This world is one where magic still exists.
It's just that most people have stopped paying attention to it.
As technology advanced, life became easier. Magic, on the other hand, required talent, patience, and years of effort—things modern society wasn't exactly known for.
So little by little, people chose convenience over wonder, and magic faded into the background.
But it never vanished completely.
While technology made life practical and comfortable, magic remained powerful—and dangerous in the wrong hands.
Some used it to help others.
Some used it for themselves.
And some used it to cause chaos.
To deal with that, an organization was established in the modern era.
The World Magic Association.
A global organization operating behind the scenes, tasked with keeping magic users in check and ensuring that ordinary people could live their lives without ever knowing how close they were to danger.
Magic users were allowed to exist among society—just under careful supervision.
Unfortunately, magic user wasn't the only problem.
From within humanity itself, something else emerged. Humans twisted by dark magical energy, warped beyond reason.
To the world, they were nothing but a dangerous infestation.
They were called Cursed Humans.
---
The evening sky burned crimson. Black clouds rolled in, covering the sun like stage curtains closing for the final act.
Beneath them, chaos.
A massive, devastating chaos.
Towering buildings looked fragile, ready to crumble at a touch, and the wide roads were buried under scattered debris.
The ground was cracked and charred, littered with the remnants of explosions, and veiled in smoke that refused to fade.
At that moment, a huge explosion shook the ground.
BOOM!
A plume of smoke burst upward.
Two figures emerged from within.
A burly man shot forward, launching a kick wrapped in blazing red energy toward a young man in a black uniform.
The young man—his black uniform torn and stained with dried blood—blocked it with his arm, his limb wrapped in roaring black energy.
BRAK!
Their energies collided, carving a small crater and blasting smoke outward.
The young man vanished from sight.
The burly man only managed to squint, searching for his target.
Before he could react—an elbow smashed into his face.
DOOM!
The massive man was sent flying, crashing into the rubble and bending the metal beams behind him.
But before the young man could follow up—
A barrage of razor-sharp metal blades shot in from behind, slicing through the air like a meteor shower.
The young man turned around, looking bored as he raised his arm.
A layer of reddish energy formed—like a barrier.
TING! TING! TING!
Hundreds of blades bounced off as if striking an invisible wall, but a few pierced through and scraped his arm. Blood trickled down.
The short-haired black-haired woman controlling the flying weapons smiled faintly.
"Stop resisting and surrender yourself, you cursed human."
But the young man didn't look intimidated. His face was hidden behind a mask, but his eyes still carried a calm, lazy expression.
The woman cast the same spell again. Dozens of razor blades flew toward a single point.
The young man simply smiled. And from who-knows-where… he drew a black sword into his hand.
With fluid, precise movements, he deflected every single projectile—sending a few back at the woman, forcing her to stagger back.
The young man sighed lazily.
"Are you that interested in me that you're begging me to surrender, huh?" he said calmly.
But before the joke could even sink in, a magic circle detonated beside him.
DUAR!
A burst of yellow energy exploded.
The attack was fast—too fast for him to react properly. He still managed to guard, but the impact blasted him far sideways, nearly slamming him into a pile of debris.
He then looked toward the attacker.
There, a blonde-haired mage stood, dozens—no, hundreds—of glowing magic circles forming in the air behind her.
From them, another barrage of energy bolts fired toward the young man.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
He dodged and parried many of them with his sword. But he was still hit.
His body was flung once again, smashing through two concrete pillars before crashing hard onto the ground.
Smoke rose from his impact point. His breathing was heavy. Open wounds covered his shoulder and chest.
Yet he still stood up. Slowly. As if this was nothing more than a typical day in his life.
The mage clicked her tongue.
"Truly an anomaly. That attack should've killed an S-rank fighter, yet you're still alive."
"No wonder he's their leader," added the burly man who had returned.
The young man got up, brushing dust off his face, still looking strangely relaxed.
"That really hurt. Cough." he muttered casually.
That one indifferent remark made all three attackers pause—annoyed, yet cautious.
"You're still running your mouth even when your life is on the edge," the flying-weapon woman scoffed.
The young man only smiled.
The mage didn't look surprised at his attitude. To her, that smile would vanish soon enough.
And she was right.
Sirens wailed.
Red-blue lights washed over the ruins. In the distance, convoys of armored vehicles approached.
Helicopters and tactical drones filled the sky.
Hundreds of fully equipped special forces soldiers descended rapidly, forming a massive encirclement.
On their uniforms was a unique symbol and title—
'WORLD MAGIC ASSOCIATION.'
Outside the formation, dozens of black-uniformed individuals—the same uniform as the young man—were already restrained, cuffed, and pinned to the ground by special forces.
A commander shouted:
"His entire group has been secured!"
The young man froze, staring at the captured individuals. His expression darkened this time, black energy flaring around him. But it seemed he was still holding himself back.
"You've really gone overboard!" he growled at the three attackers.
The flying-weapon woman, the blonde mage, and the burly man floated closer toward him.
The mage chuckled widely at him.
"Hahaha. You can't smile anymore now, can you?"
"I doubt there's anything left you can do. Whether it's you or your people—they'll all die," the weapon-woman sneered.
The burly man glared at him with hatred.
"Why bother giving him choices when these cursed humans will be executed anyway?!"
The young man gritted his teeth, staring sharply back—something inside him ready to burst, though he still held it in.
"You people really don't get tired of throwing that 'cursed human' nonsense."
He touched his bloodied chest. Drops of red fell onto the ground.
"In the end, we're humans just like you. I don't get why we're fighting like this." he added.
"Tch… Only you people think of yourselves as humans," the mage spit back.
The young man wanted to reply, but suddenly an overwhelming pressure descended from above.
"This is not a fight. This is purification."
A majestic voice echoed from the sky.
Another figure descended from the heavens.
Golden-white radiance illuminated the entire area. All special forces lowered their heads in respect.
A long white-haired man wearing gleaming golden armor.
"Hell Phoenix. Leader of the Black Faction…" he declared with divine authority.
"…your sins—and your faction's sins—have grown far too great for this world. Today is your judgment day."
The young man—Hell Phoenix—looked at him with a flat expression.
"Oh… you finally came. As usual, always with the cinematic divine entrance," he said.
The majestic man only stared, unmoved by the joke.
He raised his hand.
That one motion made everyone tense instantly.
Helicopter spotlights centered on the young man.
Anti-magic drones locked onto him.
Weapons from every direction aimed straight at him.
No gaps. No escape.
The young man stared blankly at all the threats, then turned toward his captured comrades.
A faint, hollow look filled his eyes.
"This is our fate. The world chose us as its enemies," he whispered.
Yet his comrades somehow looked back at him with hope. As if saying—You can do it. We believe in you.
That look calmed the rage inside him… and reignited his resolve.
A faint click of annoyance escaped the golden-armored man.
But he didn't react any further and only smiled faintly. Because at that moment, another presence stepped forward.
"Tch… spare us your sentiment. Cursed entity like you don't deserve love or compassion," the new voice said.
A young man with brown eyes, clad in sleek silver magitek armor, emerged from behind the rubble.
He walked slowly toward the black-uniformed youth. Two spears crackled in his hands, blazing with violet magical energy.
"Don't think for a second we'd ever acknowledge your existence because of that pathetic little pity act," he continued.
The young man in black—Hell Phoenix—lifted his head.
The sight of him stirred an uncomfortable feeling inside, as if he were facing his eternal rival.
"David?" he whispered.
But he didn't let emotion show. Instead, that faint, sorrowful look hardened into resolve. His relaxed demeanor returned.
"I know," he replied.
"If a pity act could make us accepted… then that family would've been the first to acknowledge me."
He sighed.
"But they didn't. So why would I expect any of you to accept me with something that small?"
A memory flashed—
Standing in front of a grand gate, a huge plaque reading 'Virellano.'
Faces twisted with disgust and hatred, driving him away from a house that never wanted him in the first place.
Back to the present—
The armored young man—David—ignored Hell Phoenix's words. He raised his head toward the four powerful figures above.
"Forgive me for stealing the credit of your battle. But please… allow me to finish off this cursed human," he said.
The majestic man and the others only smiled and nodded.
"It's only right. It should be you and your generation who end all this chaos. You are the hope of this world," the majestic man replied.
"Especially you… the finest of your generation."
The female mage nodded in agreement.
"Indeed. Just see this as training—sharpen your power a little. Hehe." she added.
The others nodded as well, turning their gaze back to the young man in black as if today was his execution day.
The armored youth smiled, bowing respectfully.
"Thank you, seniors," he said with elegant composure.
Then he turned back to the black-clad young man. His expression twisted, a sharp killing intent bursting out of him.
Energy surged wildly across his armor and weapons.
And without a word, he exploded forward at full speed.
The young man in black watched, fully prepared for the chaos to come.
He swept his gaze across everything—the enemies who despised him, his captured comrades, the ruined city shattered by this hunt, and of course, the young man rushing straight at him.
He took a deep, tired breath.
"Huff… I'm really unlucky. How did a lazy guy like me end up in a mess like this?"
And then—a massive light erupted from every direction.
Taking us back…
to the beginning of all this chaos.
Not in the middle of a war.
Not in front of thousands of enemies.
But…
---
Years ago.
Rain poured heavily that night, drenching most of the vast metropolis known as Makazhar City.
The sound of raindrops pounded against the hospital roof in a chaotic rhythm, as if nature itself was trying to hide a crime in progress.
In a quiet hallway, a man in hospital scrubs moved swiftly.
His face was hidden behind a surgical mask and cap.
In his arms, he carried something wrapped in white cloth—a newborn baby boy, unaware that his life was about to be stolen before it even began.
In the delivery room, another newborn had just cried for the first time.
The mother smiled with relief as a nurse brought her the baby—unaware that the child wasn't her biological son.
No one noticed the switch. Not the doctors. Not the family. It had all been planned.
A few hours later, in front of an old orphanage on the verge of collapse, the man stopped.
He looked down at the baby in his arms—his eyes sharp but clouded with hesitation. His heart thundered. But an order was an order. In a faint whisper, he said,
"I'm sorry, little one... I'm just following orders," he murmured.
His lips trembling—whether from the cold or from guilt, no one could tell. Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the rain soaking his body.
"But I can't... I can't kill you. Leaving you here... is my atonement. Don't blame me."
Overcome by guilt, he gently placed the baby at the door, rang the bell, and disappeared into the shadows—swallowed by the mist and the distant wail of sirens.
Soon after, a middle-aged woman opened the door to find a crying baby shivering in the cold.
She picked him up—the blanket was soaked, and a small piece of paper, smudged from the rain, was barely legible. On it, a single word: Al.
She looked around but found no one. Without a word, she brought the child inside.
And behind that door, a harsh life filled with secrets awaited the baby.
That night, no one knew...
That the abandoned child would one day become someone of unimaginable significance.
---