The Magus Echoes of the forgotten

Culling

World? Order? Gods? Rules? Owners? Guest?

I couldn't care less...

The only thing I registered was that it was time for the culling!

The Brotherhood had been violated, and the Big Boss had betrayed our sacred code. I had allies, I had a cause.

The roles had reversed.

I had formed connections and created makeshift families within and outside of the gang.

Bowing my head and retreating was out of the question.

I had valuable experience and significant alliances. I had come prepared.

Without hesitation, I demanded custody of my sister from the big boss.

However, he outright refused.

We both knew what was coming and were prepared for it. Before our sides clashed, he warned me.

"Turn back. Do not go any further. No matter the outcome, you are bound to lose... only eternal regret awaits your actions."

Turn back? And then what? Abandon everything I've fought for?

The words only fueled my anger.

Turn back to where? Surrender and live with a metaphorical collar around my neck, abandoning everything I've worked so hard for...

Rage blinded me, and the same was true for my side.

Fights between gangs had a predictable outcome. There were no rules or set appointments, but there were signs.

That day, our factions engaged in a silent yet brutal war. Many associates joined the fray.

It was pure chaos. The air was filled with the scent of blood and the piercing sound of screams. It was a gruesome battlefield, a place of mass execution.

By some twisted stroke of luck, the muscle-bound lackeys on the big boss's side became my primary targets. Those insufferable bastards, coincidentally, were the same ones who had stabbed me when I was just a defenseless child.

I couldn't let it slip. They had to pay. And so, I did just that. I made sure to exact my vengeance, ensuring that my trauma ended with their lives. I sought retribution for all the pain they had caused me.

I relished the process, but as with all things, joy was short-lived.

Tragically, my benefactor and father figure met his demise during the conflict. I was unable to give him a proper burial or be by his side in his final moments, and that was one of my burdens. Regret.

Since then, regret became an ever-present companion, a relentless shadow following my every step.

After the great culling, the war finally reached its conclusion. Our internal conflict came to a halt, and the big boss's head was presented as a solemn tribute, marking the end of an era.

Then began mine.

I was always told I had something special within me, whether it was charisma, strength, or intelligence—I had it all.

Having spent seven years in the gang, I had discovered aspects of myself I never knew existed. With the big boss gone, I smoothly assumed control.

No one dared to protest. None could.

The position came with its fair share of perks, but it also carried a significant burden of responsibility. However, I must confess that my primary motivations for seizing power were indeed driven by personal gain.

I had a clear goal in mind, and for that, I wouldn't relent.

The organization held countless secrets, some better left unknown and some harrowing than the other.

But someone had to and the more I dug the deeper it went.

None of them were remotely acceptable, even by underworld standards. And they descended worse to worst, there was no emding to them.

The high-ranking individuals we were connected to were among the most vile and twisted of them.

Their core values represented the worst aspects of humanity. However, my primary focus remained my sister.

I had sacrificed so much to ensure her safety, and I refused to turn back now.

The others were never my priority, but their existence intensified my concern.

The thought of my sister being caught up in their kind's wickedness was a nightmare.

Despite following every lead available, I couldn't make any significant progress in locating my little sister.

Her whereabouts were even more shrouded than I had initially anticipated.

This shouldn't have been the case at all. With my authority it was supposed to be a walk in the park.

But I was only able to uncover a small, yet devastating, piece of information.

After she was sold by one of our former affiliates, all traces of her simply vanished. It was at that moment when the full weight of the big boss's words hit me like a freight train.

Terror.

I was filled with terror.

Digging any deeper and further meddling would unquestionably place both me and the gang in a dire situation.

Another war brewing was not a far fetched notion. But this time it was with the world, and the stakes were higher than ever.

Armed with the leads I had obtained, I sought out the person, who possessed the most knowledge about my sister.

Delegating the full investigation in the hands of a capable unit, I made the decision to confront Myra, our mother. She seemed to be living a comfortable life, with an apartment in a well-maintained neighborhood.

When we met, she cried profusely, expressing how much she had missed me and how she had been unable to do anything to save me.

She claimed that not a single day had passed without her thoughts and worries consumed by my well-being.

I caught her lie. I was well aware of the life she had led before and after our separation. However, I couldn't hold back my tears. Despite seeing through her deceit... I just couldn't.

Hearing those words from her, I just couldn't stop myself.

We shared a moment of recollection, where I disclosed fragments of my life after our separation, intentionally omitting certain details she didn't need to know. In turn, she recounted the hardships and financial struggles she had endured. She concoted a gloomy story filled with mental and physical anguish.

Any empathy I had initially felt for her quickly dissipated. Her tears were a shield for her lies.

I possessed concrete, untampered evidence of her misuse of the money I had sent for my sister.

However, my purpose for visiting her went far beyond monetary matters. Cutting straight to the point, I confronted her about the events that had transpired.

Sobbing, she pleaded with me, claiming that the subject was too difficult for her to discuss and that it still haunted her.

She immediately retreated to her bedroom, citing the need for her medicine and claiming that she would have a seizure if anyone brought up the topic.

Another lie I was well aware of.

In her life and medical condition, trauma-induced seizures were not a part of her condition. Still, I allowed her to escape to her room. We were on the sixth floor. Where could she possibly run to? There was no place for her to run.

While she was in her room, I received a call from the investigation unit.

My anxiety heightened. I felt a level of nervousness like never before.

It was the first day in a long while that I found myself praying. I pleaded with God for one more chance, promising that I would no longer run away from my problems. I begged,

"Just do this one thing for me, please! Starting tomorrow, I'll be a better person."

After the investigation unit provided their report, I struggled to hear most of what they said. The world around me fell silent.