"Those who can be saved should be saved."

The words echoed in Don's mind like a distant melody, a reminder of the values instilled in him by his grandfather long ago. But as the years had passed, those words seemed to grow fainter against the harsh reality he faced every day. People hurried by him on the crowded streets, their gazes indifferent or disdainful. To them, he was just another faceless figure, a poor homeless teen to be ignored or shunned.

He let out a frustrated sigh, his breath misting in the chilly air. The weight of the world felt heavier with each passing day, and Don found himself trapped in a cycle of survival, where looking after oneself was often the only option.

"Don!"

The sudden sound of his name being called snapped Don out of his thoughts. He blinked, focusing on the source of the voice. It was Lucas, a 12-year-old boy who had become his companion on the unforgiving streets of Tabas, Brazil. Despite their circumstances, they had formed a bond, a connection that transcended their hardships.

Donaldo, or Don as he was known, turned his attention to Lucas, his blue eyes meeting the younger boy's gaze. Despite the tough exterior Don had developed over the years, his eyes held a warmth that spoke of a deeper connection. His long, curly black hair fell untamed around his face, but his expression softened as he looked down at Lucas.

"Was-up Lucas?"

Lucas, a resilient spirit despite his age, beamed up at Don. He was like a little brother to him, a reminder of the innocence that still lingered amidst the chaos of their lives. "Don, it's time. Old man Rolo is distracted. Let's go."

Their eyes locked, and without words, they understood each other. It was time to seize an opportunity, to take what they needed to survive another day. Together, they moved with practiced precision, weaving through the bustling street toward an extravagant cart adorned with gold watches and necklaces. The promise of riches was both alluring and dangerous.

As they approached, their pace quickened, their hearts racing with a mix of excitement and trepidation. Their fingers deftly snatched at the shimmering merchandise, seizing handfuls of gold treasures. But their brief moment of triumph was interrupted by a booming voice that sent shivers down their spines.

"You little rat, trying to steal from me?"

Startled, Don felt a jolt of panic as Rolo's grip closed around his arm. The shock of the man's touch surged through him, and instinctively, he wrenched himself free, clutching the pilfered gold goods tightly in his hand. "Run, Lucas!"

The two boys sprang into action, their feet pounding against the ground as they fled from the clutches of the burly man named Rolo. Adrenaline coursed through their veins, propelling them forward with a desperate energy. The cold wind bit at their skin, but the thrill of escape was all-consuming.

Meanwhile, across the street, two men observed the scene with keen interest. Clad in distinct black attire adorned with a gold cross on their right shoulders, they seemed to blend into the shadows, their presence both mysterious and enigmatic. The first man, his long blond hair pulled into a ponytail, bore a scar beneath his left eye that hinted at a history of battles.

"Hmm, did you see that, Sable?" he remarked, his voice low and contemplative.

The second man, Sable, possessed short black hair and a light brown complexion that caught the light in an almost ethereal manner. His dangling earrings, each adorned with a small cross, swung with his movement as he regarded his colleague. "Yep, John. That kid with the curly hair, he's..."

John's gaze held a fierce determination as he locked onto Don and Lucas. "Yep, he's been marked."

Later in a small room with two narrow beds and an almost majestic view of the sprawling Tabas slum, the two boys stood side by side, their eyes fixed on the assortment of stolen treasures scattered before them. The moonlight streamed through the room's lone window, casting a silvery glow that danced upon the uneven surfaces of the loot.

Lucas, his youthful features illuminated by the faint light, examined the watches in his hands with a mixture of anticipation and excitement. But as he examined each piece more closely, his excitement waned, replaced by a growing disappointment. His brows furrowed, and he let out a sigh of exasperation.

"Ahh, these are all cheap fakes!" Lucas's voice carried a tinge of frustration, his disappointment evident in his tone.

Donaldo, his rugged form casting a shadow against the wall, turned toward Lucas in surprise. His shiny blue eyes widened as he processed Lucas's words, his own anticipation crushed by the revelation. "What?! You're joking, right?"

In an outburst of frustration, Lucas flung one of the watches against the wall, the dull thud resonating through the small room. The watch bounced off the uneven surface before clattering to the floor. His frustration echoed in the room, a reflection of their lives filled with disappointments and dashed hopes.

Don rose from his seat on the edge of one of the beds, his movements slow and deliberate. He walked toward the room's only window, its frame weathered by time and neglect. It was more a hole in the concrete wall than a true window, but even in its dilapidated state, it framed a view of the Tabas slum that could only be described as both tragic and strangely mesmerizing.

His gaze fixed on the moon, a celestial beacon hanging low in the night sky, as if it were poised to embrace the town below. "Ugh, I can't keep living like this, Luca."

Lucas regarded Don with a mixture of confusion and weariness. "How else are we supposed to live?"

Don's voice was tinged with a sense of resignation as he continued to stare at the moon's gentle glow. "I don't want to live just to survive. Every day, it's the same routine—scrounging for food, avoiding danger, hoping for a warm meal. We're barely existing, Luca. Right now, we're no better than rats."

The room fell into a heavy silence, the only audible sound the faint scuffling of rats on the roof above. The weight of their circumstances seemed to press upon them, suffocating and unrelenting. And then, as if to shatter the silence, two loud knocks reverberated through the room, jolting both boys from their thoughts.

Lucas's gaze snapped to the door, concern etched on his features. Don's sharp eyes met Lucas's, and with a silent nod, he retrieved a knife from his pocket. His fingers wrapped around the hilt with practiced ease as he signaled for Lucas to approach the door.

Seated on the bed, Lucas moved with cautious precision, each step measured and calculated. His heartbeat quickened, and sweat formed on his brows as he edged closer to the door, the anticipation and tension growing with each passing moment. His fingers reached for the doorknob, and in that moment, a flood of memories surged within him.

Images of his parents, long absent but never forgotten, resurfaced in his mind. Their faces, the warmth of their smiles, the scent of his mother's perfume—all these sensations washed over him, rendering a fleeting sense of peace amid the chaos.

And then, abruptly, the tranquility shattered as a hand burst through the door, gripping Lucas's head with a force that sent shockwaves through his body. The door splintered and creaked under the pressure, yielding to the unknown intruder's will. A sense of foreboding settled over the room, and Don's eyes widened as he recognized the unwelcome presence.

"Rolo!" Don's voice carried a mixture of disbelief and dread, his blue eyes fixed on the ominous figure before them.

The room seemed to constrict, the air growing thick with tension as Rolo's hand clamped around Lucas's head, raising the young boy off the ground with ease. Don's heart raced, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes fixated on the horrifying transformation taking place before him. Rolo, once a mere man, now bore the marks of otherworldly corruption.

In the pale moonlight that spilled through the shattered door, Don saw Rolo's once-normal skin now tainted with a sickly gray hue. His eyes, once ordinary, glowed with an eerie green light that seemed to pierce through the darkness. The most unsettling transformation was Rolo's smile—an inhuman, grotesque grin that stretched unnaturally from ear to ear, revealing sharp teeth that gleamed in the moonlight.

A voice, a vile and unnatural resonance, resonated through the room, sending shivers down Don's spine. "You rats thought you could steal from me?" The words dripped with malice, each syllable a chilling reminder of the danger they were facing.

The weight of the malevolence emanating from Rolo was so potent that Don's knees buckled beneath him, and he fell to the floor, overcome by a paralyzing fear. He could feel the suffocating presence of evil pressing against him, a force that seemed to mock his very existence.

Rolo's grip tightened on Lucas's head, his fingers digging into the young boy's flesh. The threat in his words was palpable, a promise of torment and annihilation. "I'll kill you both slowly and eat your souls."

Don's heart raced, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he struggled against the fear that threatened to consume him entirely. He gathered his strength, his voice trembling but determined as he dared to speak up, desperate for answers. "Rolo, what are you?"

The laughter that escaped Rolo's lips was nothing short of horrific. It echoed through the room, a symphony of darkness that reverberated in Don's ears. The sound was twisted, vile, and more repugnant than anything he had ever heard before. "I am a child of greed," Rolo's words dripped with maleficent satisfaction, "An eater of souls. I'm evil incarnate."

Don's mind raced, memories of his grandfather's devout teachings mingling with the horrifying reality before him. His grandfather had spoken of the battle between good and evil, of angels and demons, of the consequences of choosing one path over another. Don had cast aside those beliefs after his grandfather's passing, but in this moment, facing the embodiment of malevolence, he couldn't ignore the truth that stared him in the face.

Fear gripped Don's heart, but a spark of defiance ignited within him. He knew he couldn't succumb to this darkness, not when his friend's life hung in the balance. His thoughts raced, his mind scrambling for a solution amidst the chaos. 'I need a plan, I need to do something. Rolo walked through that door as if it were paper. His strength is beyond human. I can't let him harm Lucas, but what can I do?'

Don's grip on his knife tightened, but then, an idea sparked within him. His mind raced back to Rolo's proclamation of being a child of greed, and a daring plan took shape. He released the knife and took a deep, shuddering breath, his gaze locked onto Rolo's grotesque form. "Hey Rolo, if you're a child of greed, then you should be tempted by this."

Rolo's movements faltered, his eyes widening in morbid curiosity. The green glow intensified as he regarded Don with an air of bewilderment. "Don, are you trying to make a deal with the Devil?"

Don's heart raced as he fought to maintain his composure. 'This is it, a gamble, a desperate move.' The moonlight illuminated Rolo's demonic features, casting eerie shadows across the room. Don's heart raced, and his voice wavered only slightly. "So it wasn't a metaphor. This is a gamble, but it could work."

A mix of emotions swirled within him, from the fear of the impending danger to the exhilaration of confronting this supernatural evil head-on. As he stood facing Rolo, he felt an overwhelming surge of excitement—an emotion he couldn't quite place in the midst of the harrowing situation.

In a room haunted by malevolence and bathed in the eerie glow of the moon, a dangerous game of words and wits began—a game that would determine the fate of both Don and Lucas.

Don's heart pounded in his chest as he stared out of the window into the moonlit night. The glow from the celestial body bathed the room in an otherworldly radiance, revealing every crease and contour of Rolo's transformed visage. The once familiar features were now twisted into an abomination of malevolence, his gray skin and glowing green eyes a testament to the sinister power he wielded. The sight sent a shockwave through Don's being, his heart skipping a beat in horrified recognition. 'He really is a daemon,' Don realized, his thoughts racing as he grappled with the enormity of the situation. 'This is a gamble and if I lose, Luca and I will both die.'

Taking a steadying breath, Don fought to regain his composure, his heart racing as if it sought to escape his chest. An unfamiliar sensation gripped him—a blend of determination and an inexplicable excitement that seemed to surge through his veins. "Luca and I have been stealing for a while," Don began, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. He met Rolo's twisted gaze, his eyes burning with an intensity he'd never known before. "We always had this dream that we would buy our way into the Tampas Gang. So we saved up for years just for that purpose."

Rolo's head cocked, his eyes narrowing with confusion, a reaction that only fueled Don's newfound resolve. The warmth in his veins seemed to intensify, and he realized with a start that the sensation was excitement—an emotion that defied reason in the face of the supernatural evil before him. 'What's wrong with me? This situation where most would stop and pray for redemption in the face of evil is...'

Summoning every ounce of courage, Don continued, his voice tinged with an audacity he'd never experienced. "So, Rolo, let's play a game of tag." The words hung in the air, a daring challenge to the very embodiment of malevolence.

Rolo's twisted smile contorted further, his amusement morphing into an unsettling blend of curiosity and wicked delight. "Tag?" he echoed, his voice dripping with dark amusement.

Don's heart raced as he pressed forward, his plan forming in real-time, born of desperation but fueled by the electric excitement coursing through his veins. "Put down Luca and chase me," he proposed, his voice unwavering. "If you can catch me, I'll tell you where we have our stash." It was a lie, a desperate fiction crafted to buy them time and a chance at escape. But he knew that this was their only hope, their only shot at survival.

Rolo's smile twisted further, the malevolent delight in his eyes intensifying. Don's heart raced even faster, his own exhilaration mirrored in the eerie glow of Rolo's gaze. 'This is insane, dangerous, and almost hopeless,' Don thought, but he couldn't deny the surge of something new and powerful coursing through him. 'Above all else, this is... fun?'

In the moonlit room, the air heavy with tension and the scent of imminent danger, Don's once desolate expression transformed. The seams holding back an unfamiliar sensation on his face finally gave way, and an unbidden smile burst forth, one born of defiance and an unexpected exhilaration.

Rolo's eyes seemed to brighten, his curiosity piqued as he observed Don's reaction. "Don, that smile you have is more twisted than some daemons I know," Rolo mused, his laughter echoing in the room. "Alright, kid, I accept your challenge."

With a suddenness that seemed to defy the laws of physics, Rolo released his grip on the unconscious Lucas, allowing the young boy's body to fall limply to the floor. In that same heartbeat, Don seized the opportunity, turning on his heel and launching himself out of the window. The world outside rushed up to meet him, the moonlit street below suddenly a maw of shadows and uncertainty.

Don fell, his heart in his throat, his mind a whirlwind of calculations and instinct. 'Today is Wednesday. No one has taken their trash to the landfill yet. So this will break my fall.' The thought flashed through his mind, a spark of genius amidst the chaos. As the ground drew nearer, Don braced himself, his body colliding with the refuse below. Glass shattered, and a sharp pain lanced across his cheek, blood welling in its wake.

Ignoring the sting, Don scrambled to his feet, his heart racing and his adrenaline-fueled mind working at a fever pitch. 'I could outrun Rolo earlier,' he thought, 'and I know these streets like the back of my hand. There's no way he could catch me in this town.'

Yet, behind him, a thunderous crash shattered the night, and Don was sent sprawling forward by the shockwave of the impact. He dared a glance over his shoulder to witness Rolo's monstrous form emerging from the dust cloud, the daemon's speed defying any notion of human limitations.

Don's heart raced even faster, his mind a tumult of fear and determination. 'Of course, he's this fast. He's a daemon. That was so dumb of me to think he was as slow as earlier today.' But in the face of danger, an unbidden emotion swelled within him, overcoming the fear that should have paralyzed him. It was a feeling he'd never felt before—a mixture of exhilaration and determination, a strange thrill born of the imminent danger.

With every sinew of his body, Don pushed forward, his legs propelling him with a newfound speed. He could feel the wind rush past his face, his heart pounding in rhythm with his pounding footfalls. 'This is amazing. It feels like I could run forever,' Don thought, his exhilaration reaching a crescendo. 'I wish I could run like this all the time.'

The moonlit streets flew past him in a blur, his surroundings a mix of shadows and familiar landmarks. He could hear his own breath, a rhythm in time with the pounding of his feet. 'His heart raced faster, his breath coming in ragged gasps. 'This is... fun?'

As if guided by an unseen hand, Don's feet carried him onward, his steps sure and steady even as Rolo's enraged screams echoed behind him. The demon's voice seemed to fuel Don's determination, the threat of death and agony serving as a backdrop to his newfound sense of purpose. 'Damned rat? Yep, that's me. For as long as I can remember, I have been a rat to survive without my gramps. Living every day just to live. But what's wrong with that?'

Don's gaze hardened, his resolve taking root as he neared the limits of his strength. Suddenly, a voice rang out in his mind—a voice that seemed both foreign and familiar. "I like that answer, kid. Never change who you are. I'll watch over you from now, Donaldo, so let's get this show started!"

The voice stirred something deep within him, igniting a fire that burned hotter than any fear he'd felt before. His heart raced, and the sensation within him reached a boiling point. He couldn't contain it any longer. With all his might, he released a primal scream that echoed through the night. "Give rise to speed and cunning. RAT KING!!!"

As if in response to his declaration, a blinding explosion of light erupted from Don's form. A shockwave of energy pulsed through the air, and Rolo was blown back, slamming into a nearby wall with a resounding crash. Don shielded his eyes from the intense radiance, feeling the warmth of the light sear his skin.

As the light began to fade, Don's body seemed to be enveloped in a swirling vortex, his surroundings warping and shifting. The searing pain from the cut on his cheek dissipated in tendrils of smoke, leaving only a trace of blood as evidence. Slowly, the light receded, revealing Don in a transformed state.

Before him stood a figure draped in a raggedy black trench coat, its fabric billowing in the aftermath of the explosion. Don's blue eyes blazed with an intensity that matched the moonlit night, his gaze unwavering and determined. In that moment, he knew that everything had changed. He had tapped into a power he never knew he possessed, a power that would shape his destiny and pave the way for the battle ahead.

A sense of certainty settled within Don's chest. 'I get it. This is my speed,' he thought, his voice ringing with newfound confidence as he stared down the daemonic force that had threatened his existence. The moonlight illuminated his transformed form, casting a shadow that seemed to echo his inner strength.

Rolo's rage intensified as Don's transformed form evaded his grasp. The ground shattered beneath his fury, a tantrum of monstrous proportions. "No, no, no, NO, NO, NOOOOO!" His voice reverberated through the night, a cacophony of chaos that seemed to echo his internal turmoil. The street beneath him splintered and cracked, his anger manifesting in his surroundings.

Don's instincts kicked in, and he lunged to the side just in time to dodge Rolo's outstretched arm. The daemon's expression shifted from surprise to desperation, frozen in a moment of time as Don's quick reflexes saved him from the deadly attack. The world around them seemed to slow, each passing second stretched into an eternity.

In that suspended moment, Don met Rolo's desperate gaze. The daemon's eyes were wide with confusion and disbelief, his body frozen in a state of shock. A simple thought crossed Don's mind, unfiltered and almost involuntary. "Wow, you're slow."

Rolo's features contorted into a grotesque mask of rage. His monstrous form trembled with an intensity that seemed to mirror the storm of emotions raging within him. For a fleeting moment, his victim—Don—was right before him, an easy target. The desire to eliminate the threat was overwhelming. 'I just need to kill him,' Rolo's thoughts echoed with a singular focus, his vision shifting as his perception seemed to warp.

Suddenly, Don's form transformed, becoming the moon itself, and Rolo's sense of reality twisted further. Confusion washed over him as his surroundings shifted, and he found himself struggling to grasp the situation. 'Huh? Why am I looking at the moon? That rat was just in front of me. Where is he? Why are my eyes hard to move?'

It was in that moment of disorientation that Rolo's gaze settled on his target once more. He looked up, and what he saw defied his understanding. Don was above him, an enigmatic grin on his face. Rolo's confusion deepened, his thoughts a chaotic whirl. "Did... I... lose?"

Don's voice was calm, almost nonchalant. "Yep, this is checkmate."

A faint smile crept onto Rolo's monstrous features, a strange blend of defeat and acceptance. "Congrats... the treasure stays... yours."

Don's grin mirrored Rolo's, a fleeting camaraderie forming between them. "Sorry, Rolo, that stash was a lie to get you to play this game."

Rolo managed a weak laugh, his strength waning. "Well played... you... damned... rat."

And then, in an instant, the malevolent daemon crumbled to ash, his very essence disintegrating into nothingness. As Rolo's last words left his lips, his form dissolved, carried away by the wind.

With the departure of their formidable foe, the transformative power that had enveloped Don began to fade. The radiant light of Rat King ebbed away, and Don fell backward, landing on the ground with a thud. Weakness gripped his body, his breaths ragged as he struggled to process the events that had just unfolded.

In the aftermath, two figures materialized before him—John and Sable, the enigmatic men who had observed the battle. Don's exhaustion didn't diminish his wariness, and he quickly pushed himself into a sitting position. "Who are you?" his voice quavered, his gaze moving between the two strangers.

John scratched his head, his features marked by curiosity. "Why did you sacrifice yourself to fight that daemon, kid?"

Don's thoughts churned as he contemplated the question. His grandfather's teachings echoed in his mind, a whisper of guidance from the past. "That thing was evil and scary, but there was a chance to save someone, so I did," he replied, his voice steady despite his fatigue.

John let out a soft sigh, a mixture of understanding and disbelief. "That's a good reason, but you could have increased your chances of surviving if you would've left the kid to die. Why didn't you?"

Don's eyes blazed with determination, his expression unyielding. "Because those who choose to do nothing are worse than evil."

Sable, the second man, broke into a smile, his intensity radiating. "I like you, kid. I want to make you an Inquisitor!"

John attempted to interject, but Sable silenced him with a gesture. Don hesitated, his exhaustion warring with a newfound sense of purpose. "An Inquisitor?"

Sable's smile only grew brighter, a beacon of conviction. "We hunt daemons like the one you just faced, wherever they may hide. We are the vanguard between humanity and evil. The sword, the shield, and the light are what we are. We are the Inquisitors, and I want you to join us."

Don's doubts wavered, his heart torn between his fatigue and the weight of Sable's words. Then Sable leaned down, his voice a compelling whisper. "People die every day to daemons. You joining may only save a few more of said people. However, like you said, those who choose to do nothing…"

Don's annoyance was evident, but he couldn't deny the truth of those words. "Fine, I'll join you. I'll be an Inquisitor."

In the midst of their conversation, the sky began to brighten with the first rays of dawn. As the sun rose, its golden light casting an ethereal glow on the abandoned street, the trio stood together. Little did they know that this event, this seemingly small and isolated act would eventually coalesce into a cataclysmic force that would unravel the fabric of reality.