2025-08-11 00:49:29The rain had soaked through his clothes, but Jason Carter didn’t care anymore.
He walked with no direction, no umbrella, no shoes. His left foot dragged a little more than the right. Every step was a reminder not just of the beating, but of the shame. The humiliation and betrayal. They called him a monster. A wife beater. A murderer of his own child. The words played in his head like a cursed song. “This man beat his pregnant wife—” “She lost the baby because of him—” “Let the world see his real face—” Jason clenched his jaw. The cold had numbed his hands, but the sting in his chest refused to fade. He looked up at the sky, blinking raindrops from his lashes. A whisper escaped his lips. “Why didn’t I die…?” His voice was broken. Ragged. Like everything else about him. He staggered toward the neon-lit street ahead. The lights of downtown Chicago blurred through the downpour. Neon signs glowed in green and red. Cars honked in the distance, their tires slicing through puddles. People passed him, umbrellas up, heads down. No one looked at him. No one saw him. He wasn’t a man anymore. He was just trash in the rain. He paused outside a 24-hour convenience store. His reflection stared back at him from the glass — blood on his collar, mud on his face, hair soaked to his scalp. A joke of a man. Then the TV caught his eye. “BREAKING NEWS: Pregnant heiress suffers miscarriage after suspected domestic assault.” The screen showed grainy footage from earlier that day — at COEX Mall. There he was. On his knees. Screaming, bleeding, surrounded by a jeering crowd. His voice echoed faintly through the speakers: “I DIDN’T DO IT!” “This poor woman,” the anchor said, “has refused to comment further, but sources close to the family say they’ve officially severed ties with her husband, Jason Carter , following this tragic loss.” The news scrolled on. “Police have not confirmed charges, but public outcry is rising.” “Viral video shows him being dragged across the floor like an animal.” Jason stared. People inside the store glanced at him through the glass, then looked away. He stepped back. The world no longer wanted him. Even the truth had betrayed him. “I should’ve died…” He turned away, breath hitching. He couldn’t breathe. couldn't think. Couldn’t exist. CRAAACK! Lightning split the sky in a blinding white flash. BOOOM! Thunder followed, instant and deafening. Then everything went silent. A bolt of lightning — thick as a pillar — crashed directly into his chest. Jason ’s body lifted off the ground. Sparks burst across the pavement as his limbs convulsed mid-air. His body slammed into the concrete — lifeless, steaming, still. People screamed from the sidewalk. A man rushed forward. “Call an ambulance!” Someone else: “Is he… is he dead?!” But then— He moved. Slowly. Like waking from a long sleep. His hand twitched. Then his leg. Then, to everyone’s horror or wonder, Jason sat up. His shirt had burned open across his chest, revealing unscorched skin. No burns. No blood. His eyes flicked open. And they glowed. Not fully but Not brightly. Just a faint, golden hue pulsing from his irises like embers in a dying fire. He stood straight and steady. Breath calm. Everyone stepped back. “What the hell…?” “Did you see that? He should be… fried!” “He’s not human…” Suddenly — visions. They flooded his mind all at once. He clutched his head, groaning, staggering into an alley. There were flashes. A golden war spear. A throne room in flames. A goddess with silver eyes and laughter like poison. His own voice — deeper, godlike: “For centuries, I judged the wicked. I led empires. I waged wars on heavens…” Chains wrapped around a glowing figure, his former self — as gods cursed him, binding his powers. “You defied the Divine Order. For that, Ar-Zekar… you shall fall.” The sound of his own scream echoed. Then came darkness. A voice thundered through the void. “AR-ZEKAR, WAR GOD OF JUDGMENT — AWAKEN.” “You were cast to Earth. Forgotten. Bound by human flesh. But now, your time has come.” “Reclaim what was stolen.” “Trial One: Complete.” Jason ’s eyes snapped open again. His breath came heavy. Steam poured from his mouth. He looked at his hands. Something had changed. The pain, the exhaustion — they were still there. But under it… something new. A spark. A memory. A power. A loud cough pulled his attention. Behind a dumpster, a man groaned. Wrinkled skin, sunken eyes. A homeless man, barely breathing. No one else noticed. Jason walked over, slowly, like in a trance. He knelt. “Are you okay?” The man gasped. “C-cold…” Jason didn’t know why he did it. He just reached out and placed his hand on the man’s chest. A warm light glowed beneath his palm. The old man jolted. His eyes flew open, and his breath steadied. His color returned. He sat up. “I… I was dying…” “You’re healed,” Jason said quietly. A woman nearby screamed. “Did you see that?! He—he touched him and—!” Others turned. One man muttered, “That’s impossible…” The old man stared up at him. “You… You’re not normal, are you?” Jason didn’t answer. He was shaking. Something burned on his forearm — a golden sigil briefly glowed and vanished. He stumbled back into the rain. Breath ragged. Skin humming. Then the voice came again. [SYSTEM NOTICE: Trial 1 Complete.] [Trial 2 Initiated: Mastery of Will.] And then—blackout. His knees buckled. The last thing he saw was the clouds above swirling unnaturally… like even the sky had started to remember who he truly was.
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The Price of Protection
Morning bled gray through the broken windows of the safehouse. The storm had passed, leaving a hush so complete that even the hum of the city seemed afraid to intrude.Jason sat at the edge of the couch, eyes half closed, one hand stretched over Emily’s sleeping form. The air around them shimmered faintly—threads of gold twisting like fine smoke, forming a translucent veil that pulsed in time with her heartbeat. Every pulse cost him.Each breath drew the warmth from his veins, a slow siphon that left his skin pale and his head aching. The System whispered inside his skull, cold and unyielding:[Protection Protocol Active: Shield of the Heir.][Energy Source: Divine Core.][Warning: Excessive strain will result in loss of function.]Jason ignored the warning. He adjusted the veil, watching its glow settle over Emily like soft dawn.A voice from the doorway broke the quiet. “You’ve looked better.”Bill leaned against the frame, holding a coffee mug and a folder stuffed with printe
Father and Heir
The rain hadn’t stopped since they fled the mansion. It hammered the windshield, washing the world into streaks of gray and gold. Bill kept both hands tight on the wheel, driving by instinct through backstreets no GPS remembered.In the back seat, Jason held Emily close. She drifted in and out of consciousness, her head on his shoulder, murmuring half-formed words that broke against the hum of the engine. Every time she stirred, Jason’s arm tightened, as though the smallest motion might steal her away again.“Where to now?” Bill asked at last, his voice raw.“Keep going,” Jason said. “Old district. Dockside. The warehouse by the tracks.”Bill glanced in the mirror. “That place? You said you’d burned it years ago.”“I lied.”Bill grunted. “Of course you did.”When the car finally rolled to a stop, the warehouse looked like every ghost story Bill had ever told—rusted gates, windows blind with grime, puddles that reflected only darkness. Jason pushed the door open, rain slappin
Warning from the Inquisitor
Smoke drifted through the ruined hall like ghost-light. The marble floor still glowed faintly with golden cracks where Jason’s power had scorched its memory. Silence lay over everything; even the chandeliers had stopped swaying, their crystals quivering in mid-air as if afraid to move.The Inquisitor knelt in that silence, his once-shimmering cloak now dull and torn. Silver runes flickered and died along its edges. Each breath rattled inside the hood.Jason stood before him, motionless, the gold fading from his eyes but not the fire behind them. Emily clung to the edge of a broken pillar, her face pale, her breath catching in soft, terrified gasps.Jason’s voice was low. “Speak. You came here to judge me. Judge yourself instead.”The Inquisitor lifted his head slowly. Beneath the hood, only shadow remained, but his voice had lost its arrogance; it was raw, human, almost weary.“You think this victory matters? You think this house was your battlefield? Fool. The moment you
Duel of Wills
For a heartbeat, time itself forgot how to move.Dust hung in the air like frozen rain. Every candle in the mansion dimmed to a trembling spark as Jason and the Inquisitor locked eyes.Power bled silently from both of them—Jason’s gold, the Inquisitor’s cold silver—filling the room with a shimmering haze that hummed against the skin. The guards who had survived the earlier chaos clutched their heads and fell where they stood, breath leaving them in quiet groans. Servants collapsed beside them. Even Mrs. Lee staggered, her hand gripping the banister as if the marble itself were tilting.Only Emily remained standing, though the air pressed against her chest like a mountain.“Jason…” Her voice broke. “What’s happening?”He didn’t look at her. His gaze never left the man beneath the hood.The Inquisitor’s tone rolled like a storm tide. “You can still stand under the weight of judgment. Impressive—for a fallen god.”Jason’s mouth curved in that dry half-smile that always meant dan
The Order of Silence
The hall fell into a silence so heavy it crushed the air from every chest.The cloaked figure stood like a shadow carved into stone. His very presence warped the light; lantern flames sputtered and bent toward him, as if afraid. The guards who had moments ago aimed rifles at Jason now pressed themselves back against the walls, rifles forgotten at their feet.Emily’s hands clutched Jason’s arm, her voice trembling. “Jason… please… who is he?”Jason didn’t answer. His eyes, burning faint gold, never left the figure.The man’s voice thundered, low and resonant. “Ar-Zekar.”The name cracked through the hall like a whip. Even Mrs. Lee, poised and cold, flinched as if the syllables carried weight older than stone.The figure continued, voice heavy with disdain. “It has been centuries since I last looked upon you. I did not expect to find you crawling in the dirt of mortals, parading as a husband, a servant, a nothing.”Jason tilted his head, his lips curving into a cold smirk. “Funny. You t
Guns Against a God
The marble hall vibrated with noise as armored guards stormed in, rifles raised, laser sights dotting Jason’s chest like a swarm of red insects.“On the ground!” the captain barked, his voice cracking with the weight of authority. “On the ground, now, or we fire!”Jason didn’t move. His body was loose, calm, hands folded behind his back as if the rifles aimed at him were nothing more than children pointing toy guns.He smirked faintly. “You sound nervous. Maybe you should lower your voice before it cracks again.”The captain stiffened, grip tightening on the trigger.From the staircase, Mr. Lee’s triumphant sneer echoed. “Do it. Shoot the dog where he stands.”Emily screamed, stumbling forward, tears streaking her cheeks. “NO! Don’t shoot him! Please!”Jason’s eyes softened for half a second at her voice, then hardened as he lifted his chin toward the guards. “Listen to me carefully. If you pull those triggers, your lives will unravel faster than your bullets can fly.”The head guard
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