"He set fire to the world around him, but never let a flame touch his most precious."
A ruined world burnt to ashes by the flames of cruelty and savagery, a man rules over the chaos and havoc, condemning the raging fires to bow before him. He is th...
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It had been years, years since the earth had been taken over by flames of a world that was ruined by humanity themselves, burning everything they had to the ashes. An apocalypses of the powerful and the cruel, fighting to their last breath for everything they had left. Death was no more feared, rather welcomed. After all, the world had become something much worse than the hell after death.
Blood dripped down the dagger in his left hand, the blade shining with stained red liquid and cut skin, a foul copper and nauseating smell in the room. The marble floor was covered with dead and dying bodies, lifeless heads and limbs scattered across the floor. It was a horrifying image, but to one who's heart and mind had been scarred by worse, he only grinned to himself, proud of his mess. He was an alpha, claiming territories, all this was part of who he'd grown to be.
After the many years when the earth had started being consumed by the savagery of humans, people who had experienced themselves to the pain and maliciousness of mankind had stepped forward and seized the war. He was one of them, son of a deranged and psychopathic father who had killed his own mother in front of him at the age of seven, and taught him to poison his own brother at the lonely age of nine. He had not felt any hurt, having taught that this was how the way of life worked. Those who were weak, didn't survive, didn't deserve to.
He had no remorse nor pity for the cries for mercy that rung outside the building, the sound of gunshots and screams echoing the eerie night.
His father had built himself his own army, taking over each land one by one, teaching him everything there was to take over him some day. Here he was, following his father's footsteps and making him proud, proving to his mother that he wasn't worthless. Not in this world.
His foot carelessly stepped on the dying man before him, crushing the bone in his wrist and tearing the flesh with the sharp ends of the bone. He screamed in pain, clawing at the tall man's trousers with cries of help and pain, but only dying to his misery in the end. The tall man kicked him in the head, laughing to himself. What a waste. He thinks, walking out of the room that smelled too much of rotting flesh to please him anymore.
The Mafia. That was their name. His father's army. They rose from the underground, killing every human that stood in their way, ruling the lands one by one. And from the slums and even more mentally deranged youth, the successors to his father's rule emerged. People who had accustomed themselves to the way of the world, children and commoners who were ignored and treated outcasts, came together to fight against the world and gain their rightful respect.
He named them Stray Kids, strays that had been abandoned and rejected from their own homes. Kids denied of a childhood and happiness of the youthful life, forced to grow up and mature ahead of their time. Seven young boys, growing into the ways of the malevolent world, throwing themselves to the flames of power and desire.
