Morning rose over Country X like a polished blade, sharp and bright, reflecting off towers of glass and steel. At the heart of the capital stood the headquarters of Blade Group, a monolith of power whose shadow touched nearly every industry in the nation—energy, defense, technology, finance. And at its summit stood one man.
Ellios Blade.
He fastened the last button of his tailored coat, his reflection staring back at him from the mirrored wall of his private office. Calm. Immaculate. Untouchable. That was the image the country knew: the youngest billionaire CEO in modern history, the man who turned Blade Group into an empire feared by competitors and courted by governments.
Behind him, his secretary cleared her throat softly.
"Sir, the driver is waiting. Your schedule is—"
"I'll go myself today," Ellios said, cutting her off without turning.
She froze. "Sir?"
Ellios finally faced her. His eyes—steel-gray and unreadable—softened just slightly. "I want to drive."
She hesitated, then nodded. "Very well. I'll inform security."
Ellios took his keys and left without another word.
To the world, Ellios Blade had been born into wealth, groomed by destiny. Only a handful of people knew the truth.
Once, he had been a homeless boy.
Once, he had slept under bridges with his little sister, sharing stolen bread and whispered promises that tomorrow would be better. Once, he had watched her crumble under hunger and despair, her hands shaking as she stood in the rain and begged the world to notice them.
They were taken in not by kindness, but by convenience. The patriarch of the Blade family—a cold, calculating man—had discovered distant blood ties and saw opportunity. Ellios was intelligent, adaptable, obedient. A perfect piece to mold in his game of power.
His sister, however, was already broken.
Before the gates of the Blade estate ever closed behind them, she tried to end her life on the streets. Rain. Sirens. Ellios remembered holding her body, screaming her name, convinced he had lost the only person who ever mattered.
She survived.
But she never truly returned.
Ellios alone was groomed, sharpened, forged into a weapon within the ruthless internal war of the Blade family. Cousins schemed. Uncles plotted. Blood smiled while sharpening knives behind closed doors. Where everyone wears a mask of a lamb to hide the wolves within.
And so he became powerful.
Yet some mornings—like this one—the past followed him like a ghost that refused to stay buried.
Instead of taking the usual highway, Ellios turned onto the coastal road.
The city thinned, buildings giving way to cliffs and endless sea. The ocean stretched wide and merciless, waves crashing far below like an eternal reminder of how small everything truly was.
That was when he saw that man.
He stood at the very edge of the cliff, unmoving, his back to the road. Both arms were extended forward, palms open, as if holding something fragile—or offering it to the abyss. He wore yellow, bright and deliberate, the color almost painful against the gray stone and dark blue water.
Ellios's heart seized.
He slammed the brakes and stepped out of the car before logic could catch up.
"Hey!" he called out, voice carried by the wind. "Don't move!"
The man did not react.
Ellios approached cautiously, every step echoing with memories he hated—his sister's empty eyes, the cold pavement beneath her body, the thought that he had arrived too late.
"Please," Ellios said, softer now.
"Step away from the edge."
Slowly, the man turned.
He was handsome—unnervingly so. Sharp features, calm eyes, a face that seemed carved rather than born. There was no fear in him. No despair. Only a strange serenity, as if the cliff and the sea were irrelevant details.
"What are you doing?" Ellios asked, breath tight in his chest.
The man glanced down at his outstretched hands. "Disposing of the garbage."
Ellios frowned. "Garbage?"
The man lifted his palms slightly, presenting them.
They were empty.
Ellios stared, confusion knitting his brow. "There's nothing there."
The man said nothing.
In truth, something was there—a small demon writhing in invisible agony, trapped in the man's grasp. Its form twisted like smoke and bone, claws scraping against divine restraint. But Ellios could not see it.
And so he misunderstood everything.
Ellios swallowed. "You think you're garbage," he said quietly.
The man looked at him with mild curiosity.
"Why would you throw it away?" Ellios continued. "Why dispose of something that's… alive?"
The man answered simply, "Because it is meaningless. A waste of space."
The words struck Ellios like a blow.
He had said the same thing once. Whispered it into his sister's hair when the world refused to acknowledge their existence. Believed it when hunger hollowed his stomach and hope felt like a lie told by rich men.
"You're wrong," Ellios said, voice firm now. "Nothing that exists is meaningless. People only call things garbage when they don't want to take responsibility for them."
The man studied him as if examining an insect that had spoken unexpectedly.
"You speak as though you understand this," the man said.
"I do," Ellios replied. "I was once exactly where you are."
The wind howled between them.
Ellios took a breath. "You look like someone who's been discarded. Unemployed. Alone. Maybe thinking the world would be better without you." His jaw tightened. "It wouldn't."
The man's lips curved faintly, not in mockery, but in something resembling amusement. "You are compassionate," he murmured. "Like a Buddha offering shelter beneath a dying tree."
Ellios blinked. "What's your name?" the man asked calmly.
"Ellios," he said. "Ellios Blade."
"And how will you help me, Ellios Blade?" the man asked.
"I'll give you a job," Ellios answered without hesitation. "At my company. Blade Group. You'll have purpose. Stability. I promise you will not be a waste of space."
The man was silent for a long moment. Then he asked, "And you?"
Ellios hesitated. "What?"
"Who helped you?" the man asked.
Ellios looked away, toward the sea. Weirdly, that question touched his heart but still answer "Just Someone," he said. "And I survived."
The man nodded. "Interesting."
Ellios met his gaze again. "What's your name?"
"Hastur."
The name sent a chill through Ellios's spine.
Hastur.
An ancient name. A forbidden one. An evil god from half-forgotten myths, spoken only in old texts and madmen's ramblings. Ellios forced himself not to react.
A coincidence, he told himself.
"That's… a heavy name," Ellios said gently.
"So I've been told," Hastur replied.
Ellios felt a surge of sympathy. Even his name condemns him, he thought. No wonder he believes he's garbage.
"Come with me," Ellios said. "You don't belong on the edge of a cliff."
Hastur looked down at his hands one last time.
Then he waved them gently.
To Ellios, it looked like resignation. Like sadness.
In reality, divine fire ignited. The demon screamed as it was reduced to ash in an instant, its existence erased so completely that even memory recoiled. Hastur scattered the ashes into the wind, feeding the sea with the remnants of something that should never have existed.
Hastur turned back to Ellios and nodded. "Very well."
Ellios exhaled in relief.
They walked to the car together. Hastur sat in the passenger seat, posture perfect, gaze fixed forward. As Ellios drove toward the city and the towering buildings of Blade Group, he allowed himself a rare, quiet smile.
He believed he had saved a man. He believed it's one step to make the world better. Yet, He did not know he had invited an ancient god into his empire.
Ellios Blade, CEO of Blade Group, thought he was extending a hand to someone broken.
In truth, he had placed his life—and the destiny of Country X—into the open hands of an evil god.
And Hastur accepted.