"A deal with Fate... or an invitation to Death?"
Shunya slowly raised his head. A sharp pain shot through his ribs, as if someone had just driven hot iron rods into his chest. His eyes were still burning with the haze of tears and the sting of dust.
At the mouth of the dark alley, where that terrifying, heavy voice—"Will you make a deal with your Fate?"—had originated, there was now nothing but dust motes dancing in the toxic air. That shadow, those feet floating above the ground, that "Sea-Eyed Man"—everything had vanished in the blink of an eye.
It was as if it were all a hallucination, born from his starvation and desperation.
But there, on the wet, mud-slicked ground, exactly where the shadow had stood, an object lay waiting.
Shunya extended his trembling hands. Blood was still oozing from his fingertips.
It was a piece of black, shapeless metal. A Locket.
The layers of dust and rust coating it suggested it had been rotting in a sewer for centuries. No shine, no regal beauty. Just a cold, heavy lump of stone-like metal, etched with bizarre carvings—like snakes devouring each other's tails.
Shunya picked it up.
The moment his skin touched it, a strange shiver raced down his spine. The metal wasn't just cold... it was glacial. It was so cold it felt like it was burning his skin.
"Useless..." Shunya muttered with bitterness. "I thought... I thought it might be a ring... or a piece of gold I could sell to buy Mother just one more day of breath."
He raised his hand to throw it away. This wasn't iron, nor was it silver. Even the greediest scrap dealer in the 'Bone Fortress' wouldn't trade a counterfeit coin for this junk.
But just as his muscles tensed to throw, his fingers froze on the locket.
Thump... Thump...
A very faint, but distinct pulsation. Coming from inside the lifeless metal.
Shunya's breath hitched. Was his mind playing games with him? He felt it again. A strange heat, now piercing through the ice-cold shell. This wasn't the mechanical ticking of a clock; it was the heartbeat of something living.
Instead of throwing it, he—driven by an instinct he couldn't name—shoved it into his torn pocket. Perhaps because today he had nothing left to lose, and even this trash was a gain. At the very least, it was heavy—maybe he could use it to crack someone's skull.
He stood up. A loud CRACK came from his knees. Hunger and pain had turned his legs into lead, but he had to go home.
The 'Shadow Sector' of the Bone Fortress felt like a living graveyard at night.
Here, oxygen was a luxury, and the stench of disease was plentiful. In the narrow alleys, piles of garbage rotted, and from every hut—built of plastic, rusted tin, and decaying wood—came a single, unified symphony: Coughing.
Hack... Hack...
Uuuugh...
Somewhere a child cried; elsewhere, an old man fought for his final breath. On the planet 'Blood-Stone,' the night was not a time for rest for the poor; it was a time to count who would survive until morning.
Shunya stopped in front of his hut. The structure was so crooked it looked like a single strong gust of wind would flatten it. The roof was covered with a blue plastic sheet, torn in several places. In place of a door, an old, filthy jute curtain hung loosely, marked with a symbol of 'Danger' drawn in charcoal by some local thug.
He took a deep breath before entering, the air burning his lungs. He adjusted his torn vest, tried to wipe the dried blood from his face with spit, and plastered a fake, reassuring smile onto his swollen lips.
He had failed as a warrior, but he could not fail as a son.
He pushed the curtain aside.
The sight inside was enough to shred his soul.
A dim oil lamp, with oil running dangerously low, was fighting its last battle against the darkness. The room was thick with the acrid smell of dampness, urine, and old, rotten herbs.
In the corner, on a broken cot, lay a woman.
Sumitra.
Once, her face had radiated the grace of the noble houses of 'Blood-Stone'—dignified and beautiful. But today? Today she was merely a skeletal frame draped in yellow, translucent skin. Dark, hollow pits had formed under her eyes, as if Death had already made its home there.
Shunya entered on tiptoe. He wanted her to be asleep. He didn't want to show her the face of his failure.
"You're back... my son?"
The voice was so weak, like the rustling of dry leaves. Sumitra opened her eyes. Her pupils were cloudy, but they held the same fierce motherly love that was Shunya's only shield in this cruel world.
Shunya's heart slammed against his ribs. "Yes, Ma. You... you haven't slept?"
Sumitra tried to sit up, but her body rebelled.
"Hack... Hack... HACK!"
A violent coughing fit seized her. Her entire body convulsed as if struck by lightning. With every cough, a rattling sound wheezed from her chest.
Shunya rushed to her side, forgetting the pain in his own ribs. He quickly grabbed a metal cup of muddy water and pressed it to her lips. "Easy, Ma... Please, easy."
When Sumitra wiped her mouth with a cloth, Shunya saw it—a fresh, thick patch of dark red blood on the fabric.
Shunya's breath caught in his throat. The color of the blood had deepened. It meant the poison was moving from her lungs to her heart.
"The medicine..." Sumitra asked, her trembling voice barely a whisper, her gaze locking onto Shunya's empty hands. "Did the physician... give the medicine? You said... you had coins."
A heavy, spiky lump formed in Shunya's throat.
He wanted to lie. He wanted to say the shop was closed, or they were out of stock. But in front of those eyes, which could read his very soul, he couldn't weave a falsehood.
He sank to his knees on the cold earthen floor. He bowed his head, hiding his tears.
"I... I didn't have enough, Ma," his voice shattered like glass. "That greedy physician... he raised the prices. I tried, Ma. I grabbed his feet, I begged... but he kicked me out."
He clenched his fists so hard his nails dug into his palms. "I... I am useless. I can't even save you."
Silence fell over the room. Only the flickering lamp and the ominous howling of the wind outside could be heard.
Sumitra raised a shaking hand and placed it on Shunya's cheek. Her fingers were ice-cold. She felt the swelling on his cheek and the dried blood on his lips with her rough skin.
"You fought again?" Sumitra asked softly. There was no accusation in her voice, only pain.
"I just... fell," Shunya repeated the old, worn-out lie.
"Foolish boy," a tear escaped Sumitra's eye and vanished into the dirty pillow. "Don't burn yourself to ash for me, Shunya. My time is up. I know... Yamraj (Death) is standing at the door."
"Shut up!" Shunya almost screamed. "Don't say that!"
"Listen to me," Sumitra cut him off, her breath hitching. "I don't need medicine... I need you. Alive... and safe. Promise me... after I'm gone, you won't do anything stupid."
"No!" Shunya suddenly grabbed her hand. A strange madness descended into his eyes—that 'Internal Fire' beginning to spark.
"You aren't going anywhere. I will get the medicine. I will rob that physician's shop. I will cut anyone's throat... but I won't let you lose to the same disease that took Father..."
He stopped. The word 'Father' was a forbidden curse in this house. A wound that never healed.
Suddenly, there was a light, cautious knock on the jute curtain.
Tap... Tap...
Shunya flinched. His body coiled with tension. Who would come to their home this late at night? Debt collectors? Or disciples from the 'Vajra Clan' coming to beat him more?
He signaled his mother to stay silent and grabbed a rusted iron pipe lying in the corner. His eyes no longer held fear; they held the violence of a cornered animal.
Groaning with pain, he moved toward the door. He yanked the curtain aside, the pipe raised high.
"Who is—"
But it wasn't a thug outside.
It was a girl. She was wrapped in a dark brown cloak, half-hiding her face. But the green eyes peering out from under the hood—eyes filled with fear—and the small copper badge of the 'Healer's Guild' around her neck gave her away.
It was Anya. The greedy physician's assistant. The same girl who had stood silently watching at the shop today.
"You?" Shunya asked in disbelief, lowering the pipe. "What are you doing here? Did you come to finish your master's work?"
Anya looked left and right, ensuring no spies were watching. She quickly pushed Shunya back and stepped inside the hut herself.
"Don't make noise, idiot," she whispered, her tone sharp but panicked.
From inside her cloak, she pulled out a small packet wrapped in paper and forced it into Shunya's palm.
The packet reeked of that sharp, bitter scent—'Agni-Mool' (Fire Root). The very medicine Shunya had pawned his dignity for.
"This...?" Shunya's eyes went wide. "But..."
"The Physician doesn't know," Anya said quickly, her chest heaving. Sweat beaded on her forehead. "If he finds out I stole from the stock... he will cut off my fingers. Literally."
Shunya stared at her. "Why?" His voice was choked. "Why risk your fingers for me? I am just trash, a 'Zero'..."
Anya's gaze drifted for a moment to Sumitra, who was watching them from the cot. A deep, ancient pain floated in Anya's green eyes—as if an old wound had been ripped open.
"Because three years ago," she said quietly, "I stood outside a shop just like that... for my mother. I cried too. But back then... no one came out."
A heavy silence filled the room. It was a silent pact between two defeated souls.
She pulled out another small tin. "This is a healing balm. Apply it to your ribs. The way you walk... it's obvious you have at least two fractures."
Before Shunya could thank her, she turned and vanished into the dark night like a ghost.
Shunya stared at the packet for a long moment. This wasn't just medicine; it was a debt of kindness from a stranger, worth more than his own blood.
He immediately lit the fire. His hands worked like a machine, but his mind was numb. He brewed the decoction and fed it to his mother, sip by sip. Only when Sumitra's breathing stabilized and she fell into a deep, pain-free sleep did Shunya's body finally give up.
He collapsed on the floor, near the foot of the cot.
Now, with the immediate danger passed, his attention returned to his pocket.
The Locket.
It was pressed against his thigh, and it had grown hotter. So hot it was singeing the fabric.
Shunya pulled it out.
In the dim, dying light of the lamp, the black stone no longer looked lifeless. The tiny violet dot in its center... was opening like an eye.
Thump... Thump... THUMP...
The sound wasn't in his ears anymore; it was echoing directly inside his skull.
Shunya stared at it. He felt a sudden surge of hatred toward the object.
"Because of you..." he muttered, his face twisting with rage. "If I didn't have to beg today, if I had power... Anya wouldn't have had to risk her life. I shouldn't have needed anyone's pity!"
His desperation was morphing into wrath. "I want to burn this world down..."
In a fit of rage, he raised his hand to smash the locket against the stone floor. He wanted to shatter it into dust.
But his hand stopped in mid-air.
He didn't stop it.
The Locket stopped it.
Shunya's fingers were glued to the metal, like a magnet to iron. He couldn't open his fist, no matter how hard he tried.
"What...? Let go of me!" Shunya yelled.
Suddenly, black tendrils shot out of the locket—no, not threads, they were thorns. They pierced Shunya's palm, burrowing deep into his flesh.
"AAAAHH!" The scream died in his throat.
The locket wasn't cutting his skin; it was drinking. A stream of blood flowered from Shunya's palm, not dripping down, but being sucked into the violet center of the black stone.
The room's temperature plummeted. -10 degrees... -20 degrees...
The yellow flame of the oil lamp turned violet for a split second, then extinguished.
The room plunged into absolute darkness.
But Shunya didn't see darkness. He felt a 'Black Sun' igniting inside his fist. His blood boiled, his veins turned black, and red text began to float before his eyes.
A voice... the same voice from the alley, now echoed inside his mind. But this time, it wasn't the voice of a passerby.
It was the voice of a Ruthless Moneylender, finally come to collect. Cunning, greedy, and laced with amusement.
[SYSTEM ACTIVATING...]
[WARNING: Assessing Host's Net Worth...]
"My, my..." the voice reverberated in his head, like poison dripping into his ears. "Such a torn soul? You don't look like you have the assets to repay a loan... yet you dream of touching the sky?"
Shunya held his breath in terror. He tried to shake his hand, but his body was paralyzed.
Pain... a pain a thousand times worse than broken ribs surged through his veins. It felt as if his bones were being melted in acid and recast. Something was crawling beneath his skin.
[BLOOD CONTRACT: ACCEPTED]
"The vessel is weak," the voice mocked mercilessly. "Bones... like brittle clay. Soul... riddled with holes. You are a counterfeit coin, boy."
Shunya's body arched like a bow. His eyes rolled back, showing only the whites. Foam and blood leaked from the corners of his mouth.
"However..." the voice took on a tone of demonic greed. "This hatred of yours... this madness... Yes, that has high market value."
In the darkness, violet fissures of light cracked open on Shunya's fist, slowly crawling up his wrist, consuming his arm, burning his skin.
"Prepare yourself, Borrower," the voice announced with a cruel laugh. "I have purchased you. Now... your Hell begins."
Shunya's consciousness sank into the abyss. But before he drowned, instead of groaning in pain, he felt a twisted, insane smile form in his mind.
Take it... take everything... just give me the power to strangle this world.
And then, there was silence.