Mewted

Luke thought he had left behind his old life—a life filled with regrets, forgotten ambitions, and wasted potential. But death had other plans.

Reborn into a fractured world where power is dictated by the Seven Deadly Sins, Luke finds himself at the mercy of the Pride Path organization—one of seven global powers formed after a mysterious revelation gifted mankind with access to absolute power. Here, science is sacred, and the human body is a vessel to be broken and reforged. Subjects are experimented on. Children are modified, molded, and discarded. And Luke? He’s just another test.

Except he isn’t.

Haunted by memories of his past life and fueled by the rage of seeing innocents perish in the name of progress, Luke begins to rise—through brutality, through torment, through impossible trials that destroy others.  Luke earns a new identity: The Opener, the first to endure and dominate the path laid before him.

But in a world where Being a Sinner is strength and weakness is treason, leadership comes at a price. Luke must lead a team of broken prodigies through blood-soaked simulations, resist the temptations of other Sin Paths, and fight back against enemies both internal and external—all while uncovering the truth about why was he chosen.

Damned  Lands

– SIGMA-BLACK Facility Living Quarters

BEEEEP. BEEEEP. BEEEEP.

The low-pitched alarm thrums like a dying heartbeat.

Newman Julian's eyes snap open. His face, still slick with sweat from the day before, twitches. The light in the room flickers—unnaturally. Burnt ozone fills the air.

He sat up from his bed slumped then walked toward the command chair, coat wrinkled, the lion-headed cane fallen to the floor. Behind him, the holographic screen buzzes alive.

SYSTEM WAKE-UP PROTOCOL: CODE OBSIDIAN

— TIME LAPSED SINCE THINNING CEASED: 19 HOURS

— DAMAGE REPORT: PENDING

He sits up slowly, rubbing his eyes. His jaw clicks as he yawns, then clenches when the screen glows crimson.

A black-suited officer enters, visor cracked, one arm in a sling. He salutes, blood on his glove. A Blackwing.

"Sir Newman Julian—Status Report: Post-

The officer taps their slate. Holographic projections spin into the air—maps, shifting casualty charts, black-stamped incident codes.

Confirmed Survivor Count: 20,310 (and dropping from wounds)

Initial Population: 199,679+

Facility Zone Collapse: 67%

Civilian Recovery Priority: Critical

Julian mutters under his breath. "Slaughter."

"—But three beasts were neutralized, sir. All confirmed dead."

"Three of the manifested apex beasts—slain. One by another. One by conflict. And one… by a child."

Neutralized during a territorial clash with The Tower and final injuries inflicted during pursuit of Opener Unit #000001. Disintegrated post-mortem.

Killed after prolonged structural collapse from sustained internal psionic warfare and blood loss inflicted by puppet swarm oversaturation.

Confirmed slain by Subject #000001 – "The Opener"

Vital record: Close-quarter encounter in the area of the first 'Box' was dropped.

Cause of Death: Cerebral rupture induced by direct blade penetration and residual feedback from spatial instability.

His fingers tighten around the gold lion-head cane.

The officer clears his throat. "He made it out of Omega with five others. They carried him out—barely breathing. The extraction team said it wasn't a handoff—it was a procession."

Julian turns to the monitors—those that still flicker with motion: flames, ruined buildings, scavenging survivors, field medics dragging children from blood-soaked halls.

Facility SIGIL-9.

Luke. Still unconscious. The new arm—

stitched with monster tissue and alloy—now curled at his side, twitching.

"Three beasts, gone. We lost everything but got… him."

And for the first time since the Thinning began—

"Prepare a briefing. Tell the board. Tell the king. Tell the old bastards on the Sky Council."

"The Opener killed The Veil. The beasts are dead."

"And now the only monster left breathing… is ours."

"One more thing, sir. The retrieval team… said something strange."

"They said… even half-conscious, even bleeding out, the other five survivors wouldn't hand him over easily. That they treated him like—"

Julian leans back in his chair, hand tightening around the lion-headed cane.

He gestures to the flickering monitors. The ones now displaying dead zones, ash-choked fields, still-burning sectors.

"Because if this world's going to survive what comes next… we'll need a monster wearing a crown."

"Report to the Throne of Death"