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.
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 when 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 went to shit.
But monsters aren’t the only problem standing between Lazar and his plans.
As the world polarizes in black or white, Lazar and his kind stay grey. And when everyone is choosing sides, the ones in-between become the common enemy.
