Title: beginning of it's start
The story begins with a boy named Konsoon, sitting alone on a grand, weathered throne. Thunder rumbles above as rain pours down, soaking his black robes and dripping from the stone steps beneath him. His eyes are cold, but a faint, wicked smile plays on his lips.
"Finally..." Konsoon whispers to himself, his voice echoing through the empty throne room. "I have done so much. Above all, some things must break before others can be made. This world — I will destroy it, then build it anew, shaped by my desire."
As he closes his eyes, a vision flashes through his mind:
A young boy — himself — falling helplessly from a jagged mountain cliff. Another vision: a shadowy figure slices through his hand, blood spraying across the snow.
Konsoon snaps awake, breathing heavily. By his side, a servant kneels.
"My Lord... are you alright?"
Konsoon wipes rain from his forehead, smirking. "Yeah. Just a memory. Worthless now."
---
Far away, in a hidden temple surrounded by mist, a group of cloaked warriors sit in silence. Their leader whispers under his breath, "Konsoon... we will not let you drown this world in your madness."
Suddenly, a sharp thud — one of them slumps to the ground, blood pooling at his feet. The others recoil in shock.
"What?! Who did this?"
From the shadows steps Hiroshi, a lone swordsman clad in a rain-soaked cloak. His eyes burn with resolve.
"We won't let you bring this nightmare to life," Hiroshi says coldly. He draws his blade, its steel gleaming in the candlelight. With swift, precise slashes, he cuts down two agents of Konsoon's dark army.
"Sword Art: Kills Peace."
From the far end of the hall, a gang leader named Fushio appears, a cruel grin on his face. He claps slowly.
"Is that so, Hiroshi? Let's see your 'peace' stand against my blade. Witness my style — Dark Dabura!"
Hiroshi raises his sword, steady as stone.
"Sword Style — 40th Form: Zaiko Tays!"
Their blades clash in a storm of sparks. Fushio staggers back, shocked.
"How... how can you overpower me?!"
Hiroshi presses the tip of his blade to Fushio's throat.
"Tell me — who sent you?"
Through clenched teeth, Fushio spits, "Konsoon... it's always him. He's the one who will break your world."
Hiroshi's eyes narrow. "I see. Then he's made this personal again." He lowers his sword. "I won't kill you, Fushio. Prison will do. Men like you would slaughter the innocent if let loose. And Konsoon —" he turns, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "— I swear I'll drag you from that throne myself."
Fushio growls, "You'll never touch my Lord! Never!"
Suddenly, a group of frightened villagers — mostly young women — emerge from the shadows, rushing toward Hiroshi.
"Hiroshi-san! Thank you... you saved us. We thought we'd die."
Hiroshi gives them a calm nod, removing his glasses. His fierce eyes soften, his handsome face revealed beneath the rain and grime.
"Don't worry. You're safe now. Stay behind me — and Konsoon... if you're listening —" he stares into the dark sky, as if Konsoon could hear him across the storm, "— your time is running out. I'm coming for you."