Klean_writer

They called him trash.
Born without a magic rank in a world where rank defines your worth, Coker was beaten, laughed at, and thrown away. Even the weak had power. But him? He had nothing. No spells. No blessings. No future. Just scars... and silence.

Yet behind that silence, something waited.

A cursed power forgotten by time, sealed by gods, and burning inside him like a scream with no voice. And when the world pushed him too far, that scream became a roar.

They thought he’d die nameless.

Now they’ll kneel before the name they tried to erase.

From broken bones and shattered pride, he’ll rise not to be accepted, but to be feared. He’s not fighting for glory. Not for rank.
He’s fighting because no one else ever fought for him.
This is the story of the boy they called worthless.
And how he became the god they’ll never forget.

FROM TRASH TO GOD

From Trash to God: The Mage With No Rank

The sky was on fire. Not with flame—but with memory.

And memory was what the Name Eater feared the most.

Because it could destroy kingdoms, devour spells, erase titles…

But it could never eat a memory that had already been forgiven.

Eidor stood atop what used to be the Holy Plateau, his magic crackling violently around him. The cursed fire no longer obeyed natural law. It twisted like smoke made of purpose, dancing between reality and rejection.

Every step he took left a trail of forgotten truths.

But he didn't walk like a man anymore.

He walked like a god.

Below him, people gathered. Soldiers, runaways, fallen nobles, low-rank mages who once spat at his name. They watched in silence as the storm above thickened into an impossible shape—taller than mountains, made of thousands of names stitched into a hollow shell.

It didn't speak with a mouth. It hummed, like the world was its choir.

Rina whispered behind him, "You've changed."

"I'm just remembering who I always was," Eidor replied without turning. "Not who they said I should be."

She didn't know whether to cry or worship him.

The final battle didn't begin with a spell.

Not because the Name Eater claimed it.

But because he did.

Even if the world had turned it into a curse.

He lifted his hand, and the cursed fire surged.

The Name Eater struck first—names shot like arrows, trying to overwrite his essence. They came like laws: Silence. Fall. Obey.

And the arrows shattered like glass against the storm he had become.

They fought across memories and meanings.

Every time Eidor struck, the Name Eater lost part of itself.

It howled in colors. It bled silence.

By the end of it, the plateau was gone. Nothing remained but a field of ash—and Eidor standing in its center, his body barely holding together.

when ashs walks like a God