I Was Born With A Bloodline That Ended The World-Chapter 108: A Hero

Rhian felt a tightness in his chest as he walked out of the arena. He was done with it, the hate, the looks, the constant whispers that always followed him.

It never really bothered him before. He had learned to keep his head down, to let it wash over him like it was nothing. But today, it felt different.

Today, it felt like something had shifted. The hate wasn’t hidden anymore. It was there in the open, on every face he saw.

They didn’t even try to hide it, because they thought they didn’t have to. They thought they couldn’t be touched. That the cursed, no, the evolved, were helpless.

He walked through the hallways of the academy, the quietness around him feeling heavier than usual.

There were only two of them left in this year, him and Iris, and it was like the walls themselves were pressing in, reminding him of just how alone they really were.

The older students didn’t bother to glance away anymore. They let their sneers and scorn show, certain they could get away with it.

Rhian felt it burn in the pit of his stomach, but he kept moving. There was no point in letting it show.

He clenched his fists, feeling the rough edge of his nails dig into his palms. This place was supposed to be about growth and power.

But it was clear that power didn’t always mean strength of body. It meant control, of the whispers, of the stares, of the fear.

He pushed open the door to his dorm room, feeling the tension ease just a little when the door clicked shut behind him.

But even here, in the small space that was supposed to be his own, the weight of the academy pressed on his mind.

He knew this was just the beginning. The real fight wasn’t just in the arena. It was in the halls, in the quiet conversations that cut deeper than any blade. It was in every look that told him he didn’t belong.

He sat on the edge of his bed, his breath slow and controlled. He wouldn’t let it break him.

He wouldn’t let them have that. He’d find a way to stand taller, to push back against every smug smile and every whispered word.

Because he wasn’t done yet. And they weren’t going to decide how this story ended.

Rhian didn’t realize he had made his way back to the dorms until he was already there, his feet moving on their own.

He sighed and turned back, heading back to the room Nia had been in before the fight. He needed to see her, needed to know she was okay.

As he walked through the hallway, he was ambushed by Ash, an arm slinging around his shoulders.

Iris stood to the side, watching him with a worried frown, while Aras leaned back against the wall, a small smile on his face.

Ash’s grin was easy, but his eyes were sharp. "That was hectic, man. But if you want me and Aras to rough him up real good... he won’t even see it coming."

Rhian gave a small shake of his head. "No... I’m fine. I’ll do that myself."

"That’s the spirit," Ash said, his smile widening.

"Anyway," he added, his tone turning casual, "what was he saying to you in that fight? Couldn’t hear shit from the stands."

Rhian just smiled, brushing it off. "Nothing important," he said lightly, playing it off like it was a joke.

But he knew it wasn’t a joke. And they knew it too, even if they didn’t say it.

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In a large office, a man with white hair sat behind an ornate wooden desk. He didn’t look old. His face was calm, his posture relaxed, but there was a weight in his eyes as he watched the broadcast.

On the television screen, the news played a story about the rising deaths of Evolved carriers.

The anchor spoke with urgency, while images flashed across the screen, streets in chaos, the aftermath of attacks, and officials giving half-hearted statements.

On the desk, a polished nameplate caught the light. It read, "President Harman."

He watched in silence as more news outlets took up the story, each one weaving their narrative, each one stoking the same message. His fingers drummed lightly on the wood, a quiet, steady rhythm.

The propaganda was spreading, he thought. The blame, the fear, the anger, it was all taking root.

He didn’t look away from the screen. His eyes were steady, but the weight of the moment seemed to settle over the room like a storm.

It was for the betterment of the city, he told himself. If his people didn’t live in fear of those freaks, if they didn’t have to worry about turning into monsters themselves, then all of this would be worth it.

He watched the screen, watched the footage of Evolved being dragged away or left broken in the streets.

The images didn’t bother him. They were necessary, a reminder of what needed to be done.

He leaned back in his chair, his hands folding together as he let the news drone on. He hoped that when he was done here, this city would remember him as a hero.

The one who saw the dream and was willing to do what others wouldn’t. The one who kept them safe.

This place needed a strong leader. He would be that leader. He would be the one to cleanse the city of its filth and get rid of the cancer that the so-called Evolved humans were.

"Parasites," he muttered, his voice low and filled with contempt. The word seemed to taste bitter on his tongue, but it felt right. They were parasites, feeding off the city’s fear and playing at being something more.

He straightened his posture, his expression set. He was ready to see this through, no matter the cost.

Even if it meant a massacre. His jaw tightened as he watched the images flicker on the screen, each report another reason to do what he knew was right.

The city needed to be safe. If that safety demanded blood, then so be it. He would cleanse this place, and history would remember him for it.