KHYAAL

Pablo Castillo was the worst, the evilest, the biggest criminal in the whole world. He was the ominous figure known as Criminal X.It’s a name that sends shivers down the spines of those who utter it. His past, a mysterious enigma, shrouded in darkness, only adds to the legend of the world’s most notorious criminal.However, Pablo’s reign of heinous crimes comes to an abrupt end when a specially trained military force, an elite group made especially to capture Pablo, finally apprehended him.The capture of Criminal X sent shockwaves around nations, for this man had defied all laws and moral boundaries. The world watched as he was brought to the highest court to face the consequences of a lifetime of malevolence.The International Court of Justice, in a bid to administer justice that matches the magnitude of his crimes, bestowed upon him the most excruciating execution ever conceived.The world erupted in celebration as news of his demise spread like wildfire. An international holiday was declared, a day of liberation from the tyranny of Pablo Castillo. The day was named with triumphant fervor. They all called it—World Independence Day.Pablo Castillo was a man so evil that even the kindest of Gods couldn’t find pity for him.But… Some Gods needed that man. That too, Desperately.

I am Racist.…I mean, my name is Racis T.I was a stand-up comedian. The flop kind. The type who only got laughs when someone else was roasting him.One night, I was doing a gig at a shady, run-down bar—the kind where tattooed bikers drink motor oil for breakfast. I went in with my usual dark humor, but my jokes were getting the same reaction as my dating profile: complete silence.That didn’t sit right with my inner artist, who was already starving to death. So I did what any committed comedian would—I went darker.Turns out, one of my jokes (or all of them?) triggered a guy so hard that he pulled a trigger. Headshot. Instant death.But hey, look at this: A guy got triggered, so he pulled the trigger. That’s wordplay. But who cares? I’m dead anyway.All I wanted was a successful show, people laughing, and maybe a few girls swooning over my wit. I never cared about money. The millions I’d have made would have gone to charity—specifically, 0.001% of it. See? I’m generous like that.Anyway, death is death. My story should’ve ended there.But… if there is an afterlife, I had a simple wish: become a successful comedian, find a loving wife, and have just enough money to afford three meals a day… and maybe a humble little private yacht. Or a jet. But that’s it. Because, like I said, I don’t care about money.Unfortunately, wishes don’t work that way.Because, well—there was an afterlife.And it was absolutely not what I wished for.

In Dwarkam, people are not born equal.Some are born Halocrats, wrapped in power and worship.Some are born Gutterborn, taught to keep their heads down and their mouths shut.Zane Atlas was a Gutterborn.Eighteen years old.Hungry.Beaten.Invisible.The world taught him one rule early:Filth shouldn’t look up.When the Golden Slab descended from the sky, it gave power to those who caressed it.Most gained skills.Some gained status.Many gained hope.Zane gained something else.Something that was never meant to awaken.Something that watches before it judges.Something that acts only when survival is at stake.[ Conflux System ]It does not reward obedience.It grows through choices.And it can merge anything Zane owns…including his body, his instincts, and his will to survive.Now Zane walks a thin line between staying alive and being discovered.Between obeying a world that hates himand becoming something it must erase.The churches are watching.The crowns are stirring.The monsters are waking.And Zane is learning one terrifying truth:Sometimes, being chosen is worse than being powerless.——— ——— ———Support Me - ko-fi.com/khyaalJoin My Discord For Reference Arts and much more - https://discord.gg/zmUcswM2N5