The first night after the awakening had been the hardest. Aric had slept little, curled against the cold rubble of a fallen building, half-conscious, senses still straining. The Sorrow System pulsed faintly in his veins, a subtle thrum that reminded him it was alive, hungry, and aware. Every shadow seemed to move, every gust of wind carried whispered threats, and the faintest flicker of movement could mean life or death.
When he opened his eyes at dawn, the city looked as dead as ever. Streets were choked with rubble and ash. Rusted cars, broken concrete, and fragments of buildings littered every path. Cracked tiles and scattered debris reflected nothing but decay. The occasional remnants of life—clothing, tattered photographs, charred toys—stared at him from the ruins, ghostly reminders of what had been.
Hunger gnawed at him—not just the emptiness of his stomach, but the desire for strength. The Sorrow System hungered as well, eager for energy, for suffering, for fear. Every cry, every tremor of terror, every fleeting whisper of pain could feed it. Aric had tasted it the day before, when he had consumed the first manifested soul. The surge of power had been intoxicating, yet terrifying. And now, he knew the system demanded more.
He moved cautiously, stepping lightly over rubble and avoiding open streets. Scavengers occasionally darted past, gaunt and desperate, their eyes wild with terror and hunger. Aric ignored them. Trust was a liability, and human allies, however rare, were temporary.
The first real test came quickly. From the shadows of a collapsed storefront, a low growl echoed. Aric froze. A shadow fiend emerged, darker than night itself, limbs elongated, claws glinting faintly. Its skin rippled like smoke, and hollow eyes reflected nothing but void. Unlike the clumsy demons he had seen before, this creature moved with precision, calculating every step.
Aric's pulse quickened. He didn't have a weapon capable of killing it conventionally, but instinct guided him. The Sorrow System reacted, energy coiling around his hands. He reached out mentally, drawing power from the fiend's own fear. The creature hissed, recognizing the intrusion into its mind, but it was too late. Pain lanced through it, and the shadows around it flickered as if alive.
The battle was brutal. Each dodge, each strike, fed Aric, sharpened his reflexes, honed his senses. By the time the fiend dissolved into a black mist, Aric was panting, bruised, and trembling—but undeniably stronger. Yet a gnawing unease lingered. Every victory carried weight: the suffering he absorbed was not his, and the echoes of torment pressed on his soul.
He pushed the thought aside. Survival required sacrifice.
Deeper into the ruins, Aric stumbled upon another survivor—not fleeing, but fighting. A girl, perhaps sixteen, with a crude spear, defended herself atop a mound of rubble. She moved with desperation, precision, and defiance. Her clothes were tattered, her face streaked with dirt and dried blood, yet her eyes burned with a fire that mirrored his own.
One of the demons lunged at her. Without thinking, Aric acted. Shadow energy surged from his hands, subtle but lethal, forcing the demon back. The girl recovered, finishing the creature with a swift strike.
Her eyes widened as she stared at him. "Who…are you?"
"Aric," he replied cautiously. "Just…passing by."
"I'm Lyra," she said softly, lowering her spear. "Thanks."
He didn't respond further. Trust was dangerous, but he felt an unfamiliar pull toward her—the tiniest seed of connection, hope, or perhaps weakness.
Together, they navigated alleys and debris, scavenging what little remained: stale water, bruised vegetables, scraps of dried meat. Aric learned quickly that the Sorrow System could draw subtle strength even from Lyra's fear during minor encounters—but he restrained himself. Humans were not expendable like monsters, not yet.
Night fell, stretching shadows unnaturally. They found shelter in a collapsed subway tunnel, faint remnants of life before the fall all around them: broken tiles, faded graffiti, discarded books. It smelled of damp and decay, but it was safe…for now.
Aric tested the Sorrow System, sensing traces of past suffering in the walls and air. He could feed subtly on fear, pain, and echoes of anguish. He was learning. Every encounter, every calculation, every survival decision fed him—not just strength, but understanding.
Lyra stirred nearby. "Do you think we'll survive?" she asked, voice soft but unwavering.
Aric hesitated. Survival was never simple. "One day at a time," he said, clenching his fists as shadow energy flickered around him.
Beyond the ruined city, beyond the tunnels and ash-choked streets, he could feel a presence: patient, calculating, eternal. The Demon King had not forgotten. He had not forgiven.
Aric's jaw tightened. He could feel the weight of the Sorrow System, the echoes of pain, the whispers of every suffering creature.
He would grow stronger. He would survive. And one day, the Demon King would pay.
But not today.
For now, survival and mastery of the Sorrow System were all that mattered.