Micheal Winters

"What the hell happened here? This place is in even bigger chaos than the Vanara Tribe…" Maruti gasped, her wide eyes scanning the wreckage around them. Crumbled stone walls, scorched ground, and broken weapons littered the area. The silence was deafening, with only the faint rustling of the wind breaking through the eerie stillness.

Behind her, Esdeath let out a low, amused chuckle. "Hehehe…"

Maruti glanced at her, puzzled. Esdeath didn't seem surprised by the destruction. In fact, there was an unsettling confidence in her stride as she moved forward without hesitation.

Unable to suppress her curiosity, Maruti hurried to catch up, her boots crunching against the debris. "Do you know what's going on here?" she asked.

Esdeath tilted her head slightly but didn't stop walking. Her voice was calm, almost casual. "You know, even if we keep growing stronger, there will always be moments when death is just one misstep away. The challenges ahead won't care how powerful we've become. This is no longer a game, Maruti. Anything can happen now."

Maruti furrowed her brows, feeling uneasy at the ominous tone in Esdeath's voice. "What's your point?"

"We need insurance," Esdeath said, her pace quickening.

"Insurance? What kind of insurance?" Maruti pressed, trying to keep up.

Esdeath finally turned her head slightly, a sly smile tugging at her lips. "An insurance… in the form of a subordinate."

Maruti blinked. "A subordinate? So that's why we're here?"

"Exactly," Esdeath confirmed with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "But that's not all. Look around. There's no one here—no demons, no monsters, no living beings besides us. Everything you see belongs to us now. The resources, the treasures—it's all ours. We've got two full days before the competition starts, and we can use this time however we like."

Maruti's gaze swept over the desolate landscape again. The silence was unnerving. She felt a chill run down her spine. "But isn't this place supposed to be crawling with deadly creatures? This is Trynne Transylvania's land—home to demons and monsters. Where the hell did they all go?"

Esdeath didn't reply. Her steps remained steady, her focus locked on the massive castle in the distance. Its tall spires reached into the darkened sky, surrounded by an oppressive air of foreboding.

The two walked for what felt like an eternity, with Maruti's unease growing with every step. Finally, after ten long minutes of silence, she couldn't take it anymore. She grabbed Esdeath by the shoulder, forcing her to stop.

"C'mon, just tell me already! What happened here?" Maruti demanded, her voice filled with both frustration and desperation.

Esdeath turned her head slightly, a chuckle escaping her lips. Her expression was calm but carried a hint of mischief. "The answe is right in front of you." she said, gesturing ahead with her hand, "

Maruti followed Esdeath's gaze, her eyes narrowing in curiosity.

Just twenty meters ahead, a man knelt on the ground in silver-white armor. His entire body was encased in the armor except for his head, which was exposed. The helmet lay discarded beside him.

Maruti raised an eyebrow in surprise. Despite being clearly dead, his presence was overwhelming. His face was gaunt and decayed, with hollow cheeks and patches of rotting flesh. It was obvious he had been dead for months, yet an incredible aura of mana surrounded him.

The sheer amount of mana was staggering—hundreds of times more than what both Esdeath and Maruti could muster combined. Maruti's breath hitched. How strong must he have been when he was alive?

But it wasn't just the mana that caught her attention. In one of his armored arms, the man cradled a newborn child. The other arm gripped a sword that was partially buried in the ground.

Maruti's stomach tightened as she realized something was wrong. The newborn wasn't alive. Its tiny body was golden, shimmering like a statue crafted from solid gold. It looked delicate yet unnatural, as though it had been frozen in time.

"Is he the reason behind all this mess?" Maruti asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Esdeath nodded, a sly smile forming on her lips. "I'd say so. But since your tiny brain probably can't keep up, let me spell it out for you from the beginning."

Maruti scowled but kept her eyes fixed on the eerie sight in front of her, waiting for the story Esdeath was about to share.

-----------------

If one day, you were to die because someone took your life, many would gather at your funeral. They would surround your lifeless body, tears streaming down their faces.

But... were those tears truly for you?

The harsh truth is, no.

Your friends would cry, but their sorrow stems from losing the joy and laughter you brought into their lives. It's not about you; it's about the emptiness they now feel.

Your brother might shed tears, but beneath those tears, a twisted thought may linger—relief or greed. After all, your share of the property or inheritance now belongs to him.

If you were married, your wife would cry too, her wails filling the room. Yet, part of her anguish might come from fear—fear of how she'll manage without you, how she'll provide for herself without begging for help.

Others might weep for debts you haven't paid or for promises you left unfulfilled.

People cry, yes. But their tears have reasons tied to their own losses, their own pain.

"Everyone is crying over you, but no one is crying for you."

No one... except one person.

Your mother.

She is the only one whose tears flow from the purest grief, without selfishness, without ulterior motives. Her heart breaks not for what she's lost but for the loss of *you*. Her child. Her son. For her, no other reason is needed.

But... there's one more.

In a quiet corner, a figure sits still, not shedding a single tear. His hands are clenched into fists, his jaw tight with suppressed fury. His eyes, dry of tears, burn with a deep, searing bloodlust.

This man doesn't mourn the way others do. His sorrow transforms into something sharper, something darker—anger, hatred, and an insatiable hunger for vengeance.

He doesn't cry because he doesn't have time to. He is consumed by a singular purpose.

To avenge you. To bring justice to your soul. To ensure the one who took your life pays for their crime.

This man is different. While the others cry and move on, he won't rest. He won't stop. Not until he avenges you and everything your family has lost.

His silence speaks louder than any tear.–Yes this man is none other than–Father.

Something similar had happened to the kneeling dead man before Esdeath and Maruti. He wasn't just a warrior or some nameless figure; he was a true man—a father.

His name was Michael Winters, a man whose life had once been simple yet filled with happiness. He lived quietly with his parents, his loving wife, and their precious daughter, only two months old. None of them were Awakened; they didn't have powers or great wealth, but they didn't need those things. They had each other, and that was enough.

But fate was cruel.

One dark, unforgiving night, their peace was shattered. A group of demons invaded their home, their monstrous presence tearing through the walls like paper. The sound of destruction was deafening, and their arrival was swift.

Michael's parents were the first to fall, their screams cut short by claws and fangs. His wife tried to shield their infant daughter, her cries for mercy echoing in the chaos, but the demons showed no compassion. She, too, was slain before his eyes.

Michael was powerless to stop it. He had no abilities, no weapons, no way to fight back. As the house collapsed around him, a heavy piece of the wall struck his head, sending him spiraling into unconsciousness.

But before he blacked out, he saw her—the mastermind behind it all.

A woman stepped forward, her long brown hair wild like tangled roots, her sharp nose and elongated face resembling that of a grotesque horse. Her presence was suffocating, her cold gaze filled with malice. She bent down, scooping up his crying daughter in her arms.

Before Michael could even reach out or scream, the ground erupted in a swirling cloud of black bats. The woman disappeared into the darkness, taking his daughter with her.

Why? Why would she take his child?

Michael's family had no wealth, no magic, no precious resources. They were ordinary people, simple and content. What could she possibly want from him or his family?

He had no answers—only pain.

When he woke up, the demons were gone, having left him alive by mistake. They hadn't bothered to check; after all, what threat could a powerless, broken human pose to them?

But Michael was alive, and his survival felt like a curse. His home was in ruins. His family was gone. Days passed as he sat in the rubble of what was once his life, his mind consumed by grief. He had no reason to go on.

Should he end his life? Or try to move on, pretending that any of this could be forgotten?

No. He couldn't move on. He couldn't forget.

The image of that horse-faced woman haunted him. The sound of his wife's screams echoed in his ears. The thought of his daughter in the hands of monsters burned like fire in his chest.

Grief turned to rage. Anguish became a thirst for revenge.

He wasn't Awakened. He didn't have the power to challenge demons. But none of that mattered anymore.

Michael made his choice.

He chose chaos.

Michael grabbed a shovel, the only thing he could find, and stormed out of his broken home. His vision was blurred with rage and grief, his heart pounding like a war drum. He didn't know where he was going, but he didn't care. His legs carried him toward the forest, driven by nothing but the need to act, to do something—anything.

The trees loomed ahead, their shadows stretching out like claws, but Michael pressed on. He knew the forest was dangerous, filled with beasts and creatures he couldn't hope to fight, but fear had no place in his heart anymore. He was ready to face whatever waited for him, even if it meant his death.

But just as he was about to step into the dense forest, a voice echoed in his mind, stopping him in his tracks.

"You'll die if you go there."

Michael froze, gripping the shovel tightly. His head whipped around, but there was no one there. His breath came in ragged gasps as he shouted, "Who's there? Who's speaking to me?"

"I am Indra, the God of Rain and Thunder," the voice boomed, calm yet commanding.

Michael blinked, his anger momentarily replaced by confusion. "Indra?" he muttered, his voice trembling. He looked around again, his eyes scanning the trees and the sky, but he saw nothing.

"There's no need to look for me," the voice continued, gentle yet firm. "I am with you, Michael Winters. I've seen your pain. I know your loss. A poor soul like you, lost and directionless, deserves guidance. Allow me to help you."

Michael's heart raced. "Help me?" he asked, his voice hoarse with desperation.

"Yes," Indra said. "I will give you the power you need. I will grant you the knowledge to find your daughter and the strength to exact vengeance on those who destroyed your family."

For a moment, hope flickered in Michael's chest, but it was quickly doused by suspicion. He narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip on the shovel. "And what do you want in return?"

Indra's reply was swift. "Nothing."

Michael's jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together. He stomped his foot on the ground, the sound echoing in the stillness around him. "Don't lie to me!" he shouted, his voice breaking. "Nothing is free in this world. Even I know that much!"

Indra's voice remained calm, almost soothing. "I want nothing for myself, Michael. All I ask is that if you succeed—if you save your daughter and avenge your family—you let the world know who helped you. Tell them about me. Spread my name. Let people remember Indra, the God of Rain and Thunder."

Michael's breath hitched. He stared at the ground, his mind racing. It wasn't a bad deal—not at all. He had nothing left to lose, and if spreading Indra's name could bring him the power he needed, then so be it.

He tightened his grip on the shovel, his resolve hardening. "Fine," he said, his voice steady now. "If you help me save my daughter and destroy those demons, I'll do as you ask. I'll tell the world about you."

The air around him seemed to hum with energy, and Indra's voice echoed in his mind once more. "Good. Then I choose you as my incarnation! "

As Michael stood there, still gripping the shovel and trying to process Indra's words, a sudden crack echoed through the air. The sound wasn't natural—it was as if the very fabric of reality was tearing apart. He spun around, eyes wide, as a jagged fissure appeared in the space before him, glowing with a pulsating crimson light.

From the crack, something emerged—a red lotus, radiant and mesmerizing. It floated gracefully, no larger than the size of a hand, but its presence was overwhelming. The petals glowed a vivid red, each one etched with intricate, otherworldly patterns that shimmered like liquid fire. The sight of it stole Michael's breath, its beauty both terrifying and captivating.

But this was no ordinary flower.

That was a Rank A essence stone, "Forceful awakening".

The lotus began to unfurl, its petals peeling back slowly to reveal a glowing orb of golden-yellow light at its core. The light pulsed like a heartbeat, growing brighter with every moment, until it suddenly shot forward at blinding speed, slamming into Michael's chest.

Michael staggered back, his breath hitching as the searing light surged through him. He dropped the shovel, his hands clawing at the ground as his body convulsed. The energy raced through every inch of him, igniting a fiery pain that felt like his very blood was being rewritten.

"Endure it!" Indra's voice urged, firm and commanding.

Michael's vision blurred as the raw energy coursed through him, forcing his dormant potential to awaken. His veins glowed faintly, like rivers of molten gold beneath his skin, as the mana circuits carved themselves into existence. He screamed, the sound torn from the depths of his soul, but he refused to give in.

Moments that felt like an eternity passed before the pain began to subside. Michael collapsed to his knees, gasping for air, his body trembling but alive. He looked at his hands—they glowed faintly with an aura of newfound power.

He was no longer just a broken man.

He was awakened.