He stepped onto the dirt path, heading toward them.
A young girl near the well saw him first. Maybe ten years old. She froze, staring.
Kael looked back at her, then turned toward the men.
"Hey!" one of them barked when he noticed. "You from this trash pile of a village?"
Kael stopped a few steps away. Tilted his head.
"Nope."
The guy stepped forward and drew his blade. It was rusty and bent.
"Then you must be lost. Got any money? Food? Something useful?"
Kael looked at him, calm and curious. "Why would I give you anything?"
The man scoffed. "'Cause if you don't, freak, we'll cut you open."
He lunged—fast, yelling—with his sword aimed right at Kael's chest.
Kael didn't move.
The man froze.
Not stopped like he hesitated—frozen. Mid-swing. Sword inches from Kael's chest. Arms shaking like something grabbed his soul and said nope.
His eyes widened. He blinked.
"…What?"
Kael blinked too.
"Dude… are you good?"
Then the man's arm bent the wrong way with a loud crack.
His sword dropped.
Black cracks spread across his chest like broken glass, and the next second…
He crumbled into dust.
Just ash. Cold and dark. Gone before it hit the ground.
Kael scratched his head. "...Huh."
One of the shinobi screamed and ran at him, yelling something about chakra.
Kael glanced over.
Snap.
The man flipped inside-out in the air. Just… turned into a hole. L
The last ninja turned and ran.
He got maybe two steps before his shadow sprouted teeth.
A black mouth rose up from the ground and swallowed him.
No scream. Just a quiet gulp.
The other two dropped their weapons.
Kael looked at them.
They dropped to their knees. One wet himself. The other started praying to a god he probably hadn't thought about in years.
The little girl near the well didn't say a word. She just stared at Kael like she wasn't sure if she should run or bow.
Kael met her eyes.
Then winked.
And turned around.
He turned his back, took a few steps—then stopped.
"…Okay," he muttered, scratching his head again. "What the hell just happened?"
He looked down at his hands.
He didn't feel stronger. He didn't feel tired either.
It all just… happened. Like breathing.
That guy tried to stab him and got turned into dust. The others weren't even a fight. They just stopped being alive.
"…Man, knull powers are nuts," he muttered.
He looked down. The shadows around his feet were quiet again, curling like smoke, waiting. Like loyal dogs pretending to be calm until he said "go."
Then he heard it.
A whisper.
Soft, broken. One voice, then another.
"...Kami."
"...It's a god."
Kael turned his head.
The villagers were stepping out of their huts now. Slowly. Carefully. Like scared animals sniffing the air after a storm.
The little girl was still staring, but now her hands were pressed together. Like in prayer.
Someone else dropped to their knees.
Then another.
One old man lowered his head to the dirt.
"Thank you, Lord," he whispered. "Thank you for saving us."
Kael blinked.
"…Huh?"
More followed. All around him now—kneeling, bowing, crying, praying. Whispering words like "kami," "savior," "divine one."
Kael stood still.
A breeze passed through the village. Soft. Warm.
He looked around at the broken houses, the cracked dirt, the people with nothing left but fear—and now, him.
"…They think I'm a god?" he said, almost laughing.
He looked down at his bare feet. Then at the black shadows still circling him like silent pets.
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"Well… shit."
A small smile tugged at Kael's lips.
"I guess I am, huh?"
He looked out over the village—broken, weak, and tired. But it was his now. These people had given themselves to him, not because he asked, but because they believed.
Out of awe.
Out of fear.
Out of hope.
Not bad.
Not bad at all.
Kael stretched his arms over his head and dropped them again.
"If they wanna call me god," he said, smirking, "then fine. Let's roll with it."
His silver eyes glowed faintly in the soft light.
"I guess I've got a base now."
He turned to the villagers—still kneeling, still whispering prayers.
He gave them a small wave.
Kael stood quietly, staring at the ashes on the ground where one of the bandits had died.
The village was silent.
But inside, Kael's mind was spinning.
"…Symbiotes," he muttered.
A memory floated up—fuzzy but clear enough. A comic panel he read in his past life. Knull, standing tall among gods, with shadows rising behind him like black blades. And the line of text that stuck with him:
"From the abyss, Knull forged living weapons—beasts born from his will."
Kael's eyes narrowed.
He remembered the steps. The creation process.
Children of the void.
Kael looked down at his hand.
He could feel it—the darkness under his skin, moving like warm oil.
Step One: Channel the Abyss
Kael closed his eyes. Focused.
The world dimmed. Sounds faded.
Then—
SSHHHH
Thick, black liquid flowed from his palm. It didn't drip. It emerged—alive. It moved on its own, twisting and coiling like snakes in water.
The villagers gasped. Some screamed. Others fell to their knees again.
The darkness slithered up his arm, curiously licking at his skin.
Kael whispered words he half-remembered from an old Reddit thread:
"From the pit of silence, I draw the primordial void—pure, untainted, unformed."
The black liquid pulsed in response.
Step Two: Imprint a Will
He looked at the pile of ash in front of him.
"That one tried to stab me," he muttered. "Let's make something useful out of him."
He focused on the void.
"I want a hunter. Fast. Silent. Someone who can track and kill in the dark."
The liquid shivered.
It heard him.
"You are not born. You are forged. From me, you take thought. From ruin, you learn hunger."
The shadows surged forward.
Step Three: Shape the Form
Kael spread his fingers.
The blackness obeyed.
Slowly, a shape rose from the pool—first a torso, then arms and legs. Long limbs, clawed fingers. A faceless head made of smooth shadow.