His school bullies weren't just mischievous kids playing pranks; they were predators, a pack that seemed to possess an instinctual radar for his vulnerability, sniffing out his fear like blood in the water. Kenta, the undisputed alpha, was a mountain of muscle with a cruel glint in his eyes and a sneer that promised physical pain. He moved with a brutal confidence that Araf could only dream of possessing. Ryo, his quick-witted, sharp-tongued lieutenant, was just as vicious with his words as Kenta was with his fists, his insults cutting deeper than any physical blow. And their ever-present entourage, a rotating cast of faces who found a twisted pleasure in Araf's suffering, ensured there was no respite, no corner of the school where he felt truly safe. Their favorite hunting grounds were the secluded corners of the schoolyard, the cramped space behind the gymnasium, or the deserted stairwell after classes, places where they could corner him without adult supervision.
"Hey, Araf! Still tripping over your own feet, huh?" Kenta's voice boomed, laced with malice, echoing down the hallway as he deliberately stuck out a leg, sending Araf sprawling, his books scattering across the dusty ground with a pathetic clatter. The sound was the soundtrack to Araf's humiliation.
Araf hit the dirt with a painful thud, the familiar ache blooming in his knees and elbows. He flinched, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird, a frantic drumbeat of pure fear. "S-sorry," he stammered, his voice barely a whisper, scrambling to gather his scattered belongings, his face burning with humiliation. He couldn't even look up, couldn't meet their eyes.
Ryo snickered, kicking one of Araf's notebooks further away with the toe of his shoe. "Still apologizing for existing? Some things really never change, do they, Kenta?" His voice was dripping with contempt, each word a calculated jab.
Kenta let out a guttural laugh that seemed to shake the very walls. "Nah, Ryo. Some trash just stays trash." He loomed over Araf, a menacing shadow, his bulk blocking out the weak fluorescent light. "Get up, weakling. Don't waste our time."
"Leave him alone, Kenta." A voice cut through the taunts, firm and clear, like a bell in the oppressive silence. Fax. Araf's best friend, perhaps his only friend in this cruel world. Fax was taller than Araf, with a shock of light brown hair that always seemed slightly messy, an easy smile that rarely faltered, and eyes that held a genuine kindness, a stark contrast to the hostility Araf usually faced. Fax was one of the few people who saw Araf, truly saw him, beyond the label of "weakling." He was a genuinely good person in a world that often felt devoid of them, a beacon of light in Araf's personal darkness.
Kenta's face darkened, his sneer twisting into a glare. "Mind your own business, Fax. This is between us and the trash." His voice was a low growl.
"Yeah, well, his business is my business today," Fax said, stepping closer to Araf, placing himself protectively between Araf and the bullies. His stance was casual, but there was an undeniable tension in his shoulders, a readiness to act. "Find someone else to bother." Fax had a powerful Bane, a Get-ranked Phoenix Bane that radiated a vibrant, almost intimidating light, an aura of fiery power that made even the arrogant Kenta hesitate. Even Kenta, with his Rank 3 Warlord Bane, knew not to push Fax too far when he was serious. The power difference was significant, and Fax wasn't afraid to use his Bane to protect his friend.
Reluctantly, with a few more muttered threats and contemptuous glances directed at Araf, Kenta and his group sauntered away, their cruel laughter echoing down the hallway, fading into the general din of the school, but lingering in Araf's ears, leaving him trembling on the floor.
Fax knelt beside Araf, his movements gentle, helping him collect his books and papers. "You okay?" he asked again, his voice soft, filled with genuine concern.
Araf nodded, not meeting his eyes. He couldn't. He felt a surge of gratitude, a flicker of warmth in the coldness of his day, a lifeline in the turbulent waters of his school life, but also a familiar, crushing pang of shame. Fax, with his strength and his magnificent Phoenix Bane, always having to step in to protect him. It was a constant, painful reminder of his own inadequacy, his own inability to stand up for himself.
Home offered little respite. The small apartment, once a place of relative quiet, had become another battleground after the arrival of his younger sister, Odongo. Odongo, a tiny whirlwind of unpredictable tantrums and demands, seemed to possess an uncanny ability to get Araf into trouble. A misplaced toy, a spilled drink, a sudden wail – anything could become Araf's fault in Odongo's eyes, and her accusations, often baseless, would earn him a sharp reprimand, sometimes worse, from their mother, Deluxue.
Deluxue was a furious woman, her temper easily ignited, especially when it came to Araf. She didn't seem to care what Araf said in his defense, her ears seemingly deaf to his pleas, only listening to what Odongo claimed, her word gospel. Odongo, despite her age, acted like a boss in the household, her demands dictating the flow of the day, and Deluxue, strangely, acted like a peon, catering to her every whim, seemingly unable or unwilling to discipline her younger child. Whatever Odongo said, Deluxue did it, creating a bizarre and unsettling dynamic. There was no relaxing time, only a different kind of tension, a constant walking on eggshells, a suffocating atmosphere of blame and frustration that permeated every corner of the apartment.
He carried another ache, a quieter, older one, a wound that still bled in the quiet moments, a ghost that haunted his memories. The memory of Alyssa, his childhood sweetheart. She had silver hair that shimmered like moonlight and a figure that any boy would be attracted to, graceful and effortlessly beautiful. He saw her sometimes in the school hallways, her laughter still bright, her presence radiating a warmth that had once been directed at him, but now belonged to others. She was surrounded by friends, part of a world he no longer belonged to. He remembered sunny afternoons under the old oak tree by the park, sharing secrets whispered like sacred vows, trading brightly colored stones like precious treasures, promising to be friends forever with the innocent conviction of children who believed in happily ever after. Alyssa had loved Araf very much, their bond seemingly unbreakable. She worked incredibly hard on her studies and had earned a G+ ranked "Glory" Bane, a testament to her dedication and potential, a power that set her apart. But somehow, that connection had frayed, then snapped. He didn't know exactly when or how they had drifted apart, just that one day, the easy connection was gone, replaced by a painful distance. He didn't like to think about how or why; the pain was still too sharp, a constant reminder of something beautiful lost, a wound that refused to heal. Her absence was another layer in the misery that had become his life's fabric.
Even his brother-in-law, a quiet, imposing figure who lived with them, rarely spoke to Araf directly but regarded him with a cool, distant gaze, a silent judgment that added to his feeling of worthlessness. It seemed everyone saw him as a disappointment, a problem, a burden.
The relentless pressure from both school and home, the constant fear, the pervasive loneliness – it was a suffocating weight that crushed his spirit and made focusing on his studies an impossible task. His grades were a mirror of his mental state – poor, reflecting the constant anxiety and lack of peace that consumed him. This, in turn, led to more scolding, more disappointment from the adults in his life, a vicious cycle that reinforced his belief that he was simply not capable, not good enough, a failure in every sense of the word. He felt like a lonely wolf, cast out from the pack, wandering the fringes, misunderstood and alone, with no place to belong.
This story, however, is about Araf's transformation, a journey from being absolutely weak to something godlike, a journey that begins in the depths of despair. This world, created decades ago, was shaped by the invisible forces of Karma, the spiritual energy that manifested physically, influencing the very fabric of reality. Bad Karma, the accumulated negativity, malice, selfish desires, and cruel intentions of humanity, coalesced into entities known as the Pirates. They were the rebels, the outlaws, driven by self-interest, a burning desire for power, wealth, and conflict, constantly clashing with the forces of order. Pirates were the most common users of Banes, seeing them as precious weapons to upgrade their strength, IQ, stamina, speed, and more, using the aura energy they granted to instill fear and dominate others. They fought amongst themselves to increase their bounty, a measure of their infamy and power, and clashed relentlessly with their polar opposites. The people who managed to maintain good Karma within their hearts, who strived for justice, righteousness, and the protection of the innocent, who valued honor and compassion, became the Marines. Their purpose was to uphold order, to combat the Pirates, and to grow their honor through selfless deeds, using Banes as tools for justice and defense. It was a world of stark contrasts, of black and white, good and evil, locked in an eternal struggle for dominance. Banes were the crucial weapons in this conflict, the physical manifestation of supernatural power, capable of tilting the balance of power.
Banes were the supernatural powers, the tools of this world, capable of anything from slightly enhancing physical strength to manipulating entire dimensions. Not only did they upgrade strength, but also IQ, stamina, speed, and more, granting their users abilities far beyond those of ordinary humans. They gave their users an aura energy, a visible manifestation of their power, some might be beautiful and awe-inspiring, radiating warmth and light, while some might be terrifying and oppressive, radiating darkness and dread. Scientists had discovered there were currently 1,800,000,000 Banes in the world, a staggering number, yet the true power lay in their rank, a clear hierarchy of strength and influence that determined a user's potential and place in the world:
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0. ??? - ??? - ??? +: The ultimate unknown, the apex of power, spoken of only in hushed, fearful whispers, a rank so high it was barely understood. There were only 7 ???+ rank Banes in the world, their existence shrouded in mystery and dread, their power capable of rewriting reality itself. Legends whispered that losing your sanity while wielding one meant the end of everything, not just for you, but for the entire multiverse. A terrifying price for ultimate power, a power that could lead to self-destruction on a cosmic scale.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
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1. Banes of Yonkos: Powers that could challenge the established order, wielded by individuals who stood at the pinnacle of strength, capable of commanding vast territories and armies, their influence shaping the fate of nations.
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2. Banes of Emperors: Powers of dominion and authority, capable of ruling vast territories and imposing their will upon millions, their word law, their power absolute within their domain.
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3. Banes of Warlords: Powers focused on combat and leadership, turning users into formidable forces on the battlefield, capable of leading armies to victory and crushing all who oppose them.
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4. Corresponding Bane / Admirals Banes: High-tier Banes, often associated with those who commanded respect and authority in various organizations, capable of leading fleets and coordinating large-scale operations, their power recognized and feared.
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5. Banes of Genesis: Banes tied to creation, manipulation of fundamental elements, or bringing things into being, powers that could reshape the world itself, capable of both destruction and creation on a grand scale.
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6. Banes of Beings: Banes that granted abilities related to specific creatures, forms, or abstract concepts, allowing users to take on the characteristics of powerful entities or manipulate abstract forces like time or space.
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7. Banes of Commoners - C +: The entry-level Banes, offering basic abilities, often seen as the starting point for those with limited potential, the most numerous and least powerful, yet still capable of granting abilities beyond ordinary human limits.
Then came the announcement that sent ripples of excitement and anxiety through the school, an event that promised to change the lives of every student: the free Bane distribution.
Ms. Thorne, their stern-faced Head Teacher, a woman whose gaze could silence a classroom with a single look, gathered their section on the sprawling field behind the school, where several large, pulsating crystals were set up, shimmering with latent energy. Senior mages and officials stood by, their expressions serious, overseeing the momentous event, ensuring everything went according to protocol. "Listen closely," she commanded, her voice cutting through the excited chatter, demanding immediate attention. "Today, you have an unprecedented opportunity. The school, in conjunction with the governing bodies, is distributing Banes. This is not a game. These are powerful tools that will shape your future, determining your path in this world."
She explained the two conditions, the cruel twists that felt specifically designed to exclude Araf, to highlight his every inadequacy, to dash any glimmer of hope he might have held. "Firstly," she announced, her voice resonating with authority, "your academic standing will influence the potential rank of the Bane you can receive. Higher grades indicate a greater capacity for understanding and control, for wielding power responsibly and effectively." A collective groan went through some of the less studious students, but Araf just felt a familiar dull ache in his chest. His report card was a disaster zone, a testament to his struggles and anxieties, his inability to focus amidst the chaos of his life. "Secondly, and perhaps more crucially," Ms. Thorne continued, her gaze sweeping over the group, her eyes lingering on Araf for a fraction of a second that felt like an eternity, a silent judgment, "your innate energy resistance. Banes channel immense power. Your body and spirit must be able to withstand that influx without shattering, without being consumed by the power." Araf felt weak to his core; his energy resistance was likely non-existent, a fragile barrier against overwhelming force. He was failing both criteria spectacularly, before the test even began. Any flicker of hope he'd held was rapidly extinguishing, leaving only the cold ashes of despair. This wasn't an opportunity; it was just another public arena for his inadequacy, a stage for his inevitable failure.
They were led out to the field, the air buzzing with anticipation, a mix of excitement and nervous energy. One by one, students stepped forward, their faces a mixture of hope and apprehension, placed their hand on a crystal, and received their Bane. The field filled with gasps of awe and whoops of excitement as students received Banes that glowed with brilliant colors – crimson, gold, sapphire – signifying higher ranks, their auras blooming around them, vibrant and powerful, a visible display of their newfound strength. A few looked disappointed, receiving Banes with dimmer lights, their auras weak and hesitant, but even they possessed a power Araf could only dream of.
Araf watched, the knot in his stomach tightening with each passing minute, each successful distribution a fresh stab of pain, a reminder of his own impending failure. Students came and went, their lives irrevocably changed by the power they now possessed, their futures diverging onto paths of strength and influence. The pile of discarded, dull Rank 7 Banes grew slightly near one of the crystals, a small monument to shattered hopes. Araf knew, deep down, with a sickening certainty, where he belonged.
"Araf!"
His name. It echoed across the field, amplified by the distribution system, drawing the attention of those nearby. He walked forward, his legs feeling heavy, like lead weights, each step a monumental effort. The whispers started again, louder this time, laced with anticipation of his inevitable failure, their voices like buzzing insects.
"Here comes the weakling." "Bet he gets nothing." "If he gets anything, it'll be a rock."
He reached the crystal, its surface cool and smooth under his trembling hand. He closed his eyes, took a shallow breath, and focused, trying to somehow project strength he didn't possess, trying to conjure a power that simply wasn't there, a desperate, futile attempt to defy fate. The crystal responded, but the light was pathetic – a weak, flickering grey, barely visible in the bright afternoon sun. No aura bloomed around him, just the familiar emptiness, the crushing weight of his own powerlessness.
He heard the snickers, the stifled laughter, the disappointed sighs. He didn't need to open his eyes to know the result.
The screen flickered, displaying his fate for the world to see.
"Araf got a 'Dough Bane', a C+ ranked Bane."
The laughter erupted, louder and more vicious than before, a wave of mocking sound that washed over him, drowning him in humiliation. It wasn't just snickers now; it was full-blown, mocking guffaws, echoing across the field, a symphony of cruelty.
"Dough Bane?! What even is that?!" Kenta roared, clutching his sides, tears of laughter streaming down his face. "Probably tastes like failure!" Ryo added, wiping a tear from his eye, his voice dripping with contempt, each word a poisoned dart.
The bullies, sensing blood in the water, surged forward, their cruel faces contorted with glee, surrounding him like a pack of wolves.
"Look at him! C+! Even the lowest rank has a plus, and he barely scraped that!" Kenta shoved him hard, sending him stumbling backward, the impact jarring his already aching body.
Araf stumbled back, the dull grey 'Dough Bane' clutched in his hand. It felt heavy, useless, a physical manifestation of his utter worthlessness, a symbol of his failure.
"What are you gonna do with that, Araf? Make bread?" Ryo kicked his shin, the pain sharp and immediate, a fresh wave of agony.
Pain flared, but it was nothing compared to the searing humiliation that washed over him, a burning tide that threatened to consume him. He was a failure, utterly and completely. Even when power was being given away, freely distributed, he was found wanting, deemed unworthy.
Fists and feet rained down on him, a brutal assault that left him breathless and aching. He curled into a ball, trying to protect his head, his arms wrapped around his skull, the laughter and insults echoing in his ears, each word a fresh wound, a reminder of his helplessness. This is it, he thought numbly, the thought a cold, hard stone in his gut. This is all I am. A punching bag. A failure. There's no escaping it.
Amidst the chaos, something else flickered on the screen, unnoticed by the jeering crowd, a line of text, corrupted and crimson, briefly appearing: Crimson Zoan. A hidden truth, a secret buried beneath the layers of his perceived weakness.
Suddenly, a shout. "Get off him!"
Fax. He was there, pushing through the bullies, his face contorted with anger, his Phoenix Bane radiating a fierce, protective heat, a shield against the cruelty.
"This isn't funny, Kenta! Leave him alone!" Fax yelled, his voice ringing with unexpected authority, a power that commanded attention. Even Kenta wasn't foolish enough to push a fight with someone who wielded the power of a Phoenix, a Bane of significant rank and destructive potential.
Fax helped Araf up, his grip strong and steady, pulling him away from the onslaught. "You okay?" he asked again, his voice gentle, filled with concern, his eyes searching Araf's face.
Araf couldn't speak. He just felt the burning shame, the crushing weight of failure, the raw pain of the blows. He looked at Fax, his kind friend, standing there with his brilliant Phoenix Bane, radiating power and confidence, standing beside him, the boy with the pathetic 'Dough Bane'. The contrast was a physical ache in his chest, a sharp, agonizing pang. Shame, hot and suffocating, consumed him. He couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand being seen like this, so weak, so pathetic, not even by Fax.
Without a word, driven by a raw, desperate need to escape, to disappear, he broke away from Fax's grasp and ran. He ran blindly, the laughter of the bullies fading behind him, the concerned shouts of Fax swallowed by the wind. He ran out of the assembly field, out of the school gates, down the street, his lungs burning, tears blurring his vision. He didn't stop until he reached the edge of the woods, a place he sometimes went to escape, to be alone with his misery, a place where he could hide from the world.
He plunged into the trees, the familiar scent of damp earth and pine needles filling his senses, a small comfort in his turmoil. He ran deeper, pushing through tangled undergrowth, ignoring the scrapes and bruises, the branches whipping at his face. He needed to disappear. He needed to be somewhere the laughter couldn't reach him, where the shame couldn't find him, where he could simply cease to exist for a while.
He emerged from the dense woods at the base of a rocky, imposing mountain. It rose steeply, a challenge, a vertical escape, a place where he could climb away from his problems. Driven by a raw, desperate need, he began to climb. His hands were scraped raw on the rough stone, his muscles screamed in protest, every fiber of his being aching, but he kept going, fueled by a potent mix of despair and a desperate need to get away from everything, from everyone.
He finally reached a small, flat peak, the world spreading out below him like a cruel diorama. The school was a tiny, insignificant block in the distance, the town a cluster of lights that seemed to mock his isolation. He sank to his knees, the 'Dough Bane' still clenched in his fist, its dull grey surface mocking him, a constant reminder of his failure. The weight of his life, of every failure, every humiliation, every loss, crashed down on him, a crushing burden.
And he cried. He cried with a raw, guttural anguish that tore from his very soul, the sound echoing in the empty air. Tears streamed down his face, hot and heavy, mingling with the sweat and grime. He screamed into the indifferent air, the sound swallowed by the vastness of the sky, unheard, unheeded.
"WHY?! WHY IS MY LUCK SO BAD?! WHAT DID I EVER DO TO DESERVE THIS?!"
He screamed until his throat was raw, until his body was wrung out, until he was just a trembling, hollow shell of misery on a lonely mountaintop, the pathetic 'Dough Bane' a cold, hard reality in his hand, a symbol of his brokenness.
Unseen, unheard, in a place far removed from the sunlight and the schoolyard, in a room that was absolute blackness save for the single, bright, gleaming monitor, a man sat on a simple sofa. The monitor displayed complex streams of data flowed, tracking events, powers, and individuals across the globe. Currently, the screen displayed the details of the Bane distribution at Posedions Scholars' School. And one line, in particular, held the attention of the man sitting on the simple sofa in the center of the room.
His eyes, sharp and ancient, were fixed on Araf's name, on the designation 'Dough Bane', C+, and on the brief, corrupted line that had appeared below it – Crimson Zen.
A slow, predatory smile spread across the man's face, stretching his thin lips. He steepled his fingers, his gaze never leaving the monitor. "Interesting," he murmured, his voice a low, resonant purr that seemed to vibrate with hidden power. "A C+ Bane, a life steeped in misery, and a hint of... something else. Yes." He leaned back, a spark of dark amusement in his eyes. "This subject won't be boring at all."
Then, he threw his head back and laughed. A deep, chilling laugh erupted from him, filling the silent, dark room. It was a sound of anticipation, of plans set in motion, of a game about to begin. This story starts with Araf, who turns out from being absolutely weak, to a God's friend. In this unfolding story, Araf will choose to slowly become stronger than having emotions……..