Evilness of the mind : master of shadows

Here's a revamped, polished, and expanded version of Chapter 1. The goal is to make it immersive, cinematic,

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A World Built on Lies

The rain came down in cold sheets, turning the dirt roads of Okama into rivers of mud. People crowded the narrow alleys, shoulders brushing past each other, faces hidden beneath worn-out hoods. It was a land of 500 million souls, each one clawing for survival. Children chased after scraps of bread, merchants shouted about "limited-time offers," and a man screamed in the distance, his voice hoarse with rage.

Amid the noise, a boy walked quietly, his head low, his eyes sharp. His name was Arin, though one day, the world would call him something far greater. For now, he was just a 14-year-old boy with dirt on his shoes and a dream so big it could swallow the sky.

He walked past the crowds, ignoring the noise, until he reached a small hill that overlooked the slums. From there, he could see the entire city of Okama—the glow of distant neon lights, the sprawling factories belching smoke into the sky, and the crumbling neighborhoods below. People called it home.

He called it weakness.

"Look at them," Arin muttered to himself. "Crawling. Begging. Pretending to be free." His eyes narrowed. "They deserve better. They deserve a god to guide them."

But not just any god.

Him.

On his way home, he spotted them—the miners. A group of about twenty, standing in the alley with their faces twisted in rage. Their vests were stained with soot, their hands rough from years of hard labor. They'd just been told their wages would be cut again. They weren't here to negotiate.

"Down with the liars!" one of them shouted, raising a rusted pickaxe into the air. "They say we're family, but they starve us like dogs!"

"Burn it all!" another yelled. "If they won't feed us, they won't feed anyone!"

Arin paused, curious. He watched them, noting how their voices grew louder, how their anger fed off each other. People had an instinct to follow the loudest voice in the room. Anger was contagious, he realized. All it took was one spark.

As he turned to leave, a hand gripped his arm like a vice.

"Hey, kid," a man growled. His breath smelled of alcohol, his eyes bloodshot. "What're you lookin' at, huh? You think this is a show?"

Arin glanced at the man's calloused hands, noting the scars on his knuckles. A fighter. Impulsive. Dangerous.

"I'm looking at a fool," Arin said calmly.

The man's eyes widened. "What'd you say, brat?"

"You'll burn down a building, and tomorrow, they'll build a new one. You'll get arrested, they'll forget your name, and your family will starve." Arin pulled his arm free, his gaze unwavering. "But if you want to win… you don't start with flames. You start with control."

The man's anger faltered. He blinked, as if something profound had just been whispered to him. Arin didn't wait for a reply. He turned and walked away, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and thrill.

That word lingered in his mind. The world wasn't broken. It was designed to be this way. But he would be the one to redesign it.

That night, as thunder rumbled outside, Arin sat in his cramped bedroom. His parents were asleep, their exhausted snores filling the house. A single, flickering lightbulb buzzed above him as he wrote on a torn notebook.

"Stage 1: Control wealth."

He underlined the words three times.

"Stage 2: Control people."

Two underlines.

"Stage 3: Control fate."

One underline.

He stared at the words, his hands shaking slightly. This wasn't a dream anymore. It was a blueprint. But he knew he couldn't do it alone. No god ever ruled alone. He needed apostles.

It started with ten of them.

The sharpest, meanest, and most cunning students in his school. They met in secret under a rusted bridge. Kids from broken homes, kids who had nothing to lose.

"Why should we follow you?" asked Riko, a tall boy with a scar across his cheek. He was the strongest fighter in their grade. People called him "Riko the Jackal."

"Because I see the future," Arin said, his voice calm but firm. "And in that future, you're not just a jackal. You're a king."

Riko raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Big talk for a rat like you."

Arin smirked. "I know where the principal keeps the copies of the final exam. Want to know where?"

Silence. Everyone stared at him. Control. He already had it.

"Follow me," Arin said, his eyes cold as winter steel. "Or stay a jackal your whole life."

Riko stepped forward. "If you're lying, I'll break your legs."

"Then I better not lie," Arin replied.

That night, The Shadows were born. Ten students who agreed to follow his plan, as long as he kept his promises. And Arin never broke a promise.

It wasn't enough to control his school. He needed money. Real power required resources.

"Drugs," he said one night during a meeting. "We'll start with the slums. They'll pay for anything that lets them forget their pain."

The group hesitated. Even Riko frowned. "That's risky. The police—"

"They take bribes," Arin interrupted. "And if they don't… we'll make them."

It wasn't just words. Within weeks, Arin had his first operation in an abandoned warehouse. They sold low-grade substances to desperate addicts. Their profits skyrocketed.

"Where's all the money going?" one of the members asked.

"Back into the business," Arin said, counting the cash. "We don't chase money. We chase control."

Every coin went toward better equipment, bribes, and expansion. The Shadows weren't just students anymore. They were builders of an empire.

Word spread. A new gang of kids was making money. People noticed. People with knives. People with guns.

One night, as Arin and Riko were walking home, three older men stepped out from an alley.

"Hey, little bosses," one of them sneered. He flipped a knife in his hand. "Heard you've been steppin' on our turf."

Riko stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. "You're talkin' to the wrong kids, old man."

The man laughed, but his eyes stayed on Arin. "Ain't you a quiet one?"

Arin smiled. "That's 'cause I'm thinking about your funeral."

The men charged. Riko fought like a beast, dodging and punching with brutal precision. But Arin didn't move. He didn't have to. He had already paid two of the men to turn on their leader.

As Riko pinned the last man to the ground, Arin knelt next to him, his face expressionless.

"You live or die by one rule," Arin said, his voice soft but firm. "Never think you know more than me."

The man's eyes filled with terror.

"Tell your boss," Arin continued, "that I'm coming for him next."

Arin stood on the rooftop of an abandoned factory, looking down at the city of Okama. Rain dripped from his hood as the glow of neon lights flickered in the distance. His eyes, once filled with doubt, now burned with resolve.

"This world," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the rain, "is mine."

Behind him, Riko approached, wiping blood from his hands.

"Who's next, boss?" Riko asked.

"Everyone," Arin replied.

He glanced up at the sky. No gods watched him. No one would stop him.

With one last look at the city, he whispered:

"Bow before me."

And soon, they would