'If only things were different… if only.'
This wasn't the first time thoughts like this popped up in his mind.
His hatred for his life kept growing each day. He wished for nothing more than to wake up, realizing that all his life had been a dream. Or even better he had never been born because why was he even born when he would never be powerful in a world like that?
Noah Nightshade had long grown accustomed to being at the bottom of the social ladder in Onrad City, a sprawling metropolis that swallowed people whole and spat them back out, worse for wear. His life was marked by a singular, damning title: the traitor's son.
It wasn't just a label; it was a curse that clung to him wherever he went, smothering every fleeting moment of joy under the crushing weight of scorn.
In a city like Onrad, with its towering buildings and bustling crowds, there was no escape from the reputation that society had etched into his very being. Even here, amidst the chaos and anonymity, the past followed him like a shadow he couldn't outrun.
In the narrow, crooked streets of the city's lower quarters, whispers accompanied every step he took. He could feel eyes on him at all times—watchful, judgmental, and unrelenting. People didn't even bother hiding their disdain anymore.
"You'll never amount to anything, just like your father!"
"The traitor's blood runs in your veins—don't think we've forgotten!"
"You're not even fit to walk among us. Why don't you crawl back into the hole your father ran off to?"
These words weren't rare occurrences; they were part of his daily existence. They followed him like a toxic cloud, hanging heavy in the air. Unlike the mocking jabs of children, these were the cold, calculated words of adults—seasoned by years of bitterness. Their cruelty was sharper, more refined, and aimed at the heart.
It wasn't just insults hurled on the streets. Even in the training grounds, where warriors gathered to hone their skills, Noah couldn't escape the taunts. Fellow trainees, soldiers, and even instructors took every opportunity to remind him of his "place."
"Training hard to outshine your father's failure, huh? Too bad you'll never succeed."
"Doesn't matter how strong you get, Nightshade, you'll always be tainted."
"Maybe we should keep an eye on you—you're probably plotting to follow in his footsteps."
The words dug deep, cutting deeper than any sword ever could. But Noah had learned long ago that nothing he said would change their minds. He had no friends, no one to rely on but himself. He had learned to swallow the pain, choke on it if he had to, but never let it show. After all, weakness only gave them more ammunition to fire at him.
At first, he thought he could prove them wrong. He threw himself into his training, pushing his body to the brink every single day. His muscles screamed in agony, his bones ached, but he kept going, driven by a desperate need to escape the shadow of his father's betrayal. He told himself that if he could just get strong enough, skilled enough, he could silence them all. But it was never enough. No matter how hard he worked, how much stronger he became, the city's cruel gaze never softened.
Strength, in their eyes, wasn't enough to cleanse the stain of his blood. "Look at him, thinking power will make us forget."
"Doesn't matter how strong you get, you're still his "son."
And when he did manage to surpass others, to stand out in a fight or excel in his training, their scorn only deepened. Instead of acknowledgment, he was met with sneers.
"What, you think you're special now? A few skills won't change who you are."
"Trying to be a hero? Just like your father tried to be before he betrayed us all."
Every victory was soured, and every step forward met with derision. Noah had no space to breathe, to exist outside of the suffocating reputation that followed him everywhere. Even the children of Onrad, too young to remember his father, had absorbed the hatred of their parents. They pointed at him in the streets, laughing as they echoed their elders' words.
"Traitor's son! Traitor's son!" they'd chant, throwing whatever they could find at him, confident in their safety. No one would stop them. Noah couldn't fight back—not against them, not against the overwhelming judgment of an entire city.
But the worst came from those who remembered. Those who had known his father, who had worked beside him, fought beside him. Their eyes, filled with cold hatred, bore into Noah like they could see his very soul. "You've got his face," they'd mutter, just loud enough for him to hear. "Same face as the man who sold us all out."
Noah's jaw would tighten, fists clenching at his sides as he fought the urge to lash out. He couldn't—he wouldn't—let them see how much it hurt. But inside, piece by piece, their words chipped away at him, carving out whatever fragile hope remained. The walls he had built around himself were tall, but not unbreakable. Every sneer, every insult, was another hammer blow against them.
He was trapped. Trapped by the name he couldn't shake, by the shame that wasn't his to carry. Onrad City, vast and full of opportunity for others, was nothing more than a gilded cage for Noah Nightshade—the son of a traitor, the boy no one would ever let forget.
"Ahhhhh-!"
A sharp scream shattered Noah's thoughts, jerking him out of his reverie. His eyes snapped to the left where the sound had come from, and what he saw made his blood run cold. People were fleeing in terror, their faces pale with panic, scrambling over each other in their desperate attempt to get away. Some moved with such frantic speed that it seemed like pure fear was driving them, propelling them beyond the limits of human capability.
The woman who had screamed was among them, her face twisted in horror as she ran, not even sparing a glance around her. Noah's mind raced. *What's happening? Why is everyone panicking like this?* He barely had time to process the chaos around him before a deafening, beastly roar tore through the air, ripping apart the eerie quiet of the evening.
ROAR-!!!
The sound was so powerful, so primal, that Noah felt it in his bones. His heart dropped. No human could make a sound like that. He didn't need to see the creature to know exactly what it was: a Kaiju. His worst fear had come true.
The sheer force of the roar suggested a rank E- Kaiju, or perhaps something even worse, an E+-ranked terror!
Noah's face paled, every instinct screaming at him to run. He didn't know where the creature was, but it didn't matter. It was here, in Onrad City, and it was hunting.
'Why now?
His mind screamed in protest as his body obeyed the instinct to flee. He bolted, forcing his legs to carry him away from the growing chaos, but pain shot up from his knees, crawling through his legs like fire. His limbs, already sore from relentless training, protested each agonizing step.
He was slower than everyone else, his body failing him just when he needed it the most. The crowd had surged ahead, leaving him far behind. Despite the Kaiju's terrifying power, it hadn't yet given chase. Noah glanced back, heart pounding, but saw the creature standing in place, its massive form surveying its surroundings as if sizing up its prey.
Then, his legs gave out as if the universe wanted to mock him further. He stumbled, crashing face-first onto the hard ground.