Flash forward
After 2000 years:
The world was no longer the same.
What once thrived with harmony and rhythm had now been reduced to chaos and ruin. Thunder rolled across a fractured sky, lightning splitting the clouds like nature itself was screaming in agony. Smoke billowed from shattered buildings. Roads cracked. Trees burned. Rivers overflowed. This was no ordinary storm. It was the end of an era.
In the middle of that chaos, in a village tucked beneath the mountains, a young boy ran barefoot through the mud, his small hand clutching his mother's tightly. His breath was shaky, his heart racing.
"Mom!" he cried out, eyes wide. "I'm scared. Are they going to kill us too?"
His mother, a woman with kind eyes and a face weathered by life, tightened her grip on him. Her clothes were soaked, hair plastered to her face, but her voice remained calm, steady.
"Don't be scared, my boy," she whispered. "They won't hurt us. Someone will protect us."
The boy looked up at her, confused and desperate. "Who?"
She bent down, brushing a wet strand of hair from his face.
"God," she said softly. "Believe in God. He sends help to those who need it the most."
The boy nodded, though tears still brimmed in his eyes. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe that something good still existed in this collapsing world.
Then, a sound cut through the storm.
Heavy boots. Screeching tires. Laughter—not of joy, but of destruction.
From the darkness emerged a group of masked men—vicious, animalistic, dressed in black armor and skull-faced helmets. These were no ordinary criminals. These were predators.
The mother froze.
One of the men pointed. "Take the woman."
The boy screamed as they tore her away. She didn't fight. She only looked back at her son and gave him one final command:
"Run!"
But he couldn't move.
Fear paralyzed him. His legs betrayed him. His scream was trapped in his throat as he watched them pull her into the mist. There was a flash of steel. A shriek. Then silence.
She was gone.
The boy fell to his knees. Rain mixed with tears. The world blurred. Nothing would ever be the same again.
Then—a chill deeper than the storm itself crept through the air.
The minions parted.
From the shadows emerged a tall figure, cloaked in black, his skeletal mask reflecting the lightning overhead. His steps were slow, deliberate, commanding. He carried no weapons. He didn't need any. His presence alone felt like suffocation.
Dark Skull.
(The Shadow That Walks Like a Man
Dark Skull is the embodiment of fear — not just a villain, but a living nightmare forged from hatred, abandonment, and the lust for immortality.
Once a nameless war orphan cast aside by the world, he clawed his way through pain, betrayal, and death, eventually discovering the forbidden secrets of the ancients. Over time, his humanity withered, replaced by power and obsession. He no longer seeks justice. He no longer seeks peace. He seeks only control — over fate, over death, and over the elements themselves.
Wearing a black skeletal mask and armor made from the ashes of fallen civilizations, he commands an army of faceless destroyers. His voice is cold. His presence makes air heavy. And his only goal is to seize the Spirit Charm, the one force strong enough to rewrite life and death.
> Dark Skull doesn't kill for fun.
He kills for purpose — and that purpose is absolute dominion.
To him, the world already ended.
Now he's just rebuilding it in his image.)
He stood before the kneeling boy, towering over him like a statue carved from dread.
"So small," Dark Skull said, his voice low and venomous. "So weak... Yet still alive."
The boy looked up, eyes burning with tears but filled with defiance.
Dark Skull crouched down, inches from the boy's face. "This world doesn't belong to the helpless. It belongs to the ones who dominate. Who destroy. Who take."
He leaned closer, a twisted curiosity in his tone. "You have fire in your eyes. Join me, and I will make you powerful. Greater than kings."
The boy clenched his fists, voice trembling but strong. "I will never be like you."
Dark Skull's head tilted.
Silence.
Then—his tone dropped to ice.
"So be it."
He rose to his full height, turning his back.
"Put him in the Dark Prison," he ordered. "Let the darkness raise him. If he survives... he will learn. If not... he was never worth the offer."
Two minions stepped forward and yanked the boy to his feet. He kicked. He screamed. He fought with everything inside him.
But no one came.
Chains wrapped around his wrists. And as they dragged him into the rain, into the night, the last thing he saw was his mother's lifeless hand, half-buried in the mud.
He didn't stop screaming.
Not until the gates of the Dark Prison slammed shut behind him.
And then—there was only silence