Four years later.
The world was no longer the same.
Buildings stood like corpses half-decayed skeletons of the civilization that once thrived. One such structure, a concrete shell with broken windows and rusted beams, now served as a facility for what they called "clearance." From the outside, it looked abandoned. But within, it was anything but dead.
Children emerged from steel gates, their eyes hollow, their limbs thin from rationed meals and drained blood. Dozens of them boys and girls aged between seven and fifteen into the open lot, where men in black uniforms barked orders.
"Get in a straight line!" one of the men shouted, his voice sharp as a whip. A small boy hesitated, lost in the crowd.
Crack!
The man struck the boy with the butt of his sword, and the child fell to the ground, trembling but silent.
"Why would he do that?" Marlowe muttered under her breath. "Let's go kick his hands, Yu."
Yurrelian turned to look at her. "You're on your own," he said in a dry, flat tone.
"Don't be like that. We're all family here," she said with a forced grin, nudging his shoulder.
He didn't respond. Instead, his eyes turned toward the front, where a pale-skinned man sat on a metal chair beneath a flickering bulb. He was dressed differently cleaner, almost noble in his white gloves and dark overcoat. The officer in charge of "clearance."
"Next!" the pale man called, his voice echoing off the concrete walls.
Yurrelian stepped forward.
"Name."
"Yurrelian Blackwood."
The man barely looked at him. He stamped a clipboard and waved him off. "Clear. Next!"
Marlowe came up right after, lips curled in a smile as always.
"Name."
"Marlowe Blackwood!"
He didn't even blink. "Clear. Next!"
More children followed. It was routine. Dehumanized. Systematic.
Yurrelian walked out of the gate, but before stepping further, he turned to glance back. The world outside the walls was scorched red beneath the setting sun. Smog filled the sky. On a faraway rooftop, a demon's shadow stretched across broken buildings.
"Hey," Marlowe said, dragging him by the arm. "Let's go."
Inside the facility, screams echoed behind steel doors. Tubes ran from children's arms to glass cylinders that collected blood crimson liquid swirling like wine in a feast. A boy was lying near the exit, unmoving. His skin pale. His body limp.
Yurrelian looked away.
By the time he and Marlowe came out of the building, her steps were weak. She stumbled.
Without saying a word, he placed her arm over his shoulder to support her. She leaned on him heavily, almost theatrically.
"You could say thank you, you know," Yurrelian muttered.
"Thank you for what? You look like you're about to collapse yourself," she said, but she let him guide her toward a stairwell on the side of the building.
They sat on the cracked concrete stairs. For a while, there was silence.
Then—
"HA!" Marlowe suddenly yelled, her voice echoing through the air.
She pulled out a small plastic drink pack, tore it open with her teeth, and chugged the contents.
Gulp. Gulp.
She crushed the pack and tossed it aside.
Yurrelian side-eyed her. "You'll get sick again if you keep downing those."
"Like I care. It's not like anyone drinks this crap for the taste."
"You say that, but you already drank half of it."
She turned away, cheeks puffed. "Well, I'm still better than someone who's looked lifeless ever since we met."
"Thanks for the compliment," he said, voice laced with sarcasm.
"I wasn't complimenting you!" she snapped.
---
[Yurrelian Blackwood – POV]
My name is Yurrelian Blackwood. I was reincarnated into this world. You could say I was given a second chance at life.
But not all reincarnations are blessings.
I wasn't reborn into a fantasy kingdom or given cheat-like powers. I didn't awaken in a royal family or gain access to some god-tier academy.
No.
I woke up in a world at its end ravaged by a virus, ruled by demons. Humanity is scattered. The weak are livestock.
And me? I'm one of them.
Every month, they take our blood. Every month, they remind us that we're nothing but fuel for something greater.
Still…
I have a system.
> [System Interface – Status Window]
Name: Yurrelian Blackwood
Assimilation Process: 87% Complete
Trait: [Locked]
System will activate once assimilation is complete.
No cheats. No skills. Just a slow, crawling process that hasn't done a damn thing for years.
"Hey!" a voice cut through my thoughts.
Marlowe.
She touched my arm. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. What were you saying?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Tch. You weren't listening again."
"Sorry."
She crossed her arms. "I said... I don't think staying here is that bad. We have food. Shelter. We're alive. If we leave, we'll just die out there like the others."
"You're serious?"
She nodded. "As long as we're all together... what else is there to ask for? It's not ideal, but it's... stable."
For a moment, I didn't respond.
She smiled softly at me. I looked away.
"Ah? Are you blushing?" she teased, trying to poke my cheek.
I smacked her hand away, my expression turning cold again.
She stood up and walked to a nearby trash bin, throwing away her crushed drink.
"You say we're livestock," she said without turning around, "but... even cattle live longer when they're fed."
"Jeez," I muttered. "That's depressing."
"Smile for me then," she said, flashing a grin.
I threw a used sachet at her. She dodged it with a laugh.
---
Down below, near the open field where children were playing, two demonic soldiers entered the area. They were humanoid in shape, but their skin was ash-grey, with black veins and horns sprouting from their skulls. Both walked like they owned the place uncaring and cruel.
As they moved, one of them stepped on a child's toy. The other shoved a kid aside like garbage.
"Hey!" Marlowe yelled, suddenly storming down the stairs.
"Marlowe—!"
She didn't listen.
She rushed forward and grabbed one of the demons by the arm. "Apologize!" she screamed, her small hands shaking in anger. "Apologize to him!"
The demon turned, amused. "Feisty little rat."
Before Yurrelian could reach them, the demon lifted Marlowe by the collar. He raised his hand, about to toss her off the edge of the floor
"Stop."
A commanding voice echoed.
The demon froze. Then dropped Marlowe to the ground with a thud.
Yurrelian finally caught up and grabbed her, helping her sit upright.
They both turned to see a tall figure in a pristine coat, walking toward them.
A human.
A noble.
His hair was silver-blond, his boots polished, his expression regal.
"Lord Fred!" Marlowe shouted, suddenly cheerful. She ran to him with a bright smile.
The man raised a brow. "Ah, Marlowe. What are you doing here?"
"Just killing time, Lord Fred!" she said with a salute.
He chuckled. "Still as energetic as ever. I hope to see you tonight at my mansion?"
"Yes, please!" she beamed.
Lord Fred gently tapped her cheek. "Good girl."
Yurrelian watched silently, his mind racing.
What exactly are you doing, Marlowe...?