2025-08-11 00:49:51Pain was the first thing he felt.
Not sharp, Just dull, like the kind that sat in your bones. Jason Carter groaned, sitting up from the cold floor. The air was damp and thick with mildew. Broken windows rattled in the wind. Rain dripped somewhere in the distance. An abandoned warehouse. He didn’t remember getting here. His shirt was gone. His skin felt… hot. He turned, glancing over his shoulder — and stopped breathing. There was something glowing across his back. There were Lines, Symbols and Script. Golden and ancient. Moving and Breathing with him. “What… the hell am I?” His fingers brushed the edge of a glowing line, but it vanished the moment he touched it. Then — that voice again. Calm, ancient. [SYSTEM: Welcome back, Ar-Zekar.] [Trial Two: Mastery of Will — Initiated.] [Observe. Judge. Begin.] He blinked. “Observe?” “You were a god of judgment,” the voice replied. “You don’t need a sword to destroy evil. Start small. See. Learn. Judge.” Later that night, the cold faded into neon shadows and cigarette smoke. The underground betting ring was hidden in a basement beneath an abandoned bar in Mapo. No signs, no cameras. Just money, men, and lies. Jason stepped through the curtain. The air smelled like sweat and alcohol. Dice clattered across tables. Voices roared. A man in a dirty suit was yelling at a dealer. Jason kept his head down and watched. Cards. Poker. Dice. Rigged roulette. He saw the signs. One player scratched his chin before bluffing. Another tapped his foot every time he held a winning hand. Another kept glancing to the left which was a silent signal to the host. “They’re all lying,” Jason muttered. But their bodies didn’t lie. Not to him. The first game was dice. Three men. One pot. He watched them. Said nothing. Let them laugh. “Fresh meat.” “Doesn’t look like he even has bus fare.” But then he rolled. Perfect win. Second game — poker. The dealer tried to slip him a rigged card. He caught it mid-air, smiled, handed it back. Won again. Crowd started forming. “Who is this guy?” “That’s three wins.” “He’s reading them like books.” He wasn’t sure how he knew. His body moved before his mind did. As if something ancient was guiding his thoughts, whispering between each breath. The host, a heavy-set man with a snake tattoo on his neck, stepped forward. He didn’t smile. “You win too much, you die too young,” he said coldly with a deadly half baked smile. “I’m just lucky,” Jason replied without blinking. The host slammed the table. “You think this is Gangnam Vegas?! The house always wins!” Someone in the crowd chuckled nervously. Another voice echoed from the stairs: “Let the poor bastard play. Beating him up too early’s no fun.” Jason ’s body stiffened. He knew that voice. Lee Brandon. Emily Carter ’s older brother. The same man who dragged him through a shopping mall like trash. Lee Brandon stepped into the light, followed by two thugs in designer jackets. He was dressed like money — all fake confidence and overcompensating swagger. The moment he saw Jason , he froze. Then grinned. “What’s this dog doing in my spot?” Jason said nothing. The host looked between them. “You two know each other?” Lee Brandon didn’t answer. He walked straight up to Jason , voice low. “You just can’t stop embarrassing yourself, can you? First my sister. Now you’re gambling with drug addicts? What’s next — begging in subway stations?” The crowd shifted uncomfortably. Jason didn’t flinch. “Are you still pretending to be innocent?” Lee Brandon sneered. Jason met his eyes. Voice calm, I mean Deadly calm. “One day, you’ll beg me to forgive you.” “And I won’t.” Lee Brandon scoffed. “You think just ‘cause you won a few games—” BOOM. The lights exploded. The entire basement went pitch black. People screamed. A wind swept through the underground room — where there should’ve been no wind at all. And in the dark… a pair of golden eyes blinked open. Soft at first. Then brighter. Electricity flickered around Jason ’s fingertips. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. His veins pulsed with something more. [SYSTEM: Emotional Surge Detected.] [Power Level: 2%. Warning: Interference from suppressed memory. Stabilize.] Jason gritted his teeth. “Not yet…” But the power didn’t listen. Lee Brandon stepped back, confused. “What the f—?!” The wind stopped. The lights flicked back on. Jason was standing still, chest heaving, eyes dimming. Everyone stared at him like he was a demon. No one spoke. Even the host looked uneasy. Jason turned and walked away. No one tried to stop him. Not this time. Outside, in the alley, he took a shaky breath. Looked at his hands. Electric sparks danced across his skin, fading quickly. But it was there. Real. He smiled as he felt powerful for the first time in a long while. “This… is just the beginning.” Far away, thunder rumbled.
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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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