"Who's at the door?" he called out, his voice tinged with fatigue.
A feminine voice responded, "Open up, Ma said to give you food."
Elliot's brow furrowed as he recognized the voice. "Go away, Clara," he grumbled, his tone laced with irritation. "Tell your ma to mind her own business."
He made no move to open the door, a tangible sense of isolation settling over him once more.
Clara's voice held a hint of defiance. "Elliot, if you don't open this door, I swear I'll start banging it. You hate that."
Elliot's frustration grew. "Damn it, fine," he mumbled as he trudged back to the door, his interest piqued despite himself. He turned the creaking doorknob and pulled the door open.
On the other side stood a fifteen-year-old girl, Clara, with her warm brown hair cascading down to her shoulders. Her hazel eyes sparkled with a friendly and next-door neighborly vibe, while a sprinkle of freckles danced across her cheeks. Clara's height came up to Elliot's shoulders, making her seem like the embodiment of approachability. She stood there, holding a plate of food in one hand, her determined yet caring expression unwavering. A small cut on her right index finger was visible, and she held a plate of food in her other hand.
"Here you go, Ellie," she said with a determined look. "Food for you. Ma says you need to eat to get stronger."
Elliot, annoyed, corrected her. "My name is Elliot, and I don't want your ma's food."
Clara paid no heed to his protest and thrust the plate of food into his hands. Elliot reluctantly took it, but as he did, the bandage on Clara's injured finger slipped, and their eyes locked onto the sight of the blood.
Suddenly, an intense craving washed over Elliot, unlike anything he had ever experienced before. His mouth tingled, and he felt his canines elongating. Panic set in as he fought to control whatever was happening to him, terrified of hurting Clara.
"Ellie...your eyes..." Clara's voice trembled as she noticed the change in his eyes. They had turned red.
"Leave," Elliot grunted, his voice strained. "Leave now, Clara. Tell your ma thanks for the...food."
He slammed the door shut and leaned against it, slowly sliding to the floor. His body was drenched in sweat, and he panted heavily. His heart should have been racing, but it seemed to be slowing down, beating slower than a human's heart should.
He glanced at the plate of spilled food on the floor, but it did nothing to quell his newfound hunger. Instead, it was the sight of Clara's wounded finger that haunted him. "What is wrong with me?" he muttered as he crawled back into bed, his transformation receding. The moment his body reached the bed, he passed out.
Outside, Clara stood with tears in her eyes, her concern deepening. She sensed that something was terribly amiss, but she lacked the confidence to barge inside. With a heavy heart, she glanced at the spilled stew on the floor and then turned and ran away.
Somewhere impossibly distant, beyond even the farthest reaches of the galaxy, on a desolate and seemingly lifeless planet, there loomed an obsidian castle. Amidst the silence and emptiness, within the abandoned throne room, a stark contrast presented itself.
The throne, though surrounded by dust and cobwebs, stood in pristine condition, its dark, imposing form untouched by time. To its right and slightly behind, a smaller seat marked the position of a trusted subordinate. And in that shadowed space, a figure sat, shrouded in darkness and foreboding.
"He has awoken," the figure declared, a malevolent smile twisting its features. The smile bore traces of anger, ruthlessness, and a seething wrath that seemed to radiate from the enigmatic entity.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The next day Elliot rose from his bed, the remnants of last night's hunger and turmoil fading into the background. It was a new day, the last day of school, and the anticipation of the upcoming entrance exams surged within him.
"Today is the last day of school," he thought, determination firming his resolve, "and tomorrow, the entrance exams where my true power will be unveiled. I'll ascend to the top of this city."
With a shrug of indifference towards his paler reflection, Elliot continued his morning routine. He discarded his robe, exposing his lean frame in the mirror, the scarlet tint in his eyes appeared more pronounced than usual, which momentarily troubled him. He studied his own reflection with a hint of distress, questioning the changes he couldn't fully comprehend. Yet, the growing determination to acquire power soon overshadowed any concern. "Whatever. As long as I gain power, I don't care if I turn into a freak."
He stepped into the shower, the water icy cold as usual, a temperature that would have sent most people into a shivering frenzy. For Elliot, it was a familiar sensation, and he emerged unfazed. He jumped out and looked in the mirror as he dried his messy black hair, which stubbornly refused to cooperate with any styling attempts. Giving up any thought of styling it, he walked out of the bathroom and kicked away a clutter of boxed to reveal a wardrobe. Opening it, he looked at the stash of clothes.
"Guess it pays to be an ex-rich kid," he mused as he selected a new set of clothes from the stash. Elliot had never been one for laundry. His mother used to buy him all sorts of outfits, and most of them were stored in this basement.
Dressed in black jeans, a black turtleneck, and a black jacket, he fastened his silver necklace with a crescent moon pendant – except it wasn't silver. His family hated silver. It was a precious piece made of starlight platinum, a precious metal. it was his sole connection to his parents.
He looked at the metallic bracelet on the floor, he had thrown it here last night it seemed, he bent down to pick it up. As Elliot strapped the bracelet onto his wrist, a holographic screen flickered to life, casting a soft blue glow in the dim apartment. The automated voice, calm and mechanical, echoed within the confined space, "Elliot Rouge recognized."
With an air of curiosity mixed with trepidation, he inquired about his current financial status, "What's my balance?"
A F-tier ability user, the lowest of the low, would make 1000 credits per month. That would be chump change to an heir of a Gold ranked faction like he was. Or at least used to be.
The automated voice promptly responded, its tone devoid of emotion, "Nine credits."
His brows furrowed as he contemplated the meagre figure displayed before him. It was a stark reminder of his financial limitations, and he couldn't help but feel the weight of his predicament. Nonetheless, he pushed aside the disheartening thought and forged ahead, determined to confront the challenges that lay ahead.
"Any due payments?" Elliot questioned, his voice steady despite the daunting future that loomed.
The automated voice proceeded to list the pending expenses, each one feeling like a heavy burden on his shoulders. "Your apartment energy bill is due in a week, totaling 235 credits. Your bracelet subscription bill is due in five days, amounting to 10 credits. And, should you fail to acquire an ability during your entrance exam, your school compensation fees stand at 50,000 credits."
His jaw clenched at the reminder of the enormous debt he might incur if he didn't succeed in gaining a desirable ability. His determination to ascend above his current circumstances only grew stronger as he spoke through gritted teeth, "Yeah, that won't happen. I'm getting a B-tier ability at the very least"
With renewed conviction, he clenched his fist, ready to face the challenges of the day. With resolute steps, he walked out of his apartment, determined to carve his path towards power and prosperity.
As he left his basement dwelling, one couldn't help but admire the sleek and dark attire that complimented his lean build and dark hair. He looked rather attractive, except for the fact that he only had nine credits to his name and resided in District O52, a far cry from his family's once opulent lifestyle.
Checking the time, it was 9 am, a full hour after school had started. But for Elliot, merely showing up was all that mattered today. He headed to school; his resolve unyielding as he embraced the day's possibilities.
Elliot strode out into the bustling streets of District O52, one of the lower districts in the city. The surroundings were characterized by run-down and disheveled structures. Dilapidated storefronts and faded signs marked his path as he made his way towards the public transport hub.
As he navigated the crowded streets, he couldn't help but exchange words with familiar faces. An elderly woman, Mrs. Simmons, greeted him with a warm smile, her voice filled with genuine concern, "Elliot, dear, you're looking a bit pale today. Are you eating properly?"
Elliot offered a weak smile in return, "I'm fine, Mrs. Simmons. Just a bit tired."
Further down the road, he bumped into a group of rowdy teenagers who had once been his childhood friends. One of them, Mike, sneered and said mockingly, "Hey, look who it is, Elliot the has-been. Still dreaming of becoming someone important again?"
Elliot clenched his fists, but he held back his anger. "You'll see, Mike. I'm not done yet."
Amid the chaos of the district, a street musician strummed a melancholic tune on his guitar. Elliot looked at him and he appeared to be in his twenties. He would be an attractive human, except he had green hair until his shoulders and his irises were snake like slits. Well perhaps he was attractive if you were into snake hybrids. Elliot transferred two credits from his total of nine to the musician's collection hat, his gritted teeth hidden behind a forced smile. The musician nodded in appreciation, "Thanks, Elliot. You're one of the few who still remembers to support the arts around here."
As he approached the public transport hub, he couldn't help but overhear a whispered conversation among a group of strangers. "That's Elliot Rouge, you know. The one who used to live in the middle districts. Wonder what he's doing in our neck of the woods."
Elliot kept his head high, pushing through the mixed reactions and conversations of those around him. He remained resolute, his determination unwavering as he headed towards the public transport hub, ready to face the challenges of the day.
As Elliot made his way through the disheveled streets of District O52, something caught his attention—a dimly lit, old weapons shop nestled between two decrepit buildings. The sound of hammering echoed from within, a rhythmic melody amid the chaos of the district.