Warlock of War: My Ares System



As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the trash heap, the boy remained by his mother's side, a lone figure in a world that had turned its back on him. The night was settling in, bringing with it the bitter chill of despair, and the boy knew that he would have to summon a strength he never knew he possessed to navigate the treacherous path that lay ahead. In the slums, where hope was a rare commodity, he would strive to find a glimmer of light amidst the darkness, honoring his mother's memory and the love she had given him, even in the bleakest of circumstances. HE WAS GOING TO PROVE THIS WORLD WRONG-

Suddenly, as if emerging from the very darkness that surrounded him, a shadowy figure materialized. It was a tall, imposing presence, and the boy could barely catch a fleeting glimpse of a face obscured by darkness. Panic coursed through his veins, and he instinctively recoiled, a mixture of fear and confusion overwhelming his already fragile emotions.

In a swift and calculated move, the figure reached out and snatched the boy up, his small frame no match for the strength of the unknown assailant. The boy's heart raced as he struggled in vain against the powerful grip that held him captive. He tried to scream, but fear had stolen his voice.

The world around him suddenly blurred into a disorienting whirlwind as he was whisked away from the only familiar presence he had left in the world. The boy's struggles gradually grew weaker. He felt an odd sensation washing over him, a dizziness that dulled his senses. Unbeknownst to him, the shadowy figure had administered a sedative, a chemical meant to render him unconscious. His eyelids grew heavy, and his frantic thoughts gave way to a deep, dreamless slumber. But just before he went under, he caught a glimpse of this asshole… 

"D-Dad?"

…

A facility, hidden deep within a remote and heavily fortified location, was a monument of secrecy. Gleaming white corridors stretched endlessly, punctuated by sterile, flickering fluorescent lights that cast an eerie pallor over the stark, impersonal surroundings. It was a place where the boundaries between science and the supernatural blurred, where the thirst for knowledge was overshadowed by an unquenchable hunger for control.

Within those cold and unforgiving walls, the young man, then just a teenager, was subjected to a series of relentless experiments. He became a subject of fascination and dread for the scientists who studied him. They marveled at the inky darkness that they had created and placed upon the hands of this boy's palms, an enigma they could barely comprehend. Their fascination, however, soon turned to fear.

The facility was guarded by heavily armed soldiers, their faces obscured by emotionless masks. They watched over the young man with a wariness that betrayed their uncertainty. For they had seen his defiance, his unyielding will to resist the torment inflicted upon him.

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"Huh? W-Why?" The woman's eyes popped as she slowly fell to the ground, her blood painting the metal wall behind her. 

Amidst the sterile, harsh environment of the secretive testing facility, there was one figure who stood apart—a kind and compassionate scientist who had watched over the young man's ordeal with a heavy heart. Dr. Elizabeth Grant, known simply as "Dr. Liz" to her colleagues, was unlike the others who had studied the enigmatic young man.

Dr. Liz had been drawn to the field of science not out of a thirst for power or control, but out of a genuine curiosity and a desire to understand the mysteries of the universe. When she first laid eyes on the boy, she saw not a specimen, but a human being, a young soul caught in the web of forces beyond his control.

Over the years of the boy's captivity, Dr. Liz had become a silent advocate for him, seeking to ease his suffering as much as she could within the confines of the facility. She had brought him books and simple comforts, offering a kind word or a smile whenever she could. Her actions were subtle acts of rebellion against the facility's harsh methods.

As she watched the young man endure the torment of the experiments and the confinement of the sterile chambers, her heart ached for him. She believed that there was goodness within him, buried beneath the layers of pain and darkness that had been thrust upon him. She knew that if he could only find a way to harness his power, he could become something more than a force of destruction.

Slowly, over the years, Dr. Liz's kindness began to have an impact. The young man, initially wary and distrustful, started to warm up to her presence. He began to see her as a source of solace and understanding in a world that had shown him only cruelty.

Their interactions, though limited, became a lifeline for both of them. Dr. Liz shared stories of her own struggles and dreams, creating a connection that transcended the cold, clinical environment of the facility. She nurtured the spark of humanity within him, encouraging him to embrace the better angels of his nature.

It was through Dr. Liz's unwavering support and belief in his potential that the young man began to change. The darkness within him, once a destructive force, became a wellspring of strength and resilience. With her guidance, he learned to harness his power and control the void that had consumed him.

As the years passed and the facility's grip on the young man began to weaken, Dr. Liz continued to be a beacon of hope in his life. She became his mentor, guiding him on a path toward self-discovery and redemption. Through her kindness and unwavering faith in his capacity for goodness, the young man emerged not as a weapon, but as a force for positive change in a world that had once sought to exploit him… or so she thought. 

"Oh…" The boy's emotionless expression contorted, the boy not even looking at his mentor even as she slowly died by his hand. "Uhhhhh… I was pretending." 

On the day of his escape, alarms reverberated through the facility's corridors, setting off a frantic chain of events. The young man had reached his breaking point, and he lashed out with a fury born of desperation. Soldiers and doctors, trained to deal with threats of a more conventional nature, were ill-prepared for his unleashed power.

They fired tranquilizer darts, but the young man's determination was a force that defied chemical restraint. He fought with an uncanny strength, a primal will to be free that overwhelmed his adversaries. The facility became a battleground, a stark contrast to its clinical exterior.

Then came the moment of reckoning. In an act of sheer willpower, the young man summoned the void that had become an integral part of him. It surged outward, a tidal wave of darkness, swallowing everything in its path. The soldiers and doctors, who had sought to contain him, found themselves ensnared within the shadowy abyss.

The void devoured them, and their cries for help were silenced by the inky void that enveloped them. It was a chilling and awe-inspiring sight, a testament to the young man's newfound power—a power born from suffering and desperation.

As the last echoes of the struggle faded, the facility fell eerily silent. The alarms ceased their blaring, and the young man stood alone amid the darkness that had consumed his adversaries. The void, once a mere curiosity, had become a formidable force—one that he would learn to master and use in the days and years that followed.

Now, he was no longer a child, but a young man of about 16. Life had not been kind to him, and the trials of the world had forged him into something altogether different from the innocent boy he once was.

Emerging from the burning building, his tattered and blood-soaked clothes clung to his scarred frame. Flames roared behind him, devouring everything in their path. The acrid scent of smoke hung heavy in the air, a reminder of the danger he had narrowly escaped. His face, once marked by innocence, was now etched with a steely resolve and the weight of countless hardships.

The young man's body bore the scars of his tumultuous journey through the unforgiving slums. Gashes and wounds crisscrossed his flesh, souvenirs of countless battles for survival. Blood oozed from fresh injuries, mingling with the dirt and grime that clung to his skin. It was as if the world itself had conspired to break him, but he had refused to be defeated.

However, what was most striking and eerie about him now was the mysterious void that seemed to be slowly crawling up the palms of his hands, overtaking his arms. It was an inky darkness, an unnatural and otherworldly presence that defied explanation. It pulsed with an eerie energy, and its tendrils crept upward with a creeping, inexorable determination.

The young man's once-innocent black eyes were now a mirror to the darkness that consumed him. They glinted with a strange intensity, a combination of determination and a haunted emptiness that seemed to mirror the void encroaching upon his body. It was as if he had become a vessel for forces beyond his control, a living embodiment of the trials and tribulations he had endured.

As he stood there, a solitary figure amidst the chaos of the burning building, it was clear that this young man had been irrevocably changed by the harshness of his existence. The world had tested him in ways most could not fathom, and now, as he emerged from the inferno, he bore the scars, both physical and metaphysical, of a life defined by struggle and survival.

The flames continued to rage, casting an eerie, flickering light that danced across his face. Shadows seemed to reach out and grasp at him, as if trying to pull him back into the abyss from which he had emerged. But the young man stood firm, his gaze unyielding. A monolith of victory-

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