The world stretched endlessly—vast and surreal. Rolling grasslands swayed under the gentle wind, but the grass shimmered with a soft teal hue, more blue than green, giving the entire landscape a dreamlike glow beneath the pale sun.
And far in the distance, there was a city
Towering skyscrapers loomed above the land, painted in bold, colors—vibrant pinks, glowing yellows, and iridescent violets held an unusual shape
Planet 0B0T – 1 Jan, Year 0000
Then a loud crack of thunder echoed through the night.
The hospital lights flickered, drowning in the storm outside. Rain slapped against the windows like restless fingers trying to break in.
In that dim hallway, under the cold fluorescent lights, stood a boy.
Barefoot. Hair as white as snow. Eyes as black as an empty sky.
He couldn't have been more than seven.
In front of him… lay her.
A girl. Sixteen, maybe. Long, flowing pink hair draped over the pillow like silk. A small silver crown rested on her head, as if even in this place, she was meant to be something more.
She stirred.
Without a word, she sat up slowly, a calm smile gracing her lips. There was no fear in her eyes. No pain.
Just… peace.
She opened her arms.
The boy didn't hesitate.
He stepped forward, burying himself into her embrace.
She held him gently, like she had all the time in the world.
After a few seconds, she loosened her arms, pulling back just enough to look at him.
Her smile hadn't changed.
"It's time to go," someone said from behind her.
The bed began to move. Slowly. Reluctantly.
The boy didn't move. He just… watched.
And as she disappeared into the shadows of that sterile hallway…
A drop fell.
Then another.
He blinked. Touched his cheek.
Wet…?
He looked at his hands.
His eyes widened in confusion. His chest felt tight.
He didn't know what this feeling was.
But it hurt.
So badly.
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The boy sat on the examination table in a small clinic, his small hands resting on his knees.
doctor leaned in, placing the cold head of the stethoscope against the boy's chest
"Is something wrong with me?" the boy asked, his voice flat… but uncertain.
The doctor didn't answer immediately. He pulled the earpieces from his head and stared blankly at the ceiling, as if searching for a way to put things delicately.
"Emotions... attachments..." he muttered, troubled.
Then his gaze returned to the boy—sharper now.
"These weaknesses... don't suit you. You come from one of the finest bloodlines…. take some responsibility"
The boy said nothing.
He just slid off the table and walked away in silence.
Outside, the air was heavy and cold.
He looked down at his small hands.
"...I'm weak," he whispered.
He walked. Quietly. Slowly.
And then—he stopped.
His eyes locked onto a building ahead: the hospital.
That same hospital.
His feet moved before he could think. Through the front doors. Past the flickering lights.
He stared at the hall for few moments
Then he ran.
Tears streamed from his eyes as he burst out into the open air, fists clenched, breath sharp.
"I will not accept this!!" he screamed, voice cracking through the storm. His cry was raw—half pain, half vengeance.
And beneath it all…
A grudge was born.
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Boy—breathing heavily, rain clinging to his hair—stormed into the grand hall of the red castle. His small figure was soaked, but his eyes... They burned with fire.
At the end of the hall, a towering throne sat atop a staircase. Upon it, a man cloaked in golden white armour—a king—rested his arm against the side of his seat. He watched in silence.
Flanking both sides of the hall were ten figures seated on individual chairs—nobles, commanders, perhaps legends in their own right.
The boy raised his hand and pointed directly at the man on the throne.
"I will defeat you!!" he shouted, voice echoing with the fury of a storm.
For a moment, silence.
Then—laughter.
Mocking, dismissive laughter from the ten sitting along the edges.
All except the king.
The king rose slowly. Not flinching. Not mocking. His movement was regal—measured.
He stepped down the staircase, one foot at a time, and his voice rang deep, calm, and unwavering.
"I accept your challenge," he said, "with honor."
And then—
Silence.
Blood painted the marble floor.
The king—on his knees. Struggling to rise. Blood spilling from the whole body.And the boy stood above him.
His black eyes stared down at the Man who once was considered invincible; A God who had never tasted defeat.
"Weren't you supposed to be the king?" the boy asked, voice cold. "The strongest?"
The king couldn't answer.
He could only tremble—powerless beneath the weight of defeat.
Boy looked down upon him, with the same eyes king once had for others. "Why are you so weak?" He failed to understand how it's like to be weak.
Boy raised his hand toward the generals, who were frozen in shock.
"From now on, I will be the one who writes the story of this world."
In response, the generals dropped to one knee, heads bowed in silent reverence, pledging their loyalty to their new lord.
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The wind rustled through the strange blue-green grass as Lukus moved with precision, his white armor shimmering beneath the sun, accented by dark blue streaks across its plates. His spear strikes flowed like a dance—silent, deadly, perfect.
Then, his focus broke.
A man was running toward him—frantic, wild-eyed, soaked in sweat.
Lukus paused mid-strike and turned his gaze, calm but piercing.
The man dropped to his knees before him, panting.
"M-My lord... this is urgent—something unusual has happened."
Lukus said nothing, his stare weighing more than words ever could.
The man started to speak
Lukus clenched his fist his voice trembling with cold fury.
"No way... Lord Sicus was Defeated... by a child?"
"It's the truth, my lord," the man affirmed, though his voice was barely a whisper now.
Lukus turned away without another word and marched toward the towering structure behind him. On its wall hung an ancient relic—a spear of polished silver, its head embedded with a glowing blue gem that pulsed.
As his hand gripped it, energy surged through his body. His armor responded instantly, glowing with divine light, the gem in the spear humming with power.
He stepped out into the open once more for a moment he stopped beside the trembling man.
"If this is false news…" Lukus said, with a heavy voice, "you will be executed."
And in an instant Lukus vanished from the sights of the man
The Man up at the clouds with a hopeful glint in his eyes.
"I trust you'll set things right, my lord…" he whispered.
But then—
A faint blur streaked across the sky.
BOOM!
A loud crash echoed as something tore through buildings in the distant city like paper.
His eyes widened in horror.
"No… it can't be. Lord Lukus was already defeated? But… the battlefield is over ten kilometers away!"
Panic overtook him. Without a second thought, he sprinted toward the origin of the crash.
A crater now scarred the grassy plain.
At the center of it lay Lukus—his white armor shattered, it was dull energy no longer surged through it. Blood soaked into the dirt beneath him.
"My Lord! Are you alright?!" the man called, running to his side.
But Lukus didn't answer. His hand trembled… then gripped the glowing blue spear.
In one swift, merciless motion—
Shhhk!
The spear pierced through the man's throat
Lukus lifted him on his spear
Then he slowly got up and yanked the spear free, letting the man's body fall with a dull thud.
Another voice shouted from a distance.
Lukus spotted another man running towards him
Lukus clenched his fist and walked towards that man
The man approached him
"My Lor…" man wasn't able to complete his words
CRACK!
One punch—
A spray of blood painted the air red.
Lukus dropped to his knees in frustration. His fist slammed into the ground.
BOOM!
The ground quaked beneath him. Deep cracks spread from his knuckles—magma spilled forth from the broken soil, lighting the plains in an eerie red glow.
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The room was dark, lit only by the soft white glow of the illuminated glass cases lining the walls. Inside each case stood a set of armor
Zexus stood at the center, surrounded by generals
One of the generals stepped forward. In his hands was a long, slender weapon—more like a sacred relic than a tool of war. He knelt down on one knee, holding the weapon up in reverence.
"Zexus… This is the blade of Sicus, the most powerful thing our generations hold... since you hold the throne now this belongs to you."
Zexus said nothing.
He reached out with one hand and gripped the weapon.
For a moment, the air trembled.
Then—CRACK.
With the faintest clench of his fist, the blade shattered into dust.
Gasps filled the chamber. Silence fell like a crushing weight. None of the generals could move—they simply stared in disbelief, their minds unable to grasp what had just happened.
The weapon… reduced to fragments in seconds.
Then one of the generals spoke
"No problem, we will make one for you."
Zexus turned his head slowly toward the man.
"There's no need for a weapon," he said flatly, eyes glinting in the dark.
"You're all just… so weak."
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2 Jan 0000
The heavy doors of the grand hall creaked open.
Zexus walked through, clad in gleaming white armor that shimmered under the golden lights of the castle's chandeliers. Every step echoed through the silent corridor. His cape fluttered behind him like a royal banner, a symbol of dominion.
Lining the hallway were his generals, each one kneeling with their heads bowed low respecting their new king.
Zexus said nothing.
He passed them without a glance, his gaze fixed on the colossal throne at the end of the hall which was reserved for gods—now, it was his.
He ascended the steps slowly, deliberately, and seated himself upon the throne. He raised his hand, his voice calm but cold.
"I will rule this universe."
The hall remained deathly silent, yet the weight of his words was louder than thunder.
And in that moment…
Even the stars felt smaller