Chapter 2 – The Outskirts
"What the fuck?"
Ejay coughed up dirt and immediately regretted it. His throat felt like he'd swallowed sandpaper. The air was dry, hot, and thick with dust. He rolled onto his side and squinted up at the sky.
Two suns stared down at him — one pale and distant, the other a dull, angry red.
"…Of course there's two," he muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Because one wasn't enough to ruin my day."
He pushed himself upright, every muscle aching like he'd been thrown through a blender. His backpack sat beside him, half-buried in dust. He dragged it closer, checking inside — water bottle, crushed granola bar, and the ring.
Still there. Black, metallic, cool to the touch. It didn't glow or hum or float like before. It just sat in his palm, heavy and real.
"So you're not haunted," he said quietly. "Good. I've got enough problems."
He slipped it into his pocket. The moment he did, something clicked in his chest. His heartbeat slowed. His breathing evened out.Then—The world shifted.
Not the world, exactly — his perception of it.
He could feel everything within three meters of himself. The air, the ground, the jagged edges of the ruined wall behind him. Even the faint scuttle of something alive hiding under a rusted car.
His eyes widened."What the hell…"
The sense vanished a second later, leaving him dizzy. He stumbled, catching himself on the wall. His head pounded.
"Okay. Spatial awareness unlocked. No cooldown timer, just migraines. Nice."
He looked around. The landscape stretched in every direction — cracked streets, half-collapsed buildings, smoke in the distance. The air smelled like burnt oil and rot.
If this was an isekai, it was the budget version.
He started walking, not because he had a plan but because standing still felt worse. Every step sent pain shooting up his legs, but at least it reminded him he was still alive.
Eventually, he reached the edge of what looked like a settlement — a sprawl of concrete, rust, and hopelessness. People moved through the streets like ghosts, gaunt and hollow-eyed. Vendors shouted over each other, selling scraps that didn't look edible. The few children he saw were barefoot, quick, and mean.
Ejay slowed, staring.This wasn't a city. It was a grave that forgot it was supposed to stay quiet.
He adjusted his hoodie, trying to look less out of place — which was impossible. He was too clean, too upright, too obviously not one of them. The moment he made eye contact with someone, they looked away.
A man carrying a sack brushed past him and hissed something sharp in a language Ejay didn't know.Then his gaze dropped to Ejay's pocket — to the faint outline of the ring.
The man's expression twisted from annoyance to fear.
He muttered a single word before retreating fast.Others nearby heard. Heads turned.
Whispers spread.
"Awakened…"
Ejay froze. "Wait, what?"
The crowd scattered like rats. A woman grabbed her child and fled into an alley. Someone spat on the ground and crossed themselves. Within seconds, the street was empty.
Ejay stood there, dumbfounded. "Seriously? I didn't even do anything."
He looked down at his pocket, then at his hands."...You've gotta be kidding me."
He wandered aimlessly until he found a small corner between two ruined walls and sat down, sliding until his back hit cold concrete. His brain was spinning.
"Awakened," he whispered. "That's what they called people in the book…"
He stopped. The thought hit like a knife.The book.
Shadow Slave.
He'd read it. All of it. The Nightmares, the Awakened, the horrors that lurked outside the cities. And now he was here.
He pressed his palms against his eyes. "No. No, no, no. This is impossible. This isn't—"
His breath caught. He could feel it again — the pulse of his power inside him, steady and cold, like the ring in his pocket.It wasn't going away. It was part of him now.
He let out a low, bitter laugh. "Great. I'm living fanfiction."
The sound cracked halfway through and turned into a dry sob.
He missed noise. He missed traffic. He missed air that didn't smell like misery. Most of all, he missed not knowing how bad the world could get.
He looked up at the sky — red sun bleeding into the horizon, pale twin hovering high above. The heat was fading, replaced by a creeping cold.
The first night here was coming.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out the ring, and stared at it.It didn't glow this time. It didn't move. But he could feel its weight — not physical, but spiritual. It was tied to him.
He turned it over once, then clenched it in his fist."I hate this place," he whispered. "I want to go home."
The silence that followed felt too big, too empty.
For a long moment, he just sat there, thinking about how easy it would be to stop trying. To just let the world swallow him.
Then something shifted inside him — a flicker of anger, faint but alive.
He shoved the ring back into his pocket and stood up. His legs shook, but he stayed upright.
"Fine," he muttered. "You win. I'll play your stupid game."
He looked down the street — smoke rising in the distance, shadows stretching long. Somewhere out there, the world was already hunting him.
"Let's see how long I last."