Wind cut through the broken highway overpass like a tired sigh, dragging dust clouds across sun-bleached concrete.
Nature crawled back over the bones of the old world — vines strangling lamp poles, crows perched like judges atop rusted traffic lights.
A lone delivery scooter rumbled through the ruins.
It sputtered, protested, then finally coughed itself into silence.
"…seriously?"
Ren sat astride the scooter, chin tucked into his scarf, goggles pushed up into messy black hair.
A single crate of dried rations was strapped behind him — "Property of New Babel. If you steal this, may a spirit curse your kneecaps." someone had carved into it.
Ren kicked the scooter.
It wheezed in despair.
Then died again.
A beat of silence. Wind rolled past. Leaves rustled like whispering spectators.
Ren scratched the back of his head, cheeks puffed in mild betrayal.
"I gave you premium scrap fuel and emotional support. This is how you repay me?"
The scooter creaked like it was offended
For a moment, the world was still — the kind of stillness that made the ruined highway feel endless.
Only distant bird calls and the faint hum of New Babel's barrier far behind broke the quiet.
Ren stretched, arms above his head, back cracking loud in the empty world.
Slow breath in. Slow exhale.
This wasteland could be ugly… but mornings like this, it almost felt peaceful.
Almost.
A chill tremor rolled under his skin — not fear, but instinct.
The kind of instinct only people born after the Fall had.
Born into a world where silence was never just silence.
Ren slid his hand into his jacket pocket and grasped the small, worn charm tied around his wrist.
A crude symbol carved into scrap metal — half prayer, half spiritual duct tape.
He frowned, gaze drifting toward a toppled skyline in the distance.
Air shimmered. The ruins almost looked like they were breathing.
"…don't tell me that's Naraka activity this early in the day."
Another beat of wind.
A crow cawed once — loud enough to echo.
Ren blinked.
"…Nope. That's definitely ominous. And I'm too hungry to deal with ominous."
He stood, brushing dust from his knees, slung the crate over his shoulder, and started walking.
Shoes crunching glass. Light footsteps on dead pavement.
Every step had that stubborn rhythm — a kid trying to stay upbeat in a graveyard.
The silence stretched again, heavy this time. Pressing.
Something watching.
Something ancient.
Something wrong.
A sound like a whisper scraped the air behind him.
Ren didn't turn — he just tightened his grip on the crate.
"Okay. Whoever it is, if you're creepy and drooling, please wait until I finish breakfast. I fight better on a full stomach."
The whispering stopped suddenly, replaced by a distant rumble.
Earth groaned. A soft pulse — like a heartbeat through the soil — rolled beneath his boots.
Ren's expression changed.
Jokes faded.
Eyes sharpened, dark irises reflecting the ruined horizon.
"…Something's waking up."
One strand of hair lifted slightly — as if stirred by invisible energy.
Then—
A rusted sedan erupted beside him, flung skyward like a toy. It spun, screeching metal cutting the quiet, and crashed behind him in a storm of dust.
Ren didn't jump.
He just sighed, shoulders lowering like someone whose day just got inconvenient.
"…Can't even have a peaceful supply run."
From the dust, a shadow took shape — towering, twisted, limbs too long, spirit energy cracking around its form like static lightning.
A lesser Naraka beast. Hungry. Searching.
Ren set the crate down gently and rolled his sleeves up.
"Alright, buddy. Let's make this quick."
"New Babel's breakfast hours end at nine."
His stance settled — not polished, not elegant, but full of stubborn energy.
A rookie in a ruined world, grinning despite the danger.
Wind hissed.
MSE flickered faintly around his fists.
The beast lunged.
A blur of bone and sinew, its jaw splitting too wide, teeth like broken glass, eyes burning with starving hate.
Ren moved on instinct.
A step—sloppy but fast.
The claws whistled past his cheek, slicing a few strands of hair.
He felt the wind of death brush skin.
"Close shave. I should start charging for haircuts."
Another swipe.
Ren ducked and slid behind rusted rebar poking from fractured asphalt.
The beast roared, the sound low and guttural, as if two voices were tangled in its throat.
Something primal quivered in the air.
MSE — Mythic Spirit Energy — gathered like static.
Ren steadied his breath.
He wasn't formal-trained like Babel's elite guard.
His techniques were cobbled together from scraps of rooftop training, half-remembered lessons, and pure stubbornness.
But instinct?
That, he had in spades.
He whispered under his breath:
"Flow like breath… strike like heartbeat…"
His fingers curled into fists, knuckles whitening.
A faint shimmer flickered along his arms — pale silver, thin, unstable, like a spark unsure if it wanted to live.
His aura… was awake.
The beast charged again, faster this time, claws raised to split him open.
Ren didn't dodge this time.
He stepped forward.
A punch snapped out — raw, unrefined, but full of spirit-will.
Energy flared — not bright, not controlled, but real.
His fist crashed into the beast's face.
A thud like hitting a stone pillar.
Shockwave. Dust. A pulse of light.
The monster flew back, skidding across concrete, carving a trench in debris.
Its body spasmed, black veins writhing like worms beneath skin.
Ren shook his hand, wincing.
"Ow ow ow ow—okay, definitely need more training…"
He shook his fist like he'd punched a brick — which, essentially, he had.
The beast twitched.
Ren frowned, shoulders tensing again.
Not dead.
Of course not.
He cracked his neck.
"Alright, round two—"
The beast launched again, faster than before.
Ren gritted his teeth
Pivoted
Snatched a loose length of metal pipe from the ground
The steel glowed faintly as aura bled into it, unintentional but potent.
He swung.
The impact sounded like thunder trapped inside bone.
The monster crashed into an abandoned bus, crumpling the metal inward.
This time, it didn't rise.
Silence returned, heavy and ringing, the world exhaling all at once.
Ren stood there panting, pipe still raised, sweat trickling down his temple.
He held the pose for a few more seconds… just to be sure.
Then—
"…Yeah that's what I thought. Stay down, ugly."
The pipe clanged to the ground.
Ren wiped his brow, then pointed at the corpse accusingly.
"Next time someone says runners don't need combat drills, I'm filing a complaint."
He stretched again, back popping.
Then stared at his hand.
Aura still flickered faintly, like moonlight on ripples.
It felt warm. Familiar. Alive.
He whispered, softer now:
"Weird feeling must be hungry huh?"
The wind answered.
Not with sound, but with motion — brushing against his face, tugging hair like a quiet affirmation.
Ren swallowed.
That warmth always scared him a little.
The world was full of stories about power going wrong.
People lost to madness.
Creatures born from souls cracked open too fast.
He forced a grin.
"Nope. No dramatic destiny stuff today. I've got bread to deliver."
He jogged back to his crate, hoisted it up with a grunt, and marched onward.
As he walked, the camera of fate widened… revealing a silhouette on a distant rooftop.
Cloaked in long tattered cloth.
Mask cracked like porcelain.
Eyes faint, pale gold — ancient, cold, watching.
A whisper slid out like a blade through water:
"Interesting."
The wind swallowed the voice.
Ren had already started humming to himself — offkey, cheerful, stubbornly human
"♪ Breakfast, breakfast, please don't be out of eggs again ♪"
Behind him, the beast's corpse turned to ash and blew away —
carried not by wind,
but by something unseen that tasted like dust and prophecy.
The road stretched ahead.
The ruined world around him felt wide, quiet, dangerous, waiting.
Ren just kept walking, crate bouncing slightly on his shoulder, hair messy, aura dimming back to normal.
He grinned at the horizon.
"Just another morning."
And somewhere far above, beyond clouds and heaven's veil—
a god opened his eyes.