Ghostlywatcher

Kael was never meant to be a hero. Bullied, broken, and betrayed by the world, the 95 kg high school shut-in had nothing—no friends, no purpose, just scars hidden beneath his hoodie. But when the world begins to collapse into chaos, and God Himself unleashes judgment upon a sinful humanity through monstrous ancient beasts and divine reckoning, Kael is chosen.

Why?
Because even when the world was cruel, Kael remained righteous.

Gifted with Divine Echo, an S-rank ability that removes all limitations from any power he uses, Kael begins a transformation—both physical and spiritual. From obsessive training and relentless self-discipline, he sculpts his body into a weapon. From heartbreak and trauma, he forges a mind sharper than any blade. And from isolation, he builds resolve—unshakable and merciless.

But this is no fairytale redemption.
Kael isn’t here to save the world.
He’s here to survive it.

With humanity collapsing, safe zones crumbling, and ancient predators ruling the Earth, Kael must lead, fight, and manipulate his way through a new reality—one where power is truth and morality is a luxury.

He’s no longer the boy others could ignore.
He’s the ghost in the fog.
The saint with bloodstained hands.
The one whose echo will never fade.

Saint:My Daily Routine Became My Superpower

The battlefield was a massacre waiting to happen.

Blood-red clouds loomed overhead like vultures, casting a deathly shade across the shattered ruins. Ash fell like snow. The land was dead. The silence before the next horror was deafening.

The ground exploded as something massive surged from beneath—a grotesque creature that seemed birthed from nightmares. It had three gnarled arms on each side, a torso lined with twisted faces, and a mouth that opened vertically like a flower made of blades.

He stepped forward, calm, eyes locked, his green aura igniting like wildfire around him—crackling with intensity, glowing with raw, honed discipline. His presence was suffocating. It wasn't just power—it was pressure, like gravity made of rage.

Behind him, the others froze. Some raised weapons, but their hands trembled.

Kael's voice was calm. "Stay back. You'll only die."

They knew he wasn't being arrogant.

He was no longer part of the group.

Its arm came down like a falling building. Kael didn't move.

Not until the last fraction of a second.

To the untrained eye, he vanished.

To the monster, he reappeared inside its blind spot and drove a fist directly into its gut with such force that its insides burst out of its back. Black blood splattered like ink across the battlefield.

He grabbed the beast by its throat and hurled it into a crumbling tower. The stone burst apart like paper. Before it could recover, Kael was already on top of it, raining down fists like thunder.

Each blow screamed of years of isolation, betrayal, and discipline.

He had trained alone. Bled alone. Suffered alone.

In the distance, the team tried to regroup. One of them—Zaren—stepped forward.

"You'll only get in the way," he said. "Let me finish what I started."

They couldn't argue. They couldn't even move.

Because deep down… they were afraid of him.

The beast tried to recover—its broken bones snapping back into place unnaturally. It lunged in desperation, jaws wide.

With a dead stare, he crushed it. Bone cracked, blood sprayed. The scream that followed was muffled by Kael's boot as he stomped down on its skull—again, and again, and again—until there was nothing left but shattered bone and steaming flesh.

He stood there, fists trembling—not from fatigue, but from restraint.

He hated that the others thought they understood him.

He hated that they were still alive when so many who mattered had already died.

He turned to them, eyes cold and voice dead:

His aura burned behind him like a comet, a trail of emerald fire marking the path of someone who no longer belonged to this world.

The Weight of the Weak