The screen displayed a map of our world and the current situation of the continent from our perspective. Our planet consisted of a massive continent -and country- called Pangea and countless scattered islands beyond. Pangea was where humans resided, but we only knew what existed on the islands a couple of people. Harsh weather conditions and the system prevented us from exploring them. As far as I knew, we had only managed to reach three of the islands. I had yet to learn what had been discovered or found there.

About a year ago, when we discovered the third island, I remember I always asked my father about it. Yet he never gave me an answer. Either he'd found something we weren't supposed to know about, or he was hiding it to protect us. Or maybe there was nothing and he didn't want to admit that the expedition was a failure. Whatever it was, it was his problem, not mine.

The continent we lived on covered about a quarter of the planet. There were lakes and small seas scattered across it. Our home was in the heart of the continent. The nearest sea was about 500 kilometers away. It was a properly urbanized sprawl of buildings, a concrete jungle. And we were in the middle of it.

"Damian... Damian!"

"Oh, sorry. What did I miss?"

My father's voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

"Where did you drift off to again?"

"Uh, nowhere. Just thinking."

"Alright then. Now that Damian's back with us, I can continue."

The screen zoomed in on our headquarters, displaying the vast network of companies and institutions we owned and operated. It was as if we had woven ourselves into the very fabric of the continent, a network so intricate it spanned the entire country. Then red circles began appearing on the map, popping up like bloodstains across the nation.

"These..." my father began, pointing to the growing cluster of red dots, "are our competitors, or more precisely, potential threats."

Competitors? Potential threats?

Are you serious? We wield more power, influence, and connections than the government itself. Other companies work under its thumb, while we have enough autonomy to declare our independence and start our own country if we wish. Yet here he was, still talking as if we weren't in control.

Where does he think this is going?

"From now on, you, the Crimson Blades, will be working harder than ever. Your new targets are those red circles. You will eliminate every one of them, one by one."

Don't tell me... Has my father finally made his move? It seems he's accelerating his plan to eliminate even the smallest threat and consolidate power. We'll become an empire that controls the entire nation. The thought itself is thrilling.

But there's a small, tiny problem.

"Uh, Father. I've got a question."

"Have you forgotten the rule? No questions."

Goddamnit, you and your ridiculous rules. A voice inside me screams to knock him out, to smash his face in, but I'm not going to be that stupid.

My 'small' problem is that the red circles weren't just in a few places - they covered the whole country.

Was this guy planning to declare war on the entire nation? The problem wasn't that we might lose; we had enough military force to crush any opposition, even if they weren't as powerful as us. The problem was what came after. The people, used to democracy, would never accept an empire, no matter how benevolent it seemed at first. It might start without any significant problems, but soon there would be rebellions, uprisings, and discontent. And the Empire, in its quest to maintain power, would be forced to crush these rebellions.

It's always the same story.

The outcome? Chaos.

Personally, I wouldn't mind. Chaotic environments are where I thrive. But for those around me? For the Empire? It would be a nightmare. I couldn't help but wonder what my father's full plan entailed.

.....

My father's plan was simple - divide and conquer. We'd start small, picking off minor targets, then gradually move on to bigger prey as a team. Along the way, we'd absorb the beleaguered small and medium-sized businesses into our fold and grow stronger. As our power grew, the government's power would weaken. Considering there were ten of us, all experts in the assassination, all absurdly powerful in our own right, the plan could move quickly.

We all had important roles to play. The work would become harder, more dangerous, and absolutely precise. After explaining the plan, my father assigned tasks to numbers 2 to 9 and sent them off one by one. Starting tomorrow, things will get bloody. To avoid suspicion, some of them would even attack their own companies, pretending to be victims and playing the part of the wounded.

Only Number 1 and I, Number 10, remained in the room. My father turned to Number 1.

"I want you to prove once again why you're number one and the leader of this group," he said. "You will handle the government side of things."

Number 1 simply nodded and left the room.

'But I wanted the government job.' I thought, clenching my fists. I wanted to destroy those slimy politicians.

After he left, my father stood up, walked over to me, and placed his hands on my shoulders.

"Son, as you can see, everyone else has tough assignments, but I've given you a bit of a break. Your task remains the same."

Great. I get to stir up trouble. Yay.

Is he fucking joking?

"If things get harder due to the increase in duties, you may find it a bit challenging, but I don't think you'll have any major problems."

Yep, he's definitely messing with me.

"I will keep you informed of your missions. For the next few days, unless something urgent comes up, consider this a period of rest.

The calm before the storm, I suppose. I just hope my opponents get stronger. I really don't want to pin another girl to the wall - it's quite boring.

"You'll probably get another mission before exam week starts. I'll do my best to keep you free during exam week."

Ugh, don't remind me. I have exams too. Whatever. Passing is all that matters.

"Now go and rest in your room."

So that's it, huh? I couldn't hear what I wanted to hear, but I'll have to make do with what I've got.

I nodded and left the room, my mind already spinning with what was to come.

...

Damian entered his room, changed, and lay down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He wondered about the future - the great plan and the many changes that were about to unfold. How would it all affect his life? His school life, his home life, and his night activities were all entertaining to him, even though they were completely different. He thought about these differences.

At school, he wasn't very social, with only a few close friends, but they were enough for him. With them, he could laugh and play like a child, make pranks, and skip classes. Everyone at school knew who he was, a sort of celebrity, especially because he was the best in the school's physical tests. It was an odd but satisfying balance - being famous while maintaining a small, loyal circle of friends.

For Damian, this life at school felt like living the childhood he never had. Or at least the one he couldn't remember. Everything before the age of eight was a complete blur.

At home, he had a pleasant family environment with his relatives, although he didn't like some of them very much. Still, they were family. His father, though strict in business and the one who introduced him to the world of assassination, was someone he loved.

Logan Stark had taken him in as his own and treated Damian like his own blood. Despite not having experienced much of a father's warmth, Damian could feel a little of it from him. And then there was his sister - the one he loved more than anyone else, more than life itself. She was understanding, innocent, sweet, and gentle - the exact opposite of him. She was the light in his otherwise dark world, the only piece of humanity he clung to. Sometimes she even felt like a mother to him, which was probably why Damian was willing to protect her at all costs.

His biological father had died on the day he was born, and his mother passed away when he was eight years old. He couldn't remember what she looked like or what it felt like to have a mother's warmth. Logan Stark adopted him when he was eight, and that was the first thing he could recall clearly from his childhood. He even remembered the words Logan had spoken when he adopted him.

.....

"Richard came to see me the day before he died, eight years ago. He told me you were going to be born the next day. You should have seen him; he was so excited, he couldn't sit still. But he had a terrible thing. The more excited he got, the more he forgot. If I hadn't asked him, 'Is there anything else you want to tell me?' he would have completely forgotten."

He had a bitter smile on his face.

"He asked me to look after you and Grace if anything happened to him. It was strange, but I agreed. After all, he was my best friend."

"His death the next day hit me hard. And then Grace came to me a few days before she died, asking me to adopt you if anything ever happened to her. She didn't want you to grow up without parents. I agreed again."

His voice was trembling.

"And then, like Richard, she died too. It was almost as if they both knew what was going to happen. And so I became your new father. I even have an eight-year-old daughter. I hope you two get along."

.....

Damian found comfort in this home because it gave him a family atmosphere that he had never really experienced, or at least couldn't remember. It was an environment he was determined to protect at all costs.

But at night, at the missions, it was like he had become someone else entirely. Just like in the morning, he laughed and enjoyed himself - but this time while he was killing, while he was causing pain. He found pleasure in hearing the screams, in crushing people's hopes, in draining them completely. He didn't know why. Why did he enjoy it? Why does he like causing pain? He just did it.

But deep down, the reason lay in his forgotten childhood - a childhood marked by isolation as his mother kept him away from the world. Her death had been the event that flipped the switch. Though he couldn't remember it consciously, the pain he had experienced was etched into his subconscious, manifesting itself in his dark tendencies. These were the traces of the forgotten past of an endless life. It is like the two sides of a coin, forever intertwined.

...

I was tossing and turning in my bed, trying to sleep, but I couldn't. I was tired, but sleep eluded me. My mind wandered, asking myself how, even why, I had become this kind of person.

The answers led me to familiar places: a forgotten past, the adoption, and all that followed. My thoughts shifted to the events of today. The faces of the people I had killed flashed before me. Their lives held no meaning for me. I was an assassin by night. There was no room for emotions. Only killing.

I was part of a group filled with maniacs like me - the Crimson Blades. My mind wandered further and I began to remember the story of how I came to join this insane crew.

It was about five years ago.