"Gah!"
Eric spat out a mouthful of blood, the metallic taste lingering on his tongue. He lay sprawled on the cold, hard ground, his body aching from the beating he had just endured. His bright red hair, a trademark of the Grey Clan, was matted with dirt and sweat, clinging to his forehead as he groaned in pain.
"One thing you don't seem to understand, Eric Grey, is that you're nothing."
The voice was sharp, dripping with mockery. Its owner stood over him, a smirk plastered across his face. Like Eric, he had the same fiery red hair, a clear sign that they belonged to the same clan. But unlike Eric, he carried himself with an air of superiority, his confidence unshaken.
Eric was no stranger to bullying. It had been a constant in his life for as long as he could remember. But this time, it stung more than usual. The fact that it was a fellow clan member—someone who was supposed to protect him—made it all the more bitter.
"Yeah, I'm nothing," Eric muttered through gritted teeth, his voice trembling with pain and defiance. "But you? You're all just a bunch of pieces of shit."
He knew he stood no chance against Marcus, a Level 2 Earth Manipulator. But Eric had nothing left to lose. If he was going down, he'd go down swinging—even if it was just with words.
Marcus's smirk twisted into a scowl.
"You're pathetic," he barked, his annoyance evident. He raised his hand, and the ground beneath him began to tremble. "I'd kill you right now, but you're not even worth the effort. You're still Level 0. Killing you wouldn't even give me any points."
With a swift motion, Marcus hurled a chunk of earth at Eric. The projectile shot forward with terrifying speed, leaving Eric with no time to react. Not that he planned to. At this point, he was too weak, too broken, and too tired to care.
Eric closed his eyes, bracing himself for the impact. He had accepted his fate. Maybe this was for the best. Maybe this was the only way to end the pain, the humiliation, the endless cycle of suffering.
But the attack never came.
"I can't stand bullies like you," a deep, commanding voice rang out, cutting through the tension like a blade.
Eric's eyes snapped open. Standing between him and Marcus was a tall, broad-shouldered man. His presence alone was enough to make Marcus freeze in his tracks. The man wore the distinct uniform of the city's army, his posture radiating authority. But what truly sent a chill down Marcus's spine was the aura emanating from him—a palpable force that screamed danger. This man was close to Level 6, a powerhouse far beyond Marcus's league.
The chunk of earth Marcus had hurled hung suspended in mid-air, held in place by an invisible force. With a flick of his wrist, the man sent it crashing harmlessly to the ground.
Eric stared in disbelief, his emotions a tangled mess. Part of him was relieved to be alive, but another part—a darker part—wished the attack had landed. He had been ready to die, ready to escape the pain. But now, that chance was gone.
Marcus, realizing he was outmatched, took a step back. His bravado had evaporated, replaced by fear.
"This isn't over, Eric," he spat, though his voice lacked its earlier confidence. "I promise you that."
With that, Marcus turned and fled, leaving Eric alone with his savior.
The soldier turned to Eric, his expression unreadable at first. But as their eyes met, his stern features softened into a faint smile.
"You're welcome," he said simply, as if reading the unspoken gratitude in Eric's eyes.
Eric opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he managed a weak, "Thank you."
The soldier nodded, his gaze lingering on Eric for a moment longer. There was something in his eyes—pity, perhaps, or understanding. He knew what it was like to be at the bottom, to be pushed around by those who thought they were better. But he also knew that strength wasn't just about levels or power. It was about resilience, about finding the will to keep going even when everything seemed hopeless.
Without another word, the soldier turned and walked away, leaving Eric to pick up the pieces—both literally and figuratively.
---
Eric gathered his scattered belongings, his body screaming in protest with every movement. His bag was torn, its contents strewn across the ground, but he managed to salvage what he could. As he stood, wincing from the pain in his ribs, he made a decision. He needed to get to the hospital. Broken bones weren't something he could just walk off.
The walk home was long and agonizing. Eric lived alone now, in the small house his grandmother had left him when she passed away three years ago. She had been the only family he had ever known. His parents were a mystery, their whereabouts unknown. Whenever he had asked his grandmother about them, she had responded with silence—a silence that spoke volumes.
The only thing Eric had left of his parents was an old locket, a simple piece of jewelry he had worn around his neck since he was a child. It was tarnished and worn, its surface scratched and dull. He had never been able to open it, and over time, he had stopped trying. To him, it was just another reminder of the life he had lost, the family he had never known.
The next day, Eric limped home from school, his body still sore from the previous beating. His ribs ached with every step, a constant reminder of Marcus's cruelty. The hospital had drained his savings—300 Jons for the bone-setting, another 200 for meager groceries. His pockets were empty, his stomach hollow, but he forced himself forward. "Just survive today", he told himself. "Tomorrow, you'll find work."
He never made it home.
Three figures stepped into his path, blocking the narrow alley. Marcus stood at the center, flanked by two hulking clan members. Their red hair seemed to glow in the dim light, like embers in the shadows.
"Did you really think that soldier would always be around to save you?" Marcus sneered, cracking his knuckles. The ground beneath his feet rippled, jagged stones rising like teeth.
Eric backed away, but the alley walls closed in around him. No escape.
"You're a stain on the Grey Clan," one of the lackeys spat. "Level 0 trash."
"Maybe we'll make it quick this time," Marcus said, his voice mockingly gentle. "If you beg."
Eric's hand flew to the locket at his throat, its cold metal biting into his palm. "Go to hell," he hissed.
The first blow shattered his already bruised ribs. The second snapped his arm. By the third, Eric stopped feeling pain. He collapsed, his vision blurring as blood pooled beneath him. Marcus's laughter echoed like distant thunder.
"Look at him," one of the bullies chuckled. "Not even worth the dirt we're standing on."
Marcus's boot connected with Eric's ribs one last time, the crack of bone echoing like a gunshot. Eric's body went limp, his blood pooling beneath him. Marcus crouched, pressing two fingers to Eric's throat. No pulse.
"He's done," Marcus muttered, wiping his hands on his pants. His earlier bravado had faded, replaced by a flicker of unease. Killing a clan member—even a Level 0 nobody—was a risk.
"Let's go," one of the lackeys hissed, glancing nervously at the alley entrance. "Before someone sees."
The trio vanished into the shadows, leaving Eric's lifeless body behind.
Minutes passed. The alley stayed silent, save for the drip of blood onto stone.
Then, faintly, the locket at Eric's throat began to glow.
[Host mortality confirmed.]
[Emergency protocol initiated.]
[Rebooting host…]
A pulse of light erupted from the locket, invisible to anyone but Eric. His shattered bones snapped back into place. Torn flesh knitted itself together. The blood staining his clothes dissolved into mist.
Eric gasped, bolting upright. His hands flew to his chest, where the locket now burned cold against his skin.
[Congratulations!! You are now a Level 1 Illusionist.]
A holographic screen flickered in front of him, its text glowing faintly. Unlike the flashy interfaces described in stories, this one was muted, almost ghostly—visible only to Eric.
"What… is this?" he whispered, reaching out. His finger passed through the screen, rippling it like water.
[System Integration: 5% Complete.]
[Primary Function: Ensure host survival.]
[Current Objective: Return home undetected.]
Eric staggered to his feet, his body humming with unfamiliar energy. The screen dissolved, leaving only a faint outline in his peripheral vision.
"Undetected," he muttered, glancing around the empty alley. No one saw. No one knows.
He reached for the locket again, but it had vanished.