002 ※ Of Kings, Killers, and Immortality: A Wretched Symphony of Blood and Wrath

The bastard who reigns over the Albtraum Kingdom is none other than Kakoi Albatroz, a tyrant from the most despicable royal family to ever hold power: the Albatrozes. Their name is a curse upon the lips of every person who has ever suffered under their rule—a family synonymous with cruelty, corruption, and a blood-soaked history that stretches back generations.

But Kakoi? He takes their infamous legacy to an entirely new depth of depravity. He is not merely a tyrant; he is a psychopath in every sense of the word. This is a man who derives genuine pleasure from the suffering of others, someone who finds twisted joy in slaughtering those who dare to stand against him. In his kingdom, even the mildest disagreement is a death sentence.

Opposition is treated not with rebuttal or mercy but with swift, merciless executions. And what truly makes Kakoi monstrous, what sets him apart from the many tyrants who have come before him, is his love—his twisted, sickening love—for killing the innocent. In his eyes, innocence is not a shield but a bright, shining target. Mercy has no place in Kakoi's world, and those who lack power or the means to defend themselves are the first to meet his blade.

Kakoi isn't just another tyrant, though. He's something far worse. He belongs to the exceedingly rare lineage of wizards—a breed of individuals feared and revered in equal measure. His powers come from his mother, a witch whose bloodline cursed him with magical abilities so unparalleled that even the boldest warriors and sorcerers alike shrink before him. It's this lineage that makes him not only dangerous but virtually untouchable. And as if his power wasn't enough, Kakoi Albatroz possesses something even rarer: immortality.

Yes, he is immortal, a man who walks the earth free from the shackles of time. He is nearly four human years older than me, but it hardly matters. Thanks to the shared traits of witches and fae, his body has ceased to age, forever frozen in its prime. It's a chilling thought—a man who thrives on chaos, who feeds on destruction, gifted with an eternity to spread his darkness across the land.

But even beings like Kakoi have their weaknesses. There is a way to kill him, though it is no simple task. Witches, like Kakoi, share a vulnerability that sets them apart from other immortals. They can only be slain by weapons forged from pure gold and ash. Nothing else can harm them—not iron, not steel, not wood. A dagger made from the hardest iron will shatter like glass against their skin; a blade tempered in dragon fire will do no more than scratch them. Only weapons crafted entirely from gold and ash have the power to end their lives.

The forging of such a weapon is an art in itself, a process requiring rare materials and even rarer skill. Daggers, swords, katanas, knives—they must be meticulously made, every fragment, every atom gold and ash. Without such a weapon, witches, fae, and others of their kind are untouchable, their immortality preserved for centuries, even millennia. Unless someone is both brave and lucky enough to wield such a weapon, Kakoi will live forever.

Am I a witch? Yeah, I am. There's no denying it. It's in my blood. But I'm not like the others of my kind. My existence itself is an anomaly, something so rare it borders on myth. You see, it's already rare for a boy to be born among witches; our kind is overwhelmingly female. But for someone like me—a child born from the union of a witch mother and a witch father—it's unheard of. My birth was an event that defied the natural order, a combination of bloodlines that was never meant to exist. Witches almost never conceive with their own kind. It's an unspoken rule, a taboo that my parents chose to break. And their defiance didn't come without consequences.

I'm not just rare; I'm something entirely different. Among witches, fae, and all the other races, people are born with what we call wraths—elemental or magical abilities tied to their very essence. Most ordinary people are born with one wrath, a singular ability that defines their power. Nobles, thanks to centuries of wealth and selective breeding, often possess two wraths. Royals, along with other powerful races like witches, fae, and werewolves, are born with three. But me? I was born with four. Four wraths. It's a phenomenon so rare it's almost impossible. People like me aren't supposed to exist.

And let me tell you, having four wraths isn't the blessing it might seem. It's less of a gift and more of a curse. It makes me a target. People like me are seen as threats, as weapons to be controlled or destroyed. The royals, the powerful races—they all see anyone stronger than themselves as a challenge, a danger to their authority. Not that it bothers me. I couldn't care less about their fear, their politics, or their petty rivalries. It's precisely why I've chosen to live far away from civilization, deep in the wilderness where no one can find me. Out here, I answer to no one. I live on my own terms, far removed from their wars and their games of power.

I was sixteen when my world was shattered. Sixteen when the royal knights of Albtraum took my mother from me. Sixteen years old when I lost the last family I had, the only person who ever truly understood me. That was the day I made my decision—the day I left everything behind and retreated to this secluded place. That was over thirty years ago. Thanks to my immortality, I've stopped aging. Physically, I'm frozen in time. I'm forty-eight years old, but I still look like I'm nineteen. Decades have passed, but my face, my body, they remain unchanged—a constant reminder of the life I left behind, the life I can never return to.

It's been years since I've stepped foot in the Witches' Forest, the official territory of my race. And I have no intention of ever going back. I despise their way of life, their principles, their arrogance. To me, the witches are no different from the Albatroz family—two sides of the same corrupt coin. They're just as responsible for the chaos in the Albtraum Kingdom as the Albatroz royal family. It all began because of them—because of Kakoi's mother, a witch who fell in love with the previous king of Albtraum. That single act of forbidden love set off a chain reaction, a war that destroyed countless lives on both sides.

The witches, enraged by their queen's betrayal, declared war on the Albatroz family, and the Albatrozes responded in kind. The result? A senseless, bloody conflict that left fifteen thousand witches dead, obliterated seventy percent of the Witches' Forest, and reduced forty percent of Albtraum's territory to ruins. Five thousand innocent civilians lost their lives, caught in the crossfire of a war they had no part in.

It's a tragedy that defies logic. A war born from pride, jealousy, and vengeance—a war that accomplished nothing but death and destruction. The witches like to play the victims, but I know the truth. They're as guilty as the Albatroz family, if not more so. They started this war, and they paid the price for their arrogance. But that price wasn't theirs alone to bear. Innocent people suffered. Entire families were wiped out. Lives were destroyed for a conflict that should never have happened.

So no, I don't align myself with the witches. I don't stand with them, and I sure as hell don't bow to the Albatroz throne. I stand alone, as I always have. And that's how it will remain.