Berlin, 1964
The United Nations Summit was being held in Berlin.
The building itself was enormous—twelve floors of concrete and glass, rising like a monument to authority. In front of it stood the flags of every nation that belonged to the U.N., arranged in perfect lines. At the center, higher and larger than all the others, flew the United Nations flag, watching over them like a silent judge.
Inside, the summit hall was filled with the most powerful figures in the world.
Presidents. Prime ministers. Generals. Men who decided the fate of millions with signatures and speeches.
A massive table dominated the room, long enough to seat forty or fifty people with ease. Each chair was occupied. These were the people who controlled the world.
Yet the atmosphere was far from serious.
They laughed. They gossiped. Glasses clinked as liquor was poured freely. Conversations drifted from money to influence to private jokes, as if wars, borders, and human lives were nothing more than pieces on a board. The world outside might have been burning—but here, it was a game, and they were enjoying it.
Then—
Footsteps echoed.
The sound was slow. Measured. Deliberate.
The laughter died instantly.
Faces stiffened. Smiles vanished. One by one, the leaders hurried to hide their glasses, straightening their clothes, lowering their voices into silence. They recognized the footsteps.
And they were afraid.
The door opened.
A man entered the room.
He wore a formal suit, perfectly tailored in the style of the 1960s. His posture was calm, unhurried. His face, however, remained hidden—cast in shadow, as if the light itself refused to touch him.
The moment he stepped inside, something unthinkable happened.
Every single person in the room stood up.
Presidents. Kings. Men who commanded armies.
All of them bowed.
The rulers of the world lowered their heads before one individual.
The man spoke, his voice quiet—yet absolute.
"Sit down."
And they obeyed.
Every one of them.
Europe, 1944
The war was at its peak.
Across Europe, the world was tearing itself apart. Cities burned. Nations collapsed. On the Eastern Front, Russian forces pushed relentlessly against the Germans, advancing through blood, snow, and ruins.
Within the Russian military existed a unit infamous even among soldiers.
Its commander was ruthless—a man known for his cruelty, a man who would not hesitate to kill even a child if it served his purpose. His name inspired fear, not respect.
Yet within that same unit was someone who did not belong there.
A young man.
His name was Paul Kruger.
At twenty-three years old, Paul was a Russian soldier by force, not by choice. He had blond hair and clear blue eyes—features that made him stand out wherever he went, even in uniform. Before the war, such looks might have earned him admiration. Now, they meant nothing.
Paul was kind. Honest. Peace-loving.
He hated violence. He hated cruelty. He hated the war.
But war does not ask for consent.
Like millions of others, he had been dragged into the army against his will, forced to carry a rifle in a world that demanded blood. And so he marched forward with the rest—into a future he did not yet understand, and a destiny far darker than he could imagine.
One day, Paul's unit arrived at a small village.
It looked abandoned.
No voices. No footsteps. No smoke rising from chimneys. Yet everything felt recent—doors slightly open, utensils left on tables, clothes hanging to dry. It was as if the people had vanished only hours ago… perhaps days at most.
The commander surveyed the empty streets with narrowed eyes, then barked his order.
"Search every house. Take whatever supplies you find. And if anyone is still alive—kill them. You are free to do whatever you want, boys."
The soldiers scattered instantly, boots thundering against the dirt as they rushed into homes like hungry wolves.
Only Paul remained still.
He stood there, frozen—not out of laziness, but fear. If he searched a house and found someone alive… he would be expected to kill them. And he did not trust himself to pull the trigger.
The commander noticed.
"PAUL!" he roared, his voice slicing through the air. "Why are you standing there like a scarecrow? Move! Get into that house and find something, you asshole!"
His finger shot toward a nearby building.
Paul flinched. "Y–Yes, sir… right away."
He hurried forward and stepped inside.
The house was large—clearly owned by a wealthy family. Old traditional furniture filled the rooms: carved wooden chairs, polished tables, embroidered curtains, paintings hanging slightly crooked on the walls. Dust had not yet settled; the place still held warmth, as if its owners might return at any moment.
Paul exhaled in relief.
No one was there.
He turned to leave… but curiosity stopped him. In the corner of the room stood a tall wardrobe—an elmira—its doors closed too carefully for an abandoned home.
He hesitated, then reached for the handle.
The door creaked open.
His eyes widened.
Inside, crouched in silence, was a girl.
She was strikingly beautiful—long black hair falling over her shoulders, a simple black dress wrapped around her trembling figure. Her features hinted at Japanese heritage, and she looked no older than her early twenties. Sweat clung to her forehead; her breathing was shallow, uneven. She looked as if her heart might give out at any second.
For a moment, the world stopped.
Her eyes were filled with fear.
His were filled with something he did not expect—an immediate, overwhelming tenderness… almost love at first sight.
Those few seconds stretched into eternity.
Both pair of eyes were Staring each other,
One in Love and One in Fear.
Then—
"PAUL! Did you find anything?" the commander's voice thundered from outside.
The girl's expression crumbled further. She looked ready to collapse.
Paul swallowed. "No, sir! Nothing here!"
Silence returned.
The girl stared at him, stunned. She had expected betrayal… or death.
Instead, Paul slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out a small piece of bread. He handed it to her gently, then placed a finger over his lips.
"Shh."
He closed the wardrobe door and walked out.
Inside the darkness, the girl sat frozen, unable to process what had just happened. After a few minutes, her shaking hands lifted the bread to her lips. Hunger overcame confusion, and she began to eat.
She stayed hidden. She had no other choice.
Time passed.
Three days later, Paul returned—alone.
No soldiers. No commander. No boots echoing behind him.
He stepped into the house quietly. The wardrobe door opened again, and this time both of them smiled awkwardly.
"Y-You don't have to be afraid," Paul said softly. "I won't harm you. My name is Paul Kruger. I'm… a Russian soldier. I'm twenty-three. May I know your name, miss?"
The girl laughed—a light, unexpected sound that filled the empty house.
"Hahaha… you don't need to be so formal, Mr. Soldier. First, sit down."
Paul scratched the back of his head. "Hehe… okay."
They sat on the floor facing each other.
"My name is Yui Alexander," she said. "I'm twenty-one. Half German… half Japanese."
"Nice to meet you, Yui."
"Still formal," she teased.
Paul smiled sheepishly, then asked, "How are you the only one here? What happened to the others?"
Yui's expression darkened.
"When I was six or seven, my family moved to Germany. My father was German, my mother Japanese. I had a younger sister… eleven years younger than me. About a week ago, English soldiers attacked our village. They took everything."
Paul listened in silence.
"They killed many people… and took the young women away. My mother…" Her voice broke. "My mother was killed."
"I'm… I'm so sorry."
"It's not your fault. The remaining villagers decided to leave. My father and sister were among them. I couldn't go with them. The next day, I heard the news that…" Her words dissolved into sobs.
Paul understood without hearing the rest. Those who fled had not survived.
She was alone.
He felt a heavy ache in his chest—an urge to protect, to fix something in a world that refused to be fixed. Then, suddenly, an idea formed.
"Yui… why don't you come with me? To Russia."
"R-Russia?" she echoed, confused.
"Yes. Germany is falling. It won't last much longer. Russia is winning—you'd be safe there. And… if you want… I can take care of you."
"You?" she asked, half-amused, half-uncertain.
Paul nodded, cheeks reddening. "I know the timing is terrible, but… I started liking you the moment I saw you."
For a second, she stared at him.
Then she burst into laughter. "Hahaha! Paul… you're such a fool. Who confesses like this in a war zone?"
"Ah… sorry," he muttered, embarrassed.
She wiped a tear from her eye, still smiling. "Okay. I'll come with you."
His face lit up. "R-Really?"
"But on one condition."
"What condition?"
She leaned closer with a playful grin. "You take full responsibility for me."
Paul laughed. "Of course I will."
And so, Paul took Yui to Russia.
He left the military and began working as a farmer, trading rifles for soil and gunfire for the quiet rhythm of seasons. A year later, in 1945, two miracles occurred.
The war ended.
And Paul and Yui were married.
Then, on 6 July 1946, Yui gave birth to a child.
A boy.
Paul held him in trembling arms, smiling wider than he ever had in his life. In that small wooden house, surrounded by fields and silence, happiness felt real—fragile, but real. The Kruger family lived simply, yet their days were warm. Seasons passed, and laughter filled the rooms more often than words.
For a while, life was kind.
But hell was only waiting.
Three years passed.
The child had begun to walk, to speak broken words, to laugh at small things only he understood. One ordinary morning, Paul left for work as usual. Yui remained home, cleaning, humming softly while the child played on the floor nearby.
Then—
A knock on the door.
Yui walked toward it, unsuspecting, and opened it.
Two men stood outside, dressed in black suits.
In a single instant, her expression froze. She recognized them.
They were members of Paul's former military squad.
She tried to shut the door immediately, but one of the men pushed it open with effortless force. His strength overpowered her completely.
The child had stopped playing.
"We don't want to hurt anyone," one of them said coldly. "But if you want to see your husband alive… you will come with us."
Yui's pupils widened. She understood everything in that moment. Resistance would mean death—not only hers, but Paul's as well. Her hands trembled as she picked up the child.
She went with them.
After a long walk, they reached an abandoned factory far from the city—isolated, silent, forgotten by the world. The iron doors creaked open, and Yui stepped inside.
Paul was there.
Bruised. Bloodied. Barely standing.
"PAUL!" she cried, rushing forward, but rough hands seized her arms and held her back.
The commander emerged from the shadows with a twisted smile.
"Well… look who we have here. The wife of Paul Kruger."
"What do you want?" Yui shouted, her voice shaking with rage and fear.
The commander chuckled. "Our former soldier illegally took a German woman to our country… married her… built a life. Quite unforgivable, wouldn't you say? We simply need to punish him."
He raised a gun.
"YUI! RUN!" Paul screamed.
The shot echoed.
Paul collapsed.
The world shattered.
Yui's scream tore through the factory, raw and broken. She fell to her knees, tears streaming uncontrollably. The commander watched with amusement, as if observing a performance.
"Relax," he said mockingly. "We were only here for him."
But suddenly his Eyes sees Paul's Child
And again with a Crazy Smile He says "I guess not We need to do a little more torture"
His smile got more widened Then he looks at Yui and Again looks at the Baby
And with A Vulgar expression he shouts "Boys!!Today is your lucky day We got a beautiful Girl So Now Just Enjoy"
All the Mens that are present there got very happy and rushed towards Yui
Meanwhile Yui was so devastated by Paul's death She doesn't Know A single thing that is going on
Commander Goes closer to the child and Tilts His Head towards Yui and Those 12 mens
Yes 12 mens Assaulted Yui infront of her child
While The child was Watching the Scene
Commander was just laughing
In simple words that scene was Just hell or even Worser
While watching the Assault
The child was feeling something A emotion
It wasn't Anger
It wasn't sadness
It wasn't frustration
It wasn't guilt
But
IT WAS PLEASURE!
In his own thoughts he was Talking to himself
"I don't Know anything much about Human emotions,Relations,feelings,desires,Trust and Respect But One thing is crystal clear to me
There was no God
Humans are just creatures That Are addicted to pleasure and joy and keeps chasing them For their life And Never tries to know and think bigger.
Why this old man is laughing,He is irritating me
Am i looking Miserable? Huh Like i care But this feeling is good and I don't think I am going to die here So it's good I think"
It was looking like The child was being Consumed by the darkness But It was the Monster that is Taking its first Breaths
Chapter ends
To be continued