Chapter 1 — The Boy Who Cut the World
The acrid stench of smoke clawed at Rael's nostrils, mingling with the bitter taste of ash on his cracked lips. Around him, the shattered remains of the ancient monastery loomed like broken teeth, jagged and desolate against the crimson dusk. Silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the distant howl of a lone wolf and the slow drip of blood echoing against cold stone.
Rael crawled forward, every movement sending searing pain through his battered body. His hands scraped against the rough floor, fingertips trembling as he reached for anything to hold onto. His vision blurred; fever burned behind his eyelids, and the ragged breaths tore through his chest like knives.
*They said I was nothing. No one remembers me. No one ever will.*
The words echoed in his mind like a curse, sinking deeper with every heartbeat. Around him, shadows twisted and writhed, mocking the fragile thread of his consciousness.
A low growl broke the silence, sharp and threatening. Rael's head snapped toward the sound, eyes barely focusing on the silhouette that emerged from the darkness. A man—or what was left of one—loomed before him, eyes cold and empty, teeth bared like a predator.
There was no mercy here. Only death.
Rael's body screamed to flee, but his limbs refused to obey. He was trapped, cornered against the crumbling wall, the last vestige of safety disappearing.
Despair crushed him, and with it, a strange calm settled over his mind.
Time seemed to slow.
Between Rael and the figure before him, a thin black line shimmered — barely visible, like a scratch on the fabric of reality itself.
Instinct took over.
Rael's trembling hand shot forward, fingers slicing through the line as if it were air.
The figure froze mid-step, eyes widening in confusion. No blood spilled. No cry of pain.
Only silence.
The man opened his mouth, but no sound emerged.
His memories, his voice, his very essence — severed.
Rael collapsed to the floor, trembling, the metallic taste of blood flooding his mouth.
From the shadows, a whisper curled like smoke.
*"That was beautiful. Shall we do it again?"*
A voice not his own. A dark smile that didn't belong to any face.
The voice of Greed.
---
Rael's fingers bled as black tendrils crept beneath his skin, ink spreading on fragile parchment. His name was gone. His past erased.
And in the silence of the ruined world, a new power was born.
---
Rael lay still for long moments, letting the cold stone ground seep into his bones. His mind teetered on the edge of oblivion, fragments of memories slipping like sand through clenched fists.
A name, a face—gone.
He tried to call out, but his voice was gone too. The only sound was the faint whisper, echoing somewhere deep inside.
*"Cut... sever... forget..."*
His body shuddered, sweat mixing with dirt and blood.
A sharp pain blossomed across his back. Slowly, his gaze drifted behind him—where a twisting pattern of black marks had appeared, glowing faintly like embers under ash.
Curiosity overcame fear. He reached a trembling hand to touch the marks.
They pulsed beneath his skin, alive.
A voice hissed inside his mind.
*"You are mine now."*
Rael jerked away, heart pounding. His breath caught in his throat. The shadows in the ruined monastery seemed to lean closer, watching.
The night stretched on, cold and unforgiving.
Somewhere, a wolf howled again.
Rael had no name. No past. Only the severed world—and the power to cut it.
And the dark whisper of Greed waiting for him to fall.
---
*To be continued...*