"What is a man, if not a pawn to gods who treat pain as play?"
— Unknown Outcast Record, 2108 A.D.
The sky cracked like old glass.
A golden storm bled over the heavens, streaking lightning across the fractured dome of the world. Armies fell silent. Monsters trembled. Even gods forgot to breathe.
High above the battlefield of shattered realms stood a man — his body broken, chest carved open by divine fire, blood painting the ash beneath him.
Erwin Wail.
A name once lost in census records. A man who never mattered.
A man who should have died.
But in that moment, when the universe looked away — something awakened.
The earth did not remember him. The system never recognized him.
But the Crown did.
Buried beneath centuries of bloodlines, destiny chains, and divine systems… a forbidden throne had waited. Not for a hero. Not for a chosen one.
But for someone so forsaken, so unregistered by fate, that no law would see his rise coming.
Erwin did not ascend with glory.
He crawled out of suffering, forged in hate, trained by the exiled, and sharpened by betrayal.
He was not chosen by the system — he broke it.
And as he stood reborn in thunder, with nothing left of the boy who once dreamed of a normal life, he looked down at the legions of gods, immortals, and elites…
… and smiled.
"You should've killed me when I was still human."
The war began with laughter — his.
And the world would burn with it.