TeenSk398

Just after the fierce and blood-drenched Grudge War, the great Mythos Empire stands fractured. Out of the smoke and silence, a new force begins to rise. Born of tragedy, raised in chaos, and defiant of fate, they are prodigies and warriors, rebels and legends in the making.

They are the Monster Generation.

But before they became the unpredictable, chaotic icons that reshaped the world, they were mere children—fragile, broken, and hunted by shadows both within and without. Origins of the Monster Generation is a forbidden chronicle, a top-secret collection of first-hand accounts revealing how these figures clawed their way from obscurity to infamy.

Each story is a raw confession: betrayal that shattered innocence, heartbreak that blurred the line between love and madness, trauma that could’ve destroyed—but instead transformed. Through their own voices, the Monsters unveil the truth behind the myth—each tale a spark that would ignite a firestorm across the lands of Mythos.

Recorded by a scribe of the Central Tower for historical preservation, these stories demand to be remembered.

Knights Fall: Origins of the Monster's of Mythos

Vladimir Phoenix

Don't ask too many questions… hmm, anyway, fine—I'll talk. I was born in the year 3001 of the Great Dragon Age. Honestly, I don't care much about that. I was born in the Ice Phoenix palace as an only child, with dark blue eyes like my father and grey hair.

Since I was a kid, I knew I was different. I don't know what I inherited from my mother—I never really spoke to her. All I remember is she had long hair, was always in bed, and had ice flowers all around her.

I wasn't raised with love. After my mother died, my father blamed me. Whenever he saw me, he'd hit me, throw things at me. I avoided him—not out of fear, but because it was a waste of time. The servants avoided me too, only talking when necessary. I could feel they feared my father's violence. That huge palace was full of people, but I still felt alone. I hated it.

There was a weird feeling in my chest I didn't understand. Life was the same routine: bathe, breakfast, study, lunch, dinner, bathe, sleep. For eight years, that was it—until an old man broke the routine.

"A man staying here like this… Hmm, if you're bored, go train!" he shouted.

He wasn't polite and punched me in the head when I tried to ignore him. The pain was different from my father's. That old man changed my life. He dragged me to the training grounds, where I met a boy who trained alone.

His name was Astraeus Rita. He looked about a year older. I didn't like swords, but I watched him train and eventually started training with him. He beat me many times. When his Hashi veins fully formed, he got stronger, but we kept training.

On my tenth birthday, during a party with other royals, I decided I wouldn't lose Astra. I made him my knight. I announced it, shocking everyone there.

Seeing my father's expression gave me a strange satisfaction. Astra moved into the palace, and that lonely feeling started to disappear.

When I turned eleven, we trained together all day, practicing True Weapon Art. It was fun—until that night.

On my way to my room, I felt something was wrong. I opened the door slowly. Moonlight poured through large windows, curtains swayed with the breeze. The lamps were off, which was odd.

Suddenly, I sensed movement behind me and jumped aside. A shadowy figure, dressed all in black, held a blade shining in the moonlight. My heart raced.

Two more figures appeared from the shadows, throwing silver blades at me. I dodged, but got cut on the cheek and shoulder. I grabbed the dagger in my shoulder to block the others.

I tried to close the distance to the bed, where I hid my sword just in case my father ever tried to kill me.

Now with sword in hand, the real fight began.

I hated remembering this, but I got beaten badly. I managed to injure one of them, but then an explosion hit me. Half my face was burned badly, and I lost sight in my right eye.

I was weak, slow, clumsy. I felt myself slipping away as one of the bastards lifted me by the neck.

Then Astra appeared, eyes wide with desperation.

As I lost consciousness, something inside me clicked.

First—why did Astra's eyes look like that?

Second—I hated the look in the assassin's eyes.

Third—I hated feeling powerless.

I woke up in a strange place—wrists and ankles bound, mouth gagged.

The room was small, dimly lit by a lantern overhead. I saw a table and someone babbling nervously, wearing a fur coat.

"Good, good, good. Let us begin," he said, lifting a syringe.

I glared at him as a sharp pain shot through my neck.

That was the beginning of how I became what I am.

Part 01: The Lonely Heir of Ice Phoenix