The Founder's POV
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Everything was going according to plan-until my life crumbled. Fresh out of university, I was ready to chase my dreams, fulfill my parents' hopes, and carve out my destiny. But fate had different plans.
"Creation of the World"-a game of limitless possibilities, offering its user the power to control realms, to create and destroy without limits. Cassian watched helplessly as the Earth merged with this world of his own design. Stripped of control, he awoke in a body not his own.
Cassian StarHold-the older brother of the world's greatest hero.
--
I lived as a puppet, a slave bound to an unyielding fate, sacrificing everything for mere scraps. Yet, my tormentors weren't content with simply binding me. They brought war to my doorstep, erasing everything I had painstakingly built.
Now, I stand amidst thousands of their finest, listening to the man who destroyed my world. He looms high above, addressing the crowd from atop majestic marble columns, his silver hair blending seamlessly with the sky.
"People are not equal!" His voice, dripping with arrogance, slices through the air. "We are the peak of evolution! Nothing surpasses us! We've ascended, leaving mountains of inferior blood in our wake. And now, you shall inherit this legacy!"
He pauses, eyes cold and prideful, scanning the masses below. "This power must be earned, not handed down by birth. Wealth, power, status-they demand a mountain of sacrifices for even a glimpse."
With arms outstretched, madness flickers in his eyes, mirrored by the thousands who echo his zeal. "You cannot fathom the blood shed to place you here. But you will learn. And I swear on my pride... Only those worthy will survive! Soon, I will show you why we are called dragons!"
What these so-called dragons don't understand is that the puppet is about to break free. He's wrong-none of them will survive.
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Humans... always trying to speedrun their downfall. They tore the world apart, then acted shocked when there was nothing left. The apocalypse came and went. No glory in it. Just ash, blood, and fools dying confused. Then they rebuilt it. Because they never learn. Now the world stands again, but, you know... it's real dodgy. Yeah. It's dark. Rotten from the inside. Evil... everywhere. Real dick for brains, motherfuckers running around doing heinous things. Real bottom-tier pieces of human shit. Not hidden either. It walks openly, smiling. But even rot knows fear, and there's a dude that scares the absolute fuck out of every last one of those sadistic bastards. Abram Karasu. The Garroter, the Aether Reaper... whatever the fuck. He doesn't waste words. Doesn't threaten. Doesn't need to. If he comes for you, the sentence was decided long before you heard footsteps. Don't even bother begging either... it just irritates him. The guilty know him for the way he kills. Slow when it needs to be slow. Painful when pain is deserved. Accurate. Unmoved. Brutal. He tears evil apart piece by piece, making sure nothing crawls back afterward. No loose ends. No second chances. When retribution moves through him, doors don't matter. Walls don't matter. Prayers don't matter. Still... he isn't devoid of emotion. God, no. Don't get that twisted. Under all that carnage and maniacal euphoria, there's a normal guy who's just trying to live his fucking life. He's a rare kind of person. Hard to find. The innocent see it. A hand offered. Protection given without a word. He's no hero. Heroes care about being seen. Karasu is just a guy with insane power that chose to use it to do remarkable shit. People say his methods are... Unorthodox. Yeah, that's the word. But evil loves rules when rules protect it. Karasu doesn't have one fuck left to give. And if Abram Karasu is hunting you... you definitely fucking earned it.
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