The sun rose lazily over the crumbling edge of a city that forgot how to dream. Its rays slipped through broken glass and stained walls, bathing everything in a pale, sickly light that made the shadows look deeper. A dry wind blew, carrying the stench of rust, rot, and something far worse.
Inside Class 3-9 of Black Hollow High, silence ruled like a tyrant. Students sat rigid, avoiding even a breath too loud. Eyes fixated forward, away from the final row—the back-left seat by the cracked window.
Cainen was asleep.
His body slumped over his desk, arms crossed, head buried beneath them. His black cropped shirt was soaked with sweat, clinging to the ridges of his back and shoulders. A soft grunt escaped him now and then, but no one dared acknowledge it.
Not after last year.
The Incident.
Forty students. Twelve teachers. One principal.
All dead.
The memory didn't fade. It scorched itself into the building—in the chairs that remained empty, in the bloodstains the janitors couldn't scrub out, and in the walls still cracked from the explosion of Cainen's rage.
He had no RAC. No powers. No core.
Yet he'd slaughtered them all.
And lived.
The door screeched open, metal grinding like a wounded animal.
Heads snapped forward. Hearts skipped. A few students looked down, praying it wasn't him again—not Cainen snapping again, not more death.
But it wasn't.
A new figure entered.
Tall. Lean. Dark jeans, boots, a loose black t-shirt. Long scruffy hair tied into a short ponytail. A slow walk. Each step confident, neither arrogant nor hesitant.
Kaito.
He stopped halfway into the room.
The teacher didn't greet him. She simply pointed to the seat.
Three were open. All beside Cainen.
Their old owners had laughed too loud once. Flexed their RACs. Thought their power meant untouchability. Now they were nothing but stories on a news feed, their desks burned with the insignia of their powers—a cruel tombstone.
Kaito didn't blink. He walked down the aisle.
His boots clicked against the tile. Click. Click. Silence followed each one, like the room was holding its breath.
He sat. Right beside Cainen.
The tension thickened like smoke. The air turned stale.
Then—a soft grunt.
Cainen stirred.
Another.
He sat up slowly, blinking. Black hair matted to his forehead. His eyes still half-lidded, red from sleep, but within them—something dangerous flickered.
He turned.
And saw Kaito.
Sitting beside him.
Staring.
Not in awe. Not in fear.
Just... staring.
Cainen blinked again. Confused. His lip curled slowly.
"The fuck... you starin' at?"
Kaito didn't flinch. Didn't look away.
"You always sleep this deep?"
The room held its breath again.
Cainen stood up. Fast. Chair flying back, skidding and slamming into the wall.
The other students flinched.
Cainen cracked his knuckles. Blood still crusted around one from the fight last week. He didn't care.
"Say that again, ponytail. I dare you."
Kaito remained seated.
"You tryna sneak me while I'm sittin'?"
"Nah. I'm just gonna fuck you up straight."
Cainen lunged.
But his fist never hit.
It stopped. Frozen in the air.
Something black and wet wrapped around his wrist.
A goopy hand. Half-formed. Like tar with a soul.
It pulsed. Then hardened into rock. The weight forced Cainen down to a knee.
The hand became an arm.
Then a chest.
Then a face.
A twisted, darker version of Kaito.
Eyes like black holes. Hair wild, uncombed. Skin pale but veined with shadow.
DMK.
A reflection. A curse. A demon in skin.
He looked down at Cainen like a king at a peasant.
"This is the one you let live, Kaito?"
Kaito didn't answer.
DMK turned to him, disgust in every word.
"No RAC. Not even a blip. Labeled a Valid. He's beneath shit."
Cainen's rage ignited.
He tore free. Skin ripping under the hardened tar grip. Blood smeared his forearm.
He didn't grunt—he screamed.
"RAAAH!"
He charged.
Fists flew. Elbows. Hooks. Knee strikes. He fought like a beast with nothing left to lose.
DMK caught one punch. Blocked another with a forearm. Took the third to the ribs with a grunt.
Then laughed.
"Is that it? Broken boy?"
Headbutt.
Cainen stumbled. Blood streamed from his nose.
Still standing.
Still fighting.
He swung again—but this time with everything.
DMK met him. Punch for punch.
Each impact sounded like bombs. The floor cracked. Desks flew.
Glass shattered from pressure alone.
The classroom was a war zone.
And then—
Shing.
A blade. Thin. Black.
Kaito stood now. Katana in hand.
He stepped between them.
Blade angled.
At DMK.
"That's enough."
DMK stopped.
Blade tip at his neck. A single drop of blood.
He sneered.
"Tch. Soft."
He dissolved. Back into black sludge. Gone.
Cainen stood, panting. Broken lip. Eye swelling shut.
Kaito sheathed his katana.
"You're strong," he said.
"But not strong enough."
Cainen's knees gave out.
Darkness took him.
[SCENE CHANGE — OUTSIDE SCHOOL]
The courtyard was dead quiet.
Rain began to fall. Gentle at first. Then harder. The sky grayed. Wind rustled through dead trees.
Cainen lay soaking into cracked pavement.
Around him, the city kept moving.
But something had changed.
And in the clouds above—
A single thread twitched.
[SCENE CHANGE — UNKNOWN SPACE]
Inside the void, where gravity forgot to exist and time pulsed like a slow heartbeat, Cainen's body floated.
He wasn't awake.
But he wasn't unconscious either.
A dreamlike haze clung to him, the darkness around warped by faint purple glows—threads of energy swirling like smoke trails in water.
He opened his eyes.
He was shirtless. Bruised. Barefoot.
Around him, massive mirrors floated in place, reflecting different versions of himself: older, bloodier, happier, dead.
He stared.
One of them—one with cracked knuckles and blood dripping from his teeth—grinned.
Cainen flinched.
From behind, a voice slithered into his mind:
"Anger brought you here. It will take you farther. But not forever."
He spun.
No one.
Just that endless black.
The voice again.
"You're close to something, Cainen. But you're still small. Still... nothing."
The mirrors shattered.
He screamed. Not in fear. In rage.
And woke up—
Back on the concrete.
In the rain.
With fists clenched so tight, his palms bled.
The void had touched him.
And it left something behind.