The city doesn't wait for anyone. It doesn't care if you're young, weak, clever, or desperate. It moves, it shifts, it devours. And on that day, I realized just how much the world could answer back.
Zion and I had been scavenging near the eastern edge of the slums, where the ruins of old warehouses created a maze of shadows and debris. Food was scarce, and danger was everywhere. We'd grown used to avoiding gangs, stray Beastkin patrols, and the occasional guard who enjoyed tormenting the lower classes. But today, danger came closer than we'd ever expected.
A gang of five men, notorious even in these harsh streets, had cornered us. Rusted knives in hand, stench of alcohol heavy in the air, eyes wild with hunger and malice. They weren't just here for our belongings they were here for Zion. My chest tightened. Not with fear. Not with anger. But with resolve. He was mine, and no one took what belonged to me.
"Hand over the boy," the leader growled, nodding at Zion. The others circled, grinning, knives flashing.
I didn't flinch. Zion froze beside me, small and trembling. I stepped in front of him, placing myself as a living shield. Survival wasn't about courage it was about control, and control was about removing threats efficiently.
The first knife swung. I blocked it, twisting the attacker's arm and driving my elbow into his ribs. He staggered back, cursing, but the others advanced. Pain blossomed in my side where I had misjudged a blow. Not enough to stop me. Never enough to stop me. I had learned early that hesitation is fatal.
Zion's scream was sharp, urgent, filled with a fear I had long since tamed in myself. I saw red not rage, not fury, but focus. Every cell in my body screamed survival. Every thought centered on keeping Zion alive.
And then… a sound. A single, sharp DING, like metal on metal, but it vibrated through my skull and chest. My vision narrowed, sounds of the street fading to a strange clarity. The world seemed to pause, the gangmen frozen in mid-swing. Confusion flickered across their eyes, but it didn't matter.
WAYWARD ASCENSION SYSTEM ACTIVATEDHOST CONFIRMED: VASHRYN
I blinked. Blue light filled my vision, and a cold, analytical voice filled my mind. No emotion. No encouragement. Just facts, functions, and options. Perfect.
HOST CONDITION: CRITICALEMERGENCY FUNCTION ENABLED
A surge of power coursed through me. Not gentle, not pleasant. Pain sharp as glass grinding against muscle. I flexed, and the gangmen flinched as if sensing a shift in the air. Strength not fear, not anger, but raw, mechanical strength took over my body. I moved faster than I had ever moved, struck harder than I thought possible.
The first man lunged at Zion. I intercepted, twisting his arm, breaking it at the wrist. Another swung a knife at me; my hand caught his wrist, snapped it backward, the sound of splintered bone louder than any shout. The remaining three hesitated, glancing at each other, sensing that the prey was no longer prey but predator. I stepped forward, precision in every motion, calculating cost versus outcome.
Zion was trembling, blue eyes wide. I glanced at him. Alive. Good.
NEW SKILL ACQUIRED: BASIC BODY REINFORCEMENTNEW TECHNIQUE AVAILABLE: VOID DEVOURING SCRIPTURE
The system didn't explain morality. Didn't comfort, didn't apologize. It only listed facts, costs, and options. That was perfect. It made decisions simple: efficiency above all.
I moved through the gang. Crippled knees, broken arms, one unconscious with a single precise strike to the temple. None of it unnecessary. None of it emotional. Only survival. Only Zion.
They ran. I did not chase. I never chased. I assessed. Calculated. Observed. Efficiency.
Zion's small hand gripped mine, shaking. "Y-you're… you're alive?"
I knelt. "Yes. You?"
He nodded, breathless, relief spilling into his voice. That was enough. The only thing that mattered.
We left the scene, the city returning to its usual chaos around us. Streets alive with sound, smell, and movement. Gangs and guards would not forget this night, but neither would they understand it. Vashryn didn't explain, didn't negotiate. I survived. Zion survived. And that was all.
I found a quiet rooftop overlooking the slums, the ruins of Winchester stretching into the distance. My vision, enhanced by the system, observed everything the patterns of patrols, the flow of merchants, the habits of gangs. Knowledge is power, and now, more than ever, I had the tools to act on it.
"Vash…" Zion's voice was soft, hesitant. "Does this… make you a monster?"
I looked at him, truly looked at him. His innocence, his soft hope, still remained. Not for long, perhaps, but it remained. "Not a monster. Efficient. Ruthless. But still… your brother."
He leaned into me. "Promise me…"
I didn't answer. Promises were for fools. But I placed a hand on his head. Safe. Alive. Enough.
That night, under the cold moonlight, I swore silently: I would never be powerless again. The system had awakened, and so had I. Strength, knowledge, and ruthlessness would be my weapons. And Zion… he would be the one thing I never allowed to break.
Beyond Winchester, empires stirred. Vastoria, Drakoryn, Lunaris, Borealis, Pyros, Edenreach, Astryx each continent with its own wars, secrets, and powers. I had little interest in them yet. For now, survival, system mastery, and Zion's safety were all that mattered. One day, the world would know the name Vashryn. And it would remember it.