"Hold it!"
The shout cut through the slums like a blade.
The group of teens scattered on instinct, feet slamming against broken stone and wet dirt as they ran. They knew it was useless. Every one of them knew. Still, fear burned hotter than reason, and fear made fools brave for a few seconds longer than they should be.
Behind them, the explorers moved.
They did not rush. They did not panic. They flowed through the narrow alleys with practiced ease, boots barely slowing as they leapt over collapsed walls and kicked aside rusted barrels.
One wore light armor and moved low, almost lazy, until he vanished into the shadows and reappeared ahead of a fleeing boy. Another raised a staff, murmured a word, and a wave of wind slammed a teen off his feet, sending him skidding across the dirt.
A boy screamed when a hand caught his collar and yanked him back. He flailed, kicking, until a fist drove into his stomach and stole the air from his lungs, as he folded, gagging, and was dragged away like dead weight.
"Don't break them too much," one of the explorers said with a laugh. "They still need to walk."
The slums of Grimwatch were narrow and choking, packed tight with leaning shacks and cracked stone. Old blood stained the ground in places no one bothered to clean anymore. People watched from behind torn curtains and broken doors, eyes dull and empty. No one stepped in. No one ever did.
This was normal here.
Teens above sixteen who had not awakened were rounded up whenever the stronghold needed bodies. And the slums were full of them. Forgotten, Useless and Easy.
Arthur Blackfall hit the ground hard when a boot caught his ankle.
He groaned as pain shot through his body, and before he could push himself up, a knee pressed into his back and a hand twisted his arm behind him. Something cracked. But he bit down on his lip to keep from screaming.
"Still got some fight," the explorer said. "That's good."
Arthur spat blood onto the dirt. "Go to hell," he muttered.
The hand tightened. Pain bloomed white hot and his vision swam.
"Careful," another voice said, amused. "If you break him, he won't last five minutes in there."
With that the pressure eased, but only a little. Arthur was hauled up and dragged forward. His feet scraped uselessly as his body refused to cooperate. Every breath hurt. Every movement reminding him how weak he was.
Weak.
He hadn't felt this word in a long time.
As they moved through the slums, more teens were caught. Some cried. Some cursed. A few went silent, eyes empty as they were dragged along. The explorers joked as they worked, trading comments about who would awaken and who would die.
"Third one today who looks promising," the mage said, nodding at a struggling boy. "Got stubborn eyes."
"Stubborn gets you killed," the warrior replied. "But sometimes it's enough."
Arthur listened without lifting his head. He saved his strength. Complaining never helped. Fighting now was pointless. He learned that lesson once already, in another life.
Just hours ago, he had been someone else.
A mafia boss.
The word still felt strange in his mind, but the memories were sharp. The underground rooms. The quiet respect when he walked in. The way people waited for his nod before breathing. He had climbed to the top with patience and cruelty, reading weakness in others and using it without mercy. He trusted no one.
Until he did.
That one moment of hesitation replayed in his mind like a curse. A single choice to believe a familiar face, a single delay when instinct screamed to act. The betrayal that followed was swift. A gunshot. and then darkness.
He should have died.
Instead, he woke up in pain, in a body that wasn't his, surrounded by filth and hunger in the slums of Grimwatch. Memories that were not his mixed with his own. A commoner boy. With no talent, No skill, No awakened talent.
Pathetic.
Arthur clenched his jaw as the explorer shoved him forward again.
"Move," the man snapped. "Save your curses for the dungeon."
Arthur lifted his head just enough to meet the man's eyes. "You enjoy this?" he asked quietly.
The explorer blinked, surprised, then laughed. "Enjoy? No. It's work. And work needs doing."
"You throw kids to die and call it work," Arthur said.
The explorer shrugged. "They either awaken or they don't. Either way, the dungeons get cleared."
Arthur said nothing after that. He filed the man away in his mind. Faces mattered. Voices mattered. He survived once by remembering details others ignored.
Soon they reached the edge of the slums as the sky darkened overhead. Stone walls rose high, clean and solid, separating Grimwatch proper from the filth below. Ahead, a shimmering distortion hung in the air.
The dungeon.
It looked like a wound in the world. Light twisted in on itself, colors bleeding together in slow motion. The air around it felt wrong, heavy, like breathing underwater.
More teens were already gathered there, dragged in from other corners of the stronghold. Fear hung thick among them. Some stared at the portal. Others stared at the ground, hands shaking.
An explorer stepped forward and tossed a bundle of weapons onto the dirt.
"Take one," he said. "Don't say we didn't help."
Arthur picked a dagger when it was his turn. The blade was dull and chipped, and the handle worn smooth by other desperate hands. He tested the weight, then hid it in his grip.
Low quality. But better than nothing.
"This is an F rank dungeon," another explorer said, voice loud enough for all to hear. "Weak monsters. Still deadly if you're stupid. If you awaken inside, fight your way out. If you don't…"
He shrugged.
"Don't waste your strength struggling here," the first explorer added. "Save it. You'll need every bit in there."
A boy near Arthur broke down crying. "Please," he begged. "I don't want to die."
But no one answered him.