A young man crawled out of a dumpster and landed in a pothole of black oil. He dragged himself to a nearby bench in the alleyway and sat. Dressed in haggard black rags, he looked like someone who could crumble at any moment.
Distant gun blasts, inhuman roars, and screams echoed through the air.
He pulled the respirator from his face and dropped it beside the bench, sighing as a wet cough racked his chest.
"Damn toxic air."
Mason stared at the respirator and hissed. The SCBA unit had cost him a fortune. It was different from the cheap masks people like him usually wore; this was a piece of Impact Military gear, and now, it was useless to him.
He was going to die soon anyway.
Mason had dark circles under his eyes and unkempt, matted hair. Soon, a massive blast erupted nearby, and the building directly across from the alleyway crumbled, bursting into flames. A huge, foreign-shaped figure moved within the fire, roaring as a rain of bombs and gun blasts fell upon it.
He paid the battle no mind, staring instead at the black sky. All manner of flying creatures shrieked and swirled, attacking and dodging the turrets. He wasn't interested in the carnage; he was looking at the void above. It was always black.
Here in the "Stone Slums," it was always nighttime. The air was toxic and intolerable. No one knew why the atmosphere had become so lethal or why a shroud of black sky separated humanity from the less dangerous ozone above. Everyone simply prayed for a miracle.
And then, fifty years ago, it had happened.
A massive tower erupted from the center of the Earth, bringing with it a phenomenon called the Fate System. Those who awakened earned the System, gaining access to special martial arts, cultivation abilities, and the privilege to harness a mysterious energy called Qi. They were known as Jiangs.
Beyond their power, they could enter the Tower to clear its floors, and they were granted the ability to travel to a realm from a thousand years ago, taking the form of another person.
However, every miracle has its thorns. In this case, it was the portals that spilled out monsters known as Yaoguais.
This had fundamentally changed Earth. Above the black sky sat another civilization where the air was clean—a society built on floating islands. Of course, only those with power, money, and status could afford to live there.
The poor were left behind. The toxic air had infected most of them with a terminal, contractible disease that shortened the human lifespan to a mere five or ten years, while also limiting their chances of awakening as Jiangs. There was a cure, but since the impoverished could neither make a living nor escape the Slums, they were simply left to rot.
The rich stayed rich, and the poor stayed dead. This was the way of the world.
Mason coughed again, and this time, blood splattered against his palm.
"Your son has barely ten years to live."
The words the doctor had spoken to his late mother ten years ago rang in his ears. He had been only six years old then, but he already understood the sentence that had been passed.
Death.
Mason hadn't given up easily. The cure was a vaccine derived from energy found in the ancient realm. The cost was a death sentence in itself, but he had tried—he had tried so hard to live. He stole, he fought, and he ran, but it was all in vain.
The ten-year limit expired today.
He coughed again as tears slowly rolled down his cheeks. Stone buildings crumbled and turrets roared, filling the area with noise and blood, yet Mason didn't care.
Suddenly, the building flanking the alleyway groaned. The heavy, soot-stained brick gave way, and a shockwave of heat and pulverized stone tore through the space. A jagged fragment of masonry the size of a furnace slammed into the ground inches from the bench.
The impact didn't kill Mason, but the displacement tossed his frail body like a ragdoll. He felt the sickening crack of a rib as he was hurled through the air, landing hard against a pile of rusted scrap metal. The black oil from the pothole smeared across his face, mixing with the fresh blood dripping from his chin.
Yet, as he lay there, his lungs burning with every shallow breath, Mason didn't struggle. He didn't scream. He simply stared at the chaotic ballet of tracers and fire with hollow, glassy eyes.
He was lost in the silence of his own end. To Mason, the world had already ended ten years ago; he was finally just crossing the finish line.
A heavy thump vibrated through the ground, and a shadow slowly engulfed him. A Yaoguai was approaching.
It was a colossal, reptile-like creature. Its skin was made of thick, overlapping scales that resembled jagged obsidian, slick with the same black oil that pooled in the gutters. Steam hissed from its nostrils, and its eyes glowed like molten sulfur.
The Yaoguai didn't even notice him; it simply raised a massive, clawed forearm to move toward a nearby armor tank, indifferent to the human beneath its heel. Mason didn't move. He didn't even blink. He watched the light of distant fires glint off the creature's talons.
Just as the foot was about to crush him, a gust of wind swept past.
The Yaoguai froze, its forearm suspended mid-air. Glowing lines suddenly spider-webbed across its body. A second later, it burst into a spray of flesh and hot blood that rained down on the ruined street.
Where the creature had stood, a silhouette emerged from the darkness. A woman stood before Mason, dressed in tactical Eastern battle clothing. She held two tachis slicked with steaming blood. She had long pink hair and mesmerizing eyes that made her angry expression look almost cute.
'A Jiang.'
"Pathetic," she hissed. Without another word, she leaped away to engage the remaining Yaoguai.
Saving Mason was useless. He knew that, even if she didn't. A bitter smile touched his lips. Mason took one final, shuddering breath and closed his eyes.
He saw nothing. He felt nothing. He was dead.
Then, a sharp pain shot through his entire being, forcing a muffled cry from his throat in the endless darkness. Memories he didn't recognize flooded his brain.
It was all bloodshed.
War! War! War!
The visions stopped instantly, followed by an ethereal voice echoing from the void.
"The eye that watches you is the only one that refused to blink when the heavens bled."
In that endless darkness, a scroll unfurled – it was white and the words written on it were foreign and made of shining light – and the voice read the words written in light:
[Fate System Activated]
[Mortal has been chosen as a 'Jiang']
[Mortal! Prepare for your Tutorial!]