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 outskirts of the city trembled.

From the fog-covered plains, an ocean of snarling beasts surged forward—claws scraping the dirt, eyes glowing with primal hatred. Dire wolves, flame-skinned apes, scaled reptilian horrors, and winged aberrations thundered toward the walls. Their sheer numbers drowned out the sky, a flood of monstrous wrath birthed by corruption and bloodlust.

Within the fortified heart of the city, the rich and strong lounged in safety—glass towers and reinforced bunkers protecting them like a shell. Meanwhile, in the outer districts, the weak and poor screamed. Families clung to one another, barricading their shacks with furniture, praying the walls would hold.

The corrupt enforcers sneered from atop their barricades, barking orders but making no move to help. To them, the outer district was bait—meat to distract the monsters, a buffer zone for the elites. They watched through scopes, fingers near triggers, eyes glazed with cruelty and fear.

A single figure stepped beyond the protective line.

Cloaked in blood-stained garments from his last purge, his eyes burned cold blue under the setting sun. Beside him stood his mimic—not a summoned beast, but a reflection of borrowed wrath. Today, Kael invoked "The Roar of the Berserker"—an echo of an ancient warlord's relentless fury. His movements would be untiring. His strikes would be merciless. For one day, he would not break.

The enforcers shouted behind him, "Are you mad!? You'll die out there!"

A beast the size of a carriage lunged forward, its maw splitting into three tongues lined with teeth. Kael moved like lightning—his foot cracked the dirt, his body vanished in a blur, and a second later, the beast's head spiraled into the air.

The horde hesitated for a split second.

Kael's mimic moved beside him like a ghost—copying his stance, twisting in perfect sync, mimicking his divine speed and force. Together, they carved through the frontlines. Heads flew. Claws were severed mid-strike. Bodies fell in halves. The ground turned red.

Every movement Kael made was precise, guided not just by power but divine instinct. When a winged raptor dove from above, Kael spun and kicked off its skull mid-air, launching into another beast with his blade slicing its neck in a clean arc. A massive tusked rhino charged. Kael ducked under its swing, plunged both arms into its chest, and ripped out its heart with his bare hands.

The poor watched from behind crumbling shelters in awe and disbelief.

The rich watched from their glass towers in growing horror.

Inside a surveillance bunker, corrupt commanders screamed at their screens. "That... that man is insane! He's one man! ONE!"

"No—" another whispered, fear blooming in his eyes. "That's not a man. That's a weapon."

The monsters panicked, their charge faltering. But Kael didn't stop. He moved like a storm given shape—slicing, smashing, decimating. His mimic let out a silent roar, matching his master step for step, leaving glowing trails of divine energy in their wake.

At one point, Kael took a slash to the side from a scythe-limbed beast. Flesh tore. Blood spilled.

He tore the beast's head in two and kept walking.

When a group of children screamed from under a collapsed shack, Kael jumped over them and bisected three monsters mid-air before they could touch the rubble. One little girl looked up at him, crying. Kael didn't say anything, but his eyes softened for the briefest moment.

Above, storm clouds gathered. Thunder cracked.

The city's protectors, those who called themselves powerful, had done nothing.

But one man—just one—was protecting thousands.

Crimson Judgment (Part I)