Tarrin Vex thrust the rock into the dim light of the alley, its gleam a poor imitation of true value.
"Gentlemen, ten Lunars for void-blessed gold—pure Lunarian quality!" His grin was wide, but his mind raced. 'Bite, damn it, or I'm eating rocks tonight.'
The thugs—brutes from the Union's edge—sneered, their fists tightening. One stepped forward, his voice a low growl. "That's a sham, Vex."
Tarrin's grin didn't waver. He winked, his tone smooth as honey. "Ever seen a Vex lie?" 'Fuck yes, like daily.'
His back ached from holding his confident posture all day, but he couldn't let it show.
"Vex, you little rat, enough of this shit!" the same thug barked, his face twisting with anger.
A flicker of unease stirred in Tarrin's chest. 'Did they figure it out from last time?' The thought was dangerous. Three against one—odds he couldn't afford to ignore.
"You pulled the same crap last time," the thug spat. "Leo's gran said you sold us a fucking fake. And You don't just scam big Marty around here and walk away."
The other two thugs rose, their fists clenched, advancing on Tarrin. He raised his hands, his voice dripping with false sincerity.
"My brother, your gran probably doesn't have the experience to tell. It was real, I swear!"
"Shut the fuck up, Vex!"
The words barely registered before a fist slammed into his jaw, sending him stumbling back. Pain shot through his skull, and he gritted his teeth.
'Fuck, these dumbasses are really about to beat me senseless.'
Tarrin steadied himself, his mind racing for an escape. The alley was narrow, the walls closing in. He needed a plan—fast.
But before Tarrin could conjure a plan, another fist crashed into his nose, snapping his head back. The impact sent him sprawling to the ground, the taste of copper flooding his mouth.
Before he could even groan, the thugs descended on him like wolves, their boots slamming into his ribs, his stomach, his legs. Each blow was a thunderclap of pain, driving the air from his lungs.
"You lying piece of trash!" one of them snarled, his voice dripping with venom. Then all he heard were just insults towards his ancestry.
Tarrin curled into a ball, his arms shielding his head as curses rained down on him, each one a dagger aimed at his family name.
'What the hell did my grandpa even do?' he thought bitterly, his mind flickering between pain and defiance.
The world blurred as tears mixed with blood, his body screaming for relief.
But then, something shifted.
Deep in his gut, a warmth began to stir—subtle at first, like the faint glow of embers. It spread slowly, a strange, comforting heat that defied the cold brutality of the beating.
His breath hitched. 'What the hell is this?'
The warmth grew, intensifying with every passing second, until it felt like a sun was igniting inside him.
His veins burned, his skin prickled, and his mind, once dim and foggy, suddenly sharpened.
The pain of the blows faded, replaced by a surge of energy that pulsed through his body like a tidal wave.
And then—it erupted.
A deafening boom rocked the alley, the force of it rippling through the air like a shockwave. The thugs were hurled backward, their bodies flung like ragdolls against the grimy walls.
Tarrin's vision cleared, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he stared at the scene in stunned disbelief.
The alley was silent now, save for the faint groans of the thugs as they struggled to rise.
Tarrin pushed himself up, his body trembling but alive, his hands glowing faintly with an otherworldly light. He looked down at his palms, his heart pounding in his chest.
'What… what just happened?'
It didn't take long for Tarrin to piece it together. His smirk returned, slow and deliberate, as the realization hit him like a second shockwave.
Awakening. The word echoed in his mind, heavy with meaning. The scarred were godlike beings for the normal people, and now, he was somehow one of them.
'But I don't feel much different', he thought, flexing his fingers experimentally. The faint glow had faded, leaving no trace of the energy that had just saved his life.
'Well, it doesn't matter anyway.'
His gaze shifted to Big Marty, who was still sprawled on the ground, his face a mask of shock and fear.
Tarrin's smirk widened into a grin, sharp and mocking. "What's the matter, pussies? Never seen a fucking awakened before?"
The thugs' eyes bulged, their faces pale as if they'd seen a ghost. They scrambled to their feet, moving faster than Tarrin thought possible, their earlier bravado shattered.
One of them opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came out.
"Now get the fuck outta here," Tarrin barked, his voice dropping to a menacing growl, "before I show you what it really means to cross an Awakened."
They didn't need to be told twice. The thugs turned and bolted, their boots slapping against the wet pavement as they disappeared into the shadows of the alley.
Tarrin watched them go, his grin fading into a thoughtful frown. 'Haha, if only they knew I don't even know how to use this damn power.'
He stood there for a moment, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away, replaced by a creeping sense of dread. The implications of what had just happened began to sink in.
'I'm fucked. Sideways.' His mind raced. Awakened weren't just rare—they were valuable. And valuable things were always claimed by someone.
'Now I'll have to report it', he thought, his stomach churning. 'And once I do, they'll ship me off to the mainland. To fight those… things.'
The stories of the mainland were enough to make even the bravest men shudder. Monsters, horrors, things that defied reason.
And here he was, a failing salesman with a knack for scams, not some battle-hardened warrior from an elite clan.
He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers trembling slightly. 'How the hell am I supposed to survive out there?'
The warmth in his gut was still there, a quiet reminder of the power he now carried, but it felt more like a curse than a blessing.
For now, though, he was alive. And that was enough. Tarrin straightened his coat, wincing as his bruised ribs protested, and turned to leave the alley.
The day was far from over, and he had a lot to figure out.
Tarrin moved through the shadowed streets of the poorer district on Isle B4, his footsteps echoing softly against the cracked pavement.
The alleys were narrow, flanked by low-rent apartments with flickering lights and peeling paint.
The distant hum of vehicles from the main roads drifted in, a faint reminder of a world that felt miles away from this grimy corner of the Union.
Awakening. For most of the Union's youth, it was a dream come true—a ticket to glory, power, and respect.
But Tarrin knew better. He'd heard the stories, seen the hollow-eyed veterans who returned from the mainland, if they returned at all.
Awakening wasn't a gift; it was a death sentence wrapped in pretty promises.
He'd be given a few weeks of training, just enough to learn how to look heroic for the cameras, and then they'd ship him off to the mainland—Isle 0.
The name alone sent a chill down his spine. It wasn't an isle at all, not really. It was a warzone, a hellscape where the Union's Scarred fought the Scarbanes.
Tarrin had seen the videos. Grainy, shaky footage of those… things. Monsters that defied logic, their twisted forms straight out of a nightmare.
They moved too fast, hit too hard, and seemed to thrive on chaos and destruction.
The Awakened forces sent by the government fought valiantly, but even they were barely holding the line.
'No shot I'm surviving that place', Tarrin thought, his jaw tightening. Even being multiple isles away from the mainland wasn't enough to make him feel safe.
The Scarbanes were a constant, lurking threat, a reminder that the Union's fragile peace was built on the backs of those who fought and died on Isle 0.
And now, he was being thrown into that meat grinder.
He kicked a loose pebble, watching it skitter across the pavement.
'I'm a conman, not a soldier. How the hell am I supposed to fight monsters when I can barely throw a punch without getting my ass kicked?'
The warmth in his gut—his newfound power—felt like a cruel joke. It had saved him today, but what good would it do against the horrors waiting for him on the mainland?
Tarrin sighed, looking around as he turned down another alley.
The afternoon's air was cool, but it did little to ease the weight pressing down on his chest. He had a few weeks, maybe less, to figure out how to survive.
And if he couldn't… well, he'd just have to find a way to cheat death like he'd cheated everything else in his life. But deep down, he knew—some things couldn't be scammed.