Evil, for it, was as natural as breath.

That child would become a terror spoken of only in whispers.

Grand Emperor Julius.

The Grand Herrscher of The End.

Lord of Apocalypse.