On the night of November 9th going into the 10th in the year 2000—it was the worst day of my life, and it would also be my worst birthday.
The fire, the screams, and the metallic scent of blood soaking into the earth. It wasn't just another battle for humanity; it was a brutal purge at the hands of the Absolute Races. For me, Neale Sanchez R., that was when the world truly ended.
I remember running—not toward freedom, but away from the sound that shattered my world: my mother Helyara's final scream. I can still feel her presence; her Righteous Wrath, which was at the Dark White level, was like the manifestation of her kindness and strength. Whenever she hugged me, it was with a warmth that radiated such security. But it wasn't enough to stop the monster chasing us. I only remember the impact—the echo of her punch breaking something more than the demonic beast's body; it broke the final barrier between me and absolute chaos.
My father, Carlos de Rodrigues—a warrior of unwavering strength with his Righteous Wrath at Light Yellow—stayed behind to fight a greater demon. He told us to run, not to look back, and to be the shield he could no longer be for both of us. And I obeyed. That was the last time I saw him. His back looked broader than usual as he fought with his sword and shield to protect his family. I don't know if he died, but I obeyed him. It was the only thing my weak fifteen-year-old self could do—a coward, unable to manifest a combat class or awaken my own Righteous Wrath. I could only flee with my mother before she died protecting me.
With every step, hatred settled into my veins, hot and corrosive. I was the son of two of the strongest fighters in the Order I knew, and yet, I was running. This weakness of mine was worse than any physical pain.
"I will reach the Order's main base in Kirden."
The promise came in a raspy whisper, but it carried the weight of weapons forged in the fires of heaven or hell. At the exact moment the clock struck midnight on my sixteenth birthday, Neale Sanchez R. swore:
"I will kill the Absolute Races with my own bare hands. And if even that isn't enough, I'll use my teeth."
The shelter where we lived, a minor Order base, was in ruins. The flaming debris was like a beacon signaling the slaughter that had occurred. My plan at that moment was simple: follow the last word spoken by my mother: "Kirden."
Kirden. The largest human city and the headquarters of the Order. A place that promised safety and training—and for me, the path to fulfilling an oath. I had to get there, but the journey was long and dangerous. I had nothing but the dirty, tattered clothes on my back and one last thing to remember my family by: my mother's brown overcoat with silver details. With an incandescent hatred and the appearance of a boy with white streaks in his hair—a legacy of the war and my lineage—I moved forward.
I began to run down the dark road, a lone silhouette amidst the chaos. There were no tears left. There was only the sound of destruction behind me and the promise of vengeance ahead.
The road to Kirden was my baptism by fire. My name was Neale, and I had just been born again, forged by hate and my mother's final cry of life.