Once, in a land far away, there lived a man named Asm.
You might ask—who exactly is this Asm guy?
Honestly… even I don't know.
The name itself had no meaning. It wasn't passed down through bloodlines or carved into prophecy. It was something made up without purpose, without intention, much like the being who carried it. Yet, like many things born from nothing, it grew into something the world could never erase.
Asm was a man of absolute tyranny.
Across the entire land, his name was spoken only in whispers. In this modern fantasy world—where cities rose with magic embedded into steel and law was enforced by power rather than justice—Asm was known by countless titles. The Second Son of God. Hell's Greatest Fear. Heaven's Unwanted Gift. Each name came from a different corner of the world, shaped by different beliefs, yet all of them pointed to the same truth.
He was something that should not exist.
Asm was so terrifying that the world itself bent to survive him. People did not run when his presence was felt. They did not scream. They did not fight. They understood something far more horrifying—that resistance meant nothing. Instead, they chose peace. They lived quietly, held their loved ones closer, and accepted that if death came, it would come without warning.
There was no escaping Asm.
But he was not always like this.
Before the fear.
Before the blood.
Before the world learned his name.
He was once just a child.
His parents were heroes—true legends of their era. Individuals whose names were carved into history and whose deeds were taught in academies. They possessed what the world called Super Abilities, also known as Gifts or Curses.
A Gift was beyond rare. Some appeared once in millions of years. They were powers capable of bending reality, rewriting natural law, and standing on equal ground with the divine.
A Curse was weaker—a flawed echo of a Gift. Elemental control, enhanced strength, supernatural speed. Useful. Powerful. But never godlike.
In this world, power decided everything.
Power decided who ruled.
Power decided who lived.
Power decided who deserved to exist.
And Asm was born into that world.
It was late afternoon when Elizabeth went into labor. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows through the windows of Hermit Hospital, the most advanced medical facility in the city. Her husband—a renowned hero and political authority—had rushed her there personally.
Hermit Hospital was famous not for its machines, but for its people. Healers with powerful Gifts staffed its halls, capable of reversing fatal wounds and curing diseases that once wiped out civilizations. Because of them, the hospital had not recorded a single death in years.
It was considered sacred ground.
"Push," the doctor instructed, his voice calm and confident.
Elizabeth complied.
Moments later, the cry of a newborn filled the room.
Then—
Silence.
The doctor froze.
His hands trembled slightly as he examined the child. His expression shifted—just a fraction—but that fraction changed everything.
"The baby…" he said slowly, carefully choosing each word. "…is blind."
Elizabeth felt her chest tighten.
"What?" she demanded.
Before anyone could stop her, she snatched the baby from his arms and stared down at him. The child had eyes—fully formed—but there were no pupils. Only pale, empty orbs stared back at her. They reflected no light. They showed no focus.
Her breath hitched.
"This…" her voice cracked, "…this isn't my baby."
Fear twisted into rage.
"A hero like me could never give birth to something like this!"
She turned on the doctor, fury blazing through her veins.
"What did you do?!" she screamed. "What did you do to my child?!"
Her mind rejected reality. Denial overpowered logic. In her eyes, this thing was not a child—it was a mistake, an anomaly, a threat.
Acting on instinct, she lifted the infant and slammed him onto the ground.
The impact was horrifying.
Silence followed.
Elizabeth turned away almost immediately, her voice cold and detached.
"My baby is dead," she said. "Write it down. Say he never made it out."
The doctor stood frozen, pale and shaking.
"Y-yes… ma'am."
But before he could move—
Something happened.
The broken remains began to move.
Flesh stitched itself together. Bones reformed. Blood flowed backward into veins that rebuilt themselves piece by piece. The air grew heavy as reality itself seemed to hesitate.
Within moments, the child lay whole again.
And then—
He laughed.
A light, cheerful laugh.
Elizabeth stumbled backward, her legs nearly giving out.
"That's… impossible," she whispered.
The baby smiled.
Not in pain.
Not in fear.
As if none of it mattered.
Her hands shook violently as she grabbed her phone and dialed her husband.
"I'm leaving," she said sharply. "And when I do, I want this entire place erased."
His voice crackled through the line.
"Elizabeth… what are you saying?"
"Destroy the hospital. Evacuate the city. Anyone who can afford to leave—let them. Leave the rest. Send heroes to investigate, then return with fabricated injuries."
Silence followed.
"You can't be serious."
"I am," she snapped. "The world must never know what I gave birth to."
A pause.
Then laughter.
"I never wanted a child anyway," her husband said casually.
The call ended.
Elizabeth clenched her fists.
He is my child.
So it is my right to decide his fate.
And so it was done.
Hermit Hospital was destroyed. The city was abandoned. The truth was buried beneath lies. Heroes returned with false wounds, and history was rewritten.
The parents disappeared.
Five years passed.
Beneath the ruins of the forgotten city, under a massive slab of stone, a child survived.
For five years.
Crying. Screaming. Enduring.
Hunger. Darkness. Silence.
Then one day—
The stone moved.
The child stood.
And he laughed.
Not out of joy.
Not out of madness.
But because something inside him had awakened.
In the crushing darkness, beneath despair and isolation, he had gained a power that should not exist.
This was no longer a child.
This was no longer a victim.
This was the beginning of a villain.
And this… was Asm.