The "Upper Crust" of the city thrived on sunlight and prestige, but the Iron Gut—the city's lowest level, built into the soot-stained foundations of the floating islands—thrived on things that fell through the cracks.
Raven pulled his hood low. Nevermore was tucked inside his cloak, a silent, heavy warmth against his ribs. The Black Market wasn't a single place; it was a shifting labyrinth of stalls lit by flickering gas lamps and the glow of unstable mana-crystals.
"Looking for a boost, kid?" a merchant hissed, gesturing to a row of jagged teeth floating in jars of brine. "I've got Manticore bile. One drop and your beast will grow ten times its size. For an hour, at least. Before its heart explodes."
Raven kept walking. He didn't want a shortcut; he wanted a catalyst.
He stopped at a stall tucked into a damp corner, marked only by a sign of a cracked hourglass. The air here smelled of old paper and ozone. Behind the counter sat a girl who looked no older than Raven, her face smudged with grease and her hair a chaotic nest of copper curls. She was frantically soldering a piece of copper onto a small, metallic sphere that looked suspiciously like a mechanical eye.
Beside her, sitting on a pile of scrap metal, was a Slime. But it wasn't the translucent blue of a standard D-Rank Slime. It was a dull, muddy brown, and it seemed to be wearing a tiny, cracked pair of goggles.
"It's not for sale," the girl snapped without looking up. "And if you're here to complain about the explosive fire-crackers I sold Baron's lackeys, I don't offer refunds for 'user error.'"
"I'm not here for fire-crackers," Raven said, leaning against the counter. "I need Midnight Resin. The pure stuff. Not the watered-down sap they sell at the Academy."
The girl stopped soldering. She looked up, her amber eyes narrowing as they landed on the violet glow peeking out from Raven's cloak.
"Midnight Resin is a Grade-4 corrosive," she said, her voice dropping. "Feed that to a normal beast and you'll melt its insides. Unless..."
She whistled low. The muddy Slime hopped off the scrap pile and jiggled toward Raven, its surface rippling.
"Mochi, scan him," she whispered.
The Slime's goggles whirred. A faint green light swept over Raven. "D-Rank energy signature," the girl muttered, "but the density is... off. It's too heavy."
"I'm Raven," he said, opening his cloak.
Nevermore hopped onto the counter, knocking over a jar of screws. The bird and the goggled Slime stared at each other.
"I'm Cider," the girl said, finally setting down her tools. "And this is Mochi. He's a 'Defective' Earth Slime. Can't hold a shape to save his life, so I build him exoskeletons. The Academy calls us 'trash-tier.'"
"They call a lot of things trash," Raven replied. "Usually the things they're afraid to understand."
Cider reached under the counter and pulled out a small, lead-lined vial. Inside, a liquid as black as deep-sea water swirled sluggishly.
"This is the last of my Resin. It's worth more than your boots, Raven. But I'll give it to you for a price."
"I don't have much gold," Raven admitted.
"I don't want gold," Cider grinned, a spark of mischief in her eyes. "I saw what you did to Baron's hound earlier this evening. Word travels fast in the Gut. You're going into the Blackwood Thicket tomorrow, aren't you? So am I. Mochi needs a specific core from a Clockwork Spider to stabilize his new frame. Help me get it, and the Resin is yours."
Raven looked at the vial, then at the girl who was clearly as much of an outcast as he was. A tamer who used engineering to fix "defective" magic.
"A Shadow Crow and a Slime in goggles against the Blackwood forest," Raven mused. "We'll be the laughingstock of the field test."
"Good," Cider said, sliding the vial toward him. "It's much easier to trip people when they're too busy laughing to look at their feet."Raven took the lead-lined vial and retreated to a secluded corner of the Iron Gut—an abandoned bell tower that overlooked the smog-choked abyss below the city.
The air was thick with the scent of rust and damp stone. Nevermore perched on a jagged stone gargoyle, his violet eyes fixed on the vial in Raven's hand. The bird seemed to understand the gravity of the moment; this wasn't just a meal, it was a rewrite of his own biology.
"Cider said this stuff is corrosive," Raven whispered, his fingers trembling as he unscrewed the cap. "If your core isn't strong enough to contain it, Nevermore, this is the end for both of us."
Through the Sync Link, Raven felt a wave of cold, absolute hunger. There was no fear in the crow—only a primal urge to consume.Raven poured the Midnight Resin into a shallow stone bowl. The liquid didn't flow like water; it crawled, sticking to the stone, pulsing with a faint, oily luminescence.
Nevermore didn't hesitate. He hopped down and dipped his beak into the sludge.
The reaction was instantaneous.
Phase 1: Shadow Collapse. Nevermore's physical body seemed to lose its solid form. His feathers turned into liquid ink, melting into a puddle on the floor. For a terrifying heartbeat, Raven felt the Sync Link flicker and dim.
Phase 2: The Void Intake. The puddle began to vibrate. The Midnight Resin was being absorbed, but it wasn't just staying in the crow. The shadows in the corners of the room began to stretch toward the bird, being sucked into the vacuum of his evolving form.
Phase 3: Reconstitution. From the center of the swirling ink, a sharp, metallic sound echoed—like a blade being drawn from a scabbard.
Raven gasped as the shadows snapped back into a physical shape. Nevermore stood in the center of the tower, but he was changed. He was slightly larger, his wingspan now edged with feathers that looked like shards of obsidian. His eyes had shifted from a dull violet to a piercing, crystalline amethyst.
New Ability Unlocked: Umbral Mantle
Raven reached out, and as his fingers brushed the crow's wing, the shadows didn't just feel like feathers—they felt like solid cold.
Evolution Status:
Species: Obsidian Shadow Crow (Evolved D-Rank)
New Trait: Void Stomach – Can store small objects or spells within a pocket dimension in its shadows.
New Skill: Shadow Stitch – Nevermore can "pin" an enemy's shadow to the ground with his own feathers, paralyzing them in place for several seconds.
"You feel... heavier," Raven breathed. The bond was deeper now, a dark hum at the back of his mind that felt like a secret whispered in the dark.
A soft cough came from the stairs. Cider was standing there, Mochi the Slime resting on her shoulder. The Slime's goggles were clicking rapidly as it scanned the room.
"You survived," Cider said, her voice a mix of relief and clinical interest. "And look at that. His mana density just tripled. He's still technically D-Rank by the Academy's standards, but he's got the 'bite' of a B-Rank."
She stepped forward, tossing a heavy rucksack at Raven's feet. "Get some sleep, Bird-Boy. We head for the Blackwood Thicket at dawn. The elites will be looking for us, and I'd rather not be the first thing your crow decides to 'stitch' to the ground."The dawn was a bruised grey, the sun struggling to pierce the thick smog of the Iron Gut as Raven and Cider climbed the long, winding stairs to the Academy's upper plateau.
The High Gate was a masterpiece of arrogance—white marble arches reinforced with enchanted gold, humming with a protective field that kept "wild" magic out. A crowd of students had already gathered, their colorful silken tunics a sharp contrast to Raven's patched cloak and Cider's grease-stained overalls.
As Raven approached, the chatter died down. It wasn't just his presence; it was the bird.
Nevermore didn't look like a scavenger anymore. He sat on Raven's shoulder, a creature of jagged obsidian lines. Every few seconds, his feathers would ripple like dark smoke, and the air around him felt unnaturally cold.
"Is that... a crow?" someone whispered.
"Look at the eyes. Since when do D-Ranks have crystalline pupils?"
## The Face-Off
At the center of the crowd stood Baron, leaning against a polished transport carriage. His Ember Hound, Ignis, was wearing a reinforced brass collar that pulsed with orange light—a Mana-Amplifier.
Baron's smug grin faltered as his gaze landed on Nevermore. Ignis let out a low, uncertain growl, his fiery mane flickering dim for a split second.
"So, the Scavenger found some soot to polish his bird with," Baron called out, though his voice lacked its usual bite. He stepped forward, gesturing to the gleaming students behind him. "You're really going in with the Slime-Girl? You'll be lucky to make it past the briars, let alone hunt a C-Rank."
Cider didn't miss a beat. She adjusted Mochi's goggles and patted a heavy, metallic canister strapped to her hip. "We'll be fine, Baron. Just make sure your dog doesn't see its own shadow. My friend here might decide to keep it."
## The Gatekeeper's Decree
The Academy's Head Proctor, a man named Master Thorne, stepped onto the gate's balcony. He was a veteran tamer with a scarred face and a massive, slumbering Gale-Hawk perched above him.
"The Blackwood Thicket is not a playground," Thorne's voice boomed, amplified by magic. "It is a living ecosystem. The beasts within do not care about your family names or your gold. They only care about the taste of your mana."
He raised a glowing staff, and the golden barrier of the gate began to dissolve.
"The test is simple: Retrieve a C-Rank Mana Core. Survive until dawn. You may work in teams, but remember—the forest takes more than it gives."
The gates groaned open, revealing a path that led down the cliffside and into a sea of suffocating, dark green canopy. The Blackwood Thicket breathed a mist that smelled of ancient rot and predatory magic.
"Ready?" Cider whispered, her hand hovering over a lever on Mochi's mechanical rig.
Raven watched as the elite students charged forward, their high-rank beasts barking and roaring, eager for glory. He looked at Nevermore, whose shadow was already beginning to bleed into the gravel beneath them.
"Let them go first," Raven said, his voice cold. "The forest likes a loud target. We're going to be the ones they never see coming."
## Into the Woods
As they stepped through the threshold, the temperature dropped ten degrees. The "Blackwood" earned its name; the trees were bone-white, but their leaves were a deep, oily black that blocked out the sun entirely.