Author's note: Honestly, I didn't think about joining the gacha chaos, since I don't know most of the things that the gacha gives and I would be very lost and researching all the things I don't know what comes out would be very complicated. Anyway, in the end, curiosity got the better of me and I started with a world I know very well, although I have to reread some things. And well, let's hope the protagonist isn't too OP, but if he is, then I'll have the gacha send him to another world. Anyway, we'll see where this takes us. By the way, I'm using the PC version of the gacha except for the curse. I want to add things, since many of the things that would be interesting aren't there, so I'll add them myself. Just a warning: if I come across something complicated that I don't know, I may mention it, but I won't use it. After all, I don't have to follow the rules to the letter. And thanks to its creator, Bronzdeck. That's all.
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Pain was the first thing he registered. It wasn't the dull, familiar pain of the blood disease that had devoured his veins for twenty-three agonizing years in his previous life. That pain he knew intimately, had felt it grow like a poisonous vine from his guts to his fingertips, robbing him first of energy, then of hope, and finally, of the dignity of dying in peace. No, this was a completely different pain: a sharp pain, a pulsating burst behind his eyes, as if two completely different puzzles were being forced to fit into the same frame. The pieces didn't want to join. They resisted. And that resistance manifested as a drilling migraine that threatened to split his skull in two.
He opened his eyes abruptly, gasping in a mouthful of stale air that smelled of mustiness, coal, and cheap alcohol. The aroma was nauseating, but his lungs expanded without the familiar burning that had accompanied each of his breaths for years. His blood didn't feel like poisoned lead circulating through fragile veins. He was healthy. Truly, miraculously, completely healthy.
But the relief lasted barely a microsecond before the avalanche of memories crushed him with the force of a collapsing wall.
"My name is Kian. I'm eight years old. I live in the Liberio Internment Zone. I'm an Eldian. A demon. A caged rat waiting to be useful to my Marleyan masters."
The child's memories intertwined with those of the twenty-three-year-old young man who had died in an aseptic hospital bed, dreaming of a healthy body and selfishly wishing for a second chance at any cost. He remembered the smell of disinfectant, the monotonous sound of the heart monitor, the increasingly spaced-out visits from parents who had already begun to grieve him while he was still alive. He remembered the night he closed his eyes for the last time, thinking: "If I could live again, even for one day without pain, I would give anything." Now, those two identities merged into a single entity. The analytical, pragmatic man from Earth fused with the somber, resentful child of Marley. The result was not simply the sum of both parts, but something new, something colder and more dangerous.
Kian slowly got up from the worn-out cot. The mattress was so thin he could feel every spring through the rough fabric. He walked with hesitant steps towards the small, broken mirror hanging on the wall of the precarious room. The frame was rusty, and the glass had a crack that ran through his reflection like a scar. The face that looked back at him was an anomaly on this side of the ocean: black hair like a starless night, straight and dense, framing a face with marked oriental features, an inheritance from a mother who was no longer there. And his eyes... they weren't the tired brown eyes of his past life, nor the common gray eyes among the Eldians of Liberio. They were two orbs of a bright, unsettling, piercing crimson red, like incandescent embers in a child's face. In this world, red eyes weren't a harmless genetic rarity; they were a reminder of Ymir's blood, a mark of their cursed heritage.
The precariousness of the place was evident in every corner. The wooden floor creaked with every step, complaining like a wounded animal. The wind slipped through the cracks in the window boarded up with poorly nailed planks, bringing the biting cold of winter and the smells of the dirty streets of the internment zone. They lived poorly, but Kian's memories told him it hadn't always been like this. There was a time, not long ago, when there was laughter in this house. His father worked hard at the docks, loading boxes until his hands bled, and came home with the pride of one who has earned the bread for his family. His mother, a woman of Hizuru ancestry who ended up on the streets of Liberio after her family was killed in some forgotten purge, would smile while sewing clothes to sell on the black market. In those days, the house smelled of hot food, even if it was just potato soup.
Until she started coughing blood. Until the very fragility of life that he had known in his previous world took her away in this one. The illness was quick and relentless. In three months, she went from being a woman who laughed while mending clothes to a coughing skeleton in a bed, with sunken eyes and a gaze lost on a horizon only she could see. Kian remembered holding her hand as she whispered his name over and over, like a mantra, as if she wanted to take the sound of that word with her to the afterlife.
His father loved her. He loved her with a devotion bordering on madness, with an intensity that consumed everything around him. And when she died, the man couldn't bear it. Grief broke him in a way no broken bone could match, transforming a hardworking father into a pathetic, drunken shadow. The man was neglectful, spending his days drowned in cheap potato liquor and his nights lost in feverish delusions where he screamed his dead wife's name and cursed the gods, Marley, the Eldians, himself. The only thing he did with Kian was subject him to absurd and painful physical "training" sessions in the small backyard. Poorly aimed blows, forced stances, irrational shouts without any real technique or explanation. Kian remembered crying as a little boy, wondering why his dad hit him, why his dad no longer hugged him. Now, with his adult mind merged, he understood: the man wasn't training him, he was taking out his rage against the world on the only defenseless being left to him.
Kian clenched his fists, feeling the strength in his small arms. His father's "training" had been useless torture, an absurd choreography of methodless violence, but it had an unforeseen side effect: it had hardened his eight-year-old body beyond normal. His muscles were hard knots under his pale skin, and his pain tolerance was almost unnatural for a child. But he didn't know how to fight. He didn't know the right way to throw a punch without breaking his knuckles, nor how to distribute his weight for an effective kick. He had the material, but not the tools.
The sound of a bottle breaking in the next room snapped him out of his thoughts.
"Kian!" His father's voice was harsh, slurring the syllables, laden with that false authority that alcohol gives. "Kian, get out here right now! Wash that deadpan face of yours!"
Kian opened the door. His father was leaning against the splintered wooden table, his eyes bloodshot and a crumpled paper in his hand. The room stank of stale alcohol and sweat. There were empty bottles everywhere, piled up like trophies of a war the man was losing. His beard was overgrown and unkempt, his clothes dirty for days, his nails broken and dirty. This was the man who had brought him into the world.
"What do you want?" Kian asked. His voice, childish but laden with an unnatural coldness, made the man blink, confused for a second. It wasn't the submissive, scared voice he was used to.
"Today's the day," the father muttered, approaching with a stumbling gait, his breath of alcohol and desperation hitting Kian's face like a slap. "We can't live like this anymore. The money's gone. You hear me? It's gone! I can't work, everything hurts, and you... you're just another mouth to feed." He spat the words with venom. "I've been preparing you for this with all that training. You're going to enroll in Marley's Warrior candidate program. It's your opportunity. Our opportunity! If you become a candidate, if you inherit a Titan... they'll give us Honorary Marleyan status. Do you understand what that means? We'll eat meat, Kian! Real meat! We'll live in the clean zone, with hot water and beds that don't have bugs! I'll stop drinking, I swear, everything will change."
Kian felt the blood freeze in his veins. The year was 840. He knew it with the same certainty that he knew the sun would rise in the morning. He knew exactly what the Warrior program was. He had watched the anime in his past life, had cried at the deaths, had cursed Marley, had felt compassion for kids like Reiner and Bertholdt, trapped in a machine of propaganda and death that would devour them before they turned twenty-five. He knew what it meant to become a Titan Shifter: the Curse of Ymir. Thirteen years of life from the moment of inheritance. Thirteen years counted like an hourglass no one could stop.
He had begged the universe for a cure, for a chance to live beyond the twenty-three years of his previous life, for an existence where he could wake up without pain, walk without fatigue, simply be without the shadow of death lurking around every corner. And now his pathetic father was sending him to a death sentence that, if he inherited a Titan at nine years old, would kill him at twenty-two?! One year less than in his previous life! The irony was so cruel, so twisted, that for a moment Kian felt like laughing. A hysterical laugh that got stuck in his throat like a bone.
The child clenched his teeth, feeling a volcanic fury burn in his chest. He wanted to refuse. He wanted to scream in that broken man's face that he'd rather starve in the streets, rather be devoured by a Pure Titan, rather anything than be a suicidal pawn for a fascist empire that considered him less than human. But before the words could leave his mouth, before the cry of rebellion could form in his vocal cords, time seemed to stop.
It wasn't a gradual sensation. It was an absolute click, as if someone had flipped a cosmic switch. The sound of the wind ceased. The creak of the wood froze. His father, with his mouth open mid-speech that would never finish, stood motionless like a wax statue. The dust motes floating in the air stopped in their tracks, suspended like tiny frozen stars.
The air around him distorted, shimmering with a bluish static light. A translucent screen materialized in front of his crimson eyes, the characters appearing line by line with a mechanical precision that didn't belong to this world.
[Gacha Chaos System Initializing...]
[Soul Synchronization complete.]
[Integration Type: Takeover.]
[Host Evaluation: Memories retained at 100%. Prior physical conditioning detected. Adaptation coefficient: Above average.]
"What is this?" whispered Kian, his analytical mind trying to process the phenomenon. His voice sounded muffled in the frozen void, as if he were speaking through water.
The screen changed, displaying rapid text, almost mocking in its efficiency:
[As you are a Takeover-type individual, you have awakened in the body of a character with an established backstory and intact memories. Due to possessing prior life experience, retaining your adult intellect, and your body already possessing basic conditioning preparing you for the original plot, you do not qualify for Beginner's Pity Assistance.]
[Current Balance: 0 Gacha Tickets.]
Kian frowned deeply, a vein pulsing in his temple. "No tickets? Are you joking?" His voice was barely a murmur, but every word was laden with an icy frustration. "This body has 'conditioning,' yes, but it was given by a neglectful drunk who hit me when he got bored! I barely have real stamina, and my martial arts techniques are a badly executed joke because he never bothered to explain the correct form for anything! I'm at a disadvantage in a world where people are live food, where I'm going to compete against kids who have been trained by someone far better than my pathetic father!"
[The System acknowledges your complaint. However, the rules remain absolute. To acquire Gacha Tickets, the Host must earn their right through merit or sacrifice. Do you wish for an explanation of the core functions?]
"Speak," Kian demanded, crossing his arms, his red eyes gleaming with pent-up frustration. He couldn't afford to lose his temper. He needed information.
[Feats Summary: A Feat is any objectively impressive action the Host manages to accomplish. The quality of the ticket awarded depends on the impact of the action and the difference between the magnitude of the feat and your current power level. Example: If you kill a Pure Titan while being an untrained human, you will obtain a Legendary Ticket. If you kill the same Titan using the power of a Titan Shifter, the reward will be drastically lower (Bronze or Silver Ticket). Everything is relative to your power. The more you exceed yourself and the more impressive the action is in isolation, the greater the reward.]
Kian processed the information quickly, his mind trained in data analysis (a skill he had developed in his past life, when spending hours on forums and wikis was the only thing he could do from a hospital bed) working at full speed. A reward system based on risk-taking. It was logical, even elegant in its cruelty. But it left him in a vulnerable position right now. He was about to be thrown into the lion's den with kids like Reiner, Annie, and Bertholdt, who had possibly been trained by professionals from the cradle, who had clear goals and minds molded by indoctrination. He had a body hardened by a drunk's beatings and an adult mind full of knowledge of the future. It wasn't nothing, but it wasn't enough either.
He didn't know what classified as a feat in practical terms. Impressing an instructor? Winning a training fight? Surviving something that should kill him? But he couldn't risk waiting for opportunities to come on their own.
"I can't wait to perform a 'feat' if they break my neck in the first training session," Kian reasoned, his mind spinning looking for loopholes, for gaps in the programming of this system that had just appeared in his life. "There must be another way to get an initial ticket. A loan, a tutorial mission, something. If not, your host will die and you'll disappear with me. It's not a beneficial deal for either party."
The screen hummed, changing its hue from blue to a sinister red, like blood illuminated by a flame.
[The System detects a request for an alternative. Processing...]
[If the Host is not satisfied. The System offers an alternative for those dissatisfied with their initial luck or requiring immediate power: The Curse Roulette. Curses can manifest by altering your world, adding negative status conditions, or imposing severe weaknesses. In exchange for accepting a Curse, the Host will receive immediate high-rarity Gacha Tickets. Warning: Curses are permanent unless Resolution Conditions are met. No Curse will cause direct and immediate death. Furthermore, most Curses possess 'Resolution Conditions'; upon fulfilling them, the Curse will be purged from your system forever.]
[Does the Host wish to spin the Curse Roulette? Y/N]
Kian hesitated. Every fiber of his being, the survival instinct that had kept him alive for twenty-three years of illness, screamed at him not to. A curse sounded like a terrible gamble, like trading one problem for another potentially worse. His desire was to live, to have a long, selfish, peaceful life. A curse was the exact opposite of peace.
But what choice did he have? In this world, power was everything. Without power, he'd end up as cannon fodder for Marley in some useless war, or a mindless Pure Titan wandering on Paradis Island, or simply another Eldian dead of starvation in a ditch. Knowledge of the future was valuable, but it couldn't protect him from a well-placed punch or an execution order.
He remembered his previous life. He remembered the countless nights in the hospital, staring at the ceiling and cursing his luck, wishing he even had the chance to fight. Now he had that chance. And to seize it, he needed power.
"Open the Curse Roulette," Kian ordered, his voice reflecting a coldness unbecoming of an eight-year-old child, a coldness that belonged to the man who had learned to accept death and now refused to do so again. "I'll spin."
An immense roulette wheel, covered in black and red runes that seemed to writhe and bleed, materialized in front of him. It was huge, at least two meters in diameter, and floated in the air with a gravity that crushed the space around it. The golden needle at the top seemed threatening, almost mocking, like the tongue of a beast waiting to decide his fate. The slots were different colors: green, blue, purple, gold, and some so deeply black they seemed to absorb light.
Kian didn't have to do anything physical; his intention, his will concentrated on the desire to spin, made the roulette wheel begin to turn at a dizzying speed. Blurred colors flashed before him like a hypnotic whirlwind, green, blue, purple, gold, black. The sound was like a thousand gears grinding in unison.
The roulette began to slow down. Tick... tick... tick. Each click was a beat of Kian's heart, each fraction of a second an eternity.
It passed green. It passed blue. It passed purple. The needle dragged agonizingly over the gold, and for a moment Kian held his breath, imagining what incredible power he might obtain... but the needle kept moving, passing the gold slot with a final effort.
It stopped on a black slot with crimson edges, as red as his own eyes.
An unnatural cold, like the very touch of death, ran down Kian's spine.
[Curse Acquired.]
[Sadism | Severity 11]
[Description: You really like hurting people. You are not a serial killer or anything, but hurting people just triggers that good part of your brain. The pleasure centers of your mind have been rewired to associate inflicting pain with dopamine release. And the more you refrain from abusing people, the more restless and uncomfortable you get. Withdrawal symptoms will intensify over time, including but not limited to: anxiety, muscle tension, migraines, and intrusive thoughts.]
[Resolve: Acquire Adept or above Discipline, or acquire a rare rank above mental/mind strengthening trait.]
The moment Kian read the words, his brain seemed to short-circuit. It wasn't a metaphor. He literally felt as if billions of neural connections were forcibly reconfiguring themselves, as if someone was rewriting the source code of his personality with a hammer and chisel.
An electric jolt of pure dopamine flooded his synapses, a pleasure so intense and overwhelming that for an instant he saw stars. It was like the best orgasm of his life multiplied by a hundred, concentrated in a single spot in his brain. And then, immediately after, an unbearable itch under his skin, a sudden, overwhelming psychological hunger that had nothing to do with food.
Kian brought his hands to his head, grimacing in pure agony. It wasn't physical pain, though his skull threatened to explode. It was a void, an absence, a need so primal and visceral that his hands trembled uncontrollably. Suddenly, the idea of seeing someone suffer didn't seem repulsive. In fact, his mind began to conjure images with terrifying clarity: images of breaking the fingers of the kids who used to mock him in the streets of Liberio, of seeing their faces contort in pain, of hearing their screams. And imagining it, he felt a warm, sick pleasure in his chest, a satisfaction that made the itch diminish for a fraction of a second.
"Damn it..." Kian panted, stepping back and hitting the wall, his eyes wide with horror at his own thoughts. He banged his head against the wood, once, twice, trying to banish the images. "Damn... this is disgusting!" he hissed between his teeth, squeezing his eyelids shut tightly, as if he could close the door to those impulses.
But the images didn't go away. They stayed there, whispering to him, tempting him. He could feel the texture of a bone breaking under his knuckles, he could hear the sound of desperate crying. And a part of him, a new and terrifying part, enjoyed imagining it.
"My luck is the worst trash there is," he murmured bitterly, opening his crimson eyes. Tears of frustration and fear threatened to well up, but he held them back. He couldn't afford to cry. Not now. "If I don't break this curse fast, I'll become a monster worse than the Marleyan officers. Worse than any titan. I'll become the perfect sadist for this broken world, someone who enjoys others' pain like others enjoy a good meal. I have to control it. I have to isolate this feeling and use it only when strictly necessary, like a tool, not like a master."
He wasn't a good person, he knew that. His previous life had taught him to be selfish, to prioritize his own survival over any grand ideal, any noble cause. When you're twenty-three and know you're dying, grand ideas about saving the world fade away. Only living one more day matters. But he was never evil. He never enjoyed others' suffering. He had felt compassion for the characters in this story, he had cried for them. He was just an average guy who wanted to be cured, who wanted a chance to be normal!
Now, the System had rewired the reward center of his brain. If he didn't hurt someone soon, he felt like his muscles would tense until they snapped, that his skin would peel from his bones. It was like an addict's withdrawal, but multiplied. An addiction to others' pain.
I have to resolve this, he thought, his analytical mind desperately fighting against the new dark impulses that threatened to drown him. He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, using the physical pain as an anchor to reality. *Severity 11. On a scale of 1 to 10, this is an 11. That's extremely high. I need a Discipline skill fast, or a high-rank mental skill, or I'll become a monster even before they inject me with titan serum.*
[Due to the high Severity of the Curse (Level 11), exceeding the standard compensation threshold, you are awarded maximum compensation within the standard range.]
[Reward: 1x Random Platinum Gacha Ticket.]
A physical ticket, shimmering and made of what looked like solidified starlight, fell into Kian's hands. It was beautiful, iridescent, with edges of an impossible metal that reflected colors that didn't exist in this world. It weighed what a piece of paper should weigh, but its presence was dense, significant.
Trying to calm the wild beating of his heart, Kian focused his attention on the prize. The sacrifice of his morality, of his very essence as a human being, had to be worth it. It had to be worth it.
Kian looked at the ticket and then glanced sideways at his father, still frozen in time with that pathetic expression of a drunken preacher. The sadism withdrawal whispered in his ear with a sweet, poisonous voice. Hit him. Just one blow to that drunk jaw. It will feel so good. Break that fist against his face, watch his head bounce, how blood gushes from his split lip. He's to blame for this.
"No," Kian hissed, biting the inside of his cheek harder, until the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth and the sharp pain blurred his vision for an instant. He used that pain as a shield, as a distraction. "System. Spin the Platinum Ticket. Now."
The ticket dissolved into a shower of silver and gold sparks, which swirled in a vortex before his eyes before merging into a card with ornate borders, like something out of a otherworldly card game. The card turned over slowly, revealing its content with a blinding flash.
[Geass - Command | Epic Ability]
[Origin: Code Geass]
[Description: Allows you to give an absolute command to anyone you make eye contact with. The target will be forced to obey the command as long as they are physically capable of accomplishing it. The command overrides their will, their morals, their survival instinct. It can only be used once per person, and if a target is comparable to you in power or beyond (in terms of raw strength, willpower, or supernatural ability), they can resist the effects or ignore the effect outright. Does not cost energy to use.]
[Additional Note: The Geass manifests in the bearer's left eye. It can be activated and deactivated at will.]
Kian froze.
His mind, trained in analysis, connected the information instantly. In his past life, bedridden, anime had been one of his greatest escapes. He had seen hundreds of series, devoured thousands of hours of content. And Code Geass had been one of his favorites. He knew the power of the King. He knew Lelouch vi Britannia, knew his intelligence, his manipulation, and he knew the power that allowed him to change the world.
The initial surprise gave way to an absolute euphoria that almost competed with his sadistic impulses. Almost. His lips curled into an involuntary smile, baring his teeth, his red eyes gleaming with a sharp and dangerous intellect. For a moment, the need to cause pain fell silent, drowned out by the magnitude of what he had just received.
"An Absolute Mind Control ability... in the Attack on Titan universe," Kian murmured, his mind racing a thousand kilometers per hour, drawing connections, imagining possibilities, weaving plans within plans.
The possibilities were endless. In a world where military hierarchy and indoctrination were everything, where blind obedience was the supreme virtue, having the power to dictate actions with just eye contact was like having the master key to the empire itself. He didn't need to use it obviously, he didn't need to shout orders for deaths. He could use it intelligently, subtly, planting passive commands in his Marleyan instructors. He could look the recruiting officer in the eye and order: "Make sure I always get the best grades." He could look at the training sergeant and order: "Ignore my absences when I need to rest." Simple orders, that wouldn't raise suspicion, but would tip the scales in his favor.
Or, if necessary, he could use it with lethal secondary intent on the battlefield. In the midst of chaos, with the confusion of an invasion, a simple: "Die." Or more strategic: "Kill your commander." The chaos he could sow in enemy ranks would be incalculable.
And best of all: the restriction of "comparable to you in power" worked in his favor at this moment, at least in terms of raw power. As a normal eight-year-old human, practically anyone was physically stronger than him. But the Geass didn't measure physical strength, it measured power in a broader sense: supernatural power, will, rank. He couldn't use it on a transformed Titan Shifter; the fifteen-meter beast would surely be "incomparable" to a human. Maybe not even on an Ackerman right now, with their titan blood and forged will. But a regular Marleyan general with no special powers, a secret police officer, a bureaucrat sitting in his office... they were perfectly valid targets. Men of worldly power, but with no defenses against the supernatural.
But then, like an ice dagger, terror stained his euphoria.
Kian felt a tic in his right eye. A strange heat, a pulsation. He approached the broken mirror and held his breath. There it was, etched into the pupil of his left eye, burning with a latent heat only he could feel: the bright red bird of the Geass. The mark of absolute power, the sign of the King. It was beautiful and terrifying.
The System had given him the perfect weapon for a manipulator, the ideal tool for a strategist. But it had also given him the Curse of Sadism. And now, the two things coexisted in his mind, an unstable alliance between absolute control and the desire to inflict pain.
What if... Kian asked himself mentally, cold fear gripping his heart like a claw, what if in a moment of pressure, the sadistic withdrawal overwhelms me? What if I'm in the middle of a critical situation, with adrenaline at its peak, and my brain, seeking its dose of pleasure, pushes me to use the Geass in the worst possible way? What if I look at a fellow warrior candidate, an innocent child, and instead of giving them a tactical order to gain an advantage in training, my brain, twisted by the curse, forces me to order them to tear out their own eyes just to feel that rush of pleasure?
The image was so vivid, so horrible, that Kian felt nauseous. But even as he felt the disgust, a small part of him, the new part, whispered: "But it would feel so good..."
He would have to have an iron grip. More than iron, he would have to be a dictator of his own mind. He would have to use his analytical intellect to create a firewall in his own brain, an insurmountable barrier between impulse and action. He would use the Geass with extreme care, like a surgeon handles a scalpel, not like a child plays with a sword. He only hoped his new sadism wouldn't impair his thinking ability when giving orders. A poorly worded command, a wrong word, an order driven by cruelty instead of logic, could ruin his cover, betray his nature, and send him to a certain death at the hands of Marley.
Time resumed with a jolt.
"...so pack your damn things, boy!" His father's shout echoed in the room, as if not a millisecond had passed, as if the world hadn't stopped and reconfigured itself forever. "Enrollments close at noon, and I won't allow your incompetence to ruin our lives! You hear me? Ruin both our lives!"
Kian looked down, the shadows of his black bangs hiding his eyes. The Geass had deactivated, the red bird fading from his pupil, hidden until he decided to summon it again. But the itch under his skin, the need to cause pain, hadn't gone away. In fact, hearing his father's tone, that need roared in his chest with renewed force. The man's words were like fuel thrown on a bonfire.
"Yes, father," Kian replied. His voice was submissive, obedient, the voice of a scared child. But it lacked any emotion. It was flat, empty, as if a doll were speaking.
He turned slowly, walking towards the door with small, seemingly docile steps. But as he passed the man who smelled of vomit and failure, the man who was selling him for a plate of meat and a status he would never deserve, Kian shot him a fleeting glance from the corner of his eye. It was only an instant, a flash. But in that instant, his crimson irises flashed with an unfathomable darkness, with a depth of hatred and contempt that no eight-year-old child should be capable of harboring.
Shout all you want, you useless old man, Kian thought, the gears of his mind turning with dark thoughts, the sadism whispering sweet promises of future revenge, of how it would feel to see this broken man beg. You send me to hell to save your own skin, to buy your freedom with my life. You sell me like cattle. Fine. I'll go to that program. I'll submit to their tests. I'll become one of the best candidates; with this power of obedience, I'll obtain the best power of all the shifting titans. And when I have the power I need, everyone will regret wanting to turn me into another slave of this corrupt system... and you, father, will be the first person I give an order they'll never forget.
Kian pushed the old wooden door, which creaked on its rusty hinges like a lament. He stepped out into the gray, oppressive streets of the Liberio Internment Zone. The sky was the color of lead, the streets were full of mud and refuse, and people walked with their heads down, defeated. The year 840 had just begun, and with it, the story he knew so well.
But Kian was determined. He would not be a sacrifice. He would not be a pawn of Marley. He would not be a child soldier dying for a cause not his own. And he would definitely not die at twenty-two, a victim of the Curse of Ymir. He would outlive them all: Marley, the Titans, the characters of this story, his own father. He would survive no matter how many people he had to destroy in the process, no matter what kind of monster he had to become.
Because in the end, the only thing that really mattered, the only thing that had always mattered, was to live.
And with the Geass burning latent in his left eye and the sadism gnawing at the edges of his consciousness, Kian took his first step toward a future that no other being in this world could have imagined.
.
.
.
ORIGIN/CURSE:
[Take Over]
You have woken up in the body of a canon character with all of their backstory and all of their memories that you need. You likely already have some sort of training and powers already having prepared you for the original plot. Considering you already have powers and training you won't need a starter's pity. Go out and earn your own tickets.knows but you apparently passed some sort of test or they humoured you, regardless, you now have access to the infinite chaos of the cosmos.
Start with: No tickets.
[Sadism] |Severity 11|
You really like hurting people; you are not a serial killer or anything, but hurting people just triggers that good part of your brain. And the more you refrain from abusing people, the more restless and uncomfortable you get.
|Resolve: Acquire Adept or above Discipline, or acquire a rare rank above mental/mind strengthening trait|
+ Golden Gacha Ticket
ROLLS:
[Geass - Command] |Epic Ability| (Golden Ticket)
Code Geass - Allows you to give an absolute command to anyone you make eye contact with. The target will be forced to obey the command as long as they are physically capable of accomplishing the command. It can only be used once per person, and if a target is comparable to you in power or beyond, they can resist the effects or ignore the effect outright. Does not cost energy to use.
PDT: The truth is, I don't know if I had good luck or bad luck.