Two boys stood at the edge of the Dark Abyss, where even light dared not enter.
Boy 1 (with a soft voice):
"Everything started from here… Big brother."
Boy 2 (calmly nodding):
"Yes."
They take a step forward. The wind howls behind them like a mourning spirit.
Boy 1 (voice trembling slightly):
"How did you survive this place, big brother…?"
"How did you not go mad?"
Boy 2 (voice heavy with memory):
"After this story… your vision of the world will never be the same."
Opening Monologue (in Parth's voice, echoing like a memory)
> Some kids are born to be heroes...
Others are born just to suffer.
When the world overflowed with power…
When legends were carved into time…
There was a boy named Parth.
He lived in a world divided into three:
Eternal Paradise – realm of light and gods.
Internal Membrane – illusions, lies, hidden truths.
Dark Abyss – a graveyard of pain where hope goes to die.
Parth wasn't a hero.
He was a mistake.
Not for what he did…
But because he was never supposed to be born.
He died.
And was revived—by a father who shattered the laws of the universe to save his son.
The gods didn't forgive that.
They banished the father beyond the stars…
And punished Parth worse than death.
At age four, strange things began:
Whispering shadows.
Invisible pain.
Cold hands at night.
At five, it all went wrong.
Parth (screaming):
"No! Please—stop!"
"It hurts!!"
> They tore out the special bone that held his ancestral power.
Ripped the eye that saw fate.
Drained the last drop of his father's omnipotent mana.
Pain like lava in his veins.
Bones shattered and healed only to be crushed again.
And through it all…
His stepmother watched in silence.
Stepmother (coldly):
"He's not a person.
He's a glitch in the system."
"Erase him from existence."
No mercy. No goodbye.
She threw his half-dead body into the Dark Abyss.
Scene Shift – The Fall
> He fell.
Through black clouds.
Through dimensions.
Through death itself.
His body broke on impact.
But he didn't die.
He wasn't allowed to.
Far across the Internal Membrane... another soul fought his own silent war.
A boy named Dev trained under different pain.
The son of the War Vanquisher.
The heir of forbidden blood.
Dev didn't know it yet—
But fate was pulling him toward Parth.
And when their paths collide…
The world will burn.
Scene Shift – The Dojo
> Clang!
Swords danced.
Fists flew.
Pain echoed.
A traditional Japanese dojo, filled with fighters.
But one duel stood apart—
Dev vs the Head Martial Instructor.
Dev (grunting):
"Kyaa!"
He pushed forward, sword clashing violently.
Instructor (mocking):
"That's it? You shame your bloodline."
Dev's lifeless eyes locked with his master's.
Tattered clothes. Bruised arms. Hollow soul.
But the fire wasn't gone—only buried.
He jumped high—downward slash incoming.
But—
Instructor (smirking):
"Air attacks are foolish. You can't dodge midair."
He was right.
But Dev parried instead—twisting the blade midair and pinning the instructor to the ground.
Victory? No.
WHAM!
An open-palm strike sent him flying.
The instructor's hand felt like stone.
They clashed again. Sparks flew.
But mid-fight… his blade slowed.
A memory slammed into his chest like a punch.
Dev froze.
Flashback – Dev's Childhood
A younger Dev sat in seiza position.
A strict trainer yelled.
Trainer:
"Rule one: Never enter forbidden grounds!"
"Rule two: Obey, or prove superiority through battle!"
Dev's eyes wandered outside…
His older brother laughed with friends.
Dev (thinking):
"I want to have fun too..."
Trainer (shouting):
"Rule three: Never look away!"
SMACK!
Back to Reality
Instructor (shouting):
"Focus on the fight! Or you'll be Ashura meat!"
Dev dodged barely in time.
The hourglass was almost empty.
He slid low—sweep kick.
Trainer dodged.
Dev pulled back. Faked. Baited.
The trainer lunged.
Palm Strike incoming.
Dev raised his sword.
Blocked.
But—CRACK!
The sword shattered.
Dev didn't hesitate.
He summoned a bow from thin air.
Dev (coldly):
"If it's practical combat you want… fine."
He took aim.
DING!
The training bell rang. Time up.
Silence.
Dev lowered the bow… but his trainer stood frozen.
Sweat. Trembling.
Fear.
The instructor's smirk cracked for a second. He hated that look in Dev's eyes—like he wasn't scared of pain. Like he wasn't scared of anything.
He snapped.
The man attacked Dev in fury, slashing him repeatedly.
Dev didn't move.
He'd felt worse pain.
Side Chatter
Girl 1:
"Why is he always so harsh on Dev?"
Girl 2:
"He was barehanded too…"
Girl 3:
"Jealous, maybe? Dev's an archery prodigy."
They whispered. Gossiped.
But none understood Dev's legacy.
Cut to a Class Memory
Instructor:
"There was once a martial warrior so strong, he was given the title Vanquisher by the Union—one of only five ranks that even Ashuras fear."
"That warrior… was your father."
"What did he wield?"
Dev (answering):
"The Ashura's Sword of Valor… a cursed weapon that drains the weak."
Instructor (grinning):
"97% correct. It wasn't a sword.
It was the hilt.
The sword never let anyone draw it—not even your father."
"And now… it calls to you."
Dev's eyes deaden again.
A heavy silence follows.
Unseen by both of them… the threads of destiny were tightening.
Two broken boys. One path. And a world that wasn't ready for either.