The air in Sector 4 didn't just smell. It weighed on you. Thick and oily, rotting synthetic trash mixed with the metallic tang of blood—the kind that clung to your lungs when even the Cleaners stayed home.

  A young man ran through the narrow alley, a quiet laugh escaping his lips.

  His boots hit rusted metal, the sound echoing off collapsing tenements. Behind him, the thunder of more boots joined the rhythm—louder, closer, hungry. A high voice cut through the chase, sharp and breathless.

  "You're dead, you little rat!"

  He didn't slow. Couldn't. And honestly? He had no reason to.

  "You're gonna regret messing with the Iron Teeth!"

  He banked hard left into a crevice so narrow the walls scraped his shoulders. His lungs burned. The air here was worse—thick with something acrid, making each breath a fight.

  "Iron Teeth?" he muttered under his breath, not slowing. "Bold name for guys who can't afford a dentist."

  He vaulted a pile of garbage. His shredded gloves caught on broken glass. A loose cable crackled underfoot. Smoke from a nearby generator stung his eyes.

  'If they wanted their money back, they should've held onto it tighter.'

  The pouch in his pocket bumped against his thigh. The Iron Teeth's weekly haul. A month of real bread and clean water. Just thinking about it made him smile—he'd never dreamed of stuff like this. Today's hunt had been on another level.

  'Bastard? Thief? Disgrace?'

  A smirk tugged at his lips.

  'I prefer "Unlicensed Tax Collector." Thanks for the donation, boys.'

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He ducked into a gap between two tenements, pressing his back against damp concrete. His chest heaved. The voices faded—for now.

  A marketplace sprawled ahead. Crowded. Chaotic. Good for disappearing.

  He slowed to a walk, merging with the flow of desperate bodies. Vendors shouted over sputtering speakers, pushing whatever they could sell. No one looked at anyone else. That was the rule here.

  Conversations drifted past.

  "Did you hear? Some hunting team found bodies near Monster Mouth yesterday."

  "Horrible. The leader was half-eaten by something."

  "That's not what I heard. I heard his own teammates finished him off. Stole the Final Strike."

  "A betrayal again?"

  "Expected. Normal humans hunting a monster? You gotta watch your back the whole time. Only the one who lands the killing blow gets to Awaken. Your own comrades might decide you'd look better dead."

  Kael leaned against a wall, catching his breath. The concrete was slick with mildew. Sticky with discarded nutrient paste.

  'The great awakening delusion.'

  He looked up. Past the tenements. Past the layers of smog.

  Towering walls loomed in the distance, their surface scarred by weather and time. Reinforced concrete rose story after story, lined with watchtowers and automated defense systems. Merciless. Untouchable.

  Behind them was the Inner Circle. Clean air. Real food. Modern technology. A paradise for those with power. A distant dream for everyone else.

  Kael had never seen it with his own eyes. But looking at that spire in the distance—the tallest one, rising above everything else—he knew it was true. It had to be.

  'People have lost their minds. Facing a monster with a rusty pipe and a prayer?'

  He shook his head.

  'I'll take the filth here over a monster's stomach any day. At least I know the rules. Stay small. Stay fast. Don't go hunting destiny.'

  Beyond the walls, forests and ruins swallowed what remained of civilization. Monster Mouth sat close—a jagged scar of collapsed buildings and twisted rock. Few ventured there. Rumors spoke of a Rank 3 Beast wandering its ruins, hunting anyone foolish enough to approach.

  To the world, the Final Blow was ascension. The moment a commoner's soul clicked with the System. A ticket out of the filth.

  To him, it was a lottery. And lotteries had losers.

  "Thrilling," he whispered. The word tasted like copper. "Becoming a lord among men. Almost sounds better than starving in the rain."

  Almost.

  He pushed off the wall.

  'Damn. I forgot I have dinner to buy.'

  'And these annoying thugs are still looking for me.'

  The marketplace thrummed around him. Shifting bodies. Shouted threats. The hum of surveillance drones wobbling overhead.

  'Where in the hell did they get drones?'

  In a world ruled by monsters and elites, dying peacefully was the one luxury he couldn't afford.