The rain that fell over the city didn't wash anything away; it only turned the black mold on the skyscrapers into a slick, obsidian sludge. Inside a cramped, fourth-floor walk-up that smelled of mildew and cheap incense, Asper sat at a scarred wooden table, his breath hitching in the cold. The power had been cut two days ago, and the red "Eviction Notice" taped to his door was the only thing adding color to the room.
He didn't look at the notice. His focus was entirely on the serrated combat knife in his hand and the severed, leathery wing of a Lesser Demon laying on a tarp in front of him.
"Stay still," he muttered, though the limb had been dead for hours.
With practiced, desperate precision, Asper dug the blade into the base of the wing, peeling back the charcoal-colored skin to reveal the Ichor-Glands. These tiny, glowing nodes were the only parts the Anti-Demon Association (ADA) would pay for. The authorities claimed they "sanitized" the streets, but they always missed the scraps in the slums. To the ADA, these were bio-hazards; to Asper, they were three days of canned soup and a prayer toward the back-rent.
A sharp, rhythmic knock at the door—three shorts and a long—made him freeze. He didn't relax until he heard a familiar, hushed voice through the wood.
"Asper? It's the Crows. Open up before the Enforcers sniff the scent."
Asper stood, his knees popping, and unlatched the three heavy deadbolts. Stepping inside were his fellow scavengers—the only family he had left in a world that had forgotten how to be human.
The Scavengers: The Carrion Crows
They called themselves the Carrion Crows—or just "The Crows"—because they lived off the leftovers of a dying world. While the "Powered" heroes fought the High Demons in the city center, the Crows picked through the ribs of the fallen in the mold-choked outskirts.
Kael: The "Beater." He was older, with hands like cracked leather and a permanent cough from breathing in too many spores. He carried a heavy iron pipe wrapped in demon-sinew. He was the one who distracted the stragglers while the others cut.
Lina: The "Eyes." She had a knack for spotting the mold-shimmer that signaled a Demon God's influence was nearby. She was twitchy, always looking at the ceiling, waiting for the sky to collapse.
Jace: The "Runner." The youngest of the lot, barely fifteen, with a backpack full of jars and salt. He was fast enough to outrun a Lesser Demon, but only just.
"Tough night," Kael grunted, dropping a heavy, blood-stained burlap sack onto Asper's floor. It let out a wet thud. "The mold is thickening near the 5th District. We found a dead Mid-Tier that the Association's 'Heroes' left behind. They didn't even bother to check for the heart."
Asper looked at the sack, then at his own trembling, stained hands. In this world, you either died a victim, lived as a Crow, or took the 50/50 Gamble and prayed the demon heart didn't melt your insides.
"Did you get it?" Asper asked, his voice low. "The heart?"
Jace reached into the bag and pulled out a pulsing, violet organ the size of a grapefruit. It looked like a rotting plum, veined with that same parasitic black mold.
"The Association will kill us if they find us with this," Lina whispered, her eyes wide. "That's 'Class A Contraband.' They say only the 'Chosen' can handle these."
Asper reached out, his fingers hovering just inches from the heat radiating off the demon remains. He looked around his crumbling apartment, at the mold crawling up the wallpaper, and then at his hungry, tired comrades.
"The Association doesn't pay enough for us to live," Asper said, his eyes hardening as he looked at the heart. "And the mold doesn't care if we're 'Chosen' or not. If we're going to survive the Bleakest Hour, we stop picking at the scraps
Sighing Asper left without them
Asper:hah what a pain in the ass why do I have to rote in here like a dumb ass
A bunch of powered people flew by
Asper: instead of flying trying to act cool
Asper was walking back home