Death's Heir
They didn’t crawl out of myths, they tore their way through them.
Monstrosities, born from old tales, returned in twisted flesh to remind humanity why even speaking their names once felt dangerous.
The sky cracked, fire swallowed the earth, seas boiled over, cities choked on the blood of their inhabitants.
There was no warning, just monsters. And with them, something else : a power system of unknown origin.
Salvation, perhaps, but not for everyone. It gave nothing to the fearful, nothing to the weak. But to the brave, or the desperate, it offered claws.
As for the gods... they stayed silent, but not necessarily uninvolved.
For Lazar, the apocalypse was less tragedy than inconvenience.
He had spent years meticulously preparing for revenge, and now the world was burning at the worst possible time.
Most people broke. Lazar didn’t. He never placed his trust in hope, never relied on luck.
He studied while others panicked, he prepared while others prayed, he struck where others hesitated, and the skills he had honed for vengeance were the very ones demanded by this new world.
As for his desire for vengeance itself… that didn't vanish just because the world did.
But monsters aren’t the only problem standing between Lazar and his plans.
Some gods want their relevance back. Some humans want order, their version of it. As for the forces threatening to destroy the world, no one really knows what they want.
One thing a lot of them agree on though : in a world of kings and pawns, Lazar and his kind, the grey anomalies on a board of so-called black-and-white pieces, must be removed.
