The wind howled through the skeletal remains of the city like a living thing, carrying the stench of ash, rot, and death. Crumbling skyscrapers leaned at impossible angles, their glassless windows yawning open like hollow eyes, staring blankly into the gray sky. Every step Aric took across the rubble-strewn street crunched beneath his boots, a grim reminder that the world was no longer his own. The streets were littered with broken concrete, twisted metal, and the remnants of lives that had once dared to dream.
Aric pressed himself against a toppled wall, shivering in the cold, gray dawn. His clothes were tattered, his skin bruised and scratched from days of scavenging. Hunger gnawed at him relentlessly, but it was nothing compared to the gnawing fear that never left him. In a world ruled by demons, weakness was death, and Aric had long since learned to avoid both.
He had survived by running, hiding, and praying that luck—if such a thing still existed—would favor him. Every day was a gamble. Every shadow could conceal a predator. Every flicker of movement could be the last thing he ever saw.
A scream split the air. Harsh, raw, human. Aric's heart lurched in his chest. He had heard it countless times, but each scream still tore at his insides. The sound was followed by a wet, tearing noise, visceral and horrifying. He had learned to recognize it instantly—the unmistakable sound of a soul being devoured. People screamed, demons feasted, and the world continued to turn, indifferent to human suffering.
He pressed himself closer to the wall, eyes darting across the ruined street. A faint green glow flickered a few blocks ahead—a manifested soul writhing in pain. Aric swallowed hard, feeling bile rise in his throat. Another victim, another reminder of the world's cruelty.
His hand gripped a broken pipe tighter. It was useless against anything truly dangerous, but it might save him from smaller threats—or at least buy him a few seconds. Every instinct screamed to run, but his gaze was drawn to the soul, pulsing faintly, almost calling to him.
A shuffling noise drew his attention. From the debris-strewn alley emerged a human scavenger, gaunt and trembling, their eyes wild with hunger and fear. Aric considered retreating. Allies were dangerous in this world; humans were as likely to betray as to aid you. But the scavenger froze, staring down the street in terror.
A demon emerged. Its skin was mottled, jagged, blackened like cracked stone. Limbs unnaturally long ended in claws capable of rending metal. Ragged wings hung limply from its back, and its eyes glowed with a sickly green light, intelligent and cruel. Its mouth split impossibly wide, revealing serrated teeth that gleamed even in the dim morning haze.
The scavenger bolted. The demon moved faster. In seconds, it was upon them. Aric could do nothing but watch as claws tore into flesh, screams echoing into the ash-choked sky. The soul—the essence of life itself—was ripped free, writhing like a glowing ember of agony. The demon absorbed it with a sickening snap. Silence followed, broken only by the hiss of wind through broken steel.
Aric's stomach churned. He had witnessed this many times before, yet it never became easier. His instinct screamed to flee, but his eyes remained fixed on the glowing soul. Something primal stirred within him, a pull he could not resist.
The demon's eyes found him. Its grin was intelligent, terrifying. It lunged. Aric rolled to the side, scraping his palms on shattered concrete, narrowly avoiding the claws that could have torn him apart. Pain flared, but he scrambled to his feet and ran.
Rubble and debris slowed him, but instinct guided his steps. Every shadow, every overturned vehicle, every fallen wall could be a trap, and he knew he could not afford mistakes. The city itself seemed alive, whispering threats and hiding dangers.
He stumbled over a heap of broken stone, landing in a small pit hidden beneath rubble. Darkness swallowed him, but the faint glow beneath a pile of debris drew him forward. Curious and desperate, he clawed at the stones until he uncovered a small, battered demon, torn and broken—its life nearly extinguished. Hovering above its body was a manifested soul, flickering faintly as though pleading to be consumed.
Aric's hands trembled. He could feel the raw energy emanating from the soul: cold, intoxicating, and terrifying. Hunger gnawed at him, but it was not for food. He wanted strength. He wanted survival. He wanted to change his miserable existence.
Slowly, almost instinctively, he reached out—and consumed it.
Pain tore through his mind like lightning. Not in his body, but in his very being. Horrific visions of suffering, fear, and anguish assaulted him: the demon's life, every moment of terror, every scream. Faces twisted in agony, endless sorrow pressed down on him, gnawing at his sanity. Aric screamed, curling into himself as the flood of suffering crashed over him. The air itself seemed to thrum with the weight of pain.
And then—silence.
When he opened his eyes, the city looked the same, but he felt…different. Strength surged through his veins, sharp and tangible. His senses had sharpened; he could hear the slightest shift of air, see the tiniest flicker of movement. Energy thrummed in his veins, cold, dark, and intoxicating.
A whisper echoed in his mind, almost foreign: Sorrow System.
It had awakened. Intertwined with his soul, it promised power born from suffering, survival, and growth—but at a cost he could not yet comprehend.
Shivering, Aric realized the enormity of what he had done. The demon's anguish lingered within him, a heavy, burning weight. But alongside it came clarity: hunger, fear, and weakness would no longer dominate him. He could survive. He could grow strong. One day, he would take the world back from the monsters that had devoured it. One day, he would face the Demon King himself.
But first…he had to live.
Aric rose unsteadily, testing his new senses. A faint shadow glowed around his hands, the remnants of the absorbed soul coiling like smoke. A weapon forged from sorrow, entirely his own. The first step of a journey that could either save humanity—or consume him entirely.
The ruins around him seemed different now. Shadows held threat and opportunity in equal measure. The wind carried whispers he could understand, hints of danger and power. In the distance, beyond the shattered cityscape, a faint silhouette lingered, ominous and immovable, as though the world itself watched him.
Aric clenched his fists, jaw tight. His journey had begun.
Days blurred into nights as he navigated the ruins, scavenging scraps, evading minor demons, and testing the strange sensations of the Sorrow System. Every minor encounter with wandering creatures brought new insights: absorbing even a fragment of their suffering strengthened him, sharpened his senses, and honed his instincts.
He stumbled upon abandoned buildings, once homes, now tombs, where the lingering sorrow of past lives made the air thick and heavy. Every broken toy, every torn photograph, whispered stories of a world that had died quietly while the demons rose. Aric's heart ached, but he refused to let it break him. Each pang of grief was fuel for his growth, a building block of the Sorrow System's strange power.
One night, in a deserted alley, he confronted his first real challenge: a small pack of shadow demons, faster and sharper than anything he had faced before. Heart pounding, he dodged their claws, feeling the Sorrow System react to the tension, the fear, and the fleeting pain of the creatures themselves. Every successful strike, every close call, fed his strength. By dawn, he had survived, bruised but alive, and the taste of power lingered in his veins like bitter wine.
By the time the sun barely rose over the ash-choked horizon, Aric had changed. He was no longer just a scared, starving boy. He was something new—shaped by grief, sharpened by survival, and awakened to a power that could carve a path through the devastation.
The Sorrow System pulsed faintly within him, promising more. And somewhere, beyond the ruins, the Demon King waited.
Aric's jaw tightened. He would see that day come, no matter the cost.
His journey had begun—and nothing would ever be the same.