CRASH
"You trash! What do you think you're doing?!" A young woman, appearing to be in her mid-twenties, glared at Avon, her eyes blazing with fury. Her expression was a mix of contempt and irritation, accentuated by the harsh lines of her face. The vivid colors of her clothes contrasted sharply with the dingy surroundings, highlighting her disdain for the scene before her.
"I'm sorry. I—I didn't mean to trip over your things," Avon stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. Despite his young age, there was an undeniable handsomeness about him, marked by his striking silver hair that shimmered faintly in the dim light and his deep blue eyes that, despite their clarity, were filled with embarrassment and confusion. His clothes, worn and patched, did little to conceal his otherwise pristine features.
The woman's face twisted with a deep, unrelenting disdain. "I don't care what you meant! Stay away from my beast materials, you filthy wretch!" Her voice was harsh, cutting through the air like a blade. She snatched up her scattered goods with an air of superiority, making it clear that she viewed Avon as nothing more than a nuisance.
Before Avon could respond, an old man hurried over, a heavy hammer clutched in his weathered hand. His face, lined with age and experience, was etched with concern as he called out urgently, "Avon!"
Wilson, the old blacksmith, reached them and bowed slightly, his movements deliberate but strained. "I apologize for his mistake, miss. I will compensate you for anything that's damaged." His voice, though firm, held a note of humility that contrasted with the woman's harshness.
"Grandpa Wilson, it was me who knocked that stuff over. You don't have to take responsibility for it," Avon said weakly, his eyes darting between the woman and his grandfather. His voice was filled with guilt, and his shoulders slumped under the weight of the situation.
"Gahhh! Just get lost, you filth, and stay away from my beast materials! Scum like you would ruin their efficacy just by being near them!" The woman spat her words like venom, her scorn palpable. With a final disdainful glance, she stormed off, her footsteps echoing angrily as she left.
Wilson placed a calming hand on Avon's shoulder, his touch both comforting and reassuring. "Avon, didn't I tell you to be careful around awakeners?" His voice was gentle but firm, reflecting both his concern and his frustration.
Avon hung his head low, the weight of his shame almost physically pressing down on him. "You did, but she was running so fast, and I— I couldn't get out of the way in time, and everything just fell, and—"
"It's alright, Avon. Just be more cautious next time," Wilson replied, his smile meant to reassure but marred by the worry in his eyes. He turned and walked away, his shoulders slightly hunched from the weight of too many burdens and the fatigue of years of hard work.
Avon watched his grandfather leave, feeling a tight knot of guilt in his chest. He knew Wilson didn't have much, and the thought of causing him more trouble gnawed at his insides like a persistent hunger. 'I'm always a burden,' he thought bitterly, his heart heavy with regret.
Wilson had found Avon abandoned as a baby near the city dumps. At that time, it had been discovered that the boy had no mana core and could not awaken—a virtual death sentence in a world where power meant survival. Despite this, the old man had taken him in and raised him in the slums of Strata City. They had scraped by with his earnings as a blacksmith and technician, their lives a constant struggle against the harsh realities of their existence.
As the sun dipped below the horizon and darkness began to creep over the city, Avon resolved to prepare dinner for himself and his grandfather. The workshop, a small and cluttered space, was filled with tools and unfinished projects. The walls were stained with soot, and the air was thick with the smell of metal and oil. Dinner was simple—roasted meat and mashed potatoes, a modest meal but one that symbolized their small but cherished moments of normalcy.
"Avon, go to your room and get some sleep. I've got to finish repairing this mana absorption unit," Wilson said, his hands still busy at his workbench. His tone was tired but determined, reflecting the dedication he poured into every task.
"Sure, Grandpa. Goodnight."
Avon's room was a modest space, a corner of the workshop partitioned off with a thin curtain. As he lay on his makeshift bed, the earlier incident replayed in his mind like a broken record. The woman's scornful words echoed in his ears, and he grappled with feelings of inadequacy. 'Why am I so weak? Why can't I ever do anything right?'
Suddenly, a loud noise jolted him from his thoughts. He sat up abruptly, his heart pounding in his chest, and strained to listen. Another noise—a metallic clatter, followed by a deafening explosion. The ground shook violently beneath him, and Avon tumbled out of bed, his mind racing with fear.
"What's happening?!"
He bolted toward the workshop entrance. The door had been blown off its hinges, smoke billowing out into the night. "Grandpa!" Avon screamed, his voice hoarse as the acrid smoke filled his lungs. He could hear Wilson's labored coughing somewhere inside, mingling with the chaos.
Without hesitating, Avon plunged into the smoke-filled turmoil, his eyes stinging and watering. The workshop was a disaster; tools were strewn haphazardly, and splintered wood lay scattered like broken bones across the floor. "Grandpa!" he called out again, his voice cracking with panic and desperation.
He found Wilson lying on the floor, his body contorted in pain as he clutched his side. Avon rushed to his grandfather's side, his heart sinking with a mixture of fear and helplessness. "Grandpa Wilson! Are you okay? What happened?"
A low, menacing chuckle echoed through the smoke, sending icy chills down Avon's spine. "Well, well, what do we have here?" A voice as cold as ice cut through the chaos, laced with a malicious edge. "A little rat, scurrying about?"
Through the haze, a man emerged clad in violet armor. His face was uncovered but shadowed by a twisted grin that spoke of cruelty and malice. The air around him seemed to shimmer with an unnatural heat, a dark aura that pressed down on Avon like a suffocating weight.
"It's quite surprising to find the great Scorching Metal Blacksmith in these desolate slums," the man sneered, his eyes gleaming with malicious delight.
Avon's breath hitched, his body frozen in place by the sheer malevolence radiating from the intruder. The oppressive weight of the man's presence made it difficult to breathe, let alone move or run.
Wilson, despite his injuries, glared up at the man with fierce defiance. "What do you want, Dragon Fiend?"
The man's smile widened, revealing a set of perfect, predatory teeth that seemed to gleam with a dark promise. "Just give me the Corporeal Engine, old man, and I'll be on my way."
Wilson's face darkened at the mention of the "Corporeal Engine." His grip on Avon's arm tightened as he leaned in and whispered urgently, his voice hoarse with pain, "Run, Avon. Get out of here. Now."
Fear clashed with loyalty in Avon's heart, but he nodded, his eyes brimming with tears. He turned and fled toward the exit, his legs trembling with every step. 'Don't look back,' he told himself repeatedly. 'Just keep running.'
The Dragon Fiend glanced at Avon's retreating form but made no move to stop him. His gaze remained fixed on Wilson. "So, will you hand it over, or are we going to make this difficult?"
Wilson's eyes blazed with a defiant fire. "You know I can't do that."
The Dragon Fiend sighed, his expression a mix of boredom and irritation. "Then I suppose we'll have to do this the hard way." He unsheathed a sword, the blade crackling with a dark, ominous energy that seemed to distort the very air around it.
Wilson, despite his age and injuries, stood firm. "I may be old, but I'm not helpless." His voice carried a fierce resolve, his hands gripping his hammer with a strength that belied his physical condition.
"I'd like to see how an old fart like you stands up to an SS-Rank awakener like me," the Dragon Fiend taunted, lunging forward with a blinding speed that was both mesmerizing and terrifying.
The workshop erupted into chaos. Sparks flew as metal clashed against metal, the sounds of battle reverberating like a storm trapped in a bottle. Avon could hear the clamor of the fight behind him, each clash sending shockwaves through his bones. 'I never knew Grandpa could fight like this,' he thought, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and awe.
He ran toward an old warehouse nearby—a small, familiar refuge. As he hid inside, his breathing came in ragged gasps, and he listened to the distant sounds of the fierce battle. Minutes stretched into hours, and then… silence.
Dread gnawed at Avon's insides. 'Is it over?' He peeked out cautiously, his body trembling with fear. The rain had started pouring, a cold, relentless downpour that turned the world into a blur of grey and shadow.
What he saw broke him.
The workshop lay in ruins, its walls crumbled and blackened. The remnants of his grandfather's life's work were scattered amidst the debris. In the center of the devastation, where the battle had been fiercest, lay the still, broken body of Wilson. A pool of blood spread beneath him, a grim testament to the violence that had unfolded.
Avon's breath hitched, and he stumbled forward, his knees buckling under the weight of his grief. "No... No!" he screamed, his voice raw and ragged. He collapsed beside Wilson's body, tears streaming down his face and mixing with the rain that fell from the darkened sky.
"I should have stayed! I should have helped!" His voice was filled with an agonizing mix of regret and sorrow.
A roar of anguish tore from his throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated pain that echoed into the stormy night. "AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!"
Ding!
A soft chime pierced through his grief, and Avon looked up through the haze of his tears to see a strange, flickering holographic screen hovering in front of him. He blinked, wiping the rain and tears from his eyes. 'Am I seeing things?'
[DO YOU WANT POWER?]
[YES / NO]
Avon laughed bitterly, the sound tinged with a sense of madness. "Now I'm really losing it." But in the midst of his despair, he felt a spark of hope. With a trembling hand, he reached out and tapped
[YES]
A thunderbolt struck him from the sky, searing pain ripping through his body like a blinding fire. As darkness crept into his vision, he caught a glimpse of more floating screens, their words flickering in and out of focus.
[SYSTEM BINDING IN PROGRESS]
[1...5...18...25...39...68...87...99...100]
[SYSTEM SUCCESSFULLY BOUND]
[WELCOME HOST TO THE CYBORG SYSTEM]