I wake up to a floating window in my face.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
Black Lotus acknowledges your existence.
Welcome, slave of the petals.
"Slave?" That's a hell of a way to start a conversation.
I kick the mattress and pace the room like movement'll shake the damn thing off. Wave my hands through the air—nothing. It sits there, blinking at me like an unpaid debt that knows I'm not in the mood.
What the hell is going on?
Then the word changes, clean and clinical:
Press YES to enter mission.
I stare at it. Mission. Cute. I don't even know what that means in this setup, but one thing's obvious—the prompt isn't going anywhere by itself. It's not a polite suggestion. It's a contract with teeth.
My gut tells me this could end very badly. Bad and I are old acquaintances. We go on vacations together.
But bad has also been useful.
I press YES.
Mission: Bloom 1st Petal
Black Essence: 0/1000
Note: Complete within five days.
A small warning icon pulsed at the bottom. I touch it.
Warning: If mission fails, forced blooming will occur at the cost of… slave's possession.
"…What?"
Then I notice a little profile icon in the upper corner. I tap it. A new screen appears.
PROFILE – Michael (Slave)
Core Combat Stats
Physical Strength: 9
Agility: 9
Endurance: 9
Vitality: 9
Offensive Power
Base Attack Power: 18
Ability Amplification: 18%
Elemental Affinity (Black Essence): 4.5%
Critical Force: 9
Defensive Power
Damage Resistance:6.3 %
Corruption Resistance: 2.7%
Mental Fortitude: 2.7%
Regeneration Rate: 1.8%
Essence & Ability Growth
Essence Absorption Rate: 0.4/sec
Lotus Synchronization: 0%
Ability Tier: None
Essence Capacity: 1000
Petal Stage: 0/24
I stare at the pitiful numbers.
"Wow. Slave of nothing."
If this system wants me to be its chosen one, I mean slave one, it has picked the lowest bid. And somehow… I have a feeling that is exactly the point.
I'm still staring at the profile screen, everything at zero like some cruel joke, when—
Thud!
A sharp kick catches me from the side. I stumble, nearly hitting the wall. The pain feels… familiar.
I look up, and there she is.
Lily.
An outcast like me. My age. The most beautiful woman in this rotten slum. And right now, she's standing tall, eyes blazing with the kind of fury that could burn a house down.
She doesn't even give me a chance to breathe before snapping,
"Where the hell did you run to?"
I blink, still trying to process the sudden ambush.
"When I searched for you the whole damn night, I found you lying in the middle of the road—in a crater, Michael. For a second I thought a meteor struck!"
I stay silent. Not because I'm ignoring her, but because I genuinely don't have an answer. Even I don't know what happened.
Then—Smack!—her palm cracks across my face.
"What the hell was that for?!" I snap.
"For leaving the boss worried sick!"
I scoff, rubbing my jaw.
"No need to worry about petty things. I can take care of myse—"
Another slap.
"Oh, come on!" I growl.
She just stares at me. And in those eyes… yeah, there's anger. Enough to make a sane man keep his mouth shut. But behind it, there's something else—worry. Deep, gnawing worry.
She exhales sharply, then says,
"Let's meet the boss."
I grin faintly.
"Yes, of course. That's what I planned to do anyway."
Lily and I step out of the house.
Just outside, a solitary grave rests in silence—my mother's. Behind it, a large broken grave stone planted at the center and two rusted swords cross together. From one hilt, a necklace dangles, swaying gently in the stale wind.
My breath catches. Memories flood in—her laughter, her warmth, the way she pampered me as if I were the only light in her world. Then the vision twists, warped into a nightmare. A pool of blood. Her broken body. My own screams echoing in the dark.
Uniformed men. Shadows. Faces I can't quite recall.
The memory fragments, slipping away the harder I chase it.
My body trembles.
Lily's hand rests lightly on my shoulder, her touch hesitant but steady—as if to anchor me, to check if I'm still here.
I ignore it.
Instead of collapsing next to that grave and drowning in grief like the world expects,
I take a step forward.
Away from death.
Into the choking, rust-rotted veins of the outcast slums.
Shacks stacked like corpses.
Air thick with smoke and rot.
People shrinking into themselves like prey waiting for teeth.
Eyes land on me.
Not kind eyes.
Cold. Judge and jury.
Because nobody here likes anyone who dares to lift their head.
We're trained to crawl. To obey.
To break our backs under noble boots and thank them for the privilege.
They don't look predators in the eye. Because predators eat. And prey wait to be eaten.
---
THE SKY SPLIT OPEN
A meteor screamed across the heavens and crashed just beyond the slums, shaking the ground like a god's fist.
Everyone froze—not terrified of the interstellar beast within the meteor,
but of the aftermath.
A few hours later, the sky tore open again.
A Vaanjet landed—sleek metal, humming power, marked with the insignia of
C.O.S.M.O.S.
The elite force of the Dominion.
The hatch opened.
Rithvik.
Head of the Danger Eradication Force.
Became the head position in command after Bheeshma—the same Bheeshma I broke in the headquarters.
He stepped down with a grin carved from cruelty and a flask of rum tucked at his belt like a trophy.
The officers snapped into rigid salute as he approached the crater.
"Status report."
"Chief," an officer replied, scanning the impact crater,
"It's an A-Rank Interstellar Beast."
Rithvik's eyebrow rose. His mouth curved into a predator's smile.
"Do we know its hunting pattern yet?"
"No, sir."
He chuckled—low, amused, heartless.
"Bring a scapegoat. Let's see how it hunts."
"Understood, Chief!"
AND THEN, AS ALWAYS, THE PART THAT BREAKS ME
The unit turned their backs to the crash site
and marched straight toward the slums.
No light. No clean water.
Just people trying to breathe without choking on filth.
That's where I saw it.
A shack.
A single flame.
A little boy had chakra dancing in his palms—flickering fire like a newborn star.
"Mom! Look! My fire awakened! I'll fix everything! I'll save us!"
His mother smiled—weak, cracked, beautiful.
"I love you, but don't hold dreams that'll break you, my son."
His father placed a thin hand on his shoulder.
"Everyone has the right to dream. Dream big."
They laughed.
Briefly.
A roar shook the slums.
C.O.S.M.O.S. officers arrived—metal armor humming, eyes dead.
"We need a scapegoat."
"Submit without resistance."
And then—one man stepped forward. Knees shaking. But eyes lifted.
"Every time a meteor falls, you take our people. Please… spare us this once."
The officer's face twisted.
"This is why livestock don't deserve voices."
He raised his hand.
A sonic pulse shattered the crowd.
Bodies thrown like trash.
The boy stood. Hands trembling. Fire flickering. Heart burning.
He saw pain. Heard screams.
And he stepped forward.
"Get out of our land!"
His mother screamed, "No!"
His father shouted, "Stop!"
Too late.
Rithvik laughed. Dark. Empty. Amused.
"Wow… what a mighty spark."
He raised his hand—flame exploding from his palm like a dying sun.
"Let's see which fire burns brighter."
AND ME?
I watched.
I didn't stop it.
Couldn't.
Lily moved—rage in her bones, fists shaking.
"We have to do something!"
I grabbed her arm.
"What? You want to die like a dog?"
She glared at me like I was filth scraped from a boot.
"So we just stand here? While a family is ripped apart?"
I looked at the flames, the screams, the broken hope.
"This isn't new. Nobody cares. We're drowning in our own shit already. Let's go. Boss is waiting."
She didn't speak again. But she didn't need to.
Her silence said everything.
Back then I was learning a truth: Not poetic. Not inspirational.
Just real.
This world doesn't want heroes.
It eats them.
And that day, as the fire swallowed the boy's scream, as the sky turned red, as hope turned to dust—
I understood something permanent.
Hope is a lie.
And this is where the real shit going to happen....