"It's not fair, it bullshit."
I lived in slum areas, which is a sort of bottom condemned area of the city. Day after day, I could leave the walls of decay in this city and reach out into a never-compassionate and never-responding outer world-full of stench from all those decaying rubbish layers and layers of dust drifted by with one's journey over open countries in search of whatever wreckage it might be. Cruel was the world outside, but in the slums, one only knew how to survive.
I had a dream, one that blazed like a fire in my chest despite the unending struggle. I wanted to free the world from the Demon King and take revenge on my father's behalf, who once was counted as the first hero. My father fought in times when the demons were no more than a legend-mythical terrors spoken over campfires. But all that changed after his disappearance, for the demons found their king, and the world became a battleground. What was once peaceful had turned into a land of nightmares, and the rumors of the Demon King were no longer mere whispers-they were grim truth.
"Four coins, that's all," the shopkeeper said, his smile thin and forced. He was neatly dressed, his crisp uniform odd in a place of surrounding squalor.
"That's fine," I said, handing over the scrap metal I had gathered from the outskirts of the city. Four coins would not buy a great deal, but were sufficient to survive another day.
I trudged my way home, the silence of the slums heavily weighing in my mind. My father vanished somewhere on some battlefield years ago; Mom was taken too. Sometimes, I wonder if they were taken by the same darkness looming over these days in the world. There lies absolute emptiness in this small, dilapidated house that is called my home-except for a picture. It was the only picture I had of my father. My mother had never liked photos, so this was all that remained of the man who had once seemed invincible.
I stared at it as the wind howled through the cracks in the walls, the fading light of the setting sun casting long, stretching shadows. "I'll find you, Father. I'll rid the world of the Demon King."
The slum was the forgotten place of broken houses, cracked walls, and ragged clothes. I was wearing a sack stitched for a tunic, and my skin was caked with the dirt and grime of the streets. Little could be bought with the coins that I had come to earn. The world outside was cruel, but the people in it were crueler.
Scraps of metal, bits of food were what children in slums used to get a single bowl of soup in exchange. Watery soup, barely enough to take the edge off a child's hunger, was available with one coin; it was the cheapest thing in the slum serving as a reminder of the fact that even minimal comforts had a price tag. There, hunger and thirst went hand in hand.
"One soup, please," I mumbled, handing over my last coin. All that day I had gone without eating, and the warmth of the soup felt like a blessing, though the emptiness inside could never be filled.
I stood, grasping the soup in my hands, weighed down with the decision that I would have to make. It was getting on in the evening, and the city gates were soon shutting. If I wanted one last attempt at hunting, I had to leave then.
"I'm Lucas from the slum," I told him through the gate as the dying light shrouded; his armor glittered where the dimming sun set pieces alight. The soldier viewed me with contempt, held his breath until he might be rid of it; they grew used to sights of hopeless souls, shattered bits.
"Take this," he said to me, handing me a card, "for protection. Though it will hardly do more."
I had seen that "protection" card before. It was no more than a scrap of paper, a lie to keep the masses docile. But I did not argue. I wasn't foolish enough to argue with authority in a world like this.
"Good luck," the soldier muttered, as hollow as the world surrounding us.
I had stepped outside the gates, air colder than expected, the usual stench of decay filled my lungs. The world past the city walls was that of a wasteland, a collection of ruins from long-ago battles, remnants from a time long past. Demons had ravaged this world, and everything was scarred, twisted, and broken. I didn't give a damn about the history; all I cared for was to survive another day.
"Steel, everywhere," I muttered, looking towards a pile of scrap metal stacked nearby-more than one would find in a single spot. I ran towards it; my hands quickly grasped all that they could, so that no one would take the material before me. Never waste this chance.
"Hey, give that to me!" a voice yelled from behind me. Before I could turn around, something crashed into my head from behind. The world began to tilt, and everything went dark.
It wasn't the first time I'd been attacked. Scavengers and thieves were a common enough threat in these parts, but today was different. My guard had dropped just for a moment when I'd found the metal, and that was all it took.
"Ugh." I groaned, blinking against the dark. My vision was hazy and all I could hear was the rustling of the wind outside, far away, wailing of demons. Trying to move, my body was heavy, disoriented, and I knew well that I was no longer anywhere close to the city gates. The whole night had fallen and it was shrouded in shades.
"Shit," I grumbled, the rise of panic in my chest. "I need to get back before the gates close."
I grasped the bag of metal and struggled to my feet. As I moved, I heard it-a low, chilling growl, echoing through the silence.
I froze, heart pounding in my chest.
A hulking figure of twisted metal stepped out from the shade, his eyes glowing with a red-hot fire. "A demon," I wheezed-my veins welling with fear-this creature's body grotesque, a dream gone nightmarish, his slack maw dribbling and promising death.
I tried to back away, but my legs seemed to be made of stone, and my body was just a little late in trying to react. In this manner, the demon caught my surprise in an instant.
Then, another figure formed within that dark-a demon much more fearful, larger in frame. It blocked my road, its massive form rearing like a mountain of evil intent.
I retreated again, my breathing raspy in my throat. My head was racing, yet I couldn't think, couldn't move.
Then something cold and mechanical sounded in my mind, sliced through the panic.
[Human System initializing. Do you wish to activate?
1. Yes
2. No]
I blinked, stared, wondering if I was hearing right, if this was some sort of trick. The world hinged on me, buckling with the force of it.
"Yes,"