Clang. Clang.
A young teenager was hitting the walls of a mine with a pickaxe. His thin, calloused hands trembled with each blow. Around him, a dozen other worn-looking men were doing the same.
The young man lowered his pickaxe and sighed. It was only a moment, but it was enough: a whip crashed against his back.
"Hurry up, you idiot!" shouted one of the men watching them in an authoritative voice.
The young man growled and gritted his teeth as he looked at him with hatred. The man frowned and raised the whip again.
"How dare you look at me like that, you bastard? It seems you don't know your place, you damn slave."
The man was about to hit him again, but before he could, a bald, skinny old man intervened.
"Please, my lord, forgive him. He's just a foolish young man," he said as he hit the boy on the head, forcing him to bow.
The man clicked his tongue and turned away in disgust.
"Tch, damn slaves."
When the man walked away, they both straightened up. The young man, though thin and frail, had an indomitable gleam in his eyes.
"Damn... someday I'll beat that bastard up."
The old man watching him shook his head as he raised his beak again.
"Stop talking nonsense, Xaroth, and get back to work. How the hell do you plan to get revenge if you don't even have a mana core?"
Xaroth could only grunt and go back to work. Although he wanted to deny it, the old man was right: without a mana core, he would always be a nobody.
Three years had passed since he turned twelve, the age at which everyone forms their core. Unfortunately, he was one of those who could not form it. Being an orphan and unable to use mana, he was completely rejected and, in the end, captured and turned into a slave. That is how he ended up in this magical crystal mine.
Lost in his thoughts, the young man returned to work. Each blow made his bones creak. For several hours, all that could be heard was the rhythmic pounding of the pickaxe and the grunts of those slaves who were beaten by the guards.
When it was time to stop, the slaves filed out of the huge mine. Their bodies dragged themselves along without strength, as if they were corpses, and their empty eyes reinforced that idea.
Xaroth, walking at the end of the line, gritted his teeth as he followed the group. Behind him, the bald old man walked like a living corpse. Xaroth glanced at him briefly before slowing down and catching up.
"Damn it, Vorcas. At this rate, you'll be dead before we leave this place," Xaroth said wearily.
The old man glanced at him briefly and sighed with a small, sarcastic smile.
"My old bones don't respond anymore, kid. If I don't wake up tomorrow, I'll be grateful. I've lived too long, and now that you remind me that I can die, I don't think it's such a bad idea."
Xaroth could only lower his gaze and remain silent as he helped him out of the cave. In this place, that old man had been his only friend. They continued walking for a couple more minutes until the light from the small camp began to come into view.
The slaves' eyes lit up again for a moment and they tried to quicken their pace. Xaroth did the same. As they emerged, the open air flooded their nostrils and blew through their black hair. He walked to the campfire in the center and carefully dropped Vorcas on the ground.
The old man just smiled and opened his arms, letting out a grunt of satisfaction.
Xaroth did the same and threw himself onto the dirt floor. Around him, the handful of slaves imitated the gesture; some fell asleep as they hit the ground, while others simply let out sighs of relief.
Shortly thereafter, a couple of women in ragged clothes brought food: a piece of stale bread and a glass of water. Xaroth bit into the bread; it was as hard as a rock, so he had to dip it in water to be able to eat it. Next to him, Vorcas sat up and tried to eat, but at the first bite, one of his few teeth flew out.
The guards watching laughed. Vorcas didn't care; he just growled before dipping his bread and eating again. For a few minutes, only the sound of chewing filled the room, accompanied by the laughter of the guards.
Xaroth finished eating.His stomach continued to growl, which was normal every day. He didn't complain; complaining meant no food the next day and another beating. A sigh escaped his lips as he lay back down.
Lying there, he was able to forget his situation for a moment and gaze at the beautiful starry sky. Two moons, one gray and one red, gave it a mystical touch.
Xaroth remained silent before blinking and rubbing his eyes a couple of times. Seeing that he was still seeing the same thing, he spoke in a flat tone.
"Hey, old man."
Vorcas, who was chewing the bread as if it were a precious elixir, grunted in response.
"Since when do we have a red moon?
Vorcas raised his eyebrow and swallowed what was in his mouth.
"Are you going crazy? The moons are gray and..."
He couldn't finish speaking. The ground began to shake.
"What's that noise?!"
"It's shaking!"
"Damn it, what's going on?!"
The tremor grew stronger as the guards and slaves cursed. Xaroth and Vorcas stood up.
"What the hell is this?!" shouted Vorcas, who had fallen into the mud again.
"Look at the moon!" someone shouted.
Everyone looked up at the sky and began to gasp. A tremendous sound broke the moment, as if the world were beginning to tear apart. It was so loud that everyone fell to their knees, covering their ears; some slaves writhed on the floor, screaming in agony. Everywhere in the world, the tremor and the sound were heard.
Xaroth, writhing on the ground, looked up at the sky. Above them, a huge Fracture began to tear reality apart.
"A Fracture!
"Why the hell is there a Fracture here?!"
The guards began to shout. There were few Chaos Fractures in the world, and all of them were controlled by the great powers in dead zones, as the monsters that inhabited them could cause the world to collapse.
But it wasn't just them. In different parts of the world, different fractures began to appear. On the human continent, the elf continent, the demon continent, the dwarf continent, and the beast continent... the world seemed to be tearing itself apart.
Xaroth watched as the crack widened until it reached the floor, like a huge door. A torn line remained in its place, from the foot of the mine. Xaroth turned pale as sweat ran down his body.
Everyone was stunned.Suddenly, their bodies began to be dragged toward the Fracture.
"Shit, let's run, boy!" Vorcas's shout snapped Xaroth out of his trance.
He quickly tried to get away, but he couldn't. Like the rest, guards and slaves alike, they were all dragged away. Despair took hold of them; their screams and cries began to echo.
"Shit, we're going to die!" Vorcas clung to Xaroth, who was trying to anchor himself to the floor.
"Damn it, old man!" Xaroth shouted. "If you want to die, let go of me, don't drag me down with you!"
Even so, Xaroth held Vorcas down, trying to resist, but it was useless. Vorcas gritted his teeth.
"Damn it, this isn't how I wanted to die! I wanted to go in peace!"
"Damn it, stop yelling and hold on!"
Just before they were completely absorbed, everything calmed down. Silence returned. They all fell to the floor, panting heavily
"We did it..."
"It stopped..."
"Let's get out of here!"
Excited shouts echoed as they tried to crawl away. Xaroth stood up and helped Vorcas. They believed they had succeeded.
But as they were about to walk away, the suction returned. This time it was not weak; it was sudden and absolute. A single jolt and they were all pulled in.
This time there was no resistance. Each one was sucked in.