The streets of Heartwork were drowned in steam and fog. Gas lamps glowed dimly in the mist, painting long shadows over cracked brick alleys. Somewhere between the haze and the hunger, three men cornered a boy.
"Argh!" Xenos doubled over, clutching his stomach. Another kick slammed into his ribs.
"That's enough for now," one thug said, breathing hard.
"Nah, boss," the other muttered, glancing at the fog. "We should quit. Guards might see. He's an orphan, no money to take."
"That's why I'm taking my anger out on him," the first growled. "Got paid less today… and this brat stole my bread."
"I—I didn't steal anything!" Xenos gasped. "You threw it away. I just picked it up—"
A boot cut him off, driving the air from his lungs.
"Talking back? Didn't they teach you manners?" The thug raised his foot again
but froze as a city guard's silhouette emerged from the mist.
"What's going on here?" the guard asked.
"Help!" Xenos coughed blood. "They're trying to kill me!"
The guard blinked, confused.
"Officer, you know me," the thug said smoothly, sliding coins into the guard's pocket. "We're just playing around, right?"
A chuckle. "Right. Just playing."
Xenos didn't look surprised. This was Heartwork.
The "game" went on until the thugs got bored and wandered away. Xenos pushed himself up, every muscle screaming, and let out a laugh that didn't sound real.
"This is normal," he rasped. "No one protects orphans here. I just need somewhere to rest before they come back—"
He never finished.
A car shot out of the fog, hit him, and hurled him into the air. The street vanished. The cold water below swallowed him whole.
"Why?" His voice broke into bubbles. "God… why are you so cruel? From the moment I was born… never once did I live a good life. If this is how I die… maybe it's better."
He closed his eyes.
The pain stopped. The cold vanished. He could breathe again.
"No," a voice said, deep and steady, "this is not death."
Xenos opened his eyes. A tall figure stood in the still water as though gravity had forgotten him. Chains bound his legs, black wings arched behind him, and eyes like molten violet fixed on Xenos.
"Who are you?" Xenos asked.
"I am Lucifer," the man said. "Firstborn of God."
Xenos felt the name like a weight. "Am I… dreaming?"
"No dream. Your body is broken, your soul untethered. I offer you something different."
"What do you want?"
"Your soul," Lucifer said plainly. "Fused with mine. One entity. My memories, my instincts, my power—yours as much as mine. But it will not come without cost. The merging may crush your mind. Your body might tear itself apart. For now, I will give you only five percent of what I am. It will be enough to survive in this world… if you learn quickly."
Xenos stared. "Five percent…?"
"In time, you will hold all of it," Lucifer said. "This world's magic users rely on cores. You have none. My power is raw, divine—strong enough to cancel theirs entirely. That will make you dangerous… and hunted."
Xenos's voice was low. "Then I'll just have to survive."
Lucifer's mouth curved in approval. "So be it."
The chains shattered. Darkness surged forward.
And Xenos opened his eyes.
Fog rolled across Heartwork's streets. He stood barefoot on wet brick. His body was whole, stronger, and a strange calm filled him.
"Should I feel happy?" he murmured. "I don't feel much of anything… but it's there. Just quiet." He glanced down. "And I need clothes."
A search through a trash bin gave him a torn coat and stiff trousers. "Disgusting," he muttered, but put them on anyway.
The city around him felt different—its grime almost beautiful. He could see details he'd never noticed before, smell scents from streets away.
His steps slowed as a voice echoed from an alley.
"Help! Please!" A woman's cry, desperate.
Xenos smiled faintly. "Looks like tonight might be interesting."
The voice cut through the fog like a knife.
"Help! Please!"
Xenos turned toward the sound. The mist was thick enough to hide shapes, but the panic in her tone gave him a direction.
The street was mostly empty—midnight wasn't the hour for polite company in Heartwork. Even in the distance, no footsteps, no wheels, just the drip of water from a leaking gutter and the faint hiss of steam.
His boots—if the torn, mismatched shoes he'd pulled from the trash could be called that—scraped against brick as he turned into a narrow side alley.
The cry came again. Closer.
Xenos moved slowly, keeping to the wall. His senses weren't human anymore; even at five percent of Lucifer's power, every sound was sharp, every shadow clearer than before. He could hear the shallow breaths of someone hiding… and the steady, greedy breathing of those cornering her.
Three men. Two ahead of the woman, one blocking the only exit behind her.
The woman's back was pressed against a wall, her long coat torn at the sleeve. She clutched a leather satchel like it was her lifeline.
"Hand it over," one man said. His tone wasn't desperate; it was bored.
"Please, it's all I have "
"Then you won't miss it when it's gone."
Xenos stepped into the alley's mouth. His shadow stretched toward them under the dim lamp.
"You boys do this often?" His voice was calm, not loud, but it carried.
All three turned. The tallest sneered. "Walk away, trash-picker. This ain't your business."
Xenos tilted his head. "Maybe. But you're in my line of sight, and I don't like the view."
The man nearest the woman took a step forward. "You've got a death wish?"
Xenos's body moved before he had time to think about it. Not a rush, not a wild charge just a slow, deliberate step that closed the space between them like it was nothing.
Lucifer's instincts whispered in the back of his mind. Weight on the balls of your feet. Watch the hands, not the eyes. Every movement a tell.
The first thug swung. Wide. Telegraphed. Xenos sidestepped, caught the man's wrist, and twisted. Bone popped. The man's shout was cut short by Xenos's knee driving into his gut.
The second came from the side with a short blade. Xenos grabbed the first thug's coat and shoved him into the path of the blade. Steel bit fabric and flesh, and the man screamed.
The third—behind the woman—hesitated. She took the chance and ducked under his arm, running toward the street.
Xenos didn't chase her. His focus stayed on the two still standing.
The one with the knife lunged again. Xenos slipped to the side, caught his forearm, and drove the man's hand into the brick wall. The knife clattered to the ground.
The first thug was on his knees, wheezing. The second clutched his broken fingers.
Xenos looked down at them. "Go."
They went. Limping, cursing, dragging their injured friend between them.
The woman hadn't left completely. She stood at the edge of the street, glancing back.
"You…" She hesitated. "You're not from around here, are you?"
Xenos walked toward her, keeping his tone even. "I was born here. But I've… changed."
Her eyes flicked over his coat, the dirt on his skin, the faint shimmer in his irises that hadn't been there when he was just human.
"You fight like you've done it before."
"I haven't," Xenos said truthfully. "Not like that."
The woman shifted her grip on the satchel. "Then maybe I should thank you. Or maybe I should wonder why someone with that much skill is walking alone in Heartwork at night."
Xenos didn't answer right away. "Same reason you were. Looking for something."
Her lips tightened, but she didn't argue. Instead, she pulled her coat tighter and started walking.
Xenos followed—not close enough to crowd her, not far enough to lose sight. "What's in the bag that's worth dying for?"
She stopped. Looked back at him. "Information."
"That's vague."
"That's safe."
Xenos almost smiled. "Fair enough."
They moved through winding streets, the fog thinning in patches, revealing the true face of Heartwork. Shops with boarded windows. Iron balconies rusting under years of steam. Streetlamps whose glass was cracked, spilling crooked beams across the cobblestones.
Somewhere far off, a horn wailed—a train, maybe, or something less mundane.
"You didn't scream for help until I was close," Xenos said.
"I heard your footsteps before I saw you," she replied. "They didn't sound like theirs. Lighter. More controlled."
"You were gambling."
"It paid off."
They reached a corner where the street dipped toward the river. She paused there. "This is where we part ways."
"You're not going to tell me your name?"
"No."
And she walked into the mist.
Xenos stayed there for a while, listening to the city breathe. He didn't chase her. Whatever her information was, it wasn't his business—yet.
Lucifer's presence stirred faintly in his mind. Not words. Not a separate voice. Just an understanding, like a shadow leaning closer. She'll matter later.
Xenos turned back toward the heart of the city.
Heartwork wasn't a place you could simply walk through unnoticed. Not with eyes like his now, not with power humming faintly in his blood. And he could feel it—eyes on him from windows, from doorways. The city watched, measured, weighed.
Tonight, he'd tipped a scale.