The next morning, Akira pays the taxi driver and steps onto the sidewalk, his gaze drifting toward the hospital. He decides to visit his mother, but as he walks, his attention is drawn to a figure huddled by the curb. It's a scrawny, homeless old man, draped in layers of tattered clothing, his face obscured by a wild tangle of gray hair.
Akira reaches into his pocket, pulls out a few coins, and tosses them into the old man's cup without so much as a glance. But as he turns to leave, gnarled fingers suddenly clamp around his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. The strength of the grip surprises Akira, and he looks down to see the old man lifting his head. A twisted grin spreads across the man's face, his eyes gleaming with something dark and unsettling.
"Ah," the old man rasps, his voice low and grating. "Thank you, young man. Truly, I am grateful." He leans forward, his grin widening unnervingly. "What can this old soul possibly do to return the favor to you?"
Akira's face flashes with annoyance. "You can't even do anything for yourself. What could you possibly do for me?"
The old man's laughter cuts through the air, shrill and unnerving. "Kheehehehe… Do not be so sure. Sometimes the helpless have gifts in store. Now, young man, tell me… what do you desire?"
Akira's gaze hardens as he stares at the old man. "Revenge," he says, his voice as cold as his stare. For a brief, electric moment, his dark eyes flash white—a glint of something unyielding, something primal.
The old man's eyes widen in shock, but then he laughs again, the sound carrying a strange satisfaction. "This old instinct of mine never fails to recognize an intriguing soul." He reaches into the folds of his tattered coat and pulls out a small, dark pill, holding it between his thin fingers. "Take this," he says, extending it to Akira. "One day, just once, this will be useful… for whatever purpose that may be."
Akira glances down at the pill, a faint sneer tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Thanks," he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "I'm sure this… thing will be great for killing rats."
The old man chuckles again, but the sound fades into an unsettling silence as his eyes follow Akira's every move. Akira walks away, the pill clutched in his hand. He murmurs to himself, "Let's scan this and see what kind of useless junk he gave me."
With a thought, he opens his status window and focuses on the pill. Information flashes across his vision:
Ding!
[Name:Black Pill]
[Level: ?????]
[Effect: ?????]
[Consumable Item Type]
[Source: Demonic Energy]
Akira's eyes narrow as he reads the last two words. Demonic Energy.
His body tenses, and fury erupts within him like a spark igniting dry wood. His aura surges, swirling around him in a white mist, his face contorting with barely contained rage. An icy glint takes hold of his eyes, cold and predatory, as if a demon had awakened inside him, relishing the taste of blood.
He grits his teeth and scans the street for any sign of the old man, but the sidewalk is empty. Not a trace of him remains, as if he had evaporated into thin air.
"Where did that fucker go?" Akira hisses, his voice a low growl. He curses under his breath, tightening his grip on the pill. "Damn it… I'm not here for this." With a deep sigh, he stores the pill safely in his inventory, forcing himself to refocus. But the aura of anger lingers, etched into his expression as he turns back toward the hospital.
Far above, perched on the edge of a high-rise building, the old man watches Akira's retreating figure with a twisted grin. His ancient eyes, still sharp, gleam with eerie satisfaction. "Kheehehe… In all my life, I have never met a young one harboring such malice…" His voice carries a hint of humor as he observes the invisible aura swirling around Akira like a terrible storm.
"Living this long truly has its perks," he muses, his gaze locked on Akira. "You get to see such a youngling, with hatred so rich and deep, like poison that has seeped into his very soul…" His laughter echoes, deep and resonating, carried away by the wind. His eyes narrow, studying every detail of the malice pouring from Akira's form, each wave thick and terrifying, wrapping around him like an inferno.
"Oh, yes… this one is worth watching." The old man's grin broadens, his expression a mix of hunger and intrigue. "We will meet again, young one, and you will show me just how far that darkness will take you." With one final, resounding chuckle, he disappears, leaving only the echo of his maniacal laughter on the wind.
Akira enters the hospital, the sharp scent of disinfectant filling his nose as he navigates the silent halls. With each step, the weight in his chest grows heavier, a mix of anticipation and dread. Finally, he reaches his mother's room and slips inside.
The soft hum of machinery fills the room, every beep and whirr a reminder of life's fragility. Akira stops dead in his tracks, his eyes falling on his mother lying still in her hospital bed. Once full of warmth and laughter, she now lies pale and worn, her breathing shallow and uneven. His hands clench at his sides, his heart tightening.
"Grandma was right… she's worse than before," he mutters under his breath, his voice low and raw. The realization hits him like a ton of bricks. He has faced monsters, dungeons, and threats, but none of it compares to the helplessness gnawing at him now.
He pulls a chair beside her bed and sits down, his grip tightening on the edge of the seat as he struggles to find words.
"I thought… you'd be better by now," he whispers. "Even if it was only a little." His voice cracks, the weight of his emotions breaking through his usual composure.
He remembers her smile, her scolding, her encouragement to be stronger, better. She had always been his rock. Now, to see her so frail and fading twists something deep inside him. "Even now that I've awakened, I'm still unable to do anything to save her," he thinks bitterly, his jaw tightening.
"I swore to protect what's left of my family… and yet here you are, slipping away while I watch."
He reaches out, gently laying a hand over hers. Her skin is cold, the warmth that once soothed him all but gone. "I'm not sure how, Mom, but I swear I'll find a way to bring you back. Just hold on a little longer."
Akira leaves the hospital, his heart heavy with sorrow and anger. As he walks down the street, his eyes turn steely with determination. The sight of his mother's worsening condition has left a dead weight in his chest, but it has also sharpened his resolve. His fists clench at his sides as he mutters to himself, "I have to do something."
The noon sun beats down, but it does little to quiet the storm in his mind. He thinks of his mother, fragile and fading, and all that has been taken from him. His pace slows as he buries his hands in his pockets, his thoughts consumed by the past.
Then, he sees a face he can never forget—or forgive.
Across the street, a figure lounges casually against a lamppost, his lean, mean face and glinting eyes unmistakable. Akira's breath catches as memories crash over him: the chaos, the screams, the bloodstained walls of his home. The faces of one of the mens who shattered his world.