The cracked asphalt beneath my sneakers was cold and wet, but my body was boiling—not with a fever or the promise of a sunrise yet to hit the horizon, but with a raw hatred that barely fit in my chest; it was almost impossible to control. My mother Helyara's brown overcoat, with its silver details, was too heavy to allow for a steady run, but the truth was more likely that I was simply weak and exhausted. Still, I clung to it as if it were the only thing keeping me from falling apart at that moment. The fabric smelled of smoke now, but underneath, there was still a faint trace of her perfume—a weak mix of lavender and gunpowder.
"Kirden..."
The word kept repeating in my mind, echoing alongside the silence surrounding me. Night pressed on. I diverted from the main road, choosing the dense darkness of the woods bordering the old Route 305. My parents—masters of warfare with survivalist expertise—always told me: "In war, humanity's greatest weapon hasn't just been raw power, Neale; strategy is found in how we use the terrain around us."
But I didn't have the skill to camouflage myself in those woods and move quickly at the same time.
Out of breath, I stopped behind a centuries-old oak tree. The silence of the forest, which had once felt calm and offered a moment of relief, was now screaming—it was a silence far from natural. There were no insects, no sound of owls, nor any other animal. Only the distant, rhythmic click-clack of claws on the concrete road to my right.
My eyes strained to see. A lesser demonic beast. One of the weakest creatures of the demons' Absolute Race, yet capable of shredding an ordinary man without the slightest effort. It had surely been sent to sweep the area for survivors. Its silhouette was thin and lithe yet sturdy, covered in an opaque black carapace that absorbed what little light remained. Its eyes—two glowing red pinpoints that resembled the gates of hell themselves—scanned the road.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frenzied beat I feared could be heard miles away. I huddled down, gripping my mother's overcoat tightly. The lesser demonic beast was about fifty meters away, coming in my direction as it tracked the heat and scent of the carnage.
I can't fight. I have no Righteous Wrath, no combat class. I am weak.
My mother Helyara's lesson surfaced through the waves of my despair: "If you don't have strength, Neale, always use our family's cunning and intelligence." Think. What can I do? I had tattered clothes and a pair of beat-up sneakers...
I looked at the overcoat on my shoulders. It was the only concrete memory I had left of her. Its weight gave me focus, but it also made me a target. The strong scent of a human, a fighter of the Order (my mother had been at the Dark White level of Righteous Wrath), was a magnet for the creature.
With a trembling hand but a mind steeled by hate, I took off the overcoat. The night chill hit me along with a gust of wind, and I felt a shiver that wasn't just from the weather. I grabbed the heavy wool coat with its silver accents and tore it in half—it was so short now it barely reached my elbows. I threw the torn piece in my hand with all my might to the right, toward a small, dry creek.
The sound of the heavy fabric hitting the dry leaves was enough. The lesser demonic beast stopped instantly, its red eyes locking onto the distraction. To the creature, it was as if I had split in two and the piece of the overcoat was trying to flee first; it bolted after it.
In the blink of an eye, while the creature lunged to investigate the scrap of fabric, I moved. I crawled to the left, digging my nails and knees into the damp earth. The lesser demonic beast was less than ten meters from the piece of the coat when it snatched it with a skeletal claw that seemed to be on fire. Helyara's torn coat shredded even further at its touch.
The pain in my soul seeing that was instant and searing. It was as if the creature had stabbed me, not a piece of clothing. But my hatred was stronger.
"You'll pay for this..." I whispered to myself, promising once again.
The lesser demonic beast, frustrated at finding only a piece of cloth, let out a high-pitched screech of rage and tore the scrap of overcoat even more. But I was already gone, fifty meters away and running faster than ever, without looking back. Running with the cold hitting my back but the heat of vengeance in my heart. I was stripped of protection, but my soul burned with my purpose.
I had passed my first obstacle. But a member of the Absolute Race—a lesser demonic beast—had just torn away a part of my last memory of my mother. My goal of reaching the city of Kirden weighed even heavier now.