The city was always alive. Even in the dark corners where the sun refused to shine, where the streets were stained with forgotten memories, the pulse of neon lights and the hum of traffic never stopped. But Auron Vale knew better than to believe in the illusion of safety. In the Dead Zone, nothing was ever as it seemed.
Auron walked with purpose through the abandoned alleyways, his hood pulled low to conceal his face. The flickering lights above him sputtered with a sickly green hue, casting a twisted reflection off the slick, rain-soaked pavement. The air smelled like rust and oil, a reminder that the city had long since decayed beyond repair.
This place was a breeding ground for the unwanted. The outcasts. The failures.
People like him.
He had no family. No friends. Just a hollow emptiness that gnawed at him every day. He used to think it was normal—growing up in foster care after the blackout. But the older he got, the more he realized the truth: the world was built for people who could awaken to power, to change the system. And Auron had never been one of them.
He never passed the Awakening Test. In a world where your rank defined your worth, he was nothing. Just a "Zero." A statistic.
Yet he still walked these streets. Still survived.
Auron paused at the corner, his eyes scanning the alley ahead. A figure emerged from the shadows, tall and hunched, his eyes glowing a faint red. The man's breath was shallow, ragged—someone desperate. Someone who'd made a deal with the wrong people.
"You don't belong here," Auron muttered under his breath.
The man came closer, pulling a knife from his belt. "You got money?" The voice was hoarse, broken. "Gimme what you got, kid. You don't wanna be out here alone."
Auron's fingers twitched. The knife was a waste of time. He could tell by the man's posture, the way he moved—this was someone who didn't know what he was getting into. His pulse raced, but not from fear. His hands felt heavier, stronger than usual, as though the air itself had thickened around him. Something was… different.
You've been watching too many holo-shows, Auron thought, but he couldn't shake the feeling. There was something deep inside him, something dark and hungry, waiting for a reason to break free.
"Get out of my way," Auron said, his voice calm. Too calm.
The man hesitated, his gaze narrowing. But then, with a growl, he lunged forward.
Auron didn't move. He didn't need to. His body seemed to react on its own.
The moment the knife came within arm's reach, Auron's hand shot out like a blur, grabbing the man's wrist in a vice-like grip. The force of it sent a shockwave up his arm, a surge of power he couldn't explain. His heart pounded in his chest, but there was no fear. Only control.
The man's eyes widened as Auron twisted his wrist with effortless strength, disarming him in a single move. The knife clattered to the ground, useless.
"Wh—what the hell?" The man gasped, trying to back away, but Auron held him in place, his grip tightening.
Then, something strange happened.
A surge of energy, dark and primal, washed over Auron, flooding his senses. His vision sharpened, colors intensifying, the sound of the man's heartbeat reverberating in his ears like a drum. The alley around them blurred, fading into the background as Auron's focus zeroed in on the man's fear. His pulse quickened, and Auron felt a strange hunger build in his chest.
No. This isn't me.
But it was. The power—raw, uncontrollable—was his. And it was only just beginning.
The man tried to scream, but it was too late. Auron's hand shot to his throat, and before he could even comprehend what was happening, his body began to shift. His muscles bulged, his senses flared. His heartbeat pounded in his ears.
And then, the transformation took over.
[Mutation Unlocked: Reaper's Reflex - Initial Stage.]
[You have initiated the Obsidian Evolution Protocol.]
Auron's eyes flashed a deep, obsidian black, and a rush of power coursed through him. The man's struggles grew weaker as his breath grew shallow, but Auron wasn't listening anymore. All that mattered was the pulse—the rhythm of the blood, the power he could feel surging through his veins.
And then, just as quickly as it began, it stopped.
Auron dropped the man to the ground, his body shaking with adrenaline. The world around him seemed to settle, the rush of power dissipating like smoke. He stared at his hands, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"What the hell was that?" he whispered to himself.
But the answer came not from his own mind—but from something else. A voice, cold and mechanical, resonated in his thoughts.
[Welcome to the Obsidian Evolution Protocol.]
[You are now a Subject of the Obsidian Lineage.]
Auron's stomach churned. The voice... It was real. And it had just marked him.