The rain never ceased in the Valley of Death. The rhythm of water striking the rotting wooden roof sounded like a mournful litany, a dirge for the living. Inside the cramped hut, a teenage boy sat with his knees pulled to his chest. His name was Adam, after the Father of Mankind, yet his life held none of the glory of a prophet.
Drip.
A single drop of cold rainwater landed squarely on his forehead, trickling into his eye. He didn't blink. Outside, the floodwaters began to lap against the floorboards of his dilapidated home. The villagers called him "Scrap Child"—a boy born without whole limbs, a soul whose only possession was the breath still trapped within his lungs.
"Why must we suffer like this?" his younger sister's voice drifted, fragile and hollow, from a dark corner of the hut.
Adam closed his eyes. He could feel the blood coursing through his veins. It was the same blood that flowed through a hundred thousand descendants. He could hear their moans, feel their agony, and sense the weight of the sins destined to drag them into the fiery abyss.
I will not allow it, his heart whispered.
Suddenly, a void of black light manifested amidst the rising flood. A voice, more ferocious and deeper than thunder, echoed within his skull.
"You wish to save them? You, the weakest of men, desire to be the shield for a hundred thousand souls?"
Adam looked up. Though his body was frail, his eyes burned with a fire hotter than the sun. "I want no Heaven if they are in Hell. Cast me into the deepest pit. Let me endure the torment until the Creator Himself deems it enough."
The voice laughed, a sound that shook the very foundation of the earth. "To be a protector, you must become more ruthless than a djinn and more steadfast than an angel of stone. Are you prepared to cease being human?"
Adam smiled. It was the most terrifying smile the world had ever seen. "I died in this poverty a long time ago. Today, let me be reborn as the New Djinn who shall make Hell tremble."
That night, the wooden hut collapsed under the force of the flood. But in another dimension, a black throne began to take shape in the lowest circle of the abyss—a throne for a king who would stand firm, even if billions of years of agony awaited him.
Power stone for me The spirit of writing hehe