Ghost Compendium - Chapter 5 - 4: The Inescapable Building

I lived a mediocre life. Trapped in the simulation of everyday mundanity, the 'Matrix' you might call it. The world killed my dreams, hurt my innocence, but I moved on just fine, struggling everyday to keep living.Until it came out of nowhere, without warning: The Apocalypse.I fought to survive. I lived alone in a world where all dead humans turned to undead. But, there was only so little the average human could do against creatures with superhuman strength. So I died. It was the end.Or was it?“From one cage to another.”I opened my eyes to a world where normal reasoning was as good as garbage. A world ruled by men with superhuman strength. A medieval world with swords and... No magic. Just swords and weapons. But still, that medieval world was not so medieval. It was a crazy place, a world that I couldn't fully understand.So I decided. I'll live because I lack the resolve to end myself. I'll live because i'm a coward. I'll live because in the end, I'll die of old age anyway. But before I die, I'll figure out the truth and secrets of this world. Just for the sake of it.And what's the best way to see the world in its entirety? Of course, it's to stand at the highest summit. And that's exactly what I'm going to do. So watch me rise.

war, blood, and betrayal carved him into something else. A legend. A killer. A mercenary whose name struck fear into both criminals and so-called heroes alike.But now, the world had changed. Lines blurred between right and wrong, between justice and vengeance. Should he step into the light, wear the mask of a hero, and fight for a cause greater than himself? Or should he embrace the darkness that had always been his home, a place where morality was just another illusion?“Don’t box me in with your shallow ideas of good and evil,” he muttered, his voice calm but edged with danger. “I do what I want, when I want.”The air was thick with tension as he moved like a shadow through the dimly lit room. The writer had no time to react—one moment, he was scribbling nonsense about legends and myths; the next, a cold barrel pressed against the back of his head.The figure smirked beneath his mask, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and menace.“You wanna write fiction?” he whispered. “Then let me show you how real legends are made.”A single gunshot shattered the silence.As the writer’s body slumped over the desk, the man holstered his weapon, stepping into the faint glow of a flickering neon light.“It’s that simple,” he said, his voice unwavering. “I’m Deathstroke.”

He was supposed to die in the academy dungeon.Instead, Earth’s greatest war hero opens his eyes as Velorum’s most hated student—the “villain” everyone expects to be executed by midterms.Swordsmen duel, mages burn, saints bless, tamers command beasts. He, unfortunately, practices the one art people fear most: necromancy. He doesn’t want a throne or revenge; after a lifetime of medals and funerals, he wants something scandalous for a villain—to live well. To laugh after curfew, to taste street food, to keep the friends who chose him alive.But the church wants a heretic, the crown wants a scapegoat, and the academy’s golden hero can’t explain why the “villain” keeps winning.Call him monster, call him traitor—he’ll carve out a life worth living, and smile while he does it.

To the one who has never owned, obtained, or enjoyed anything throughout their entire life.“You have been chosen.”Thus, I shall bestow this power on you, for you are ’empty.’The power of the Void.Be my apostle and carry out my will.