"Fight back, you IMBECILE!!!!" The harsh, guttural words of a burly man echoed through the dimly lit room, the boy on the ground barely recognizing his surroundings. He had been pummeled to the point of disorientation, a recurring nightmare that had plagued his life for as long as he could remember.

That boy was me, and the grown man was none other than my father, Major General Rodger.

The cycle of abuse had left me with no count of how many times my days had ended in this manner. Though now, at the age of eighteen, one might hope for change, the culture of violence remained a constant presence. I understood their reasons - I was perceived as incompetent and devoid of talent. They believed that by subjecting me to relentless beatings, they could awaken my spirit and safeguard their reputation.

However, I couldn't help but question the logic of beating a child. My spirit was immature, just like any other child's. Why were they so relentless in their pursuit of awakening my dormant spirit even back then? Perhaps their high-ranking position in the Association fueled their desire to mold me into something extraordinary, but unfortunately for them, I hadn't lived up to their expectations.

To me, it was bearable; I held onto the hope that my spirit would awaken in due time. I reassured myself each morning, vowing to become the strongest and make my parents proud. Yet beneath this facade of hope, a deep-seated fear lurked - the fear that I might remain spiritually immature forever. The thought of such a future was unbearable: abandonment by my parents, a lifetime of poverty, loneliness, and a lack of respect.

Every morning, I anxiously checked my emblem, a complex tattoo on my left arm that serves as an indicator of one's spirit level and active status. Everyone usually received this emblem at the age of three. Once their spirits awakened at sixteen, the emblems would glow golden. As one progressed in spirit rank from F- upwards, the emblem would grow, covering more area on the arm, its intricate patterns representing each person's unique power. Unfortunately, mine remained dark in color, still at the smallest size possible, leaving me clueless about my latent abilities.

Then, I met Diane. She became my refuge in this hellish life, and we began dating when we were thirteen.

Her promises were my lifeline:

"I will never leave you, Tyler,"

"We shall be together forever, Tyler,"

"I will always be here for you, Tyler."

The list of promises she made me could fill a whole paper.

But guess what?

Bitch broke her promises, leaving me for a wealthy young guy with a car and a stronger spirit.

I was blindsided by her materialistic turn of heart.

Despite the hurt, I couldn't bring myself to blame her. I felt like a failure, poor and powerless, unable to offer her any protection. The memories of attempting to shield her from harm during our time together were particularly haunting. And funny to say the least.

I think I made a mockery of myself trying to fight stronger guys bigger than myself.

With Diane gone, I pondered, "Who will nurse my wounds after my father's brutal beatings? Who will hold me and tell me it will be okay?" I recalled the tears I shed on that painful night of our breakup.

But you know what, FUCK the old me!!!!!!! Fuck everyone!!!!!!

I made a decision - to shed my old self and become a man who could solve his own problems, understanding that no one cared about me, and I shouldn't expect them to.

So, I started by getting a part-time job to cover my allowances since my parents did not provide me with any. And like someone was listening to my prayers out there, I discovered an item that could possibly change my fate. If it worked, I would be able to prove everyone wrong.

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"Pathetic! Get up!" My father's voice resonated as he removed his brass knuckles and retreated to his office. My mother, Colonel Lucy, sipping her expensive red wine, stared at me with disgust. "And make sure to clean your blood off my floor," she added.

"Yes, Colonel," I managed to utter, struggling to regain my feet. The excruciating pain made me wince, but I had grown accustomed to it.

That's right, I could only address my parents as "Sir," "Madam," or their military titles, a far cry from what normal kids called their normal parents.

Once the blood was cleaned, I headed to my room with anticipation. I couldn't wait to delve into the book I had discreetly taken from work before returning home. It was an intriguing volume, one that had the potential to change my life for the better.

The book, with its metallic edges forming intricate designs, a title gleaming with a golden glow, and a lock resembling skeleton hands clasping it shut, was none other than "THE BOOK OF RAMIEL." This book held the answers to my questions and the key to unlocking my dormant spirit.

It was a repository of knowledge beyond human understanding!; and I believed it could illuminate my path.

I first read about "The Book of Ramiel" in the library, where my fascination with mythology led me to its existence. I was surprised to stumble upon it in real life.

Ramiel, a watcher condemned for imparting forbidden knowledge to humans, had left his wisdom in a book before being cast into hell. I initially regarded it as a myth, but discovering it in a crate at work, with its glowing title mirroring the emblem of a fully awakened spirit, left me with no choice but to take it. After all, my life was already in shambles, and the potential benefits outweighed any potential consequences of taking the book. I would lose my job, yes. Maybe the owner of the book was some big gangster who would hunt me and my family down, yes. But I just did not care. I was in a desperate situation.

"Now to get this opened," I muttered to myself, determined to unlock the secrets within. I fetched a screwdriver and hammer from my drawer, attempting various methods to pry the skeletal fingers guarding the book open. However, no matter how much strength and force I applied, the lock remained tight.

An hour of relentless effort led sent me spiraling into a myriad of emotions as I hit the lock continuously and desperately with the hammer. "ARGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!"

The frustration was overwhelming, knowing that the answers to my life's questions were within my grasp, yet I couldn't access them.

I just wanted to scream right now!

"I have......I have to find a way! I have to find a way....A-fter all that hussel to steal the book. I-I just can't" I threw away the hammer and ruffled my hair like a frustrated madman. I was on the verge of pulling my hair apart. Luckily, I was able to calm down in time and I inserted earphones in my ear; sulking back in my study chair. I searched for the saddest music on my phone and played it then I blankly stared at the book in front of me. It seemed to be mocking me by just sitting there on the table unmoved.

As I listened to melancholic music through my earphones, memories of being bullied at school, the moments shared with Diane, the abuse from my parents, and the hurtful words of others flooded my mind.

I felt a lump in my throat, a surge of emotions threatening to overcome me. Suppressing my tears was a challenge, as I hadn't cried in years. I was now eighteen; I shouldn't be so affected by these memories. Still, I couldn't help but feel their weight and the pain they caused.

"Why?" I whispered in shaky breaths, tears gathering in my emerald green eyes. A warm streak traced its way down my bruised cheeks, forming a tear droplet at my chin before splashing onto the ground.

Suddenly, a surreal stillness enveloped me, and I observed my teardrop in slow motion, a peculiar sensation. An unexpected thought entered my mind: "Revenge." It was a whispered thought, laced with malice, quickly fading away. As my teardrop finally reached the ground, the world around me returned to normal.

"That's right... I have to make them all pay for breaking me!" I declared, clenching my fists, my teeth ground, as my breath grew steadier. The pain that had defined my existence transformed into an indomitable anger.

A thirst for revenge had taken root within me!

I did not notice that a faint black smog had escaped from me and entered the book in front of me.

I reoriented my gaze and noticed the book floating in front of me. The golden glow from the title intensified, spreading outward to the skeletal fingers, which began to open one by one.

"I did it! but how?" I exclaimed, awe-stricken and excited. The book's presence caused the air to move violently, flinging papers around the room and tousling my hair and clothes. The golden glow surrounded me, and I found myself rising into the air along with the book. It was a surreal experience, a sense of suspension as I awaited the book's contents.

Sure enough, the front cover opened, the wind stilled, and silence took over. The golden glow was replaced by a dark, menacing smog that induced unease. Slowly, it rose from the pages of the book, swirling and flowing into my open mouth, which could not resist its passage. The winds it created were more intense than before, lifting everything in the room and shaping the wind into jagged daggers.

My clothes were torn to shreds by this violent wind, and the pain I felt was excruciating. My vision blurred, my body contorted, and a cacophony of bone-crushing sounds filled the room.

I wanted to scream, but the black smog had filled my mouth, rendering me voiceless.

The smog's last tendrils entered my body, and warmth emanated from deep within, spreading throughout my being and into the room. The initial sensation was pleasurable, but it quickly transformed into an intense, burning heat that incinerated the remnants of my clothing. I could no longer contain my anguish, and a deafening scream erupted as the golden glow intensified, enveloping the room and causing an explosion.

The golden glow expanded outward before retracting into my body, following the contours of my form. The process left me unconscious, my bones returning to their rightful positions, and I crumpled to the ground.

My journey into a new, mysterious world had just begun.