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Gritty and Dark

NeuraX
7
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The average realized release rate over the past 30 days is 7 chs / week.
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Synopsis
Beneath a black sun that bleeds light into a sky without end, the Void gave birth to something it was never meant to create. Azael Voidborn—a being born of nothing, shaped by chaos, and destined to command it. From the moment his eyes opened, the world itself bent in fear. He feels no love. No pity. Only the quiet certainty that all things must kneel. In a realm of hundreds of races, from gods and demons to spirits of smoke and stone, Azael rises through endless conflict—each battle a step toward his single, merciless goal: to rule over all creation and ascend as the god of gods. Yet power births contradiction. Amid the blood, betrayal, and shattered heavens, he discovers a feeling he cannot crush—love. Three women, bound to his destiny, threaten to turn his cold ambition into something dangerous: desire, longing… weakness. As kingdoms fall and cosmic horrors stir in the dark between worlds, the boy born of the Void must decide what kind of god he will become— a tyrant who devours all light, or the shadow that gives it meaning. ⸻ Tags: Dark Fantasy • Romance • Anti-Hero • Gods & Demons • Fast-Paced Action • Gritty Worldbuilding • Power Ascension
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Chapter 1 - Chapter 1: Birth Beneath the Black Sun

by neuraX

The black sun bled across the horizonless void.

It did not rise. It pulsed — a heart without mercy, beating light that devoured itself.

Vaelira Voidborn stood in the center of the storm of nothing. The ground beneath her feet quivered like liquid shadow; mountains of smoke bent and folded inward. Her breath came slow, calm — the kind of calm only gods remember before creation.

Something inside her stirred. Not flesh, not life as mortals knew it — a will, coiled like a serpent beneath the surface of eternity.

The Void felt it too.

Whispers rippled through the air, carried by the shadow-folk and lesser voidlings that filled the village. Their voices merged into one trembling hum.

"Na'thra vel—ka…"

(The Abyss opens…)

Light cracked across the sky, not white but a shimmering fracture of black-violet, tearing a wound through reality. Vaelira raised her gaze to the rift. The black sun flared once, then dimmed, as if bowing to what was about to emerge.

Her husband, Veyr Voidborn, knelt beside her — armor made from condensed night, eyes burning with protective fury.

"Hold on," he said, voice rough as grinding stone. "He comes."

Vaelira smiled faintly. "He does not come, Veyr. He arrives."

The world screamed.

A soundless explosion rippled outward. Villagers fell to their knees as the ground inverted — a ring of hovering obsidian shards encircling the place where Vaelira stood. In their reflection, no faces appeared. Only a silhouette: small, human-shaped, crowned with shadow.

The chants rose.

"Azael… na'th veir. Ka'shul. Ka'thra—"

(Azael… born of night. Sovereign. Endless.)

And then silence.

The child opened his eyes.

Two perfect voids gazed back at existence — black without reflection, without end. Around him, the air thickened with a pressure that made even the black sun tremble. He did not cry. He simply looked, and the world seemed to shrink to fit inside his stare.

Vaelira reached forward, trembling, and whispered, "My son."

But he did not answer.

I remember that moment.

The first breath — not air, but power.

I remember the silence before thought, the certainty that nothing around me was worthy of sound.

I saw them, those who called themselves my kin — shapes of shadow bent into the form of mortals. They stared as if they feared to breathe. I could feel their minds brush against mine, seeking to understand. Their words were thoughts pressed against glass.

one dared to send.

I ignored it.

Why would a flame answer to the smoke it creates?

The black sun loomed above, steady now. Each pulse of its dying heart called to me, and I felt it — the same rhythm echoing inside my veins. The Void was alive, and I was its reflection.

Years, or perhaps moments, passed. Time has no meaning where darkness reigns.

I grew, not through nourishment but through will. My body stretched, bones carved from night itself. I learned to walk upon nothing, to listen to the language beneath silence.

Vaelira watched me often. There was sorrow in her eyes, the kind that mortals mistake for love. I wondered why she cared.

"Your gaze is cold," she said once, brushing a strand of my jet-black hair aside. "Do you feel nothing, Azael?"

I tilted my head.

"Feeling," I murmured, tasting the word. "An inefficiency."

Her laughter was quiet. "You are your father's ambition."

Veyr only grunted from the distance, sharpening his blade — a weapon forged to kill what cannot die.

They thought I did not notice the fear behind their love. I did. It pleased me.

There is a place at the edge of our village where the void folds inward, a hollow of endless mirrors. I often went there to listen to the hum of creation's bones. On that day, something within me stirred — a whisper deeper than the Void itself.

Power is not given. It is remembered.

The words were not mine, nor my parents'. They came from the dark beneath thought. I reached out.

The world responded.

A ripple of pure black aura bled from my skin, not as substance but as light inverted. The air shattered like glass. The ground beneath my feet folded, cracked, and turned weightless — an ocean of smoke rising to obey.

I watched it, fascinated. The voidlings screamed, their forms unraveling into mist. The black sun dimmed again, its light drawn into me like a tide.

Vaelira's voice broke the silence. "Azael—stop!"

But I didn't. I couldn't. The rhythm had found me again — the pulse of creation and destruction beating as one.

The village twisted, reshaped. A new tower of frozen shadow burst upward from the ground, marking the place I stood. When the energy faded, the air smelled of cold and fear.

I looked upon the trembling figures around me — my parents, the shadow-folk, the broken earth.

They stared at me as if they had just witnessed the birth of a god.

Perhaps they had.

I remember my mother's voice after the silence returned.

"You are meant for more than this, my son."

I turned to her — my aura still shimmering like smoke.

"I know," I said simply.

And for the first time since I was born, the Void itself whispered back, almost amused:

"Then let us see what a god remembers."

Next Chapter — The First Echo of Power