Michael awoke to a translucent window hovering mere inches from his face, its ethereal glow cutting through the dim haze of his cramped slum dwelling.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
Black Lotus acknowledges your existence. Welcome, slave of the petals.
The word "slave" landed like a verbal gut punch, igniting a spark of defiance in his chest. He lashed out with a frustrated kick against the threadbare mattress, then began pacing the narrow confines of the room, swiping futilely at the air in hopes of dissipating the intrusive hologram.
It remained stubbornly fixed, pulsing with an insistent rhythm, as if mocking his impotence—like an old, unforgiving debt collector who knew exactly how little he could afford to pay.What in the world was happening? His mind raced, grasping for explanations in the fog of recent memory, but none surfaced.The interface shifted seamlessly, its text crisp and impersonal:
Press YES to enter mission.
He halted, eyes narrowing at the word "mission." It sounded absurdly game-like, a playful lure in what felt like a nightmare setup. Yet the prompt's persistence screamed inevitability—not an invitation, but a binding ultimatum etched in digital fire. His instincts screamed danger; bad decisions and he had history, a toxic partnership forged in the slums' relentless grind.
But survival often demanded dancing with the devil.With a resigned exhale, he extended a finger
pressed YES.
The screen updated immediately:
Mission: Bloom 1st Petal
Black Essence: 0/1000
Note: Complete within five days.
A subtle warning icon throbbed at the bottom edge. Curiosity overriding caution, he tapped it.
Warning: If mission fails, forced blooming will occur at the cost of… slave's possession.
It hung ominously, implying horrors beyond comprehension.
His stomach twisted. "What the hell does that even mean?"
Spotting a profile icon tucked in the upper corner, he selected it.
Another panel materialized, laying bare his inadequacy in cold, quantified detail.
PROFILE – Michael (Slave)
Core Combat Stats
Physical Strength: 9
Agility: 9
Endurance: 9
Vitality: 9
Offensive Power
Base Attack Power: 18
Ability Amplification: 18%
Elemental Affinity (Black Essence): 4.5%
Critical Force: 9
Defensive Power
Damage Resistance: 6.3%
Corruption Resistance: 2.7%
Mental Fortitude: 2.7%
Regeneration Rate: 1.8%
Essence & Ability Growth
Essence Absorption Rate: 0.4/sec
Lotus Synchronization: 0%
Ability Tier: None
Essence Capacity: 1000
Petal Stage: 0/24
The numbers stared back like a brutal indictment—pathetic, bottom-tier scraps. "Slave of nothing," he muttered under his breath, a bitter smirk twisting his lips. If this Black Lotus system sought a prophesied savior—or its twisted slave—it had chosen the most expendable wretch imaginable.
And deep down, that deliberate cruelty felt like the setup for something far more insidious.Lost in the screen's glow, he barely registered the incoming assault until—
Thud!
A vicious kick slammed into his side, sending him staggering into the grimy wall. Pain flared, sharp and achingly familiar, like an old wound reopening. He whipped his head up to face his attacker.There stood Lily—fellow outcast, same rough age as him, and undeniably the most captivating woman in this festering slum. Her lithe frame radiated unyielding strength, her features sharpened by hardship into something fiercely beautiful. Right now, those eyes blazed with a wrath potent enough to incinerate the entire shack.
She wasted no time. "Where the hell did you run off to?"
Michael blinked, his brain still scrambling from the system's revelations to this sudden violence.
She pressed on without mercy. "I searched for you the whole damn night, only to find you sprawled in a crater in the middle of the road, Michael. For a split second, I thought a meteor had flattened you!"
He held his tongue, not out of defiance, but sheer bafflement. Even he had no clue what had transpired—no memory to offer. Silence stretched taut.Then—smack!—her open palm whipped across his cheek, the sting blooming hot and immediate.
"What the hell was that for?!" he snarled, recoiling.
"For leaving the boss worried sick!" Lily yelled.
He scoffed, massaging his throbbing jaw. "No need to fuss over petty crap. I can take care of my—
"Smack! Another strike, fiercer."Oh, come on!" he growled, heat rising in his voice.
Lily's gaze bored into him, raw anger dominating but laced with something deeper—profound, gnawing worry that pierced his defenses.
She drew a sharp breath, then declared, "Let's go meet the boss".
A faint, defiant grin cracked his face. "Yes, of course. That's exactly what I planned anyway."
They exited the shack together, stepping into the oppressive heat outside. Immediately, his eyes fell on the solitary grave marker—his mother's final resting place, weathered and alone. Behind it loomed a massive, fractured gravestone planted squarely at the center, flanked by two rusted swords crossed in eternal vigil. From one hilt dangled a delicate necklace, swaying lazily in the fetid, stagnant wind.His breath hitched.
A torrent of memories surged unbidden: her gentle laughter echoing through their humble home, the enveloping warmth of her embrace, the way she doted on him as if he were the singular beacon in her shadowed existence.
Then the images curdled into horror—a crimson pool spreading across the floor, her lifeless, mangled form, his own guttural screams reverberating through endless night.Uniformed figures materialized in the haze, shadowy and menacing. Faces flickered just beyond recognition. The recollection splintered further the more he clawed at it, dissolving into frustrating voids.A tremor wracked his frame, threatening to buckle his knees.
Lily's hand alighted softly on his shoulder—tentative yet resolute, a grounding tether to pull him from the abyss, to affirm he hadn't vanished into grief's maw. He shrugged it away brusquely.
Defying the gravitational pull of sorrow that society deemed his due, he propelled himself forward instead—one deliberate step away from the grave's cold embrace.Into the suffocating, corrosion-riddled arteries of the outcast slums.Shacks teetered in precarious stacks, resembling bloated cadavers awaiting burial. The air hung heavy with acrid smoke and pervasive decay, a miasma that clawed at the lungs. Inhabitants cowered inward, bodies coiled like cornered prey anticipating the predator's jaws.Suspicious eyes tracked his passage—none warm or welcoming. Cold, appraising stares, judge and executioner in one. In this pit, defiance invited disdain; no one tolerated those who dared raise their gaze. They were conditioned to grovel, to shatter under the nobility's heel, and whisper gratitude for the scraps.Prey averted eyes from predators. Predators devoured. Prey endured the inevitable feast.
THE SKY SPLIT OPEN
A meteor howled across the bruised heavens, plummeting beyond the slums' edge with cataclysmic force. The earth shuddered violently, as if smote by a deity's colossal fist.The slums fell into stunned paralysis—not from dread of the interstellar beast undoubtedly birthed within the crater's glowing maw, but from bone-deep terror of the merciless repercussions certain to follow.Hours dragged by in tense anticipation before the sky rent anew.A Vaanjet descended gracefully, its sleek metallic hull humming with suppressed power, emblazoned with the stark insignia of C.O.S.M.O.S.—the Dominion's merciless elite enforcers.
The hatch hissed open.Out stepped Rithvik, newly minted Head of the Danger Eradication Force. He had ascended to command after Bheeshma—the very same brute Michael had demolished back at headquarters.
Rithvik's features twisted into a grin honed from pure malice, a flask of rum swinging jauntily at his belt like a conqueror's spoil.Officers snapped to attention, salutes crisp as shattering glass.
He sauntered toward the crater's lip.
"Status report."
"Chief," the responding officer intoned, his scanner humming over the smoldering pit, "it's an A-Rank Interstellar Beast."
Rithvik's eyebrow arched slyly. His lips curled into a predator's leer, all teeth and zero mercy.
"Do we have its hunting pattern yet?"
"No, sir."A low, mirthless chuckle rumbled from his throat—amused, hollow, devoid of humanity. "Bring a scapegoat. Let's observe how it hunts.""Understood, Chief!"
AND THEN, AS ALWAYS, THE PART THAT BREAKS EVERYTHING
The unit wheeled away from the crash site, boots marching in lockstep straight into the slums' heart.A realm bereft of light, clean water, or dignity—just desperate souls gasping against the filth's relentless chokehold.That's when Michael witnessed it unfold.A ramshackle hut, illuminated by a solitary flame's defiant flicker.
Within, a young boy cupped chakra flames in his small palms—delicate fire dancing like a nascent star, brimming with untamed promise."Mom! Look! My fire awakened! I'll fix everything! I'll save us all!"
His mother regarded him with a smile—frail, weathered by suffering, yet luminous with maternal pride.
"I love you, my son, but don't cling to dreams that might shatter you."
His father laid a gaunt hand on the boy's shoulder, voice steady. "Everyone deserves to dream. So dream expansively."Their laughter rang out—fleeting, precious, a rare spark in the gloom.Until a guttural roar quaked the slums.C.O.S.M.O.S. officers materialized, their armored suits thrumming with lethal energy, gazes vacant as machine parts."We require a scapegoat. Submit without resistance."One man emerged from the crowd, knees quivering but eyes defiant, lifted toward the heavens. "Every meteor fall, you plunder our kin. Please… spare us this once."The lead officer's visage contorted in disgust. "This is precisely why livestock forfeits the right to speech."He elevated his hand.A sonic pulse erupted, flinging bodies through the air like discarded refuse, bones cracking against unyielding ground.The boy rose unsteadily, palms trembling, flames sputtering yet resolute, heart ablaze with righteous fury.He beheld the agony, absorbed the screams, and advanced undeterred."Get out of our land!"
His mother wailed, "No!" His father bellowed, "Stop!"Far too late.Rithvik's laughter peeled through the chaos—dark, cavernous, laced with sadistic delight. "Wow… what a mighty little spark."He extended his palm, unleashing a conflagration that bloomed like a perishing sun, voracious and overwhelming. "Let's discover which fire endures brighter."
AND MICHAEL?He bore witness, rooted in paralysis. Incapable of intervening.
Lily stirred beside him, fury igniting her frame, fists clenched white-knuckled. "We have to do something!"He seized her arm, voice low and edged. "What? Charge in and die like dogs?"Her glare scorched him, as if he were the boot's grimiest residue. "So we just stand idle? While they eviscerate a family?"
His gaze lingered on the inferno's maw, the piercing screams, the pulverized remnants of hope turning to cinders."This is routine. No one intervenes.
We're already suffocating in our own mire. Boss awaits—let's move."She fell mute, but her silence thundered louder than any rebuke.In that crucible moment, Michael absorbed a stark, unvarnished truth—not draped in poetry or uplift, merely the grinding reality of existence.
This world rejected heroes outright.It devoured them alive.And on that blood-soaked day, as flames consumed the boy's final cry, as the heavens bled crimson, as fragile hope crumbled to irretrievable dust—Michael internalized an indelible certainty.
Hope was nothing but a gilded deception.
And it was here, amid the ashes, that the true maelstrom ignited.