Chapter 1: The start

In the crimson glow of the setting sun, the room was bathed in a breathtaking red aura. A young boy, his leg and arm bandaged, sat on the edge of a bed with tearful eyes, casting a sorrowful gaze toward a middle-aged woman lying in an almost ethereal sleep.

"M-mom," the boy stuttered, his voice breaking with each sob. No matter how much he cried out, she never returned.

A week passed, and the boy remained silent, a constant veil of sadness enveloping him. At home and at school, his demeanor didn't waver until an older man, sitting across from him with a can of brew and a morning newspaper, disrupted the silence.

"Are you going to eat or not?" the man asked, frustration evident. The boy, seemingly detached, continued to ignore him.

Their connection was strained – the boy's mother was soon to be the man's wife, and although they were planning to marry, tragedy struck when they had a car accident after a visit to a gaming center. The boy's plea for a virtual gaming console ended in a shattered reality.

In an agitated yet calm tone, the man pressed, "Answer me." His frustration escalated into anger as he slammed his hand on the table, startling the child. "ANSWER ME!" he yelled, leaving the table and retreating to his room. The house echoed with indistinct noises until it fell silent.

Then came the unsettling sounds:

WHOOSH,

BANG, BANG, BANG …

The leather whip-like instrument, a belt, became a relentless force inflicting pain upon the young child repeatedly. Despite the agony, the boy clung to his silence, only letting out small whimpers and tears like an unstoppable flood.

It didn't stop there. Each day, the young child endured beatings for his refusal to speak. Attempts to run away only intensified the abuse. The older man, a complete drunk, showed no mercy, subjecting the child to relentless beatings without warning. All the while, the eight-year-old remained trapped in a cycle of silence and suffering.

Days turned into a relentless routine of torment for the young boy. His spirit waned, but his silent defiance endured. The walls of the house became silent witnesses to the ongoing brutality as the older man, consumed by his vices, found an outlet for his frustrations in the physical pain he inflicted.

The boy's attempts to escape the vicious cycle were met with harsh consequences. Bruises adorned his small frame, and his once vibrant eyes were now dull, reflecting the toll that each beating took on his fragile spirit. The world outside seemed distant, replaced by a never-ending nightmare within those four walls.

The scars, both physical and emotional, marked the passing of time. The boy's silent screams echoed through the hollow spaces of his existence, unheard and unacknowledged. The pain became a constant companion, a dark shadow that clung to him, even in the fleeting moments of respite.

Despite the cruel reality he faced, the young boy clung to the remnants of his inner strength. In the midst of the agony, a spark of resilience flickered within him, a testament to the indomitable spirit that refused to be entirely extinguished. Each day became a battle between silence and suffering.

The outside world remained oblivious to the boy's plight, the crimson sunsets and bustling streets providing a stark contrast to the hidden turmoil within those walls. The once joyous laughter that resonated in the house had now been replaced by the haunting silence of a tortured soul.

As the boy endured the relentless onslaught, a glimmer of hope flickered in the form of a distant memory – the warmth of a mother's love, the laughter that once filled the air. Yet, the present reality seemed insurmountable, a suffocating darkness that eclipsed any prospect of escape.

The boy's silent resistance became a poignant narrative, a silent scream that resonated beyond the confines of his suffering. In the shadows, a fragile soul yearned for solace, for someone to acknowledge the pain that words could not convey. The crimson glow of the sun outside continued to cast its indifferent light, oblivious to the silent plea of a child trapped in the depths of despair.

As time passed, the boy grew increasingly absentminded, the relentless beatings having taken a toll on both his body and spirit. The older man's anger escalated, leading to the use of fists in addition to the leather belt. This agonizing cycle persisted for four long years, shaping the boy into a shell of his former self.

With the passage of time, the boy matured, and so did the overwhelming hatred festering within him. Eight years flew by in a blur, and at the age of 16, the intensity of the beatings lessened, though the scars remained etched on his psyche.

….

Turning off his phone after glancing at the date, he sighed with a heavy heart. The approaching days held a weight of sorrow, and over the past few years, he had ceased celebrating that particular day – a date that marked both an end and a beginning.

In a hushed and desperate tone, almost speaking to himself, he found solace in the shadows of an abandoned building, slipping by unnoticed by passersby. Navigating through dimly lit rooms, he reached the last one down the left corridor, placing his bag beside another.

As he left to change, a wave of unease swept over him, and upon his return, he discovered an unfamiliar figure near an open window. Perplexed, he uttered a soft "Huh," reaching behind an aged painting to retrieve a hidden short sword.

Instead of a threat, he stumbled upon his best friend, lying only meters away from a lifeless body, bleeding out. The abandoned building, once a sanctuary of solitude, now bore witness to a fateful encounter that would reshape the boy's path in ways he never anticipated.

The unfamiliar figure near the window stirred, and as the boy cautiously approached, he recognized the familiar face of Jack, an older brother-like figure who had once been his guiding light in the darkest of times. Jack's face bore the scars of battles fought, and his weary eyes met the boy's with a mix of relief and anguish.

As memories flooded back, the boy recalled the pivotal role Jack played in his life at a young age. Jack had been a mentor, training him to defend himself against the unforgiving streets. However, the unintended consequence of Jack's teachings was that the boy unwittingly became a target in a war between local gangs.

Jack's protective intentions had inadvertently pulled the boy into a dangerous conflict. The very skills Jack had imparted became both a shield and a curse. The boy found himself ensnared in the violent power struggles of rival gangs, a pawn in a game he never wished to play.

Their journey took a dark turn when Jack, driven by a twisted sense of justice, took matters into his own hands. In a desperate bid to safeguard the boy, Jack ended up confronting and injuring the second leader of one of the gangs, escalating tensions and sealing their fate in the dangerous underworld they now navigated.

Now, in the dilapidated room of the abandoned building, the reunion of mentor and protege carried a weight of shared history and unspoken regrets. Jack's gaze held a profound acknowledgment of the unintended consequences of his actions.

The frantic shout of "JACK!" pierced through the dimly lit room, Aaron rushing without hesitation to his friend's side. His heart lurched at the sight of Jack lying there, blood pooling beneath his body. Dropping to his knees, Aaron cradled Jack's head, his eyes wide with shock and fear.

"Stay with me," Aaron pleaded, his voice quivering. With trembling hands, he applied pressure to the wounds, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood. His mind raced for any solution to save Jack's life.

As Jack's condition worsened, Aaron's frantic gaze searched the room, finally locating a dusty, half-empty med kit tucked away in a corner. Fumbling with trembling hands, he grabbed bandages and antiseptic, attempting to patch up the wounds as best as he could.

Just before he finished, Jack's weak voice startled him. "They… They were from the Black Ravens," Jack whispered, their words laden with both pain and anger. Aaron's heart pounded with rage at the mention of the notorious group.

"Why would they do this?" Aaron seethed, his hands tightening around the bandages.

Jack winced in pain but managed to say, "They know… They know I've been—cough cough."

"... They know I've been helping you, ever since you assassinated their second leader."

Aaron's eyes widened at the revelation. "Those damned bastards."

Although infuriated, Aaron managed to calm himself down. After getting a level head, he stood up, arranged one of the sturdy mattresses, and gently lowered Jack onto it to get some rest.

UHHH!

After racking his brain on what to do, Aaron abruptly left the room. As he departed, a sense of urgency and determination filled his mind. His steps echoed through the abandoned building as he headed to a hidden corner where a small stash of both modern and cold weapons lay concealed.

Rummaging through the stash, Aaron's fingers closed around a sleek, customized handgun. Checking its magazine, he ensured it was loaded before securing it at his side. He then fastened a few combat knives under his coat, a short sword on his waist, and two hidden knives under his wrists.

He knew he had to act fast.

With his mind focused and heart racing, Aaron navigated the labyrinthine alleys, using every shortcut and hidden path he had learned over the years. The city seemed alive with whispers of danger as he moved swiftly, avoiding any unwanted attention.

He reached out to a few contacts, using coded messages to arrange a meeting. In a secluded alley, shrouded in darkness, he encountered a group of individuals, their faces hidden beneath hoods.

They exchanged cryptic words and nods before Aaron finally received a folded piece of paper. Unfolding it, his eyes scanned the information—a location, a time, and a warning: "Beware. Ravens fly high."

Determined and undeterred by the threat, Aaron made his way towards the given location. Every step was calculated, every shadow scrutinized. He arrived at an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town.

Entering cautiously, Aaron found himself surrounded by an eerie silence. The faint sound of dripping water echoed through the empty halls. He could sense the tension in the air, a prelude to an imminent confrontation.

Suddenly, a menacing voice echoed through the darkness. "So, you've come, little bird. Ready to meet your fate?" A figure emerged from the shadows, clad in dark attire, the emblem of a raven emblazoned on their chest.

Victor stood in the dimly lit room, flanked by his bodyguards, an air of authority surrounding him. His focus was intent on the documents spread across the table, his expression composed and unwavering.

Aaron's eyes fixed on Victor, a burning rage emanating from him. He was alone, determined, and fueled by a thirst for revenge.

"Victor," Aaron's voice was a low growl, thick with hostility. "You can get to me, so you try and kill my best friend!"

Victor looked up calmly, meeting Aaron's intense glare with an unreadable expression. His bodyguards shifted, picking up a bottle of wine. "You hear, aren't you? I dare to say it worked, didn't it."

Pouring himself into a small glass, he set the bottle down, giving the glass a slow swirl. "Now for the reason I wanted to see you," Victor said with a displeased tone. "You thought it was ok to kill my little brother. I'd call that a threat, would you not?"

"Sigh," Aaron let out an irritated chuckle that would send shivers down an ordinary person's spine. "Is that what all of this is about? Wow… it's business. I don't see what the problem is."

CLASH!

Struggling to contain his anger, Victor hand now bled from the shattered glass. He clenched his fist, attempting to hide the pain, but his eyes betrayed the agony. "Business, you say?" His voice quivered with restrained fury. "There's no business when it comes to family."

Aaron's sneer wavered for a moment, a flicker of something resembling remorse passing over his features before vanishing behind a veil of indifference. "Your brother was in the way. You know how it goes, Victor. It's about power, control—"

"Control? You dare speak of control?" Victor's voice surged with raw emotion. "There's a difference between ambition and ruthlessness, Aaron. Your ambition crossed that line."

The room fell into a tense silence, the weight of their confrontation hanging heavily in the air. Victor's blood dripped onto the table, a stark reminder of the escalating tension.

With a sharp exhale, Aaron straightened up, his demeanor shifting back to a casual façade. "Look, Victor, there's no changing what's done. But know this…" He paused, his gaze piercing. "This won't end here. You've made your move, now brace for the consequences."

The two locked gazes for a moment longer, the unspoken threat lingering between them before Aaron turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Victor to tend to his wounded hand and plot his next move in the high-stakes game of power and retribution.

….

Arriving home after the tense confrontation with the Black Ravens, Aaron was met with the familiar ambiance of his household – a stark contrast to the clandestine world he had just navigated. The door swung open to reveal the dimly lit interior, where the looming figure of his stepfather awaited.

“Where have you been, Aaron?” his stepfather demanded, the disapproval evident in his stern gaze. “You’re late again, and this is becoming a pattern.”

Walking past him without giving him a chance to say more, the stepfather extended his dominance by grabbing Aaron’s arm. A tight grip conveyed a sense of authority as he began to speak, “It seems I’ve been letting you off for too long, maybe I sho—”

Before he could finish the sentence, a sharp pain stung at his throat. A sudden twist of events left the stepfather momentarily speechless, his grip loosening as he instinctively clutched his neck. In the shadows, Aaron stood, a glint of defiance in his eyes.

As the stepfather grappled with the unexpected pain, Aaron’s gaze remained unwavering. The dim light revealed a trickle of blood slowly seeping from the man’s neck, staining the atmosphere with an eerie intensity.

The room fell silent, the tension escalating as the stepfather tried to make sense of the abrupt turn of events, but was too late. The unspoken defiance in Aaron’s actions reverberated in the quietude, a rebellion against the constraints that had bound him for too long.

In the shadows, Aaron watched stoically as the blood painted a vivid tableau of the shift in dynamics. The air was charged with an unspoken understanding that the balance of power had subtly tilted.

As the stepfather recoiled, still grappling with the unexpected pain, he dropped dead. Aaron, unfazed, remained a figure in the shadows – a symbol of resistance against the domestic expectations that sought to confine him. Yet, amidst the aftermath, a surreal twist unfolded.

{You have killed a {Rank 0• Bronze •Human, level *}

Suddenly, a mysterious screen materialized before him, defying the logic of the scene that had just transpired. Symbols and words danced in an otherworldly manner, leaving Aaron utterly perplexed. He stood there, caught between the lifeless body and this inexplicable display, his brows furrowed in confusion.

Questions swirled in his mind as he contemplated the surreal encounter. What was the meaning of this cryptic interface? Why did it manifest at this particular moment, blurring the lines between reality and the unknown? The symbols on the screen seemed to mock his understanding, presenting a puzzle he couldn’t decipher.

Amidst the shadows, Aaron hesitated, cautiously trying to make sense of this enigmatic screen. As his fingertips grazed the symbols, a strange energy pulsed through him, deepening his confusion. The symbols rearranged themselves in response to his touch, forming patterns that seemed to defy the laws of the mundane world

{You have gain 3 permanent points in perception}

The sudden influx of Energy points added another layer of bewilderment to Aaron’s already perplexed state. As he grappled with the mysterious screen and the unexpected numerical revelation, the shadows seemed to whisper secrets of an unseen realm. The night unfolded, leaving Aaron standing at the nexus of the inexplicable and the complexities of his own existence.