Kael leans against a jagged rock, his breath rattling like a dying engine. The air reeks of burnt flesh and iron. Around him, the battlefield is a canvas of carnage: eviscerated Netherspawn oozing black ichor, human corpses frozen in final screams, and the shattered remnants of a bone-white mask glinting in the dim light. His katana lies broken beside him, its grinder-sharp edge dulled and chipped. Blood pools beneath him, seeping from a gaping hole in his stomach and the ragged stump where his right arm used to be.
He tilts his head toward a hulking Netherspawn corpse, its clawed hand still gripping a serrated axe. The thing's face is a mess of fangs and milky eyes, frozen in a snarl. Kael coughs, flecking blood onto his already ruined shirt.
"Damn," he mutters, his voice hoarse.
'I'm fucked, aren't I?'
The words hang in the air, unanswered. He glances at the broken mask on the ground, its empty eye sockets staring back at him.
'Didn't always have a hole in my gut and one arm, credit to that ugly bastard over there. Gave me this beautiful makeover.'
He laughs, a wet, gurgling sound that sends a fresh wave of pain through his chest.
'Before I croak… let me tell you how I got here. Starts with a corpse. Always does.'
Past: The Slums of Citadel Arx
A scrawny boy, twelve years old and all elbows, kneels over a fresh body in a reeking alley. The corpse wears the tattered uniform of a city guard—lucky for Kael, guards sometimes carry shard rations. The boy's katana, strapped to his back with frayed rope, knocks against his ribs as he rifles through blood-soaked pockets.
Yep. That handsome devil with the sword? Me. And before you gag—yes, I'm robbing a dead man. But let's not judge. You've never tasted gutter stew for a week straight.
"C'mon, c'mon," Kael mutters, fingers slick with gore. The guard's belt yields a rusted tin of gray shard dust—barely enough to trade for moldy bread, but it'll do. He tucks it into his threadbare coat just as a shadow falls over him.
"Slum rat."
Kael freezes. Three older boys block the alley mouth, their faces smeared with soot and malice. The leader, a hulking brute with a club, grins.
"Hand over the shards. And the sword."
Ah, the welcoming committee. Let's call them… future corpses.
Kael stands slowly, hand drifting to his katana's hilt.
"You want it?"
He unsheathes the blade with a rasp, its chipped edge catching the faint light.
"Come take it."
The fight is ugly, brutal, and mercifully short. Kael fights like a rabid dog—kicking dirt into eyes, biting wrists, slashing with the katana's jagged edge. The blade rips more than cuts, tearing through flesh like rotten cloth. When it's over, two boys flee, clutching bleeding arms. The third lies still, his throat a ragged mess.
Kael wipes his blade on the dead boy's shirt.
"Told you to run."
Present: The Crater
See? Charming, right? Kael's vision blurs. The sky above swirls with ash and distant screams. But that's how it worked back then. You stole, you fought, you lived. Until the Awakeners came.
Past: The Culling
The slums erupt in chaos. Steel-clad Awakeners march through the filth-streaked streets, dragging children from hovels and alleys. Kael watches from a rooftop, clutching his katana.
"Cadets of age—line up!" a voice booms.
"By decree of the Seven Cities, you are chosen!"
Chosen. What a joke. Kael spits. They just want cannon fodder.
He's fast, but not fast enough. A net snags his legs, and he's hauled into the line—a scrawny boy between a weeping girl and a noble's son in silk rags.
"Name?" An Awakener shoves a ledger in his face.
"Go rot," Kael snarls.
The man shrugs, writing: Rat.
Present: The End
That's how I ended up in their damned academy. Where they teach you to die pretty for the cities. Kael's remaining hand trembles as he fumbles for a shard in his pocket. But I wasn't their weapon. Not for long.
The shard—crimson and cracked—glows faintly. He presses it to his stomach, hissing as the energy seeps into his veins. The bleeding slows. Not enough.
Too late for that now.
Past
After collecting all the children, the awakeners, either willingly or unwillingly, led us to the academy. You could clearly see the difference in background just from the collection.
Those from the slums were wearing simple dirty and torn clothing if you could even call it clothes, while those from better backgrounds were neatly dressed with some having weapons on them.
Kael being from the slums and having a sword stood out as a young boy with rugged torn pants and a simple dirty top, who had a sword which was an oddity.
Along the way, you could see that those neatly dressed wore confident expressions and those from poor backgrounds were all sullen as if they were being sent to an execution.
'knowing the stories about the academy the only difference between this and execution is that at least an execution is quick and neat, now we have to go suffer just to end up dying for nothing.' Kael thought to himself.
After a long, tiring walk they arrived at the gates of the academy
'Damn this place is huge, well and clean I guess, so this will be my new hell for the next few years.'
After entering the academy the children were led to a huge courtyard, from the stands stood the instructors, and in the center of the courtyard stood a talk bulky man.
"Welcome to Kelo Academy, My name is Silo and from this day on you will all become cadets and we will shape you into becoming worthy awakeners." the bulking man roared out loud.
'Bullshit, we the canon fodder the clean batch over there is probably who you speaking to.' Kael clicked his tongue.
"Now before we proceed we will organize all of you to your class tier, from tier 1 being the best and tier 5 the worst, everyone exit the circle."
'Huh, time for the traditional thrashing of slum rats.'
This event was to group children were similar skill levels together but how could children who spent their days barely surviving compete against those who have been training from the time they could hold a weapon?
After everyone gathered around the huge circle that was laid out on the training ground the bulky man once again spoke.
"When I call your name come over to the center"
fear and anxiety covered the faces of all the slum kids while smirks and smiles were on the well-dressed children.
"klaymut and Dex."