In the narrow, lightless alleys of the Sabaody Archipelago, Campbell stood at the edge of despair.
His money was gone.
His beloved wife had been taken.
And now, his battered body lay crumpled on the cold stone ground.
He slammed his forehead against the pavement again and again like a madman, cursing the world, cursing fate, cursing his own weakness.
His sobs echoed through the alley—raw, broken, filled with rage at destiny's cruelty and hatred toward his own helplessness.
Once, Campbell had been a prosperous merchant from the West Sea, born into wealth and comfort. His family business had flourished for generations.
But war ravaged trade routes, and profits dwindled. When a shipping merchant approached him with honeyed words—promising safety, stability, and opportunity in the Sabaody Archipelago—Campbell believed him.
After all, this was the domain of the Celestial Dragons. Everyone knew that no rebellion dared stir here, that order was absolute, that safety was guaranteed.
He sold everything.
And walked straight into hell.
The so-called shipping merchant was nothing more than a human trafficker.
Before they even reached Sabaody, Campbell was stripped of his wealth. His wife was abducted. He himself was beaten until he could barely breathe, slated to be sold to criminal organizations that dealt in organs and assassination.
By sheer accident, his wife caught the eye of the traffickers' leader. Using that fragile favor, she bought Campbell a chance to escape upon arrival.
He ran.
Bleeding. Broken. Desperate.
Campbell believed—truly believed—that if he could just reach the Navy, justice would prevail. That the law would save his wife.
Reality crushed him.
The Navy turned a blind eye.
They were angry, yes—but only in words. Powerless, numb, indifferent. Because those traffickers carried licenses issued by the Celestial Dragons themselves.
They were official slave hunters.
Protected by the world's nobles.
Once labeled a slave, escape meant death—not only for the victim, but for their entire family. Eternal pursuit. Total eradication.
Even the Navy nearly handed Campbell back. Only his pitiful state stirred a shred of sympathy. In the end, they simply told him to disappear—hide somewhere remote, never show his face again.
That moment shattered something inside him.
If even the Navy—symbol of justice—would not save his wife… then who would?
Campbell wandered the streets like a walking corpse, mind hollow, feet moving without purpose. He stumbled into a tavern, penniless, broken—only to be beaten once more and thrown back into the alley.
That was the final blow.
The last barrier in his heart collapsed.
Tears burst forth like a dam breaking, hot and uncontrollable.
They say that in the DC world, all it takes is one truly terrible day to create a villain.
For Campbell, that day had come.
He covered his face with trembling hands and let out a hoarse, animal scream—one only despair could birth. Black tears streamed down his cheeks, scorching his skin like boiling oil, leaving behind dark, twisted stains.
Pain. Confusion. Hatred.
He no longer knew how to endure, how to escape, how to live.
He only wanted the world to burn.
And at that moment—
A strange, ominous black sun flickered within his eyes.
Like a demon awakening.
Darkness swallowed his vision. His body lost all strength, collapsing to the ground.
Then—
When he opened his eyes again, the world had changed.
The alley was gone.
In its place stretched endless darkness. A vast, silent void. Above it hung a colossal black sun, radiating suffocating light, bleaching the world into stark black and white.
"Lost lamb,"
a solemn voice spoke gently beside him,
"God feels the pain in your heart. Why do you weep so bitterly?"
Campbell lifted his head in shock.
Before him floated a woman clad in radiant holy armor. A soft pink feather rested upon her shoulder. Behind her spread eight enormous wings, luminous and divine.
"A… an angel…" he gasped.
"A messenger of God!"
Hope exploded in his chest.
He dropped to his knees without hesitation, clutching at salvation as though grasping a lifeline.
"Please!" he cried. "Save my wife! She's been captured—she's about to be sold as a slave! I will give everything I have! Everything! Just bring her back to me!"
His voice broke completely.
"Why don't you go yourself?"
the angel asked softly, like a spring breeze.
Campbell trembled. Shame twisted his features as tears streamed down.
"I… I can't. I'm too weak. They'd kill me without hesitation…"
His fear was naked. Absolute.
The angel frowned slightly.
"Then," she asked,
"are you willing to give your life for her?"
"Yes!" Campbell answered instantly. "I'll pay any price—even my life! I will give everything to God!"
"Then," the angel said,
"why don't you try to save her yourself?"
The question struck like lightning.
Campbell froze.
The light in his eyes flickered—then dimmed.
Silence engulfed the void.
For the first time, he truly thought about it.
Why had he never tried?
Why had he always waited for someone else?
The angel shook her head gently, disappointment woven into her voice.
"God does not save those who lack courage."
She turned away.
And began to leave.
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