"Your title is… Lord Of Beasts."
A voice echoed in Ethan's mind.
It was hoarse, borderline demonic, and followed by a sharp tingling sensation that rippled through his body.
He jolted awake and found himself sprawled half-off his air mattress at an awkward angle, one arm numb beneath him, his back screaming in protest.
Drool clung to his palm, and his mouth tasted like stale beer and regret.
"Can't that fucker put me to sleep more gently?" he croaked, dragging himself upright.
The world tilted.
His head pounded like it was trying to escape his skull, and every muscle ached as if he'd just been beaten to a pulp.
Slowly, the basement around him came into focus.
The place he called home.
There were dust-coated crates of wine and beer stacked along concrete walls. Then there was his air mattress that was deflated slightly, like it was giving up on him the same way he had given up on himself.
Beside it, a small pile of clothes, two mismatched pairs of shoes, and a cardboard box that held cheap cigarettes and a lighter with a cracked wheel.
That was it.
His life, reduced to one forgotten corner beneath someone else's bar.
And yet - despite the hangover, the soreness, the fact he was broke - something churned in his chest.
Excitement.
Real, electric excitement.
'I've become a Titled!'
The thought sent a shaky laugh bubbling out of him.
He stood, then paced, then nearly danced across the cold concrete floor, heart racing.
"I can't believe it," he whispered. "I actually-"
His foot clipped some empty beer bottles he had left on the ground.
Glass exploded across the basement with a sharp crack.
"Shit!"
Heavy footsteps answered immediately from above.
A door opened, then someone started down the stairs, already annoyed.
Mark, the owner of this place.
Broad-shouldered and solid, like a man carved from something sturdier than most. He moved with the easy confidence of someone who knew he could handle trouble without ever having to announce it.
He had deep brown skin and short, neat hair cut into a clean fade. His rolled-up sleeves revealed thick forearms marked with old scars, the kind you didn't ask about.
His dark eyes were sharp but warm.
"What have you done now, Ethan?" Mark muttered as he descended the creaking steps. "And what did I tell you about leaving empty bottles lying around?"
"Forget that!" Ethan blurted. He couldn't stop grinning. "Mark, you won't fucking believe it. I heard it!"
Mark paused halfway down the stairs. "Heard what?"
"The voice," Ethan said. "The one all the Titled hear. And I got a title. A badass one."
Mark stared at him.
"I wonder what I can do," Ethan continued, excitement spilling over. "Maybe I've got super strength, or-"
He sucked in a breath and let out the loudest, most dramatic roar he could manage, aiming it straight at Mark.
The sound echoed pathetically off the concrete.
It was loud, yes, but definitely nothing supernatural.
Mark blinked.
Ethan's grin faltered.
'Lord Of Beasts… a roar made sense in my head, but I guess that's not it.'
Mark sniffed. "First off, your breath stinks. Secondly, there's no way you received a title."
Ethan frowned. "What?"
"If you had," Mark went on calmly, "you'd already have abilities. It should be instinctive. Like moving an arm. Unless 'legendary morning breath' counts, I'm not seeing it."
The words hit harder than Ethan expected.
"Well… whatever I heard, it must've-"
"And am I really going to have to carry you down here every night?" Mark interrupted, rubbing his temples. The irritation was real, but beneath it was concern more than anything.
"We're not kids anymore."
There was a tense moment of silence after that, before Ethan glossed over his last comment.
"Couldn't you have at least brushed my teeth before dumping me down here?"
"Couldn't you have learned when to stop drinking?" Mark retorted.
'It's easier to sleep when I blackout...' Ethan thought as he reflexively reached for a cigarette.
Mark slapped it clean out of his fingers. "And what did I say about smoking down here? You trying to burn down my bar, Mr Titled?"
Ethan hesitated.
Then straightened.
"You think I'm crazy?" he said quietly. "Fine. I'm getting tested."
Mark frowned. "For real? No need to take the joke that far."
"I'm not joking, Marcus."
Mark stiffened slightly at the use of his full name.
"I heard and felt something," Ethan said, voice low and steady. "I know it did."
But it simply didn't make sense.
Every Titled awakened their abilities immediately.
Be it super strength, pyrokinesis, or x-ray vision - it should manifest effortlessly.
Yet here Ethan was - on his hands and knees, crawling across the basement floor like an animal, trying to figure out what it was he was capable of.
A sharp sting snapped him out of it.
"Shit."
Blood welled from his palm where a shard of glass had bitten deep.
Mark sighed. "Go shower and get changed. I'll clean this up."
Ethan looked up at him, sheepish. "You're the best, man. I'll pay you back. Once I'm officially registered."
Mark just shook his head as his friend disappeared into the cramped bathroom beneath the staircase.
Ethan took a moment to look at himself in the merciless mirror.
'That's a rough twenty-five.'
He was lean, but not from training, from surviving. Though with the amount he was drinking as of late, he was starting to get a small beer belly. Old scars crossed his arms and knuckles, alluding to a rough life.
Messy hair and a rough stubble, he could look quite handsome if he were more well-kempt, especially with his piercing blue eyes that didn't quite belong to someone who'd already hit rock bottom.
Even before his Title, there was something feral about him.
Something that he almost seemed to be trying to suppress and move on from.
"Doesn't get much worse than this," he muttered, shaving quickly, showering, and pulling on his best clothes - a plain black tracksuit.
In his pocket: a cracked phone with several missed calls from an 'Old Man Cho', and a small wad of cash.
Everything he owned.
Upstairs, Mark was drying glasses behind the bar.
The Black Howl wasn't a fancy bar, but it was warm.
Worn wooden tables, a polished counter, and a battered pool table took up most of the space.
It was a nice, small bar that had its regulars, the biggest of which was now Ethan.
"I'm heading out," Ethan said. "Want anything? Breakfast?"
"It's two in the afternoon," Mark replied. I've already eaten lunch."
Ethan grinned and turned for the door, but as he did, Mark grabbed his arm.
"Your shift started an hour ago," he said quietly. "Mr Cho did me a favour giving you that job. The pay's not great, but with your record? It's the best you'll get without going back to-"
Ethan looked down at the hand gripping his arm, then back up at the face of his giant counterpart.
He clearly didn't appreciate being grabbed, but Mark still held him tightly and locked eyes with Ethan, who just sighed.
"What do I even have to lose?"
Mark's jaw tightened. "You've got plenty to lose, so don't say that." He let go, taking a breath. "Whatever happens… I've got you."
Ethan nodded appreciatively, something tight in his chest loosening as he stepped outside.
The bell above the door rang.
Just like that, he was on his way to get tested as a Titled.
But things didn't go as he would have hoped...