Wake up, filthy beast! I said, "Wake up!"
A gruff voice tore through the fog in Azrael's mind, dragging him from unconsciousness.
"John, water! Now!"
A heartbeat later, splash.
Cold.cold.
That was the only thing Azrael could process as freezing water drenched him, snapping him fully awake.
"Chough—chough!"
He coughed violently, his body shivering from the shock. His head pounded, and a bitter taste clung to his tongue.
What… happened?
The last thing he remembered was those bastards forcing some kind of drug down his throat, something to make him more docile.
His unfocused eyes blinked open, and the first thing he saw was the twisted face of the man in front of him. Scarred. Ugly. Cruel.
Who the hell is this ugly shit?
The thought slipped through his groggy mind before the guard's boot slammed into his face.
Pain exploded in his cheek, snapping his head to the side. His body slumped, but his gaze sharpened.
"Why the hell are you sitting there, talking to yourself? Don't you see the other slaves lining up to go down to the dungeon?
Go join them! Now!" the guard barked, spit flying from his cracked lips.
But Azrael just stared at him.
Silent. Unmoving. His dark amber eyes were flat, unblinking as his memories came flooding back like a brutal tide.
So I was sold to that ugly bastard, huh?
Why couldn't it have been to some gorgeous older elf woman?
Before the thought even finished, another kick came flying at his face, yet to Azrael, it moved in sluggish, slow motion.
He tilted his head, narrowly dodging the strike with a lazy grace that only made the guard more furious.
"Are you deaf, beast?! Go line up! Now!"
Azrael said nothing. His expression didn't even twitch.
He simply turned and strolled toward the line of shivering slaves, bare feet scraping against the cold, cracked stone.
The rough ground bit into his skin with every step, but he didn't flinch.
His shoulders were relaxed. His gaze was distant, but his mind burned sharp and hot.
Around him, the other slaves stood stiffly, their eyes sunken and vacant, their breaths shallow in the cold air.
The faint clinking of chains echoed softly like a dirge.
From the corner of his eye, Azrael noticed a squad of guards approaching, steel boots pounding the earth in perfect rhythm.
A man stepped forward to address the slaves.
He was tall, built like a boulder, with a grotesque scar slashing across his right eye.
His mere presence demanded attention.
His deep, gravelly voice rumbled through the air like distant thunder—cold, hard, and commanding.
From this moment on, you worthless insects will work here in this beginner dungeon,
the man growled, "You will mine blue mana crystals on the 40th floor for Vancount Thompson."
He paused, sweeping his gaze across the trembling line of slaves. When his eyes landed on Azrael, they narrowed with clear disgust.
"You should feel honored to be given this opportunity… even though you're nothing but lowly slaves."
And some of you," his lip curled, "are less than even that." he said as his eyes found all the beast-born slaves.
Honored? Azrael sneered silently. What idiot would fall for that crap? We're just disposable labor he doesn't have to pay. I'm done listening to this nonsense.
Status
Suddenly, something shimmered in his vision.
StatusName: Azrael Tiamat
Race: Werewolf & Kitsune Hybrid (Beastborn)
Age: 18
Lineage: ###### (Locked)
Class: —
Affinity: Sun, Moon, Gravity, Dream
Strength: 10
Stamina: 15
Vitality: 10
Mana: 30
Intelligence: 10
Skills:
— Freedom of the Broken (Level 1)
1.Grants an unnaturally strong mind. Resistance to mental collapse.
2.Greatly enhances resistance to poisons, addictive substances, and drugs.
— Body of Pure Devastation (Level 1)
1.Automatically adapts the host's body to the peak physical condition.
Clan: ???
Quests:
Become a Successor:
Right now, you are just aware, but to participate, you must ???? within one year or you will be expelled.
Reward: Depends on time taken to complete quest.
Escape Slavery:
No worthy descendant of ###### will remain in chains. You are destined for far greater things. To fully escape, form your mana core, and strengthen Freedom of the Broken.
Reward: Fusion and purification of bloodlines (Werewolf & Kitsune)
Before Azrael could process it, he caught the voice of Scarface speaking quietly to a man in fine clothesnthe one who had purchased them.
"So, the lower floors have been cleared, yes?"
"Just last week," Scarface replied, "Took a full team of D-rank adventurers.
Had to burn out a nest of mana beasts and collapse a few unstable corridors."
"And the artifacts? Have they been activated?"
"Of course. You think I'd risk losing your investment, my lord?
Warding runes are stable.
They'll suppress mana flare and delay mana beast respawn.
The mine veins are exposed, but the mana density won't be enough to spawn anything… unless some idiot dies down there and leaks too much blood."
They both laughed. Laughed like this was a game. Like their lives were cheap.
Keep laughing. Let's see if those artifacts protect you when your own blood is already summoning worse things than beasts, Azrael thought darkly, a feral grin twitching at the edge of his mouth.
One of the guards a brutish man with a coiled whip dragging lazily behind him walked down the slave line, inspecting each of them like rotten meat.
"As I said, you worms are going into floor 40.
You'll work until the stones shine or your arms break. No food until the quota's met.
No rest until we tell you. And if you even think about hiding a mana shard…"
He stopped in front of them and raised his hand.
The flesh was shriveled and blackened, charred down to the bone in some places, his skin melted and fused in a grotesque web.
"This," he hissed, "was the last thief's reward."
His boots scraped against the stone as he moved on,
leading the line of slaves toward the gaping maw of the dungeon.
The heavy iron doors groaned open,
releasing a blast of cold, unnatural air that bit into Azrael's skin.
Up ahead, the Vancount's carriage rumbled away, pulled by towering drake-horses, their clawed feet striking sparks against the cobblestone.
The first step into the cave felt like crossing a threshold into another world
The air changed. It wasn't just colder it was heavier, like it had weight.
Mana clung to the skin like damp ash, thick and unclean.
The light from the surface barely reached a few feet past the mouth of the cave before the gloom swallowed it whole.
Torches were handed out. Dim, rune-etched rods that sputtered with pale-blue fire.
Even their flames seemed nervous to be here.
The guards led the line forward, deeper and deeper into the stone throat of the earth.
The path sloped down sharply, wide enough for the two groups of slaves and guards to descend safely.
He walked near the center of the line, silent, torch in hand.
Behind him, the other slaves trudged with lifeless eyes, chains rattling like dry bones.
A few wept quietly. One stumbled and was beaten until he crawled. No one helped him.
Above them, the noble's voice echoed faintly from the surface.
"Make sure they're inside before sealing the ward. We don't want the mana escaping while it's still unstable."
The magic in the air was old. Angry. The deeper they went, the more it burned in the lungs, like breathing in wet smoke and crushed stone.
The torches began to flicker strangely, casting long, twitching shadows.
The first step into the cave felt like crossing a threshold into another Then the stairway ended.
They had reached floor 40 finally.
A vast chamber opened before them.
The ceiling arched high, riddled with glowing veins of mana stone blue.
Strange fungal growths clung to the walls, pulsing faintly like hearts.
The ground was uneven, split by cracks and pits where light dared not reach.
This was not a mine.
This was a graveyard waiting to happen.
The guards started barking orders, splitting the slaves into groups. Tools were handed out.
The sound of picks hitting stone began almost immediately.
But he… he didn't move right away.
"You," he snarled, pointing his whip. "You're moving too slow, beast. Pick up the pace."
Azrael looked at him. Slowly. Deliberately. Then he smirked.
"Your breath stinks."
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Silence.
The guard's eye twitched.
His face twisted into something between confusion and fury, like he couldn't believe a slave,a beastborn had just disrespected him.
"What… Did you just say to me?"
Azrael's smirk deepened.
"I said your breath stinks.
Like moldy bread and dead rats." He tilted his head, pretending to think.
"Actually… that's probably an insult to dead rats."
A heartbeat passed.
Then the guard lunged.
The whip cracked sharp and violent biting into Azrael's ribs, wrapping around his torso like a serpent.
He grunted as the force yanked him off his feet, slamming him hard into the stone wall.
"FILTHY BEAST!" The guard roared, his face flushed red with rage. "You dare mock me?!"
Azrael coughed, tasting blood in his mouth—but still, he laughed.
A low, broken sound, raw with defiance.
The other guards stepped forward, some amused, others disgusted.
"Throw him in solitary," one barked. "Let him rot for a few days. Strip him of his rations."
"Solitary?" The whip guard sneered. "Tch. You got lucky, beast."
Azrael met his gaze. Unblinking. Smiling.
"Yeah, I guess I did."
The solitary cell was more like a hole carved into the dungeon itself. Cramped.
Wet. Cold. The walls dripped with condensation, and the air stank of mildew and rusted iron.
They shoved him in and slammed the iron grate shut with a deafening clang.
Darkness swallowed him.
No torches. No light. No sound but his own ragged breathing and the slow drip, drip, drip of water.
He leaned his head against the wall, his body aching from the blow.
For a while… he just sat there. Listening to the silence.
Then a familiar chime echoed in his skull.
Bing
System Notification
[Daily quest: body tempering ]
[100 push ups ]
[100 sit ups ]
Reward: one stat point
What are you?
[To. Know everything you must first complete the quest Become a Successor]
I fell silent, heart pounding.
Then his eyes fell on [Clan].
"…What's this?"
[The Clan function reflects ##### bond with his chosen. You may create your own. Their growth will mirror yours. Their loyalty is absolute.]
"And the soulmates?"
[Individuals with deep resonance. You will know them when the time is right.]
He leaned his head back against the wall, breathing slow. The cell was quiet.