The air in Sector Four weighed on his chest. Heavy. Greasy. Suffocating. Burnt rubber smoke mixed with the stench of coagulated blood and rotting industrial waste—a combination that clung to the throat and never left, even when the sanitation workers preferred to stay in their homes. No one got used to the smell here. They just learned to ignore it.
Kael ran through the narrow alley. His boots struck rusted metal, the sound echoing off crumbling building facades. Behind him, the thunder of more boots joined the rhythm—louder, closer, hungry.
"Damn it! Get back here, you bastard!"
He didn't slow. Couldn't. And honestly? He had no reason to.
"Shit! Why is he so fast?!"
"Shut your mouth and move your feet faster!"
A second voice rose, sharp and breathless.
"Borias is going to hang us if we don't catch him! Shit! Shit!"
'Borias?'
"I know that, you idiot! Didn't I tell you to move your feet instead of your mouth?!"
He veered hard left. The alley was so narrow the concrete walls scraped his shoulders. His tattered shirt tore at the shoulder. Sharp pain—skin peeled, flesh exposed. He ignored it. This wasn't the time to think about pain. Wasn't the time to think about anything.
He vaulted over a pile of garbage. His foot slipped on a broken bottle, nearly sending him down. He corrected his balance at the last moment, his palm leaving a smear on the wall. Blood from his cut hand. He didn't remember when he'd cut it.
"You're gonna regret messing with the Iron Teeth!"
He couldn't stop the corner of his mouth from twitching upward despite his exhaustion. Bold name for people who couldn't afford a dentist. He glanced back for a moment—saw one of them stumbling, losing his balance for an instant, dropping to his knees in the trash.
A short laugh escaped his throat. He kept running.
The pouch in his pocket bumped against his thigh. Heavy. It bumped with every step, reminding him—real bread. Clean water. A whole month. He'd never gotten anything like this before. He'd never even dreamed of it. He pressed his hand against it, like he was afraid it might disappear.
'This is the jackpot.'
He ducked into a gap between two buildings, pressing his back against the concrete. It was damp, slick with moss, reeking of piss and death. He crouched there, catching his breath. His chest rose and fell violently. Rose and fell.
The voices faded. A moment.
Then ahead of him, a crowded market sprawled out. Bodies moving. Vendors shouting over crackling speakers, pushing whatever they could sell—dried protein paste blocks, stolen copper wire, bottles of distilled water from random filters. No one looked at anyone else. Here, meeting someone's eyes was the start of a problem. Or the end of one.
He slipped out of the gap, slowed to a calm walk, and merged into the flow. Not slow enough to draw attention, not fast enough to look like he was running. The gait of someone who knew the way.
Fragments of conversation drifted past.
"...found bodies near Monster Mouth yesterday."
"Horrible. The leader was half-eaten..."
"That's not what I heard. I heard his own team killed him. Stole the Final Strike."
"Another betrayal?"
"Why would they betray each other?"
The others stared at him in confusion. Then one of them burst out laughing.
"Hahahahaha! This idiot doesn't know anything!"
"Damn! I can't help myself... sorry..."
"Huh? What's so funny about what I said?"
"Oh, my little friend, let me enlighten that little head of yours."
The man glared at him.
"Alright, alright, no need to get angry. So, you know about expeditions, right?"
The man tilted his head. "Of course. Who doesn't? Dozens of guys go out there every day."
"Good, good. So, do you know exactly how someone Awakens?"
The man raised an eyebrow. "How would I know that?"
The other shook his head mockingly. "Tsk tsk. You don't even know something this simple?"
He paused for a moment, then gestured with his hand.
"Alright, listen. It's not about hunting the monster itself. It's about who finishes the monster."
Then the man seemed to realize something. His eyes widened slightly. "Wait... you mean—"
"Yes." The other nodded. "Not the one who wounds it, not the one who weakens it. Only the one who lands the final blow. Only the one who finishes it. The rest? Just fuel."
The group fell silent for a moment. Then someone muttered:
"Well... that makes the elite clan kids more impressive."
"Huh? What do elite clans have to do with this?"
The others looked at the man with pity. Then one of them spoke:
"You really don't know anything, do you?"
"I heard they have a strange culture. They make the candidate face the monster alone. Something about pride... or something they possess."
"Can you imagine that? A kid younger than you and me, facing a monster alone?"
Another scoffed: "Even joking has its limits, man. Stop messing around."
The other laughed again. "Hahahaha! It'd be great if I was joking. But it's the truth."
He tilted his head with a smile. "Want to hear something even more interesting? Recently, a few stories spread about some of them beating monsters from the damn Rank Two... and succeeding."
"Well, at least three of them."
The man's eyes widened in disbelief. "Can we even call them human?"
The other gave him a strange look, then continued: "Of course not. A normal person couldn't even scratch a Rank One monster."
Suddenly, another voice from the group cut in:
"You fool, everyone knows they start training the moment they start walking."
"And most of them were born already walking a set Path."
"Path?"
The two looked at him in confusion. Then they looked at each other.
One of them scoffed: "And you were criticizing me? Tsk tsk. Looks like you don't know everything like you claim."
The man sighed. "You idiots. This is why you should have visited the temple at least once."
"I'm not very religious." One of them scratched his head.
The man slapped his palm against his face. "It's not a place of worship, you idiot. Alright, just listen. Damn it, and I'm not repeating myself. Understood?"
The two nodded in unison.
The man looked at them seriously.
"A Path is simply... a path one follows."
"..."
"..."
The two stared at him with expressions of shock. And immediately, they rained blows down on him.
"What the hell, you bastard?! Are you mocking us?!"
"Damn you! You looked so serious!"
"Ah! Stop! Shit! Aghh... how am I supposed to know something even ordinary Awakened are ignorant about?"
He fell to the ground under a barrage of kicks.
"You shouldn't have spoken then, you bastard! You wasted precious minutes while I listened to you!"
Kick. Kick. Kick.
"Alright! Damn it! All I heard... is that it gives humans several skills before Awakening!"
The two stopped kicking him. They looked at each other. After a few silent seconds, they turned toward the man lying on the ground.
"Like we're going to believe that, you bastard."
"Skills before Awakening? What do you take us for? A bunch of idiots?"
Kick. Kick. Kick.
Kael passed by them, not slowing.
'The great awakening delusion.'
He raised his gaze. Above the crumbling buildings. Above the layers of black smog. The walls loomed, so tall they blotted out the stars. Behind them was the Inner Circle. Clean air. Real food. Technology no one outside ever saw except in old propaganda pamphlets. A paradise for those with power. A prison for everyone else. Every night, the searchlights from atop those walls swept the horizon, a reminder that something else existed. Something unreachable.
Beyond the other walls—beyond the city—stretched forests and ruins. Monster Mouth was close. A jagged scar of collapsed buildings and twisted rock, just a few hours' walk away. Few ever approached it. Rumors spoke of a Rank Three beast roaming its ruins. Every few weeks, they'd find bodies. Some half-eaten. Some mutated. Some unrecognizable.
He shook his head. 'People have lost their minds. Facing a monster with a rusty pipe and a prayer? I'll take the filth here. At least I know the rules.'
He pushed off the wall. His knees ached. His back ached. Every muscle in his body ached, as if reminding him how much he'd neglected them over the past hours. His stomach suddenly growled—a deep, familiar hunger, impossible to ignore. He grimaced and pressed his hand against his belly for a moment, as if that would silence the sound.
'Damn. I forgot I have dinner to buy.'
He looked around. He didn't see any familiar faces in the crowd. But the voices were still out there, somewhere, searching. People who didn't know the meaning of giving up. Or didn't know the meaning of anything else.
'And those bastards are still looking for me. Persistent.'
The market hummed around him. Bodies shifting. Threats shouted. Then the humming—that familiar, hated sound. He looked up.
Surveillance drones. Three of them. Circling overhead, their red cameras blinking slowly. Blink. Blink. Blink.
He gritted his teeth. 'Where the hell did they get drones?'
He tucked the pouch under his arm tightly and turned his face away from the sky. He walked. Didn't run. Running drew eyes. And eyes here didn't forget.
In a world ruled by monsters and elites, dying in peace was the one luxury he couldn't afford.