"Initially, our biggest beasts were rumored to be the world's stragglers, the Savants. Those who clawed themselves out of their struggle to be the sickening survivors preying on humanity. Scrawny, towering creatures embody humanity's talents or struggles in nightmarish parody. Classifying them as human and even more difficult to fight them with any conventional means was difficult. Eventually, one man created the ultimate weapon in response to them—an inventor who didn't play well with others but played them at any point. Parker Lee refused to think of the aftermath of any invention he made. As always, he didn't wear his weapon himself; he armed his foster son. So he equipped him with the weapons in sync with poisoning the boy's mind, esteem, and identity long before. Evidence can excuse things, but the Vassal argument must begin appropriately. He had no one close to him, few fans, but he let facts slip out before he took his throne."

"What shaped our world was this corrupted boy. He resulted from warped intentions, identity crisis, innovation, and verbal abuse. Corruption came as he customized his arsenal, trying to help his rationale. The selfish side protecting himself would come after the charitable, the alternate lying in wait. "

"Trying to be a light others need until they fall into the other shades. The one working in the gray submerged deeper in death, shifting his form as he looked for answers. Hollow and trying to fill a void. He would come to his conclusion and force his answers upon our world. The one who decides in the dark."

His real name was Chandler Lee, an average boy who blended into the background, toiling away

in his foster father's shadow, obeying him and his conditioning without time to socialize, ending a hellish form of homeschooling that left him in shape, intelligent, and uncertain. He barely said a word when he left his house, never genuinely knowing a home. He wondered if he could even be called withdrawn if he was never exposed to the world in the first place. He'd tinker away, startled by everything, including his shadow, assisting with a forced smile. Shaking hands would answer the door and operate the machinery. Unsure if he could ever stand alone, get accolades or acceptance. He witnessed the imminent threat long before the public because of his father's work.

" We don't believe he couldn't have been saved, consoled before he was consumed. A talk with a shrink, a network could have lessened what would grow in his heart. His arsenal would be much less. "

He knew his father didn't want to help people, and he just wanted people to rely on him. Look at him as the supporter and smugly stare at them. Chandler would think he was better than doubt it, wondering what others could have done for him. He wanted to act on more than the Savants plaguing the world; he wanted the suit to make it possible. It was his chance, his platform, but it would resemble a prison in a way he didn't realize. When he grew accustomed to its structure, he couldn't bear to be out of it.

He'd forget what his own features were like in the mirror because of the suit. Letting his skin peel away in certain spots in other areas grew grotesquely pale. He stayed that way in public, refusing to turn back when he had the chance. It wasn't easy to spot the young adult within. It could be assumed he was just cosplaying or trying to play hero at a time when it seemed like the world was insane. It was always a suit that would constantly be compared to death, the reaper being revamped for the modern age. Wherever he sat down, someone would consider the spot damned, and people were willing to burn it once he left. Specific locations could be the site of a Savant attack, but anywhere the Vassal could attack.

His attire was an amalgam of faded white cloth, gray scarred metal, and black leather. Armored gauntlets with needles on his form arms. His fingertips on his left were clawed, and on the right it was scythe-like. Black boots with white metal toes and light blue laces that resembled whips. At his back and chest were separate letter V's connected with all three colors. A thin metallic belt similar to razor wire sank into his waistline, making it look like it was stabbing into his flesh. A cowl exposed a strip of hair on top of his head. A glowing visor that flickers no matter the situation. There was a small silver case on his right leg like a holster with tubes feeding into the rest of the outfit. It was scratched one for every card it contained and every sacrifice or slaughter needed for it. Once it was stainless, then the scratches began. Now, it was like steel wool being dragged upon one metal surface for years.

It was the Inertia Innovation, something that increased human potential in its basic form exponentially. But that was scratching the surface. After absorbing an external force, the user could have any power added to his own at the cost of one life form. It would appear as a card coined as the Culling Cards. Through them, he could access another form for his suit. It was easy enough to achieve it if he nicked someone or stabbed if prompted. It was fatal either way, and he would gain that power eventually. Instantly or slowly, if he wanted the energy and the subject to suffer or rush it. There was no painless option, and he'd get the power regardless.

The first living thing to die at his hands was a rose. He was cutting it off at the stem and staring, still thinking the color would drain away in his hands. His suit turned bright red, with black vines wrapped around his limbs and green thorns. An armored breastplate was similar to a rose petal on his chest. In that form, it becomes intoxicating, tempting, and poisonous. Letting one rose bush after another die in his wake unintentionally. The first card he stared at until his guardian tore it out of his hands. " They love you not.." He named it the Bio-Loo,m using vines to trap, strangle, and invade. Thorns Fired off like muscles, and his aroma gave him near unconditional control of people. He was letting people walk into vines that were thinner and more than barbed wire to trap them. Eventually, using the potential of allergies against people as a threat to be more specific and, oddly enough, more effective.

A few days later, he gained the "Speckled Send-Off." Everything became a bright bronze spotted with white and black stripes tracing one side of his body. Blades made from antlers attached to his forehead and forearms. That one came from a Stag, but everyone thought it came from the life of a little doe. He killed it without a second thought in nearly every interpretation they shared. In reality, a stag was bleeding out on the ground after being caught in the middle of his fight. The Savant had thrown it to the side savagely as it groaned. It was a mercy killing for an animal and a chance to be swift. He had to be fast enough to save a life, to rush at the threat and put it down. Dragging the blades like antlers slowly to give the Savant a slow death afterward didn't do him any favors. He thought it was karma, and others were hypocrites. He stomped repeatedly on Savants for a while, striking other people in a flash. That was one of his favorites, feeling the wind in bronze and white like a jog to clear his head. Making contact when he had to when he wanted to. He did wonder if the animal was in him, enjoying the monsters to feel the same pain it did.

" You dip your hands in the muck for a little gas in the tank. Blood on your hands." His benefactor told him to accept it amidst the disgust and hesitation initially. Parker was always the man who liked to claim he raised him but instead controlled him. A foster father who had a format, an outline for his entire life, and an invention to hand out. A boy feeling invisible, powerless without a say in his own life to make mistakes or anything of himself. The excellent doctor created the last line of defense and gave it to him instead of making multiple ones to arm the country. Giving him a regimen, using tragedy as a learning experience. Knocking him down again and again until he stopped him in his tracks. Chandler called it, cutting off the connection as he pierced Parker's throat. The first human life he took with his hands that Culling card led him to a new ability he could use on humanity. It changed him the most while not offering anything different from the basic form.

" Extinction evident." By just focusing, he could kill members of his own species while using the card. Making a show of it to kill someone instead of following in pursuit. He wouldn't be noble, provide courtesy, and drag things out. He stopped his heart and brain a few moments apart and watched him drop. Pushing the body aside would've been seen as desecration. Seeing people back away he tore a piece of cloth from the victim's sleeve and pinned it to his suit. Crime after crime stopped while he changed locations. Picking them off individually. If he could think back to when the choices were more challenging, when he hesitated, and people died on his watch, he'd still have problems. If he let it drag out, he wasn't doing enough. He was serving them and for not even a compliment in return.

" Like we're all ants, playing god." There was always commentary on his actions, but he never responded until after the slaughter. He'd thought out loud as he looked at the news in the past, but he wanted to be on it on his terms.

Then he barged into a press conference, discussing everything connected to him. The public outrage, Savant activity, and the crime rates. Making the announcement, he called himself Vassal after they gave him other names. Calling him a serial killer, a mass murderer, the " cutthroat collector."

"Screaming faces, familiar speeches." He responded, slamming his fingers into a desk and watching cameras shake as operators jumped back. He shared everything about his powers, actions, and identity. Stating he didn't matter before the suit and knowing there was no one in his life to threaten.

Leaving the event he was tapping his chin, he decided to think higher of the dregs in higher society. Selfish men who barely used their potential past their own success and covered up their failures. In contrast, he owned his own decisions they didn't. He decided to visit them all. Each reminded him of his father's face as he struck. Making wiser decisions and moves each time. He knew of the fallout that would occur and how to take advantage of it. Destabilized areas and power vacuums as certain parts of society crashed as those bodies fell.

He used the threats made by those who begged for their lives to get rid of their friends and know of their existence in the first place. Getting information about their every connection and going after them. He got the weaker among these wicked to his side to cast a more giant net. People choose to follow him out of self-preservation and let him assume power. They were enforcing and assisting instead of fighting back against the Vassal. He called it redemption, while others were called traitors turning to the tyrant. Those rising in rebellion would be betrayed by those seeking to live. For this, they would help him make everyone live in fear.

"When there were fewer people to trust, all the more to fear. Suspicion aided his success, and he forced others down his slippery slope slick with blood."

He wrestled with the idea that he might have a complex or sank into a particular form of insanity. He didn't hunger for more power after the Savants were finally sequestered and couldn't be stopped. He wanted to keep wearing the suit for a purpose that culminated in his plan for humanity. To advance society and force them to discard whatever weighed them down in his eyes, pulling the strings and cutting short specific fates.

" This is the beginning of our age when the Vassal had his victories after many vicious actions. He'll visit every corner of our world, always changing location when he stops. When he comes, he'll meet with us all, do not retreat, my children. He has changed our world and become a shell. Time will tell if it will be the same for our world with all we lost."