Part - 0 " The Introduction"
Silence is not always an option… is it?
Silence allows the weak to be oppressed and lets the oppressor flourish through his vile deeds.
This is a story set in an era where promises were made, yet never fulfilled. A tale of a boy who once feared his own shadow, yet vowed something to his mother—a promise that would echo through the ages.
The world lay under the merciless rule of The Balsiths Group, a cunning dictatorship that crushed the innocent without mercy. But change came when the silence broke. Faded smiles were rekindled as The Eight Strongest rose to defend the people, igniting "The Great War of Justice" against the Balsiths Group. Chains shattered, oppression ended, and the Balsiths fell. These eight heroes became known as The Guardians of the New World, and for twenty-four years, the people lived with laughter and peace.
Yet fate is never static. What was once thought to be a liberated world descended into darkness again. The Balsiths, thought defeated, had transformed into a cult—disciples of Leviathan, a colossal sea monster embodying envy. In human form, Leviathan led the cult, bringing forth a war far more terrifying than the last. This time, the Guardians were not victorious—they were lost, possessed by demons, and enslaved by the Balsiths. Those who had once been protectors now became henchmen, enforcing suffering that transcended even death.
Smiles faded. Freedom vanished. Slavery and tyranny became the law of the land. Only the privileged—those with golden blood—prospered, offering ten drops of blood every month to feed Leviathan's strength. These elites were known as the Golden V.I.Ps, the only ones untouched by the horrors that consumed the rest.
No one dared raise their voice. Any protest was met with unspeakable torture, leaving the victims begging for death—a death that came unpredictably, often sparing the torturer while snatching the innocent. The world was divided into ninety units, each controlled by a single henchman. The first ten units answered directly to the Balsiths leader.
Two decades of absolute dictatorship seemed unbreakable… until one man refused to remain silent. Provoked, enraged, and relentless, he began dismantling the Balsith's tyranny piece by piece.
This is the story of the Rage—a force that sought only to annihilate the cult but ended up becoming a legend whispered across time. The Rage was unstoppable. Unforgiving. Unforgettable.
No more introductions.
The RAGE is about to be unleashed.
Part - 1 " The Spark"
Ravag… a jagged wasteland of factories, belching smoke and molten fumes, where steel and chemicals fused into the air of despair. Monsoon season was at its peak. Factory No. 5, in a terrible condition, where workers labored all day and got only a few hours of rest at night. Drops of rainwater fell from the cracked ceiling. One drop landed on the face of a man named RYK, who had been sleeping after work, and he suddenly opened his eyes from the cold sting. He rose and sat on his bed. It looked like he had witnessed a terrible dream. Ryk, a twenty-year-old who lost his mother at age seven, sat on the bed, the scene of his nightmare still lingering in his eyes — guards dragging his mother away while he remained chained to the wall. "What a horrid dream," he said. He shook his head to dismiss it.
After stepping down from the bed, he noticed two workers talking. "It's been a decade since these soldiers trapped us here, forbidding any contact with friends," said one. "This regime has turned us into slaves, suffering malnutrition," his companion added. A guard saw them talking and struck one on the head with the pointy end of his gun. The worker grunted, blood running down his face. All workers witnessed this and started whispering. "Get to work, you piece of crap," a soldier spat, directing his abuse at the worker and the others.
Ryk's eyes absorbed everything. He decided it was the right moment — he had been planning chaos since he was seven. Now he was ready. Ryk put on his clothes and approached the guard. "At least they were working; there was no need to hit him," he said. "Now you'll teach me how to make someone work? Huh? You worthless trash!" exclaimed the guard. All workers and guards watched. The guard shoved Ryk. Then he paused and said, "Oh… you are Ryk. I know you are that little boy who made an impossible promise to your mother under the rule of the Balsiths," and he laughed. "There's no need to drag mymother into this," Ryk said. "What will you do? Beat me?" The guard and others laughed. "I know your mother — what a stupid bitch…" Before he could continue insulting Ryk's mother, Ryk grabbed the side of the guard's neck with iron grip. The guard grunted in pain. The other guards raised their weapons. "I said… NO NEED TO BRING MY MOTHER INTO THIS CONVERSATION!" Ryk shouted. Before a guard could pull the trigger, Ryk hurled the first guard into another; both crashed onto hot metal rods, screaming.
Other guards opened fire aggressively, but Ryk dodged and seized a fallen gun. The workers' faces shifted from fear to awe. Ryk grabbed the rifle and began shooting at the remaining guards. One called reinforcements on his walkie-talkie. In an instant, Ryk rammed the bayonet into his mouth. The other guards' eyes widened. But Ryk's eyes… they burned like fire, veins throbbing in his head and hands. He saw a guard with a spiked baton, grabbed it, and charged with relentless force. For a minute, all guards froze in shock. Before they could react, Ryk smashed each of their heads with the baton; his face became streaked with blood. He spat out some blood. A soldier, terrified, tried to flee and call for backup. Ryk grabbed a hot metal chain; pain no longer registered, rage consumed him. He threw the chain around the fleeing soldier's neck. The soldier gasped, clawing at the workers watching the unimaginable scene. Ryk pulled the chain from both sides; the force shattered the soldier's spine. Blood gushed from his mouth. The workers, witnessing the carnage, erupted into cheers for the first time in their lives. Ryk momentarily relaxed. "Shh…" he murmured. But the workers' excitement didn't subside. News of the chaos reached the outskirts of Ravag. Boys who escaped the factory spread the tale quickly. Meanwhile, Ryk ran to the roof as 100+ soldiers arrived.
On the roof, he hesitated — no escape in sight. Soldiers surrounded him. A bullet struck his shoulder. Though weakened, he charged the shooter and pushed him off the terrace. More soldiers gathered, guns pointed. They didn't fire; rules for handling such chaos were horrifying, not instantly fatal. Ryk held his hands behind him. A soldier approached; Ryk refused to submit. The soldier kicked him harshly; Ryk fell. He lay chest-down, a shard of sharp steel in his pocket ready. Before the soldier could tie him or tase him, Ryk kicked his leg. The soldier fell; his head struck the steel, slicing it. Ryk immediately used the corpse as a shield as other soldiers fired. In the chaos, they didn't notice the cliff-edge nearby. Ryk hurled the body at the group; they tumbled into rusted scrap below. He stood again, undeterred. One soldier remained and fired two bullets into Ryk's back. He sank to his knees, veins throbbing, blood in his mouth.
The soldier slowly approached, gun barrel brushing Ryk's ear. Sweat drenched him as he tried to fire. Ryk turned, a furious glare and faint smile on his lips. "Too late, boy…" The red glow in Ryk's eyes made the soldier tremble. The weapon slipped; he backed away, eyes fading, collapsing unconscious. Ryk knew reinforcements were coming, but first, he hanged the dead soldiers. Minutes later, a helicopter approached. Its pilot and armed soldiers witnessed the horrendous scene. Ryk, calm and slightly bleeding, didn't notice more soldiers behind him, aiming. The helicopter hovered six feet above. A soldier swung a rifle at Ryk's head.
Ryk closed his eyes; a fire-like circle ignited in his mind. Time slowed. Before the gun struck, he surged forward, leapt, and grabbed the helicopter's leg. Balance faltered. Everything returned to normal for Ryk as he clambered inside, smashing the pilot's head against the windshield. He kicked two soldiers out, then jumped onto the factory terrace. The helicopter crashed onto soldiers behind him, flames engulfing them. The workers cheered, witnessing Ryk standing, slightly bleeding, on the cliff of the terrace. Flames roared behind him, creating a heroic spectacle. "The spark is lit," they shouted.
Unit 89 headquarters received news: Factory No. 5 of Ravag destroyed by one man. General Domo slammed his fists, shouting at lieutenants, "No one dares revolt against the Balsiths! An ordinary man? Crushed long ago! But a factory… burnt? Look at you all, idle because no citizen crime was reported!"
"But General…" a lieutenant started.
"Stop the crap! Get him now!" Domo yelled. Lieutenants left. Domo, tense, sat, hand on his head, glass of wine in the other. Sweat on his brow, he eyed a strange telephone. If I make this call, destruction is absolute, he thought. The matter isn't too big; I'll handle it. He set down the wine.
Second chapter soon....