The fluorescent lights of Westbrook Public Academy flickered overhead, casting a sterile glow on the scuffed linoleum floor. The final bell had rung twenty minutes ago, and the hallways were mostly empty. But in a blind corner near the maintenance closet, a different kind of session was in session.
Three of them circled Victor, blocking any escape. He leaned against the cold lockers, one hand pressed to his nose, feeling the warm, sticky blood seep between his fingers.
Leo, the ringleader, stood directly in front of him. He was tall and broad, with the confident sneer of someone who had never known true hardship. On his wrist was a sleek, metallic band that pulsed with light, marking him as a registered ability user.
"You piece of garbage," Leo snarled. "How dare you refuse to do my homework? Do you want to die?"
Victor lowered his hand, revealing a smear of blood across his upper lip. His eyes, though weary, held a flicker of defiance. He was scrawny, underfed and pale, but there was a stubborn set to his jaw. "I am not your slave. If you want me to do your work, pay me. Like a normal person."
Leo's smirk vanished, replaced by pure rage. The two lackeys behind him shifted nervously. "Oh? Now you're daring to talk back? You damn orphan." He spat the last word like poison. "Why don't you just die? This world doesn't need trash like you. You have no money, no family, no way to ever gain an ability. And now you won't follow orders from your superiors?"
"You are not my superior," Victor shot back, meeting his gaze. "I might as well die than become your dog."
Leo's expression twisted cruelly. "Very well, then." He stepped back and raised his right hand. The metallic band flared, and his hand began to glow deep red. The air shimmered with heat. He was a Tier 3 Pyromancer. A small ball of fire, intensely bright, coalesced in his palm, enough to maim Victor for life or even kill him.
Victor's heart hammered.
So this was how it ended. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the pain. But instead of fire, he heard a sharp voice.
"That is enough."
A teacher, Mr. Croft, stood at the end of the hallway. He was gaunt with thinning hair and a perpetual look of boredom. He looked at Leo, then at Victor, his expression was utterly neutral. "Mr. Vance, you know the rules. I didn't interfere before because a little scuffle doesn't hurt. But you cannot kill another student inside the academy. The paperwork is a nightmare."
Leo's fire sputtered and died. He shot Victor a look of pure disdain, then delivered one final, brutal punch to his ribs. A satisfying thud echoed. Victor crumpled, a grunt of pain escaping his lips.
"Let's go," Leo ordered his lackeys. As they passed Mr. Croft, the teacher gave them a slight nod. Then his gaze fell on Victor, still sprawled on the floor. There was no sympathy in his eyes, only clear, sharp disgust, as if Victor were a stray dog that had soiled the floor. Without a word, he turned and walked away.
Victor lay there, listening to his own ragged breathing. He slowly pushed himself up. The hallway was empty. The few lingering students had scurried away, not wanting to be associated with him. He was a pariah. A plague.
He touched his nose; the bleeding had mostly stopped, but it was caked with drying blood. His ribs throbbed with every breath.
He left the school, not bothering to clean up. The walk to the government dormitory was a blur of averted gazes. People saw the blood and torn clothes and looked right through him. Orphans were invisible, a problem ignored until they turned sixteen and were shipped off to the manual labor corps.
His room was on the fifth floor of a crumbling concrete block. A six-by-eight-foot cell with a cot, a rickety table, and a shared bathroom down the hall. As soon as he locked the door, the adrenaline vanished. The pain surged back. His legs gave way, and he collapsed onto the cold floor.
He didn't know if he was crying or laughing. It came out as a choked, broken sound, a mixture of agony and despair. He curled into a fetal position. "Mom, Dad," he whispered into the emptiness, his voice cracking. "Why didn't you take me with you that day?"
His mind drifted ten years back. The Day of dungeons, they called it. Dungeons had ripped open reality across the globe that day. It was like fantasy was merging with reality.
Horrors poured out from them. At frist the military fought back with bullets and other weapons, but larger dungeons spawned monsters that shrugged off tank shells.
A true cataclysm. In desperation, humanity fought back with the forbidden weapons they had created for a situation like this. In the depths of those dungeons, the first ability books dropped from monsters. They became humanity's lifeline. A single powerful book could turn a normal person into a god overnight.
Of course, the powerful people ensured the best books never reached the public. Only Tier 5 and below were released.
His parents had been in the military, then became dungeon divers for a corporatetild after that day. They weren't rich, but they were his world. They died on a mission five years ago, leaving him nothing but a small vial of red liquid and a letter.
Victor slowly pushed himself up and stumbled to the corner. He pried up a loose floorboard. Beneath it lay the vial and the worn letter. He picked it up, reading words he had memorized long ago.
"Victor, this is a bloodline awakening serum. It might grant you a bloodline ability, far more potent than an ability book. Or it might kill you instantly.
We are so sorry, son.
We can't leave you anything better than this gamble.
Today, we enter an S-rank dungeon.
If we don't return, you can use this.
But only if you are in utter despair.
Do not use it lightly.
The mortality rate is over 95%. But if you survive, its value might surpass even Tier 5 ability book. We love you."
Victor's hand trembled as he picked up the vial. The liquid seemed to glow faintly. He had never dared use it. Until now he was holding onto a foolish hope that hard work would be enough to get him an ability book. He was so naive. The world was far too cruel. After his parents died, everything was stolen by people with connections.
He was left with nothing but this room, a temporary shelter that would be taken on his sixteenth birthday. If he had an ability by then, he could go to a military academy. If not, he would be a servant, a porter in the dungeons, with a life expectancy of maybe five years.
He looked at the vial, then at his reflection in the cracked mirror. He saw a boy with a bloody face, hollow eyes, a broken spirit. "Father," he said, his voice firm for the first time. "I think the despair is enough. I'd rather bet everything on this one chance. If I die, at least the pain stops."
He uncorked the vial and swallowed the liquid in one go. For a second, nothing happened. Then, the world exploded. Intense pain tore through his body.
[Catalyst detected. Initiating Progenitor Bloodline integration.]
[Genomic restructuring in progress… 1%... 5%... 15%...]
[Warning: Subject vital signs critical. Probability of systemic collapse: 97%.]
[Error. Unexpected energy signature detected. Bloodline resonance confirmed.]
[Integration complete. System activation successful.]
[Welcome, Host, to the Vampire Progenitor System.]
But Victor heard none of it or maybe a little. He lay motionless on the cold floor. He was unconscious.