In an empire that spanned across planets, of gold and sands, and crafted worlds of iron and enchanted metal, lie the seat of it’s sultan, the throne world of Sha Morar. It was orbitted by ships inlaid with jewels as big as houses, supported by pillars of white ivory, and sown wings of great birds of legend. It is a hub of commerce and education for the nearest sectors, worlds who rely on the wealth that overflows from the paradise of decadence.
Sha Morar was part of the sultanate of Sha Hanshas, it was a world made into the center of their own tiny universe. They boasted mile high towering dungeons where precious metals, fantastical beasts, and flowers that were said to give eternal youth would overflow and drench the land in prosperity. Many others would orbit it’s rings, from pirate lords who would steal the very mountains where ores would sprout from, from merchants whose wealth would drown a man in mere seconds from it’s presence, and fleets that would drive colossal beasts of the vast spatial ocean to heel. Truly it was a world where heroes and demigods would walk and write their stories on by merely traversing it’s roads.
But like with any metropolis, like any paradise shaped by man, many would not touch the center of such a paradise. And even more would only dream of reaching it.
Slums settle themselves on the darkest part of the worlds that surrounded the paradise, hoping to bask in it’s glow and take even a sliver of the rich nectar of it’s blessings. Some people would reach these slums to find solace from their sins, some would come here to build tiny empires of excess and violence, but even more were simply born here with no hope of escape.
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An orphan was bloody and bruised in an alley, in an unnamed city, in a land that cared not for it’s people. She got beaten up again today, and it hurt. It hurt not because of the wounds, but because of the words that were flung at her. They called her ‘Kibria the whorechild’ and ‘Kibria the bastard child’, and she would have held her head high if not for the new name they branded her. ‘Kibria the lesser’ a name that hurt her more than she would like to admit.
With wobbly hands and broken legs, she stood up, wiping her hands in her ragged clothes. It was ripped again, but she could always patch it up again. She had more wounds in her body now, but it would always heal. What hurt her the most was the tears that blurred her eyes.
She wiped it and she looked up at the bright sphere that filled the sky. It always comforted her no matter what, to see her glowing friend up in the sky cheer for her no matter how hard life would kick her down.
She was sixteen now, barely a child in the eyes of the gangs that prowled the streets. She would be forced to work for them, but she always managed to avoid their grasp. She was smart after all, she made it this far and that was something to be proud of.
She looked up and her heart eased it’s tightening grip upon her.
“Someday I’ll get out of her” She said, barely a whisper. Despite being born to a life lower than most would ever hope, she knew in her heart that she was destined for more.
She walked back to the alleys, and the torn down walls, and the desecrated buildings. She reached a dark and damp hole in the ground with pieces of cloth hiding it’s entrance. She went down and saw the many shelves that were filled with curios and things that were almost artifacts made from trash and dungeon drops stolen from climbers.
She pulled a brick to reveal a small blue knife that had intricate beetle motifs. A blade made by her sister. A memento from when she was still alive. It was the only thing keeping her hopes together.
If only I had enough money to get in a tower. Maybe I could get a system of my own.
She had so much faith in herself. She hopes to make it big and escape the slums that swallowed her dreams and crushed her sister. She looked at the knife, it was a precious artifact, something that would sell for enough gold to ferry her out of here, but she wouldn’t do that. She knew that she could do it herself, without selling her principles and the only thing that was left behind by someone important to her.
She looked at the knife and it shone to her, slowly pulsing and shifting as if moving. It was directly telling her what it truly is.
The Blue Scarab’s Wing
Knife, Precious, Living Weapon
A fine blade made of spellspark alloy. May cancel mid level spells against user when used to block. Requires blood from monsters to upgrade and increase it’s sentience. It is alive.
“Never forget that you are a better than them, believe in yourself sister” - Sherin
She smiled, even when she’s gone her sister was always by her side.
Suddenly a smashing sound was made just outside her home.
“She’s right here!”
Kibria held her breath. Did they finally come for her? Did they know that she still held her sister’s knife?
Kibria stood her ground, ready to take a life if the need arises. She hid the knife in a strap hidden beneath her cloak. She slinked back to the darkness and waited for anyone foolish enough to come down into her home. Anger filled her as the thought of someone barging her home unannounced repulsed her. This was her place, her home. She would fight, she didn’t even think of running away. If she lost and died here, so be it.
She won’t back down.
FIRE PULSE
Spellscript filled the air, engulfing the entrance in light and heat. A bonfire exploded, sending a shockwave that shoved her to the wall.
Crap, she felt something break in her chest as she slumped to the ground. With her hazy vision and ringing ears, she saw a man with daggers and climber gear enter and meet her eyes directly.
He pointed at a man near him and shouted.
“Someone keep her down!” Someone tackled her and pinned her down.
“Kibria, you’re late for your payment.” The man with daggers said with a frown.
“Fuck you! I already paid my loan in full.” She bit her lip, rage filling her as she felt wronged and insulted by the accusation.
“There was interest Kibria. Now I don’t want to do this, but you forced my hand.” He pointed to two of the goons and ordered. “Shake her down, she must have something valuable with her and you take everything you can from the shelves.”
“No!” She struggled as she fought, but she was weak, malnourished, she didn’t even know magic or have a system of her own. Yet she fought. A hand grabbed the knife she was hiding in her cloak and her eyes grew wide. “Stop don’t take that!”
The climber inspected the knife and whistled. “A living weapon. You probably stole something like this. To think you’d pilfer something like this Kibria.”
“Shut up, I did no such thing! That knife is mine!” Tears filled her eyes as she gripped her teeth.
She was weak. So weak, if only she had a chance.
“Well, we’ll take this as payment then. You let her go, she’d be useless to us if she’s dead.” He looked at her and sneered, noticing the pus and bruises that covered her. “Afterall, people below should know their place.”
They were walking away and Kibria was clawing her way towards them. But her bones were broken, but her skin was torn, but she’s system less, but she’s weak and stupid, but she’s so, so weak. So many reasons and she couldn’t deny any of them despite the spirit that still drove her to pull herself from the ground.
“Stop!” She felt something watching her.
“Stop! Come back!” She said as something crackled inside her.
“STOP!”
Then they did as she said and stopped. They stopped moving, they stopped breathing, they stopped thinking., and they fell as if every muscle in their body stopped.
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They were dead, somehow Kibria knew they were dead. It was as if her words had weight, her spirit had so much more inside it, as if she realized she was more. She looked around to see if anyone saw what happened, maybe someone intervened.
Then a bright window appeared in front of her.
She looked at it, shocked that something bright and ethereal presented itself to her. She heard stories of this before, a system window.
Before anything else, she grabbed the knife and leaned herself to the wall. She read the system window with eyes widening like dinner plates.
NAME: KIBRIA KORAR
CLASS: LORD OF MORTAL SIN, PRIDE (MYTHICAL) - Lvl. 1
“Hello little one. From the many, many beings that want such a gift from me, I deem you to be the one worthy of inheriting my legacy. You have confidence in yourself, that’s good. So don’t lower yourself. I expect great things from you, so hold yourself up with pride.”
Remember, you are destined for greatness. Do not dissapoint me.
- Superbia, The Demon God of Pride
HP: 20/17,000
MP: 9,700/10,000
STA: 8,000/8,000
STATS
STR -600
END-500
INT-900
RES-400
PER-900
SPD-900
SKILLS
ARROGANCE Lvl 1 -SPECIAL- (300MP/SEC):
You are somone who deserves to be heard, to be revered, to be respected, to be obeyed. Force all that reaches your voice to follow your command. Your words shall take precedence to the laws of the world, and it will bend under your thumb. Your voice greater than most, let it be heard.
VANITAS Lvl 1 -SPECIAL-(PASSIVE):
What you see and hear are truths and what you deem worthy to experience shall be what the world shall follow. Damage and effects shall be influenced by your perception of it. If you chose to ignore damage, then it shall not come to pass. Conversely if you put your whole attention into something you perceive would harm you, then it would do so, regardless of it’s actual impact. A little gift from me child, remember to always hold yourself in high regard and always strive to be better.
SELF-CENTERED Lvl 1 -SPECIAL -(PASSIVE):
You have a pull to you that influences everything within your view. You may emit your own gravity and disrupt normal physics in favor of the one you impose. Things will move with you as the basis, regardless of it’s initial status. Remember child, thinking of yourself is never a bad thing. So hold your head high and become more.
--Good luck dear Lord of Mortal Sin, you’ll need it.--
Kibria’s eyes were wide. She was speechless at the sight of the window, and now she’s apparently an inheritor of a god’s power.
“Holy shit”
Kibria had to pinch herself just to know she wasn’t dreaming, or maybe delirious from the blood loss. Her body hurts, and she’s probably gonna pass out from the damage she sustained.
Suddenly she had an idea. If the goons died because she commanded them to stop, then why can’t she simply command herself to do something she wants.
She took a deep breath and centered herself, leaning, with her back against the wall.
Here goes nothing.
“HEAL” She commanded her body.
She could feel the strain in her flesh as it knit itself and formed skin, veins, and complex tissue. She could feel the pus and scars in her body recede. She could feel her bones realign and shape itself to what it used to be. She could feel the haemorrhage in her head get less and less prominent until it was no longer there. She was healed, truly healed.
Just as she was about to stand up, her stomach growled like a beast defending it’s territory.
Apparently the heal might not have been free, and it took nutrients to stitch back her body.
She looked at the still bodies that littered the floor. Through years of living as a streetrat, she had a primal instinct not to waste such an opportunity.
She stood up. “Let’s see what kind of loot we have.”
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Prince Malik has always found his tutors boring. So stifling and rigid in their ways, that they fail to see the adventure ripe for the taking.
*sigh*
Maybe he could convince his father to let his uncle or cousins to take him on their dungeon expeditions after the system inheritor ceremony. He just finds all these senseless bureaucracy and droning talks about tradition so dull.
“Prince! It is imperative that you learn what I am teaching you! Your almost a man and yet you refuse to focus for even a moment! What would your mother say if she was here today.”
Malik just ignored the man as he started another cycle of ‘A prince should know each housecrest by heart, how else would they greet the noble families if they were to visit’ or ‘Prince Malik focus! You should have learned this dance already, what would your future wife think if you embarrass yourself’. He just felt so trapped in this gilded cage. This isn’t how life is supposed to be, he was rotting his time away and no one even cares.
*Sigh* He burried his head in the desk, ignoring the paragraphs upon paragraphs that he was about to hear out of the old mans mouth again.
He silently wept his problems away.
This isn’t how life is supposed to be. *Sob*
The tutor, brows furrowed at the prince’s sorrow. It’s not as if he doesn’t know the feeling of expectation and responsibility. He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and knelt to his side, the boy still sobing and soaking the notes he prepared the week prior.
*Sigh*
“Prince Malik”
The boy looked up. His nose running with snot and his face smudged with tears and ink. The tutor looking at the boy he practically raised looking so distraught and trapped by the fate pressed upon him, made him empathize what he was going through.
The tutor took his sleeve, white and pristine from silk and gold thread made soft from dire roc feathers, and wiped the tears away.
“Take the day off” He said with a smile.
Malik still sniffing looked at him.
“Really?”
“Really.”
Malik got up and wiped all his face gunk and hugged the man.
“Thank you!” He got his sword and ran out of the room. Maybe he could ride his griffon out into the city today. Ooh or maybe take a trip to the bazaar or watch one of the fights at the arena.
Suddenly he heard panicked screams that filled the air as a rumbling wave of force pulsed out of the ground.
Several lights shone from the sky as each one twisted and turned, disappearing and reappearing from view. One of the lights was headed straight for him. It was as big as a meteor and it phased right through the many, many shields that the castle has. It broke and shattered the shields as he froze in place as the calamity approached him.
“Prince Malik!”
His tutor and several castle guards came out and formed a perimeter around him. In a trained fashion, they each activated the enchantments and skills they had, hoping to protect him. One after another within the few milliseconds he stood still.
It was all for naught however, as the light pierced the shields and struck him, covering him in a white ominous halo of purpose.
Hero, you are needed once more.
NAME: MALIK ALBAZ RUBEDO HANSHAS
CLASS: HERO OF THE UNBROKEN BLADE Lvl. 1
“Hero, another calamity shall befall your age.”
You are our only hope.
- ????
HP: 1,000/1,000
MP: 100/100
STA: 100/100
STATS
STR -50
END-50
INT-50
RES-50
PER-50
SPD-50
SKILLS
INFINITY Lvl MAX -SPECIAL -(PASSIVE):
You have no limit on abilities or magic learned. You may learn from any restricted profession or class.
UNLIMITED Lvl MAX -SPECIAL-(PASSIVE):
Your stats and level have no limit.
--This is everything we can give you new hero. Find the others and start your journey.--
Malik lost consciousness as an indescribable weight has brought itself down upon him. A warm halo shone upon him, indicating to the warriors and his tutor that surrounded him of his new fate.
He is now the new hero.
A terrible and sorrowful fate lies in front of him. And now he must light the torch in the upcoming darkness that everyone must face.
The tutor saw this and grimaced.
If only he knew how grave it truly was.