A few years later, T'Jadaka, now twelve, strolled down the cracked sidewalk, arms weighed down by a bag of groceries. The city buzzed behind him, cars honking, distant chatter, the occasional siren wailing like a wolf in heat. Then—just like the plot of a bad movie—two bulky figures stepped into his path.
They were big. Not just tall—thick, like walking refrigerators with attitude problems. T'Jadaka slowed but didn't stop, eyes narrowing slightly. Farrah's lessons played like a loop in his head. Avoid fights if you can... but some fights don't ask permission.
One of the thugs grinned, baring a grotesque row of teeth—more metal than bone. "Hey, those are some nice groceries you've got there, kid," he said, voice greasy with threat.
T'Jadaka's fingers curled tighter around the bag. Never back down, but know when to fight. He kept his gaze locked forward and stepped to the side.
The second thug moved with him, blocking the way. A nasty little smirk curled his lip. "Where are your manners, kid?" he asked, reaching out and snatching the bag from his arms, fingers grazing skin like cold worms.
"Give it back," T'Jadaka said, calm as still water.
The thug holding the groceries chuckled—a dry, grinding sound that scraped the spine. It was the kind of laugh that made you want to punch someone on principle.
In the next breath, T'Jadaka moved.
His hand lashed out like a whip, catching the man's wrist and twisting with practiced precision. There was a wet pop as joints protested, and the thug shrieked, groceries falling to the pavement.
T'Jadaka didn't stop.
The thug reeled, swinging his fist out of rage more than skill—but he never landed it. With the same hand, T'Jadaka jerked the arm in a clean, brutal motion—crack—a sharp snap echoing off brick walls. The man screamed, stumbling back, clutching his now-broken arm like it might fall off.
T'Jadaka bent, picked up the groceries, and dusted off a bruised apple. She'd be proud, he thought, standing straight, eyes flicking to the other thug who was already backing away.
The second thug, undeterred by a mere child, lunged with a knife glinting in his grip.
But T'Jadaka wasn't just any child.
He slipped sideways, just out of reach, and before the man could blink, his fist connected with the thug's jaw—hard enough to send him flying into a rusted dumpster. The knife clattered to the pavement, useless now.
T'Jadaka exhaled through his nose, more annoyed than anything, and continued walking. It's always the weak ones who act the toughest, he mused, shaking his head. His mother's voice echoed in his mind, that sharp, unwavering tone: "Use your brain before your fists, but make sure they remember both."
As he turned the corner, a flash of movement caught his eye—a group of young Demi-Humans huddled together in the rain. Chains rattled with every step they took, iron biting into damp skin. Armed guards walked behind them, eyes cold and blank.
One girl looked up.
She had antler-like horns sprouting from her forehead, water trailing down her cheeks. Their eyes met—hers wide, uncertain, silently screaming.
T'Jadaka froze.
The chains. The bruises. The guards.
It wasn't just another passing image—it was the Inside. The place that swallowed people whole and called it law.
His grip tightened around the groceries until the bag crinkled under the pressure. They're still doing this… Just like when she was a kid.
He stepped off the curb.
His mother's words rang like a bell: "This ain't a normal city, son. Ain't no police, no saviors. Just two rules: Be strong—and be smarter than them."
The guards clocked him immediately, eyes narrowing. Their hands hovered near their weapons, but T'Jadaka didn't flinch. His bruises were still fresh, still stinging, and he raised one hand slightly—not as a threat, but a reminder.
He didn't need to prove himself. The proof was in his walk.
"You got something to say, boy?" one of the guards barked, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword.
T'Jadaka didn't answer at first. His gaze drifted back to the girl. She trembled, lips pressed tight, eyes brimming with fear—and something else. Hope.
He stepped closer.
"Huh? Sorry," he said, voice just loud enough to carry. "Got a little distracted."
The guards exchanged glances—irritated, uncertain.
"You trying to be smart with me, son?"
T'Jadaka turned, face twisting into disgust. "God, I hope you're not my pops. You're like… top five ugliest mofos I've ever seen. I'd hate to be related to you."
The line slipped out before he could stop it. The silence cracked, and the guards burst into laughter, their boots echoing in the wet alley.
It was risky, sure. But on the Inside, sometimes a joke hit harder than a punch.
But the guard wasn't laughing.
His hand flew to his sword. "You little shit," he snarled, drawing the blade with a hiss. Etched with dancing runes that pulsed like a heartbeat, the weapon shimmered with dark energy—this was no street thug's steel.
T'Jadaka's smirk didn't quite reach his eyes. "Oh? You mad? Must've hit a button."
The guard stepped closer, blade raised, the sickly streetlight casting shadows across his face like war paint. The other guards tensed, yanking the Demi-Humans' chains tighter, ready to strike.
"I'm gonna cut you up, you little cunt!"
The sword came down with a whistle, but T'Jadaka didn't flinch.
He lifted a single finger.
Clang.
The runed blade froze mid-air, sparks hissing from the impact. The runes flickered, unstable. The guard's hands began to bleed, his grip trembling under his own weapon's resistance.
"What the fuck?" he whispered, eyes wide with panic.
"Are you done?" T'Jadaka's voice was low, calm—dangerous. His eyes locked onto the man like a hunter sizing up prey. The guard took an unconscious step back.
The silence thickened. Chains rattled like nervous bones. Sweat beaded down the guard's temples.
Again he swung. And again, T'Jadaka blocked it—with one finger.
Then another strike. Blocked. Sidestepped. Parried. No wasted movement. No emotion. Each attack made the blade feel heavier, the guard's breathing more frantic.
T'Jadaka hadn't even blinked.
The Demi-Humans stared, slack-jawed. Hope—real hope—began to creep into their eyes like sunlight through storm clouds.
"No way..." one of the guards murmured. "The boss could cut down a whole building in one slash... and this kid is just—"
The whisper spread like wildfire. Even the chains seemed to loosen in awe.
T'Jadaka sighed, clearly bored. Then, slowly, deliberately, he pinched the blade between two fingers.
"Okay... I'm done playing with you."
Crack.
The sword bent like wet wood. The runes flared once—then died. A final snap echoed down the street as metal shattered, pieces clattering around their feet.
The guard stumbled back, face pale and drenched in sweat.
"You swung first," T'Jadaka said, rolling his shoulders as he stepped forward, knuckles cracking like gunshots. "Now…"
He grinned—feral, unhinged.
"Now it's my turn."
The guard tried to backpedal. "You can't just do this," he stammered. "You're just a kid!"
But T'Jadaka didn't reply.
He just moved.
His fists became a blur. Each blow hit like a hammer wrapped in thunder. The guard's armor crumpled like foil, bones snapping beneath the force. The man's screams were swallowed by the pounding, his body bending in angles the human form wasn't meant to take.
The other guards stood frozen—helpless spectators to the dissection of their leader.
He's not human, one of them thought, too afraid to speak.
T'Jadaka ended it with one final strike, driving the man's face into the concrete with a sickening, wet crunch. Blood spattered across the street like spilled ink. Teeth skittered across the pavement.
The body went limp.
The remaining guards exchanged glances—and ran. Fast. Chains clanged to the ground behind them, abandoned like guilt.
T'Jadaka pulled his hand free from the crater that had once been a face. Blood dripped from his knuckles, warm and slow.
He turned to the Demi-Humans.
They trembled—eyes wide, breath held—and this time, it wasn't the guards they feared.
It was him.
Saying nothing, T'Jadaka grabbed the chains—and his groceries—and turned away, walking as if nothing had happened. The Demi-Humans, still stunned, stood frozen under the cold drizzle.
The girl with the antler-like horns was the first to move. Her steps were clumsy, her legs weak, but she followed him. The others trailed behind her in silence, eyes locked to the ground. Yet with each step they took away from their captors, something in them shifted. Something small. Something like… hope.
"T… Thank you…" the girl croaked, her voice barely above a whisper.
T'Jadaka glanced back. His eyes softened—not much, but enough to be noticed. It looked out of place on a face still stained with blood.
When they reached the hotel, Castor was already waiting at the entrance, arms crossed and brows furrowed. His eyes immediately darted to the group behind T'Jadaka.
"Oh God… Jadaka, why do you have slaves?"
His voice cracked between shock and accusation. He had always known the kid had a rebellious streak—but this?
"Some guys gave them to me because they were weak," T'Jadaka said flatly. "So I took them." He tossed the chains at Castor's feet. The clang echoed through the building like a gunshot.
Castor blinked at the heap of iron, then looked to the trembling Demi-Humans. The girl with horns stepped forward, her eyes shimmering.
"Then why do you have blood on your hands and face?" Castor's tone turned sharp, wary now.
T'Jadaka glanced at his stained knuckles. Without a word, he walked over to the sink, rinsing the blood from his hands and face with cold water. He dried off, tossed the towel aside.
"Problem solved," he said with a shrug.
"That's not the problem, goddamnit!" Castor barked. "I want to know how you got it!"
The Demi-Humans shrank back. The tension cut through the room like a blade.
"Who cares?" T'Jadaka replied, voice flat. "You've got free slaves now. Feed them, and you've got workers without cost."
His words dropped like concrete. Cold. Heavy. Unapologetic.
Castor blinked. Then he grinned. "Oh yeah. You're right. I could use some help around here."
Before the words could settle, T'Jadaka stepped over and snapped each chain with his bare hands. Wrists, ankles, necks—freed with a flick and a crack.
"You don't have to be grateful," he muttered. "I just don't like seeing people in chains. It's a personal thing."
The Demi-Humans stared. They'd never seen freedom handed to them with such… indifference.
And yet, the absence of pity was the kindest thing they'd ever felt.
The girl with horns—Lila—stepped forward and threw her arms around him, holding him tight. She sobbed, the tears raw and real, clinging not from pain but from something far deeper. Relief.
T'Jadaka stiffened, his arms awkwardly hanging at his sides. What is this? What do I even do?
He had never been hugged before. Not even by his mother.
After a beat, something in him cracked—not loudly, but enough. He slowly wrapped his arms around her, patting her back like he was unsure of the motion.
The others looked on, their expressions softening. Fear slowly melted into awe.
"Okay, that's enough. You can get off me now," T'Jadaka muttered, face slightly red as he gently pried her off. She stepped back, blinking up at him with a hurt look she didn't quite understand.
Castor chuckled, arms crossed again. "Looks like you've got a soft spot after all, Jadaka."
Thud.
T'Jadaka's fist hit Castor square in the solar plexus. The man collapsed, wheezing and clutching his gut.
"Nobody calls me a soft old man," he growled, turning toward the door. "I'm going hunting. Gonna grab more food for them with what I already got." He tossed the groceries to Castor, who barely caught them, still struggling to breathe.
The Demi-Humans watched him go, unsure whether to be afraid or amazed.
"You asshole... fuck, I can barely breathe…" Castor coughed on the ground. "Hot-headed little shit…"
They stared at the door that had just slammed shut behind T'Jadaka. For a moment, none of them moved.
Then Lila helped Castor up. "Is he… is he coming back?" she asked softly.
"Yeah. He'll be fine," Castor wheezed. Then he shot her a sidelong glance. "What, you got a little crush on him now?"
Lila's cheeks flushed, her fingers twisting in her sleeves. She looked away.
"He's just like that," Castor muttered, watching the door. "But he's a good kid deep down. And now, you're all in his debt."
He turned to the group and began counting them like livestock. "Okay… three boys, three girls. Do you all have names or not?"
"I'm Lila," the girl said. "But… they don't have names. They just called us numbers."
"So you're the only one with a name, huh?" Castor sighed. "Let me guess—they don't even talk either?"
Lila hesitated. "Yes… We were meant to be sold to the cannibals in Shetu District. I was the only one taught to speak. Because they…"
Her voice trailed off, tears swelling in her eyes.
Castor's expression shifted. The world outside his hotel walls hit him all at once—and it hit hard.
"No... That's enough. I don't need to hear it," Castor cut in, his voice gruff—yet there was something beneath it. Something warm. Like a coal left glowing in a long-dead fire. He knew the Inside too well. Knew what happened to kids like this. And hearing it aloud was just too damn much, even for a man like him.
"Come on," he said, trying to shake it off. "I'll show you how to cook some real soul food. Nothing fancy, but it'll keep you alive and kicking."
He led them into the hotel's back kitchen, a cramped space lit only by a flickering green neon sign outside the cracked window. The place was all grease-stained counters and rusted pans. A far cry from the polished gleam of the alchemical towers beyond. But here, in this worn-down room, there was a kind of sanctuary.
Meanwhile, outside the district, T'Jadaka moved like a shadow among the trees. The moon hung high, casting long slashes of silver light across the forest floor. He leapt from branch to branch, each movement precise, controlled. Predator watching predator.
Then he saw it: a Chimerasylph, hunched over a carcass, tearing into it with a savage hunger. Its scales shimmered like molten steel, its wolf-like snout drenched in blood, and its eyes burned with embers of ancient fury.
It looked up.
T'Jadaka stared back.
"You look like you weigh about 2,000 kilograms," he said calmly. "Should be enough to feed everyone once I kill you."
The creature snarled and lunged, jaws gaping wide. T'Jadaka blurred, dodging its attack like smoke on the wind. He uncorked a small flask mid-motion and splashed its contents straight into the monster's eyes.
Ssss-CRACK.
The Chimerasylph screamed. Flesh bubbled and hissed where the alchemy touched. T'Jadaka closed the distance in a heartbeat, slamming his fist into the creature's snout. Bone cracked. The beast staggered.
He didn't stop.
Another punch to its ribs—a sound like branches snapping—then a sweep kick that sent its hulking body crashing to the dirt. It howled, wild and thrashing. The forest trembled with the noise.
T'Jadaka grabbed it by the throat and slammed it into a tree. Bark exploded in splinters. The monster's eyes rolled back. Out cold. Still breathing—but barely.
Can't kill you yet. Gotta keep you fresh. He grabbed the unconscious beast by the tail and started dragging it home.
The walk back was quiet. The beast's low, guttural breathing echoed behind him, its body twitching every now and then. T'Jadaka didn't flinch. He didn't speak. Just get home. Get them fed.
Back at the hotel, the kitchen was alive with motion. Pans hissed, steam rose, and the scent of sizzling meat began to chase the cold from the air.
"Good work, girls," Castor said, surprisingly gentle. He tossed another chunk of meat into a frying pan, oil spitting like firecrackers.
The boys, still silent, sat in the corner. Skin and bones. Eyes like sunken moons. But now, they were watching. Curious. Hungry. Alive.
Lila stirred the stew, the wooden spoon clumsy in her thin hands. Her eyes followed the pot, mesmerized. "When do you think he'll be back?" she asked, her voice barely a tremble over the bubbling broth.
"He should be here any—"
THUD.
Castor blinked. "God… he must've caught a big one."
He wiped his hands on his apron and stepped outside.
There was T'Jadaka, sitting on top of the Chimerasylph like it was a barstool. He was breathing hard, not quite winded—but close.
"Looks like you had fun," Castor called out, arms crossed.
"Just a little workout," T'Jadaka muttered, a smirk pulling at his lips.
Castor walked around the beast slowly, eyes wide but trying to look unimpressed. "That's a pretty big one. How much you figure it weighs?"
"About two thousand kilos. Goes for ten gold a kilo in other cities," T'Jadaka said, wiping sweat from his brow. "We eat what we need. Sell the rest."
Castor whistled. "Shit… you're talking twenty thousand in raw meat. Enough to keep us fed and in business for months."
T'Jadaka shrugged like it was nothing. But his eyes? His eyes gleamed with that same fire from the forest.
The girls and the three boys stared in awe as T'Jadaka and Castor heaved the creature into the kitchen, the floorboards groaning beneath its massive weight. Castor's original plan to put them to work faded, replaced by the primal promise of a feast.
"Wait..." Castor paused, eyes narrowing. He watched the creature's chest rise faintly. "This thing's still alive!?"
In one swift, brutal motion, T'Jadaka plunged his hand deep into the monster's ribcage and crushed its heart. The creature gave a single twitch before going still.
"It's dead now," he said flatly, yanking his arm free, his hand and forearm drenched in thick, black blood.
Castor turned pale and vomited in the corner, bile hitting the floor with a wet splatter. T'Jadaka raised a brow but said nothing, his expression unreadable.
"You okay, old man?"
"Just... just make sure you bleed it out before dragging it in here," Castor croaked, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Despite the nausea, a flicker of admiration stirred in him—there was something disturbingly efficient about the kid.
Despite the horror that clung to their world like soot, the brutal, matter-of-fact killing served as a raw reminder of what survival meant on the Inside.
T'Jadaka nodded, his gaze fixed on the lifeless beast.
"You'll get used to it," he said, his tone walking the line between empathy and cold detachment. "You can't survive the Inside if you can't stomach a little blood."
While T'Jadaka moved the body, Lila found herself drawn to the creature's vacant eyes—eyes that had once burned with rage and hunger. Now, they were just... empty.
She shivered. So many eyes had looked at me like that... with hunger. With cruelty. But here, in this flickering, stifling kitchen, something fragile stirred within her: a spark of happiness.
Hours later, in the dim solitude of his room, T'Jadaka was doing one-handed push-ups while reading a book with the other hand. Five-thousand-kilogram leg weights clung to his legs like anchors, each rep shaking the old wooden floor.
A flickering candle cast swaying shadows across the room, making the worn pages of the philosophy book shimmer like water. Sweat traced down his neck, dripping into old stains that marked countless nights of training.
A faint knock broke the rhythm—soft, hesitant.
T'Jadaka paused mid-rep, his body tense and glistening.
"Who is it?"
"It's me... Lila. Can I come in?"
"Yeah."
She entered slowly, hands clasped tightly around a steaming plate. The scent of cooked meat and herbs slipped in ahead of her like a timid guest.
"I... I brought you some food. We cooked it. I made a plate for you... since you haven't eaten."
Chunks of roasted Chimerasylph, browned to perfection, sat nestled among roots and herbs in a thick, savory broth. Steam curled upward and mingled with the candlelight.
T'Jadaka accepted it with a quiet nod, taking a mouthful without looking up from his book.
"Whenever I can," he said, chewing slowly. "You can't survive the Outside if you're weak. And you definitely can't survive the Inside if you're not strong enough to face what's out there."
"Yeah... I saw what you did. Took down those guards with your bare hands. I thought you'd used magic or something."
"I can't use magic." The words dropped like stones. He turned a page without missing a bite.
Lila blinked. "Wait... what?"
"No mana. At all."
Her mouth parted slightly. "But... everyone has mana. Every living thing."
"Not me."
"But how do you fight monsters? Or even survive?"
T'Jadaka gave a casual shrug. "Simple. I beat the crap out of them. As a Viltrumlight, my physical strength is way beyond human limits. I train my body every day to deal with what's out there. Magic's not really my style."
Lila blinked. A caveman in a world full of wizards... She giggled at the image before she could stop herself.
"So... you're like a superhero or something?"
"Nope. Just a boy trying to make a living." He leaned back against the wall, muscles finally starting to relax, his eyes never leaving the page. "But if calling me that helps you sleep better, I won't stop you."
Lila studied him for a moment. There was a calm about him—like a coiled spring that had learned not to snap. "What's it like?" she asked softly. "Living without mana?"
"Undetectable by most sensors, so that's a plus," he said with a half-smile, finally looking at her. "But it's a double-edged sword. Can't use magic, but no one can see me coming either. It's like being invisible in a world full of lights. Except in the dark... you're just darker."
He inhaled deeply, the candlelight painting gold across his chest.
"But it has its perks," he added, smirking.
"What kind of perks?" Lila asked, leaning forward, eyes wide.
Meanwhile, outside the cracked door, one of the boys stood silently. Horns curled from his head, and long, animalistic ears twitched with emotion. His name was Torren.
He had been with Lila since the day they were stolen—caged together, fed scraps, whispered dreams of escape under moonless skies. She had always looked to him for comfort. But now...
Why is she looking at him like that...?
His hand clenched against the doorframe. He had never seen her gaze at anyone that way. Not even during the worst nights. And now, this stranger—this boy of blood and brute force—was effortlessly pulling her in.
Why does it feel like I'm losing her... when I just got her back?