The rain fell without mercy.
It soaked the cracked streets of Raven City's Lower District, washing garbage into the gutters and blood into the drains. Neon signs flickered weakly above half-shuttered shops, their colors smeared into trembling reflections on the wet asphalt. The slums never slept—but they never truly lived either.
Under a broken streetlamp, a thin young man sat against a brick wall, knees drawn to his chest.
Ethan Black did not lift his head when the rain struck his face.
He had long learned that looking up changed nothing.
Nineteen years old. Orphaned before he could remember his parents' faces. No home. No address. No identity anyone cared to record. In Raven City's system, he barely existed.
His clothes clung to his body—old, threadbare, permanently stained with dirt and oil. His hair was black and unkempt, plastered to his forehead by rainwater. His eyes were lowered, half-hidden beneath his lashes, calm to the point of indifference.
A beggar.
That was the word people used.
Ethan disliked words. They simplified things too much.
He preferred facts.
And the fact was this: the corner he sat on belonged to someone else.
Bootsteps splashed through a puddle.
Three pairs.
Ethan registered the sound instantly. Not with fear. With calculation.
The weight distribution. The rhythm. One man walked with impatience. One with arrogance. The last—slow, heavy, confident. Likely the leader.
He did not move.
Begging had taught him something precious: invisibility was a skill. Stillness was armor.
Unfortunately, tonight, it wasn't enough.
"Hey."
A kick struck his ribs.
Ethan's body rolled sideways, breath leaving his lungs in a sharp gasp. Pain flared, hot and immediate. He tasted rust in his mouth.
"I said hey, trash."
The voice was young, but already rotten.
Ethan slowly lifted his eyes.
Three men stood over him. Leather jackets. Cheap chains. Tattoos crawling up their necks like mold. The Raven Fang insignia was stitched poorly onto one sleeve.
A local gang. Small-time. Violent. Territorial.
The leader crouched down, rain dripping from his chin.
"You deaf?" the man said. "This street's ours."
Ethan stared at him silently.
The man's eyes narrowed.
"You think you can beg anywhere you want?"
Another kick followed. This time to the stomach.
Ethan curled inward, instinctively protecting his organs. The pain was sharp, but controlled. He had learned how to fall. How to breathe through impact. How to keep bones from breaking when fists came raining down.
Still, blood began to mix with rain beneath him.
"Boss," one of the others laughed, "he's not even crying."
"That so?" The leader grinned. "Let's fix that."
The beating came next.
Fists. Boots. Elbows.
No artistry. No mercy.
Ethan felt ribs crack—one, maybe two. His vision blurred, dark spots blooming at the edges. He bit down on his tongue to stop himself from making a sound.
Not because he was brave.
Because he was patient.
Every blow carved itself into his memory. Every insult. Every sneer.
You're nothing.Garbage.Waste of air.
Ethan did not forget debts.
He cataloged them.
Eventually, the rain washed the leader's interest away.
"Leave him," the man said, standing. "If he dies, he dies."
Laughter followed as the three walked off, boots fading into the night.
Silence returned.
Only the rain remained.
Ethan lay on his side, chest barely rising. Cold seeped into his bones. The streetlamp flickered once… twice… then went dark.
Blackness swallowed him.
He did not know how long he drifted.
Time lost meaning when survival narrowed the world down to breath and pain.
Then—
A voice.
Not loud.
Not gentle.
"Underworld Emperor System activated."
Ethan's eyes snapped open.
The rain was still there. The darkness still pressed close. But the voice… it was inside his head.
Clear. Cold. Absolute.
"You are the chosen ruler of the shadows."
For the first time that night, something stirred within him.
Not hope.
Curiosity.
Hallucination, he thought calmly. Blood loss could do that.
The voice continued.
"This world has light and shadow.""Since you were born in darkness, you shall rule the darkness."
A translucent interface unfolded before his eyes.
Words. Numbers. Structure.
Not the chaos of a dying mind.
Order.
Host: Ethan BlackStatus: Critical (Near Death)Power Rank: Beggar
Ethan blinked once.
Twice.
The panel did not disappear.
Another line appeared.
Newbie Rewards Unlocked
His heartbeat quickened slightly—not with excitement, but with sharpened awareness.
"Body Reinforcement initiating."
Pain exploded through him.
Not the dull agony of injury—but a deep, invasive force, threading through muscle and bone. His cracked ribs knit together with sickening precision. Torn fibers reformed. Blood loss slowed… then stopped.
Ethan clenched his fists, teeth grinding, but he did not scream.
He endured.
When it ended, the rain felt… lighter.
He inhaled.
Air filled his lungs smoothly.
Strength returned to his limbs—not overwhelming, but stable. Controlled. Reliable.
The panel updated.
Status: StabilizedPhysical Condition: Reinforced (Basic)
Another notification followed.
"Skill acquired: Detect Hostile Intent."
A subtle sensation bloomed at the back of his mind. A quiet awareness, like invisible threads extending outward, tasting the air for danger.
And then—
"Elite Subordinate Summoned."
The rain parted.
Footsteps approached—but these were different. Silent. Precise.
A tall figure emerged from the shadows, dressed in black from head to toe. Short hair. Sharp eyes. A presence that bent the darkness around him rather than being swallowed by it.
He stopped in front of Ethan and knelt on one knee.
"Master."
The word landed heavily.
Ethan studied him. No fear. No hesitation. No doubt.
Absolute loyalty.
Another panel appeared.
Subordinate: AaronRank: Elite BodyguardLoyalty: 100% (Absolute)Status: Awaiting Orders
For several seconds, only rain spoke.
Then Ethan pushed himself upright.
His movements were slow, but steady.
"Help me stand," he said.
Aaron obeyed instantly, offering an arm with controlled strength.
Ethan rose.
The street looked different now.
Sharper. Clearer.
At the edge of his perception, faint red flickers appeared in the distance—residual hostility, fading traces of the gang members who had beaten him earlier.
He could sense them.
Ethan looked down at his own hands.
Still thin. Still scarred.
But no longer weak.
Fear Points: 100
He understood immediately what they meant.
Fear.
Control.
Currency born from dominance.
A system built not on emotion—but consequence.
Ethan laughed softly.
Not joy.
Not madness.
Understanding.
"So this is how the world works," he murmured.
Aaron watched him silently, awaiting command.
Ethan turned his gaze toward the deeper slums, where flickering lights marked gang territory and illegal markets breathed like living beasts.
"That street…" Ethan said quietly. "Who owns it?"
Aaron answered without hesitation. "The Raven Fang. A minor gang. Forty-seven members. Three local leaders."
Ethan nodded.
"Tonight," he said, voice calm as the rain, "ownership changes."
Aaron's eyes gleamed faintly.
"Yes, Master."
Ethan stepped forward, barefoot on wet asphalt, blood washed clean by rain.
Above him, Raven City slept in ignorance.
Below it, something ancient stirred.
A beggar had survived the night.
And in the shadows—
An emperor took his first breath.