The dust in the living room was thick enough to write or doodle on some dust, but Lucian didn't care. He stood in the center of his new, completely empty living room and took a slow, deep breath.
The air smelled stale, like old wood and forgotten summers. It smelled like absolute, undisturbed peace.
There was, however, one immediate logistical problem. He didn't have a bed.
The idea of navigating public transit, walking through a crowded furniture showroom, speaking to a salesperson, and arranging furnitures sounded tiresome.
Lucian reached into his duffel bag and pulled out his cellphone. He connected to the city's public network and bypassed the standard retail sites, navigating directly to a boutique luxury supplier that catered to the upper echelons of the Guild Masters and corporate elites.
He found a king-sized mattress engineered with memory-foam and passive temperature-regulating materials. It cost more than most other bed, but yhis was more comfortable.
He tapped 'Purchase.'
Under the delivery options, he ignored the standard shipping and selected the 'Premium Rush' service. It guaranteed delivery within two hours, complete installation, and the removal of all packaging.
He wouldn't have to lift a single finger. He paid the exorbitant fee with the proxy funds from his liquidated jewelry and expensive gifts without blinking.
'Task complete'
Lucian tossed the slate back into his duffel bag. He zipped it shut, dropped it onto the dusty floorboards, and lay down, using the canvas bag as a pillow.
He reached up and pulled his heavy, matte-black headphones over his ears. The industrial-grade padding clamped down, sealing him in a perfect, glorious void of silence. He closed his eyes and let his exhaustion take over.
He was asleep in three minutes.
An hour and a half later, the rusted iron gate outside screamed in protest.
Lucian felt the vibration of heavy footsteps through the floorboards before the noise penetrated his headphones. He didn't open his eyes. He just let out a slow, deeply annoyed sigh.
The heavy wooden front door kicked open with a loud bang, echoing through the empty house.
"I told you, man, we should stash the cores under the floorboards this time-" a rough voice echoed in the entryway, abruptly cutting off.
Four men stepped into the living room. They wore scuffed leather jackets, heavy boots, and sported cheap, fading tattoos on their necks. They were low-level Sector 4 street thugs, the kind of scavengers who picked up the scraps left behind by real hunters and fenced stolen, low-grade mana crystals.
For the past six months, they had been using this abandoned property as their private stash house and drinking spot.
The leader, a wiry man holding a rusted iron pipe, stopped dead in his tracks. He stared at the pale, white-haired kid lying on the floor in a cheap black jacket, wearing expensive-looking headphones.
"Hey!" the wiry thug barked, stepping forward and kicking the sole of Lucian's boot. "The hell do you think you're doing? This is our spot!"
Lucian slowly opened his eyes. He didn't sit up. He didn't take off his headphones. He just stared up at the ceiling for a second, mourning his interrupted nap, before lazily shifting his gaze to the four men standing over him.
"Look at this pale little rat," one of the thugs sneered, pulling a jagged hunting knife from his belt.
"Hey, deaf kid. Take off the headphones and empty your pockets. Hand over the bag and whatever credits you have, and maybe we don't break both your legs kekeke "
Lucian looked at the knife. He looked at the rusted pipe. He felt a profound, heavy wave of lethargy wash over him.
Fighting them would require standing up. It would require movement, physical exertion, and possibly dealing with the city guard afterward. All of those things were entirely unacceptable.
Still lying flat on his back, Lucian blinked.
He didn't move a single muscle, but he stopped suppressing his soul.
Just a fraction of a drop. A microscopic sliver of the ancient presence that resided within his frail human vessel leaked into the dusty living room.
The temperature in the house plummeted instantly. The air grew thick, heavy, and suffocating, as if the gravity in the room had just been multiplied by ten.
The four thugs froze.
The sneers vanished from their faces, replaced by a sudden, violent paleness. Their primal instincts....
The deep, ancient part of the human brain that recognized when it was at the absolute bottom of the food chain, screamed in pure, unadulterated terror. The man with the knife suddenly felt like he was standing in the pitch-black lair of a monster that could swallow the sun. He couldn't breathe.
"...!!!"
His lungs seized up, and his heart hammered wildly against his ribs.
*Clatter!
The iron pipe slipped from the leader's trembling fingers, bouncing off the floorboards. A second later, the hunting knife dropped. The thugs' knees buckled simultaneously, and all four men collapsed to the dusty floor, gasping for air, their eyes wide with a horrific, paralyzing dread. They couldn't run. Their muscles simply refused to obey them in the presence of the overwhelming aura.
Lucian watched them hyperventilate for a few seconds. Then, he pulled back the pressure just enough so they wouldn't suffer cardiac arrest.
He reached up and pulled the right earcup of his headphones back an inch.
"You woke me up," Lucian said. His voice was a flat, bored rasp.
"P-please!!" the leader choked out, tears of sheer panic welling in his eyes. He pressed his forehead to the floorboards, not daring to look at the monster disguised as a nineteen-year-old boy.
"We're sorry!!, we're so sorry! We didn't know... We'll leave! We'll never come back!"
Lucian looked around the empty room. He looked at the thick layer of dust coating the windowsills. He thought about the overgrown thornbushes in the front yard, and the rusted gate that had squealed and woken him up.
"No," Lucian said.
"...!!!"
The thugs whimpered, bracing for a brutal death.
"The floor is dirty," Lucian stated calmly, letting his head drop back onto his duffel bag. "The garden is overgrown. And the front gate needs oil."
The leader blinked, his terrified brain struggling to process the words. "W-what?"
"Clean it" Lucian ordered simply.
It took them three seconds to realize they were being offered a way to survive. The relief was so intense it almost made the leader vomit.
"Yes! Yes, sir!" the leader scrambled backward on his hands and knees. "We'll clean it! We'll clean everything! Boys, get the rags! Move!"
***
Thirty minutes later, a sleek, pristine white delivery truck pulled up to the curb outside the rusted iron fence. Two burly men in crisp uniforms stepped out, carrying the rolled, vacuum-sealed luxury mattress and a portable metal bed frame.
They walked up the path, expecting to find a demanding corporate client.
Instead, they stopped in the doorway, completely bewildered.
The living room smelled strongly of cheap lemon cleaner. Four heavily tattooed, scarred street thugs were on their hands and knees, aggressively and meticulously scrubbing the baseboards with old rags.
One of them was furiously polishing the window panes, sweating profusely and muttering,
"Not a single streak, not a single streak..."
under his breath. Outside, another thug was viciously tearing out thornbushes with his bare hands.
And in the center of the room, entirely unbothered by the frantic cleaning happening around him, a pale teenager in black clothes was lying on the floor. He wasn't giving orders. He wasn't watching them. He had a pair of heavy headphones clamped over his ears, his eyes closed, resting in total silence.
"..."
"..."
The delivery men exchanged a long, confused look.
"Uh... delivery?" one of them ventured hesitantly.
The thug scrubbing the baseboard looked up, his eyes wide and frantic. He aggressively shushed the delivery man, pressing a finger to his lips, gesturing wildly toward Lucian with a look of pure terror.
'Don't wake him up!'
Taking the hint, the delivery men tiptoed into the room. Moving with unprecedented stealth, they quickly and quietly assembled the metal frame in the corner of the room, unrolled the luxury mattress, and gathered up the plastic packaging.
Lucian opened one eye, noting the new bed. He gave the delivery men a single, lazy thumbs-up.
The delivery men nodded respectfully, backed out of the house, and practically sprinted to their truck.
Lucian sat up. He grabbed his duffel bag, stood up, and walked over to the fresh, incredibly soft mattress. He collapsed face-first onto it, letting the memory foam absorb his weight. He adjusted his headphones, ensuring the silence was absolute.
"Gate," Lucian mumbled into the mattress.
"On it, boss! Oiling the gate right now!"
a thug yelled from the yard, the sound of a frantic oil-can squirt following immediately after.
Lucian closed his eyes. Having others to clean wasn't so bad at all.