Five years have passed since my parents turned into ash.
Five years in "The Bottom" is enough to turn any human into a monster, or a corpse. I chose to be both.
The people above call it the "Day of Cleansing." We call it the "Feast Day."
It is the day the Royal City opens its lower sewage gates to dump a month's worth of waste upon us. Tons of scrap metal, broken wood, and rotten food fall from the sky like deadly rain.
If you aren't careful, a "gift" falling from the heavens might crush your skull before starvation kills you.
"Ren! Move right! A big crate is coming!"
Bogi, my only friend—or rather, my rival in scavenging—shouted as he scrambled for cover under a giant rock.
I looked up. A black dot was growing terrifyingly fast against the grey ceiling.
I didn't move.
My silver eyes, which had changed color after the fire incident, saw something others couldn't. I could see "Mana Threads."
That falling crate didn't contain food. It smelled of "Magic Ore."
BOOM!
The crate slammed into the muddy ground meters away from me, creating a deep crater and splashing sludge everywhere.
I rushed toward it before the dust settled. Rule number one in The Bottom: Speed is life.
I smashed the crate's lock with a sharp rock.
Inside, nestled amidst velvet sawdust, lay something that made my heart stop.
It wasn't food.
It was a sword. Or what remained of one.
A longsword with a golden hilt encrusted with rubies, but its shining silver blade was snapped clean in the middle. An enchanted piece of metal, discarded as if it were mere scrap.
"Holy..." Bogi gasped, arriving behind me. "Ren, that's Orichalcum! Only nobles use that! If we sell it to the blacksmith in the black market, we'll eat meat for a whole year!"
I reached out to touch the blade.
The moment my fingers brushed the cold metal, I felt a "shiver."
The sword wasn't just metal. It was saturated with the magic of its previous owner. A sharp, arrogant "Wind" magic.
"Eat..."
I muttered instinctively. A faint white void aura surrounded my fingers. I absorbed the residual magic from the sword. It tasted sharp.
"Ren? Do you hear me? Let's carry it and go before the Red Skull Gang comes!"
"No."
I grabbed the broken blade. It was heavy, but perfectly balanced.
I looked at the other broken half lying next to it.
"We're not selling it, Bogi."
I picked up the second piece with my left hand.
Now, in my right hand, I held the hilt with a broken blade (functioning as a long dagger), and in my left hand, I held the sharp tip (which could be wrapped in cloth to become a short dagger).
"Ren! Are you crazy? The Red Skulls are coming! I hear their rusted bikes!"
The sound of engines approached. The gangs of The Bottom controlled the drop zones. They killed for a pair of shoes, let alone a royal sword.
I stood up, holding the two broken blades.
For the first time in years, I didn't feel fear. I felt that this "trash" hadn't fallen by chance. It fell for me.
I am the "trash" of the world, and these blades are the "trash" of the nobles.
We suit each other perfectly.
Three burly men emerged from behind the mounds of waste, carrying iron clubs and chains.
"Oi, you little rat!" shouted their leader, a man with gold teeth. "Step away from the crate, or we'll feed your meat to the worms."
Bogi looked at me in terror. "Ren, run! Leave the sword!"
I looked at the broken blade in my right hand. It reflected my image. A skinny, dirty child with hungry eyes.
But in the reflection, I wasn't a child. I was a shadow.
"Leave it?" I asked quietly, as the white energy I absorbed from the sword began to flow into my arms, strengthening my weak muscles.
I dashed toward them. I didn't run like a warrior. I crouched low and sprinted close to the ground, like a predator.
The leader didn't expect my speed. He raised his club, but I was already under his guard.
I stabbed the broken blade into his thigh.
It wasn't a deep wound, but I did what I do best.
I activated my ability: [Absorption].
"ARGH!" The leader screamed, not from pain, but because his physical strength suddenly drained away, and his knee buckled, hitting the ground.
I vaulted over him, pointing the second blade at his neck, stopping just a millimeter from his skin.
Silence fell. His minions froze in place.
The "trash" kid defeated their leader in a single second.
I looked at the blades, stained with a little blood. I felt them pulsing in my hands.
They were extensions of my body.
"These weapons..." I whispered to myself, ignoring the man begging beneath me.
"Their names are (Fang) and (Claw)."
I raised my head toward the distant grey sky.
"With these two fangs... I will tear down your fake sky."
In the shadows, behind a hill of burning tires, a single eye was watching.
The eye of a blind old man, smelling the scent of blood and magic.
The old man smiled.
"Finally... I found you, little monster."