Alator was already at the verge of death. The man was literally crushing his neck, and he was beginning to hear the sound of cracking bone under the pressure.
Alator scrambled his hand across the ground, his fingers digging into the dirt—looking for anything that could save him.
He ended up grabbing an animal bone lying on the floor. With all his strength, he forcefully jammed the bone into the man's left eye.
"Shank!"
"Ahhhhhhh!!!"
The man screamed like a pig being slaughtered, and his features were immediately drenched in blood. Alator kicked him aside and jumped back to his feet—holding his neck as his face twisted in pain. He grabbed an iron bar nearby and mercilessly smashed it into the man's head.
"Bang!"
His head busted apart; the man collapsed lifelessly on the ground, and blood rushed out like a fountain, forming a pond on the floor.
Alator quickly jumped over a table, changed his direction, and branched into a narrow alley at the right and disappeared into the crowd.
At the same moment, the others arrived at the spot. They saw their colleague brutally butchered. But Alator was nowhere to be found.
"Don't let me catch you you little brat!" Their leader muttered with a dark look on his face.
-------------
The sun had gone down the horizon, and the day had finally turned dark. Alator walked towards a run-down tavern and sat under a tree there. He gazed up into the sky as thunder rumbled nonstop across the night sky and rain began to drip steadily onto the ground.
Despite the incoming storm, he didn't flinch nor try to run away from the rain. He suddenly smiled like a crazy person. He looked like a bloody mess right now. His hair was a mess, his clothes were torn in places, and his stomach ached from hunger. He had lost all the money he stole while fighting the thugs. Right now, he doesn't have a single money left on him.
Alator had lived a life worse than death ever since he was thrown out of the refugee camp two years ago, immediately after he turned sixteen. The refugee camp had thrown him out for being old enough to fend for himself, leaving him with nothing.
He could still hear the clattering sound of the gate as it shut behind him, followed by the harsh voice of the head warden.
"You're sixteen now, boy. You're old enough to take care of yourself. So get out!."
But what still baffles Alator was that there were other kids at the same age as him who were still being taken care of at the camp till date.
"Why am I the only one that was kicked out?" he muttered to himself.
After Alator grew up back then, he went to the edict hall of the refugee warden to inquire about his personal information, which should contain his name, hometown, family name, or at least the name of the person who brought him to the camp and why he was brought here. However, when Alator got to the edict hall, he was shocked to discover he was the only one without a single piece of information on his tab, except his name that was written with a disgusting handwriting. Not even a surname was attached to it.
"How the hell did I end up here? Did I really fall from the sky or what?" Well, that was Alator's thought at that moment.
It has been roughly two years since then; yet, Alator has lived on the street without a place to call home or even a shelter to lay his head. He only sleeps from one tavern to another, and that's if he wasn't kicked out before midnight.
He rubbed his left arm, feeling the lack of flesh and traces of his bones peeking out from his skin.
Sixteen years is the peak age for every lucky kid in the Wastelands to participate in the Bloodline Awakening Ritual and awaken their Soul Essence, then embark on the path of a Mage. But Alator wasn't that lucky. He was an orphan, with no memory of who he is or where he came from.
"If only Old Han was still alive."
He chuckled bitterly as old memories flashed in his mind.
He closed his eyes and suddenly felt as if he was back in the camp, watching Old Han demonstrating martial arts moves as he and other kids watched and followed each of his moves.
The old man had been the closest thing to a guardian he had ever had. He took care of Alator and some other kids at the refugee camp, teaching them martial arts and survival skills, telling them stories of the Awakened and Legendary Mages.
That story had given Alator a strong sense of purpose, and he strongly clung to his desire of awakening his Soul Essence one day, hoping to become a Legendary Mage so people would tell his stories too. But after Old Han died, things became extremely difficult for Alator.
He glanced at the steel pendant around his neck, shaped like a crescent moon. He had been wearing this pendant ever since he was a child, so he believed it might have some connection to his family.
As Alator was sitting under the tree, two drunk men walked out of the tavern and made their way towards him. One was slim while the other was a bit chubby.
"Hey kiddo, why are you always sitting here? And where are your parents?" the chubby one said, swaying slightly.
"Maybe his parents abandoned him because he was useless. Just look at him. He looks like trash," the slim one said.
"Hahahaha!" The two burst into laughter.
"It must have been tough, kid, living such a miserable life at such a young age. Why don't you consider committing suicide? At least your trashy parents will be proud of you for once," the chubby man mocked.
"Hahahaha!!" This time, their laughter was even louder than before.
Alator slowly got up and took a step forward, planning to walk away from the two drunk men. But the chubby man suddenly grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back.
"You dare walk out on me?" the man said and swung his right hand forward to slap Alator. But before his hand could reach him...
Alator caught his hand before it could even reach his face. He roughly twisted the man's wrist unnaturally.
"Crack!"
Breaking his wrist and holding it in place.
"Ahhhhhhhhh!" The man screamed at the top of his lungs from the excruciating pain assaulting his hand.
"You..." The slim one was startled, and it seemed like he had gotten a hangover all of a sudden after seeing his colleague in that situation.
"Let him go!" he yelled and punched towards Alator's face.
Alator raised his left hand and grabbed the useless punch.
"No... no... no!!" The slim man pleaded, anticipating what Alator was about to do. Alator smirked and equally broke his wrist as well.
He raised his leg and kicked them aside. The two crashed on the wet, dirty ground, crying and writhing in pain.
He purposefully stepped on their injured hands, eliciting a miserable cry from them.
Alator began to walk away from the tavern as his feet splashed against the puddles left by the rain.
He still desired to become a Mage, but his current problem right now was money. He was broke as hell, and he needed money so badly right now. Not that he couldn't get money through the usual way, but he had decided not to engage in dangerous activities anymore. He wanted to do something better with his life. Hence, he was planning on joining the Scripers to earn money and probably actualize his dream of becoming a powerful Mage.
As Alator was walking, a cold wind blew past him, and he shivered a bit. He reached into his wet coat, pulled out a dirty hip flask, and took a sip. A taste of sour alcohol burned his throat and warmed him just enough to remind him he was still alive.
"Ahhh!"
He grimaced at the sour taste that hit his tongue.
"That should do the job."
He suddenly smiled as he just remembered the two drunk thugs insulting him earlier.
"Idiots," Alator shook his head. "Yeah… I guess I'm no better."
He was no different from them after all. He was practically a drunkard, a thug, and a gamb... Well, he wasn't a gambler, though. He never used his hard-earned money to gamble. But in actual sense, it should be. He never used the money he stole from people to gamble.
Survival had forced him into the same life he mocked—stealing, hustling, doing whatever it took to keep living. Still, life was brutal enough that he sometimes wondered if he had been better off dead.
Alator was currently living at the outskirts of Raven's Peak Domain. So it was normal to find these kinds of people all around.
Right now, Alator was on his way, heading to the Storm Scripers garrison. But he knew he had not even awakened his Soul Essence yet, so joining the Storm Scripers is impossible. But he still wanted to give it a try.
Alator continued to walk ahead through the narrow path with bushes on his either side. As he raised his head, he saw a shadow standing far ahead in the distance.
"Yeah... that useless shadow stalker."
Alator was familiar with this shadow, which has been stalking him ever since he was a child, but it has never said anything to him or tried to approach him. Even when he wanted to approach or talk to it, it would suddenly disappear. The weirdo was only hiding and following him around. However, Alator had grown used to it; hence, he wasn't affected by its presence anymore. As long as the shadow didn't try anything funny, he was okay with it.
And just as he expected, before he could get close, the shadow vanished into the bushes without a trace.
"Well, I would like to learn that trick anyway."
After like thirty minutes of walking, the Storm Scripers Garrison, stationed in the outskirts, finally came into his view. He stopped in his tracks and gazed at the structure in the distance, thinking of his next move.
He smiled as he thought of sneaking into the garrison through the sewers, but the smile on his face was soon wiped off when he realized how hilarious the idea was. If people learned about his thoughts right now, they would probably laugh him to death.
A Dormant sneaking into a Mage Garrison and hoping not to get caught. In fact, before someone like Alator would even approach the Arched Gates, he would be spotted immediately
.
A loud horn suddenly rang out from the garrison. Scripers began to rush out of the buildings; sharp voices and yells filled the air. Within a few seconds, everywhere had descended into chaos.