The sky above the D'avorian Empire was a violent tapestry of crimson and amber, reflecting a dawn drenched in fire and promise of bloodshed. The empire's towering walls shimmered with embedded crystals, centuries of conquest etched into every stone. From the highest battlements, soldiers prepared for an unusual threat—a single man who dared to walk toward their city alone.
Clórogo.
A figure shrouded in white aura, tangled with chaotic black scribbles, advanced. Each step sent tremors through the stone path, as if the earth itself recognized the presence of someone insane enough to defy an empire.
— There he is! The White Madman! — shouted a soldier, his voice trembling.
— One man? That's suicide! — another yelled, gripping a spear tightly.
Clórogo tilted his head, a crooked smile curling his lips. He glanced past the walls, past the soldiers, and for a fleeting heartbeat, looked directly at the readers.
— Ah, you're here… alright, before we continue, let me introduce myself: I'm Clórogo. The idiot attempting to conquer an empire solo. The failure everyone calls insane.
With that, he surged forward.
Arrows zipped through the air, fiery and precise. Clórogo moved with fluid agility. Black scribbles from his aura twisted, stretching and snapping like living chains, dissolving every projectile mid-flight.
Then came the real storm: spears of light, flaming arrows, energy bullets, all aimed at him. One man against the empire's army. And yet, he advanced.
Each strike he made was a blend of chaos and calculation. Each dodge, each counterattack, revealed both brilliance and lunacy.
"You will not succeed." — a whisper echoed in his mind.
— Hah! — Clórogo laughed, his aura flaring wildly — then watch how far the White Madman's madness can reach!
Soldiers faltered, unsure of how to respond. Civilians screamed as energy blasts and projectiles collided around them. Clórogo's aura expanded to protect the innocents, deflecting and destroying every lethal attack, sacrificing speed and momentum for morality.
Marius Dourado, champion of the empire, descended the main gate steps. Golden armor gleaming, every motion precise, a declaration of superiority. Behind him, elite Sentinels formed a semi-circle, weapons poised, the air charged with lethal intent.
— Every hesitation is a step closer to your doom — Marius boomed. — You fight with rules you cannot bend.
— Perhaps… — Clórogo replied, blood running down his chin — but courage and madness are mine, and far more entertaining.
The battlefield became a stage, Clórogo a one-man storm of unpredictability and precision. The first wave of Sentinels fell under his blade and aura. Black scribbles cut through the air, twisting like calligraphy made of pure chaos.
Marius frowned.
— A pity… — he muttered — strength without compromise is rare, but it can also be a prison.
Clórogo grinned, wiping blood from his mouth.
— Then consider me well imprisoned… and well entertained.
A deadly combination struck him. He crashed into the wall. Pain shot through his shoulder and leg, yet he rose, aura flaring with renewed intensity.
— This… is not the end — he spat. — Every failure teaches me. And the story is mine to write.
Clórogo staggered from the wall, blood dripping from his shoulder, but he did not fall. Every beat of his heart pulsed with madness and determination. Civilians scrambled around him, screaming and panicking as the elite Sentinels advanced, but the White Madman's aura flared wider, black scribbles tangling and twisting to form a protective barrier.
— You're too reckless — Marius said, narrowing his eyes — and reckless men die alone.
— Maybe… — Clórogo replied, teeth bared in a grin — but I've never been very good at following expectations.
He lunged, spinning through a rain of arrows and energy blasts. The air around him snapped and twisted; each black scribble struck like a whip, each movement precise yet unpredictable. The Sentinels fell one by one, but the battle was far from over.
Clórogo noticed the civilians pressed against the battleground. His steps faltered; a projectile aimed for an innocent child struck the ground just inches from him. Without hesitation, he deflected it, spinning midair, black scribbles slicing through the air to protect the terrified family.
— Hah… do you see that, readers? — he muttered, once again breaking the fourth wall. — Even the most powerful villain must follow his own rules. Sometimes, that's enough to make him lose.
Marius's eyes darkened.
— You fight with honor… and it will destroy you.
Clórogo grinned, stepping over a fallen Sentinel.
— Honor? Ha! I call it… self-preservation with style.
A series of energy spears launched from the walls. Clórogo spun, deflecting them, but a surge of force slammed into his leg. Pain flared, and he fell to a knee. The soldiers advanced, sensing his fatigue. Yet, even wounded, he rose, black scribbles swirling frantically around him like a living storm.
— Come on… — he muttered, voice low — the more they try to kill me, the more I enjoy it.
With a sudden burst of energy, he launched himself into the air, spinning and striking, creating a tornado of destruction. Soldiers fell, the ground cracked, and the empire's walls trembled. His aura flared white, the black scribbles sketching chaotic lines across the battlefield.
Then, a misstep. A civilian ran too close to the battlefield, and Clórogo paused, deflecting a deadly strike aimed at her. The momentary hesitation allowed Marius to strike. A golden blade slashed across Clórogo's shoulder, throwing him against the stone wall. Pain exploded, blood flowing freely.
— Ha… — Clórogo laughed, though grimacing — almost had me there. Almost.
The empire's defenders roared in triumph, but Clórogo's grin remained. Despite his wounds, he limped away, heading toward the forest beyond the walls, leaving destruction and chaos behind.
The forest was dense, almost suffocating. Sunlight barely touched the ground. Every step Clórogo took made the leaves rustle and the branches creak. Shadows twisted in impossible ways, creating illusions of movement. The forest seemed alive, aware of his presence, whispering secrets to him.
— Hah… thought my story would end in failure? — he muttered, glancing at the readers. — No, we are just warming up.
Blood ran down his arm. His leg throbbed. Every muscle screamed, but the thrill of survival, the ecstasy of defying impossible odds, pushed him forward. He stumbled over twisted roots and jagged stones, black scribbles spiraling frenetically around him.
Suddenly, he saw it: an opening in the forest floor, hidden among roots and rocks. The cave entrance was small, almost imperceptible, yet the faint glow from inside drew him closer.
— Curiosity… always a dangerous companion — he whispered, voice low — but sometimes, it leads to the most… interesting things.
He entered, moving carefully. The cavern was narrow at first, walls lined with silver crystals that reflected light in sharp, cold shards. The air was damp and heavy, carrying the scent of moss, wet stone, and something ancient. Every step echoed, creating multiple shadows that danced along the walls.
The ground beneath him suddenly gave way. He fell through a deep fissure, tumbling into darkness. Crystals scraped his vision, wind whistled past his ears, pain flared in his shoulder and leg. Yet, he landed upright, a few meters away, and immediately rose again.
— Hah… not bad, gravity — he muttered to the readers — but it will take more than a fall to stop me.
At the center of the chamber, floating in an ethereal silver light, was the Mirror of an Anteroi. Its dark metal frame was twisted, almost alive, with luminous veins pulsing faintly. Its surface did not merely reflect Clórogo; it showed him transformed, victorious, unstoppable, a version of himself that had conquered everything he had ever failed at.
Clórogo approached cautiously, awe mixed with exhilaration. Black scribbles of his aura spiraled violently, as if anticipating what would come next.
— So… this is it — he whispered — the reflection of what I could be. A villain victorious. A story rewritten.
The mirror remained silent, but whispers echoed in the chamber, hundreds of voices offering power, knowledge, and infinite possibilities. Clórogo smiled, blood dripping, aura flaring, eyes wide with madness and excitement.
— You see this, readers? — he murmured — a failure can find his destiny… and I intend to make it unforgettable.
The chamber pulsed in response, the air vibrating as if reality itself acknowledged his presence. For all the defeats, the pain, the near-fatal blows—Clórogo felt the shift in the world's balance. Something was awakening.
Would this artifact finally allow him to change the rules of the game? Or was it merely another test in a world designed to challenge the limits of madness?
Silence enveloped him. The mirror reflected his burning eyes. The White Madman had found the first step of his path, a story no one would forget.
And in that silence, a faint whisper tickled his mind:
"The empire is not the only game, Clórogo… the world awaits your madness."
Clórogo's lips curled into a grin, black scribbles twisting violently around his aura.
— Hah… and so it begins
The chamber was silent. Clórogo's breath echoed against the stone walls, each inhale sharp with pain, exhilaration, and anticipation. The Mirror of an Anteroi floated mere meters away, light cascading from it like liquid silver. Its twisted frame pulsed faintly, black veins crawling along the edges like living shadows.
Clórogo circled it, cautious, curious, alive. His aura flared and flickered, black scribbles twisting violently, each movement a reflection of his chaotic mind.
— Hah… you see, readers? — he said softly, breaking the fourth wall again — a villain's curiosity is as dangerous as any weapon. Sometimes… more.
He reached out a trembling hand. The mirror rippled under his touch, as if recognizing him. It was alive, but not in the way creatures are. It was conscious, aware of the potential for chaos within him, aware of the madness that had driven him to defy an empire.
Images flickered across its surface: every battle he had lost, every humiliation, every moment the world called him a fool. And then… every victory he had yet to achieve.
— Hah… so that's what I could be… — Clórogo whispered, a manic grin spreading across his face. — The one who actually wins.
The whispers grew louder. Hundreds of voices, each promising power, knowledge, and opportunity. But there was one constant: the mirror would grant him power, yes… but only if he understood the rules of reality, only if he followed the code that binds this world.
Clórogo's grin deepened.
— You see, readers… this isn't just a gift. It's a challenge. And I adore a good challenge.
He stepped closer. His white aura flared, the black scribbles twisting faster, spiraling in hypnotic patterns. He felt his body shift, subtle at first, then more pronounced. Muscles tense, senses heightened, instincts screaming. The mirror reflected the version of him that had already conquered every impossibility.
— Imagine… just imagine — he said aloud — all those who mocked me, all those who said I would fail… finally watching me win.
Suddenly, the mirror rippled violently. A silver light shot out, illuminating the cavern. The whispers became words, clear and piercing:
"Do you accept the path of madness, Clórogo? Do you dare to rewrite failure?"
— Hah… I accept — he declared, aura flaring brighter, scribbles twisting into intricate, chaotic patterns. — But don't think this will be easy. I will win… and I will make it spectacular.
As he spoke, the chamber trembled. Crystals along the walls shimmered and pulsed, as if recognizing his shift in destiny. The air was thick with potential, the weight of futures both impossible and inevitable pressing against him.
He stepped back and observed his reflection. This was not just a mirror; it was a portal of possibilities, a system of reality itself, and Clórogo understood instantly that it would alter his perception, his timing, his reflexes. The Mirror of an Anteroi was not a weapon in the traditional sense; it was a system to outthink, outmaneuver, and outlast the world.
— And this… — he whispered, almost reverently — is how the White Madman becomes unstoppable.
Clórogo's thoughts raced, black scribbles spiraling violently around him.
If I can manipulate my own reality without breaking the rules… I can finally achieve what no villain has ever done.
He paused, remembering the empire, the battle, the civilians he had protected. Every failure, every loss, every hesitation… it had all led him here. And yet, the Mirror promised more.
— Ah… the possibilities — he murmured to the readers — they are endless. Every empire, every army, every challenge… all waiting. And I will carve my name across them.
The chamber fell silent again. Clórogo's aura dimmed, black scribbles still swirling like ink in water. He exhaled slowly, savoring the first true step toward victory.
— But… this is only the beginning — he said, standing tall, eyes blazing. — The empire may have beaten me today. I may have retreated. But tomorrow… tomorrow, the White Madman will rise, and the world will never forget.
A final ripple from the Mirror of an Anteroi echoed through the cavern, a faint vibration carrying both warning and promise. Clórogo smiled, a mix of insanity and brilliance shining through every scarred inch of him.
— Hah… I hope you're ready, readers. The story is only getting started.
He turned, leaving the mirror glowing behind him. Every step toward the exit felt heavier, charged with anticipation, power, and destiny. Outside, the forest awaited, the empire awaited, the world awaited…
And the White Madman was ready to claim what the world had never given to any villain: true recognition, true power, and the thrill of defying the impossible.
Clórogo stepped carefully toward the cave's exit, black scribbles still writhing violently around his white aura. The Mirror of an Anteroi glimmered behind him, a silent guardian of possibilities, but now its influence had begun to seep into him, subtle yet undeniable. His movements felt faster, his reflexes sharper, his mind calculating scenarios even before they could occur.
— Hah… — he muttered to the readers — did you think a simple reflection could change nothing? Watch closely. This is just the first glimpse of what happens when madness meets destiny.
Exiting the cave, the forest seemed transformed. Shadows bent around him as if obeying an unseen rhythm. A branch snapped, yet his reflexes anticipated the fall; a venomous snake slithered toward him, and he sidestepped effortlessly. The Mirror's system was working, adjusting him in real-time, sharpening instincts beyond natural limits, but never breaking the rules.
The world outside was alive with possibility. Birds scattered, the wind carried whispers of unseen threats, and yet, Clórogo felt a thrill he had never known. Each step was a promise of chaos, a declaration that the White Madman was no longer merely a failure—he was a force of potential.
— Oh… the empire may have seen me retreat, — he said with a grin, — but they've only delayed the inevitable. I've tasted what it means to be unstoppable… and I've only just begun.
He paused, glancing at the path ahead. The dense forest opened slightly, revealing distant peaks of the empire's walls, glittering like taunting mirrors. Clórogo's smile turned wild.
— Readers… — he whispered, leaning slightly toward them as if sharing a secret — imagine the looks on their faces when the White Madman returns. Every failure, every laugh at my expense, every whispered word of "he will never succeed"… all about to turn into ash.
Suddenly, the air shifted. A faint ripple, almost imperceptible, passed through him. The Mirror's system was testing him—subtle manipulations of perception, timing, reflexes. A log of possibilities. Every movement now had potential outcomes calculated in milliseconds.
Clórogo's heart raced.
— Hah… this is beautiful… — he murmured — absolute chaos, structured, bound by rules, yet limitless in opportunity. This… this is my playground.
A rustling in the trees caught his attention. From the shadows, a group of hunters emerged, armor glinting, weapons raised. They were not soldiers of the empire, but formidable foes in their own right. Clórogo laughed, a sound that mingled madness and exhilaration.
— Perfect timing — he said aloud — let's see how the system handles real combat.
As they charged, his aura flared, white light braided with black scribbles dancing in violent patterns. Every reflex, every dodge, every strike was a calculated act of chaos. The hunters' weapons met shadows, arrows dissolved mid-flight, strikes sliced air instead of flesh. The Mirror's influence guided him subtly, giving him a taste of precision that felt otherworldly yet completely aligned with the world's rules.
He danced through the attack, laughing maniacally.
— You see this, readers? — he said, breaking the fourth wall again — sometimes, a villain must test the waters before unleashing true madness.
A final hunter lunged from behind, spear aimed at his back. Clórogo twisted, scribbles coiling, and redirected the strike harmlessly into the air. The hunter fell forward, humiliated but alive. Clórogo's grin widened.
— And that… — he said, brushing blood and sweat from his face — is how the White Madman begins his ascent.
The forest fell silent again. The empire was miles away, unaware that one man had discovered a power beyond any rule, yet still bound by them. Clórogo's laughter echoed through the trees, a promise of chaos yet to come.
— Hah… remember this moment, readers — he whispered — the day the world began to notice the White Madman. Empires may rise, heroes may flourish, but Clórogo… Clórogo writes his own story.
With the Mirror of an Anteroi at his back, new possibilities stretching in every direction, and the thrill of survival still coursing through him, Clórogo stepped forward into the unknown. Every step, a step toward chaos. Every breath, a testament to defiance. Every heartbeat, the rhythm of a madman determined to conquer impossibility.
The White Madman was ready. The world had yet to see him. And the empire… the empire would soon regret ever underestimating him.