his notebook. His skin was pale, almost ghostly, and his jet-black eyes held a hollowness that

unsettled others. He had no friends, no one to talk to and his name is Adir.

They called him cadaverous, as if he were already half-dead.

But inside, he was anything but.

He was kind, always willing to help, even when no one helped him. He believed that kindness

could make people like him. And so, when the smart kids asked him to do their homework, he

did it—smiling, thinking they were his friends.

Every night, he stayed up late, drowning in equations and essays that weren’t even his. The

exhaustion chipped away at his body, and his health worsened. Eventually, he collapsed in

class, waking up in a hospital bed.

Days passed, yet not a single classmate came to visit him.

Lying there, staring at the sterile ceiling, reality hit him like a storm.

"They don’t care about me. They never did."

When he returned to school, his face was blank, his smile gone. When they came to him with

their fake kindness and their homework, he simply shook his head.

“I won’t do it anymore,” he said.

He thought that would be the end of it.

But the bullies didn’t see it that way.

They started small—knocking over his water bottle onto his books, "accidentally" hitting him

with a ball, dumping trash onto his desk. He endured it, thinking it would stop.

But it didn’t.

At home, he told his parents he didn’t want to go to school anymore. But they just sighed,

telling him to fight for himself—that they couldn’t afford another school.

Desperate, he went to the principal. The bullies were scolded, warned, but instead of stopping,

their hatred grew stronger.

For weeks, they remained quiet, watching him.

Then one day, they smiled at him. Apologized.

“We’re sorry,” they said. “We were wrong.

And because he wanted to believe in people—because he was still kind—he forgave them.

For the first time, he felt included. They laughed with him, walked with him, invited him to

hang out.

Then, one weekend, they asked him to go on a trip with them.

To an island.

He was happy.

He never saw the trap.

They left him there.

The last thing he heard before their boat vanished into the horizon was their laughter.

He ran along the shore, screaming for help. But there was no one.

Then he heard the hissing.

The island wasn’t empty. It was a dumping ground for chemicals—and home to hundreds of

deadly snakes.

Terror surged through him, and in his panic, he ran blindly. His foot slipped.

The world turned black.

When he woke up, his body was surrounded by snakes.

Some had already bitten him, their fangs sinking deep into his skin. The pain was unbearable.

His body convulsed as the venom spread, killing him slowly.

But something else was happening.

The chemical waste seeped into his wounds, mixing with the venom in his blood. His body

refused to die.

Days passed. His skin peeled off, revealing something new beneath. His bones strengthened.

His muscles expanded. His eyes burned like fire.

A week later, the police found a trail of evidence leading to the island.

By then, the boy had awakened.

As he exhaled, a deep, guttural sound escaped his throat. His eyes fluttered open—no longer

black, but sky-blue, glowing. His body had transformed. He was stronger, faster.

And he was angry.

He ran, scaling the rocky cliffs in seconds, his movement unnatural—almost inhuman. But

exhaustion overtook him, and he collapsed just as the police neared.

When he awoke, he was in the hospital. His parents sat beside him, their faces filled with shock.

His body was unrecognizable—strong, perfect. And his eyes… those unnatural blue eyes…

The doctor called it a miracle.

The boy called it revenge.

When the police asked what happened, he lied.

“I don’t remember,” he said.

Because he didn’t want them to find the bullies.

He wanted to deal with them himself.

Weeks passed. He was discharged.

No one from school visited.

Not one.

Something inside him snapped.

He went back to school, stepping through the gates as whispers followed him.

His transformation stunned everyone. The girls who once ignored him now wanted to talk to

him. Even the bullies looked nervous.

But he wasn’t here to be admired.

He was here to make them pay.

Smiling, he pretended to be friends with them again. He gained their trust, just like they once

gained his.

Then he broke them from within.

He whispered lies, twisting their words, making them turn against each other. The bullies who

once stood together now fought like enemies.

But the leader of the group wasn’t fooled.

He cornered the boy one night in a dark alley.

“You think we’re stupid?” he sneered. “You’re messing with the wrong people.”

The others closed in.

The boy smiled.

“No,” he whispered, his voice chilling. “You are.”

Before they could react, he moved. Faster than they could see.

Fists blurred, bones snapped, bodies collapsed. One by one, the bullies fell—moaning in pain,

scrambling away in terror.

And then it was just him and the leader.

The boy stepped closer, his blue eyes glowing in the dark.

The bully shook, his confidence gone.

And then he ran.

The torment was over.

But the boy’s journey had just begun.

He was changing.

His senses sharpened. His reflexes were inhuman. He could smell fear. His skin could heal

itself. And worst of all… his blood was pure venom.

One bite—one touch—and he could kill.

He had become something more than human.

And he wasn’t going to waste it.

He would use this power.

Not for revenge. Not for hate. But for justice.

And so, he designed his costume—a black and red coat, a snake-like mask covering half his

face.

Standing before the mirror, his blue eyes shifted, turning reptilian—yellow, slitted like a

serpent’s.

He smirked. "Now… let’s begin."