Birth of the Cursed God

I was never a good person.I was the kind of human being who smiled while others collapsed in front of him.The son of a powerful official…That title alone was enough to make everyone fear me, obey me, and hide their hatred behind fake smiles.And every time I hurt someone…Nothing ever happened.No punishment.No consequences.Only more arrogance.I remember that boy clearly.The one I forced to kneel beneath the rain for hours simply because he accidentally brushed against my shoulder.He was trembling from the cold while my friends laughed behind me.As for me…I stared into his hatred-filled eyes as though I were watching an entertaining show.That was when I realized something terrifying:Power does not create monsters…It merely reveals them.But even monsters eventually fall.That night, I was lying in a pool of my own blood, struggling to breathe while the voices around me slowly faded away.I laughed.A weak, broken laugh.Because I finally understood it…Every person I had destroyed in my life had become a small curse piling itself onto my soul.And so, when death finally approached me…I remembered that mysterious old man.The man who grabbed my shoulder years ago and whispered with an icy voice:“When the devil dies…it does not mean his suffering has ended.”