3_Sins_Studios

Life from birth has been nothing but hell. I lost my parents to some stupid aristocrats whom they offended. Executed for no good reason.

My relatives abandoned me and pushed me aside. They feared for their lives and left me and my sister to starve and wander the streets alone!

No, this is worse than hell!

I watched my sister die of starvation. Her lips were dry and her feet bloody. Her nails were broken and her fingers riddled with cuts. She struggled in my hands and after a few seconds of struggle she passed away. She seemed joyful in death so I prayed mine will come just as swift and merciful as hers.

So I stayed in the alleyway, alone with her rotten corpse awaiting my fate for God knows how long. I could see it already. The darkness encroaching from all sides

Everyone said death is scary but I say it's the end! Who needs life after death? What is the need for reincarnation?

Who would want to return to this crazy world?

"It's not yet time for you to go... You have one more task to accomplish as my host" A voice called out to me.

I could barely see or speak but how can I miss such a beautiful face? It was an extremely handsome man who gazed at me with tender eyes.

"Haven't I suffered enough? Can't I just rest?" I cried out. Why would I want to stay back in such a cruel world?

"Don't you want to avenge the death of your parents? Don't you want to become something greater? I can make that happen!" The beautiful man said with an alluring voice.

"You... Who are you?" I asked with an anxious heart.

My parents always said God is the only one who cares about me! Maybe in my final hours, he has come to save me.

"Call me Death..."

Paragon of Death

Amidst the aftermath of the intense battle, the air was heavy with tension and fatigue. Marcus stood amidst his demoralized subordinates, his body battered and broken, but his spirit unyielding. Blood seeped from his wounds, his breath ragged, yet his eyes held an unrelenting fire that refused to be extinguished.


His subordinates, however, bore expressions of defeat. Their shoulders slumped, and their eyes reflected a mixture of fear and despair. The clash had taken a toll, both physically and mentally, and the sight of their leader's injuries only added to their sense of hopelessness.


But even in the midst of their despair, a new danger emerged. Damon's teammates, having been sleeping within their tents scattered across the plateau, were awakened by the echoes of battle. The commotion reached their ears, their instincts urging them into action. One by one, they emerged from their tents, their eyes sharp and their expressions focused.


Crafty Damon