Raindrops pelted the corrugated metal roof in uneven rhythms, hammering against rusted sheets with a hollow resonance. Kota Vale sat on the edge of his bed, listening to the soft clatter. The sound was almost soothing, though he knew the weather was never a guarantee of peace in the slums.
Living in the outskirts of Inkto Town was rough. Unpredictable. Dangerous. The narrow alleyways twisted like gnarled roots, harboring shadowed corners where low-tier beasts slinked, hunting what scraps the city discarded. The domains didn't care for these creatures—they were beneath notice, too weak to yield profit or recognition. Unless, of course, one strayed into the city proper, then patrols would respond, cutting the beast down with mechanical precision.
Kota swung his legs off the bed and rubbed his eyes, forcing his mind to wake. His body moved on autopilot through the familiar routine: teeth brushed, clothes changed, hair combed roughly.
The smell of damp concrete and mold lingered in the small room, but it was tolerable, even comforting. The slums were not beautiful—they never pretended to be—but they were home.
Descending the narrow, creaking staircase, Kota peeked into the small kitchen. Steam rose from a simple pot on the stove, curling lazily in the dim morning light. Aisha Smith was at the sink, scrubbing bread crumbs from a battered pan, while her mother, Yuki, stirred a thin mixture over the burner.
"Morning," Kota said quietly.
Aisha glanced at him, lips twitching, and gave a small nod. She seemed… distracted. Her dark hair had come loose from its tie, strands brushing her cheeks, and she kept glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. Kota didn't notice her subtle blush.
Yuki looked up, offering a warm, tired smile. "Good morning, Kota. Breakfast will be ready shortly."
Kota moved to the counter, grabbing a slice of bread from the small loaf resting on a plate. It wasn't luxurious—just standard bread with synthetic paste—but the bread was fresh enough to mask the foul taste of the paste. In the slums, the paste was a lifeline, a nutrient-dense block distributed to keep children and laborers alive. Its taste was terrible, the smell worse, but Kota had long since grown accustomed to it.
He watched Aisha carefully, trying not to stare too obviously. She seemed smaller than usual, her movements precise and careful. Every once in a while, her eyes flicked up toward him. Each glance lasted a fraction of a second longer than necessary, and Kota felt a faint warmth that he couldn't explain.
"You're quiet today," Aisha said, finally breaking the comfortable hum of the kitchen.
Kota shrugged, chewing. "I'm thinking about… chores."
"Chores? That sounds suspiciously boring," she teased, rolling her eyes.
He smirked slightly. "Well, I have to stay alive, don't I?"
Aisha shook her head, but the corners of her mouth lifted. "You're going to get yourself killed one day, Kota."
"Better than boring myself to death," he muttered, reaching for another slice of bread.
"You know," she said softly, as if weighing her words, "you could ask me to come with you. I could help."
Kota froze for a fraction of a second. He hadn't expected the offer. "Help with what?" he asked cautiously.
"The… errands. Going to the workshop, fetching materials, that kind of thing," she replied, her eyes darting briefly to the floor.
Kota could see her hesitation—the slight downward tilt of her lips, the nervous clench of her hands. It was subtle, but it spoke volumes. "You're serious?" he asked.
She gave a faint nod. "I am."
"Why?" he asked bluntly, though curiosity and warmth lingered in his voice.
Aisha paused, her hands gripping the edge of the counter. "Because… it's dangerous out there. And I care if you're okay."
The words hung in the air, heavier than any rainstorm outside. Kota felt a heat rise to his cheeks. He managed a small, awkward grin. "I'll be fine. I promise."
Yuki, overhearing the tail end of the exchange, called out gently, "Kota, don't push yourself too hard. And Aisha… thank you for worrying. But he's strong enough for a simple run to the workshop, isn't he?"
"Probably," Aisha muttered, rolling her eyes, though her slight smile betrayed her pride.
"Alright, breakfast first," Kota said, trying to focus on the bread. He chewed thoughtfully, letting the warmth of the small meal settle in his stomach.
Aisha poured a cup of thin tea and handed it to him. "Here. For luck."
He took it, their fingers brushing slightly, and the warmth of contact lingered longer than it should. Kota blinked quickly and averted his gaze. Aisha smirked faintly, as if aware of his discomfort.
The breakfast concluded in quiet comfort. Kota cleaned his plate and stood, brushing crumbs off his pants.
"I'll be heading out," he said, his voice firm but calm.
"Be careful," Aisha said softly, the words almost whispered, almost vulnerable.
"I always am," Kota replied, though he felt a little uncertain.
The door closed behind Kota with a dull metallic thud.
Outside, Inkto Town was already awake in its own way. The slums never truly slept; they shifted instead—like something wounded that refused to stop moving. Steam rose from broken vents, and distant shouting echoed through narrow corridors of stacked housing blocks.
Kota pulled his jacket tighter as he walked.
The workshop wasn't far, but distance meant little in Inkto Town. The real danger was what lived in the spaces between destinations.
Low-tier beasts sometimes slipped through the outer edges of the slums. Most were scavengers—things that fed on waste, metal, and occasionally anything warm enough to still be alive. Domains didn't bother hunting them unless they crossed containment lines. It wasn't worth the resources.
Unless they became a problem.
Kota adjusted the strap on his shoulder and kept moving.
Marcus Smith's workshop sat wedged between two collapsed structures that had never been rebuilt, only reinforced enough to stop them from falling entirely. It was louder here—constant metal impact, grinding tools, and the sharp hiss of welding arcs cutting through steel.
As Kota approached, sparks burst through the open doorway in bright orange streaks.
Inside, Marcus was already working.
A welding mask covered his face, his large frame hunched over a half-disassembled mechanical frame that looked like part of a transport rig. Every movement of his arms carried practiced efficiency, like muscle memory refined over years of repetition.
KSHHHHHH—
Another burst of sparks lit the interior.
Kota stepped inside. "Morning."
Marcus didn't respond immediately. He finished the weld, paused, then lifted his mask with a slow exhale.
"Kota," he said finally. "You're early."
"You say that every time I come here."
"Because every time you come here, you're early."
Kota gave a faint shrug and looked around the workshop. "You need anything today?"
Marcus wiped soot from his gloves, glancing at him sharply. "No."
Kota didn't move. "That sounded like a lie."
"It wasn't."
A beat passed.
Marcus sighed. "Copper spools. From the old storage yard near the outer slum boundary."
Kota nodded once. "I can get those."
"No," Marcus said immediately.
Kota raised an eyebrow. "You just told me what you need."
"And now I'm telling you not to go."
Kota glanced toward the partially open doorway. "It's not that far."
"That area is unstable," Marcus replied, voice lower now. "Beasts don't usually come that close, but when they do, it's because something is wrong."
Kota was quiet for a moment.
Then he asked, "Is something wrong?"
Marcus studied him for a long second. The workshop hummed around them, metal vibrating faintly under the weight of machinery.
Then Marcus exhaled.
"You're still too young to be walking into the dark zones alone."
"I've done it before."
"That doesn't make it safe."
Kota didn't answer immediately. Instead, he looked at the unfinished machine behind Marcus.
"You're working on a contract?"
Marcus followed his gaze. "Yes."
"Then you need the spools."
Another pause.
Marcus clicked his tongue. "You sound like me when I was stupid."
Kota smirked faintly. "So I'm qualified."
Marcus walked over and stopped directly in front of him. He was taller by a head, broad enough that he blocked part of the light coming in through the doorway.
"Kota," he said, voice quieter now. "Listen to me."
Kota's expression shifted slightly.
Marcus rarely used that tone.
"You are not just some kid we picked up off the street," Marcus continued. "You are family. Not by blood—but by choice. That means I don't get to pretend I'm okay with you dying to save me a few credits worth of metal."
Kota's gaze softened, but he didn't interrupt.
Marcus continued, slower now. "Your parents were my closest friends. I couldn't save them."
The words landed heavier than the noise of the workshop.
Kota blinked once.
He had heard versions of this before—but never like this. Never so direct.
Marcus looked away briefly, jaw tightening.
"I don't want to fail them twice."
Silence stretched between them.
Kota exhaled slowly. "I'll be careful."
"That's not what I asked."
"I know," Kota replied quietly. "But it's what I can promise."
Marcus stared at him for a long moment, then stepped back.
"Fine," he said finally. "Get the spools. And don't go deeper than you need to."
Kota nodded once. "Understood."
The outer slums changed as Kota moved further from the workshop.
Structures became more broken, less maintained. Walls leaned at unnatural angles, and old warning markers—faded paint and rusted signs—marked the transition into unsafe territory.
The "dark area."
Here, even the sound changed.
Less human noise.
More silence between distant echoes.
Kota kept his pace steady, eyes scanning constantly.
He passed collapsed warehouses and hollowed-out transit stations, careful to avoid exposed corridors where visibility dropped too quickly. The deeper he went, the more the air felt… heavier. Not physically—but like something was pressing against awareness itself.
He ignored it.
At least, he tried to.
Eventually, he found it.
An old storage warehouse, half-collapsed but still standing. Its metal doors hung open like broken teeth. Inside, shadows pooled in uneven layers, broken only by thin shafts of light leaking through cracked roofing.
Kota stepped inside cautiously.
The smell of rust and stagnant air hit him immediately.
"There it is," he muttered.
Stacks of old crates lined the interior. Most were destroyed or empty. But near the back—
Copper spools.
Exactly as Marcus described.
Kota moved carefully, stepping over debris. His boots made faint sounds against metal flooring.
He reached the spools and knelt down.
"Easy enough," he said under his breath.
He began lifting them one by one.
One spool.
Two.
Three.
The warehouse remained still.
Too still.
Kota paused.
Something about the silence shifted.
He slowly straightened.
And then—
scrape.
A faint sound.
Behind him.
Kota froze.
scrape… scrape…
Metal against concrete.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Not random.
He didn't turn immediately.
His hand tightened slightly around the spool.
The sound came again.
Closer this time.
Not human.
Not mechanical.
Something was in the warehouse with him.
And it was moving.
Kota exhaled once—slow, controlled.
Then he turned his head slightly.
Just enough to look into the shadows.
Nothing visible.
But the sound stopped.
For a single, suspended moment—
absolute silence returned.
Then—
another scrape.
Right behind him.
The silence behind Kota Vale did not stay silent for long.
It shifted.
That was the only way his mind could describe it—like the air itself had decided to stop pretending it was empty.
scrape…
Kota didn't turn fully.
He already knew what that sound meant.
Slowly, carefully, he shifted his weight onto his back foot and adjusted his grip on the copper spools. His breathing stayed controlled. Too fast meant panic. Panic meant mistakes. Mistakes meant death in places like this.
scrape… scrape…
Closer now.
Kota exhaled once through his nose.
"Alright," he muttered under his breath. "So you're here."
He took one step forward.
Then another.
Not away.
Not toward.
Just… repositioning.
The sound behind him paused.
It noticed.
Kota's eyes flicked across the warehouse interior. Crates stacked unevenly. Broken beams overhead. A collapsed section near the far wall where light spilled in through a fractured opening.
An exit.
But not a clean one.
And whatever was behind him was already between him and the main door.
Which meant—
He couldn't outrun it in a straight line.
He had to mislead it.
A sound like nails dragging across metal scraped the floor again.
This time, it wasn't behind him.
It was to the side.
Kota finally turned his head slightly.
Just enough.
And he saw it.
The creature stood half in shadow, half exposed under a thin strip of pale light cutting through the broken roof.
It was the size of a grown man—tall, but unnaturally thin.
Its body was hunched forward, as if its spine had never fully decided whether it wanted to stand upright or crawl. Dark green fur coated its frame in uneven patches, matted in places like it had been dragged through rust and soil.
Its arms—or what passed for them—hung low.
Too long.
Too sharp.
At the end of each limb, elongated claws protruded forward like hooked blades instead of fingers, scraping lightly against the ground with each small movement.
Its head tilted.
Not like an animal.
Not like a human.
Like something trying to decide what it was looking at.
Kota didn't move.
The creature didn't blink.
A long second passed.
Then—
It took a step forward.
KRRRSHK.
Claws dragged across concrete.
Kota's mind calculated instantly.
Distance. Angles. Obstacles.
It wasn't fast.
But it didn't need to be.
Not in a straight chase.
He slowly set one copper spool down without sound.
Then another.
The creature's head tilted further.
It reacted to movement—but not in a clean predator way.
More like curiosity.
Or confusion.
Kota took one step back.
The creature mirrored it.
Not fast.
Just… persistent.
That was worse.
Kota turned.
And ran.
Not blindly.
Not panicked.
Precise.
His boots struck the warehouse floor in controlled rhythm as he moved through the gaps between crates instead of open space. He didn't sprint in a straight line—he curved his path deliberately, forcing angles the creature couldn't match cleanly with its longer limbs.
Behind him—
KRRRSHK—KRRRSHK—
The scraping increased.
Faster now.
But uneven.
Too heavy to turn sharply.
Kota's eyes locked onto structure.
Crates ahead.
Collapsed beam to the left.
Narrow corridor between broken shelving.
He cut right.
Then left.
Then abruptly stopped—
And reversed direction entirely.
The creature followed the expected path forward—
KRRRSHK—
It overshot.
Kota had already moved.
He slipped between two stacked crates, squeezing through a narrow gap just wide enough for his shoulders. Wood splintered lightly against his jacket.
The creature slammed into the far side of the structure behind him.
A heavy impact.
Not intelligent enough to correct instantly.
Kota didn't waste it.
He moved again.
Faster now.
Controlled.
Measured.
Breathing steady.
Think.
Not panic.
Think.
The exit was still there.
The fractured wall opening.
Visible now through shifting gaps in the warehouse debris.
But the creature had recovered.
He could hear it again.
Behind him.
Closer.
Angrier.
The pattern was changing.
It was learning.
"Kota…" he whispered to himself, almost like a warning. "Move."
He darted forward again, cutting diagonally toward the opening.
The creature followed—
KRRRSHK—KRRRSHK—
Too close.
Too loud.
Too certain.
Kota reached the final stretch.
The broken wall was right ahead—light spilling in from the outside world, pale and misty through the rain.
Freedom.
But behind him—
a sudden acceleration of sound.
The creature surged forward faster than before.
Not sprinting properly—
but lunging.
Kota's eyes widened slightly.
"Tch—"
He pushed off hard.
One final burst.
The ground outside the warehouse was just ahead—
Rain.
Open air.
Escape—
A shadow rose behind him
Claws scraped the concrete behind him.
It was close, too close. As he felt a light singe on his right shoulder, as he looked over and saw blood dripping.