"You think any woman in this city would spread her legs for a magically-crippled worm like you?"
The voice sliced through the fog of unconsciousness, sharp with aristocratic disdain. Kaelen came to awareness not gradually, but in a violent jolt.
Cold mud seeped through threadbare fabric, and the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. This was wrong.
The last thing he remembered was the sterile white of a hospital ceiling, the mechanical hiss of a ventilator, the slow, inevitable fade of a body succumbing to terminal illness.
A boot connected with his ribs, and white-hot agony exploded through him. So this was the afterlife? A cruel joke?
"The whores in the silk district wouldn't even let you clean their chamberspots," the voice continued, belonging to a lanky youth sneering down at him. Kaelen's new memories supplied a name: Darian, a minor noble's son with a major cruelty streak. "You're less than nothing. A stain on the academy's reputation."
Darian's two companions chuckled, their laughter echoing in the narrow, filth-strewn alley. The sky above was a deep, bruised purple, streaked with two moons—one large and silver, the other a smaller, sickly green.
This wasn't Earth. This was Veridia. And the body he inhabited? Also named Kaelen. An orphan. Magically crippled, a condition that made him a social pariah and a convenient punching bag.
Transmigration.
The concept surfaced from the remnants of his old life's knowledge, a ludicrous fantasy novel trope that was now his terrifying reality. He had escaped one death only to be delivered into another, arguably more humiliating one.
"Maybe we should make sure you never get any ideas," Darian mused, tapping his chin mockingly. "A permanent solution for a permanent cripple. What do you say, boys? Should we ensure the Kaelen bloodline ends right here in this alley?"
The threat was clear, vile, and laced with the absolute confidence of someone who had never faced real consequences.
A raw, primal fury ignited in Kaelen's chest, burning away the last of his disorientation. It was a feeling he remembered from his hospital bed—the helpless rage against a body that had betrayed him, against a fate he couldn't control. No. Not again. He would not die powerless, mocked and broken. Not in one life, and certainly not in this second chance.
[The Evolution System is now online.]
The voice was neither male nor female, ancient nor young. It was pure information, a stream of cold, hard data etched directly onto his soul. A translucent blue screen, unseen by his tormentors, materialized before his eyes.
Host Condition Critically Sub-Optimal.
Initiating Prime Directive: Survival.
Initializing...
New Mission Received: [First Blood]
Objective: Survive the encounter. Neutralize the immediate threat.
Reward: 100 Evolution Points. Unlock: [System Interface]. Unlock: [Inventory].
The System's words were a lifeline of logic in a sea of pain and humiliation. It offered no comfort, only a path forward. A path of power. It saw Darian not as a person, but as an "immediate threat." A problem to be solved.
As Darian's foot drew back for another kick, a strange clarity descended upon Kaelen. Time seemed to slow. He saw the opening, the arrogance in Darian's stance that left him unbalanced.
The System provided the cold calculus; Kaelen's own dying resolve provided the fire.
He didn't try to block. There was no strength for that. Instead, he embraced the System's logic. Neutralize the threat.
He rolled into the kick, a desperate, graceless movement. The boot connected hard with his shoulder, sending a fresh lance of agony through him.
But he had closed the distance. His hands, weak as they were, shot out and grabbed Darian's standing leg, yanking with all the force his dying will could muster.
Darian yelped in genuine shock, his balance evaporating. He crashed into the filth of the alley with a satisfying, wet thud.
The two other bullies froze, their laughter dying in their throats.
Kaelen didn't hesitate. He scrambled on top of Darian, his own blood dripping onto the noble's expensive tunic. He saw the shock and dawning fear in the boy's eyes—the terror of the predictable becoming unpredictable.
There was no technique, no skill. Just raw, desperate violence, channeled by the System's directive. He brought his forehead down, hard, onto the bridge of Darian's nose.
A sickening crunch echoed in the narrow alley, followed by a high-pitched, gurgling scream that was utterly devoid of its former arrogance.
"Get him off! Get him off me!" Darian shrieked, clawing at Kaelen's face.
Blows landed on Kaelen's back from the other two, but they were panicked, unfocused. He couldn't win this. But the mission wasn't to win. It was to survive.
To neutralize the immediate threat. Darian, writhing and screaming, was neutralized.
He shoved himself off the sobbing noble, his body screaming in protest. He stumbled to his feet, his chest heaving. The two other bullies hesitated, looking from their broken leader to the wild-eyed, blood-covered cripple. The animal fury in his gaze was something entirely new.
"He's lost his mind!" one of them whispered, taking a step back.
That was all the opening Kaelen needed. He turned and ran. He ran without looking back, his legs pumping, each step a protest of abused muscle and bone. He ran until the sounds of the alley faded, until the only thing he could hear was the ragged sound of his own breath and the frantic drumming of his heart.
He collapsed in a shadowed doorway, hidden from the twin moons' light. He was cold, hurt, and more terrified than he had ever been.
But he was alive.
[Mission Complete: First Blood.]
Rewards: 100 Evolution Points. [System Interface] Unlocked. [Inventory] Unlocked.
Analyzing Host's Performance...
Bonus Reward Unlocked: [Pain Resistance: Novice].
A wave of cool, neutral energy washed through him. The sharp, stabbing pains receded to a dull, manageable ache. The blue screen stabilized before his eyes. He had taken his first, bloody step. The weakling was gone, buried in the mud.
What would rise in his place was yet to be seen. Kaelen looked down at his trembling, blood-stained hands, then up at the unfamiliar stars.
The game had begun.