[THREE WEEKS LATER]
Apartment 4B of the Riverside Building smelled of mold, broken pipes, and dead dreams.
Alex dropped his backpack by the door—no need to unpack, considering he only owned three things—and collapsed onto the mattress he'd found on the street. It wasn't even a real bed, just a stained mattress directly on the cracked concrete floor.
Grim entered behind him with his characteristic clicks, dragging his toy scythe. The skeleton made a circuit of the 20-square-meter space—took about ten seconds—before settling in a corner, motionless.
"Home, sweet home," Alex murmured, staring at the ceiling where a water stain had formed what might be the face of a grinning demon. Appropriate.
The apartment cost 400 crowns a month—almost everything he had left from the academy's "compensation" after basic food and transportation. Paint peeled from the walls like snake skin. The single window faced an alley where rats held nightly territorial wars. The faucet dripped with an irregular rhythm that would probably drive him crazy before month's end.
It was perfect. In the sense that it was exactly what someone like him deserved.
His phone vibrated. A message from Director Walsh:
"Alex, I heard what happened. I'm so sorry, dear. If you need a place to stay, there's always room here. It's not much, but it's better than being alone."
He stared at the message for a long minute, his thumb hovering over the reply button. He could imagine her, worried in her small office at the orphanage, probably losing sleep thinking about him.
He deleted the message without responding.
He couldn't go back there. Couldn't face that look—the one that said you tried and failed, like we knew you would. Even if she'd never think it, he'd see it in her eyes anyway.
His stomach growled. He hadn't eaten since yesterday morning, trying to stretch his money. But that was okay. Hunger was familiar. An old friend from the orphanage.
He forced himself up and pulled out the only food he'd bought: instant noodles. Four packs for one crown. Heat water in the broken microwave that barely worked, wait three minutes, dine like a king.
As the microwave hummed and sparked worryingly, Alex looked through the single window at the alley. The Lowtown district stretched beyond—a maze of dilapidated buildings, abandoned factories, and concentrated desperation. This was where you ended up when the world decided you were worthless.
Welcome home.
Ding.
The microwave finally gave up, and Alex rescued his noodles before the appliance decided to explode. He sat on the floor—no chair—and ate directly from the foam container.
Grim watched him from his corner, motionless.
"Want some?" Alex asked aloud, immediately feeling stupid. Since that night—since he heard that voice—there had been an unsettling silence. Grim had given no other sign of... whatever that had been.
Part of Alex wondered if he'd imagined it all. A stress-induced mental breakdown. It made sense. He'd lost everything in one day, why not lose his sanity too?
But then he remembered the cold. The cracked window. The ancient desperation in that voice.
*"Free me..."
Alex shook his head, trying to dislodge the memory. He had more immediate problems than potentially possessed psychotic companions.
His phone vibrated again. This time it was a reminder: "Work shift in 30 minutes."
Ah, yes. His new job.
With a sigh, Alex swallowed the last noodles, changed into work clothes—a gray jumpsuit that smelled of cleaning chemicals—and headed for the door.
"Stay here," he told Grim. "I don't think they'd like me bringing... whatever you are... to work."
Grim didn't respond. Of course.
---
Lowtown Municipal Morgue - 11:47 PM
"Carter! Need you to process the bodies from the warehouse fire! Three corpses, all in fridge seven!"
Alex nodded at the supervisor—a man named Frank with a toupee that defied both gravity and good taste—and pushed his cleaning supply cart toward the cold chamber.
The irony wasn't lost on him. Alex Carter, failed summoner with a skeleton companion, now literally worked with the dead.
The universe had a twisted sense of humor.
He opened the heavy door of refrigerator number seven. The cold air hit him, bringing with it the unmistakable smell of death—preservation chemicals, burnt flesh, and something undefinable that simply was death.
Three bodies in black bags rested on steel tables. Identification tags hung from the zippers: Juan Morales, 34. Sara Kim, 28. Miguel Torres, 41.
Names. People who had been something mere hours ago. Now just flesh awaiting disposal.
Alex began the mechanical cleaning and cataloging process Frank had taught him. Check identification, verify body condition, record visible damage, prepare for autopsy.
It was grim work. Depressing. The kind of work most people avoided.
But it paid 8 crowns an hour—enough to keep him alive, technically—and they didn't ask questions about failed summoners with F-Rank companions.
As he worked, his mind wandered. Three weeks since expulsion. Twenty-one days of existing in this limbo between living and simply... being.
He'd tried to find other jobs. Dozens of applications sent. All rejected the moment they saw "Celestial Academy - Terminated" on his record.
"Why did you leave the academy?"
"My summoning was... inadequate."
"I see. Sorry, we're looking for someone with more... potential."
The morgue was the only place that didn't care about his failure. The dead didn't judge.
Click.
Alex froze. That sound...
He turned slowly.
Grim stood at the entrance of the refrigerator.
"What... how did you get here?" Alex knew he'd left the skeleton at the apartment. He was sure of it.
Grim tilted its skull, those empty sockets fixed on the three bodies.
And for a moment—just a moment—Alex thought he saw those red lights flickering in the depths.
"No," Alex said firmly, though his heart beat faster. "Whatever you're thinking, no. These are... were people. They need to be treated with respect."
Grim didn't move. But Alex had the unsettling feeling that the skeleton was... hungry? Was that possible?
"Carter!" Frank's voice echoed from outside. "When you're done in there, there's a sewer overflow in the basement! Someone's gotta clean it up!"
"Got it!" Alex shouted back, grateful for the distraction.
He left the refrigerator quickly, pushing Grim out with him. "Go back to the apartment," he ordered. "Seriously. I can't... I can't deal with this right now."
The skeleton stood there for a long moment, then—surprisingly—turned and began walking away with its clicks, dragging its toy scythe behind it.
Alex watched it go, a chill running down his spine that had nothing to do with the morgue's cold.
---
2:34 AM - Alley near Riverside Building
The shift had finally ended. Six hours of cleaning bodily fluids and cataloging corpses, 48 crowns closer to survival.
Alex walked through the alley that served as a shortcut to his apartment, his body aching from work. The streetlights were broken here—had been broken for years, the city never bothered fixing anything in Lowtown—so he navigated more by memory than by sight.
A mistake.
"Well, well. Look who we have here."
Alex froze. That voice...
Three figures emerged from the shadows. Even in the darkness, he recognized them. Celestial Academy students, all third-years like he had been.
Jake Morrison—son of a crystal merchant, summoned a D-Rank battle wolf. Brett Zhao—his family owned restaurant chains, summoned a C-Rank armored bear. And leading them, Dylan Cross—old money, rotten attitude, summoned a C-Rank venomous snake.
"Alex Carter," Dylan said, his smile visible even in the dark. "How the mighty have fallen. From Celestial Academy to the morgue. Bet you smell like death."
The three laughed. Their manifested companions loomed behind them—the wolf, the bear, the snake. Eyes gleaming in the darkness, full of predatory intelligence.
Alex backed up, his heart racing. "I don't want trouble."
"Too late," Dylan stepped forward. "See, we've got a bet going? Jake here says your pathetic skeleton probably doesn't even have a mana core. Brett thinks maybe it's worth something as a novelty. And I..."
He pulled out a knife. Nothing fancy—just cheap street steel.
"I think we should find out. F-Rank companions are extremely rare. I bet collectors would pay good money for parts of one. Even one as pathetic as yours."
Real, visceral, pure terror flooded Alex. "You're joking. You can't... that's—"
"Illegal?" Dylan laughed. "Bro, we're in Lowtown. You think anyone here's gonna call the authorities? You think anyone cares what happens to a failed expulsion?"
He was right. Alex knew it in his bones. He could scream and no one would come. He could run and they'd catch him. He could fight and...
He was just human. No combat training, no weapons, no companion to defend him.
"Summon your pet," Dylan ordered. "Now. Or this gets a lot more painful."
Alex's hands trembled as he reached for that bond, that thread connecting him to Grim. The skeleton appeared in a flicker of dim light, materializing beside him with its toy scythe.
The three bullies burst into laughter.
"Oh my god, it's even more pathetic in person!"
"Look at that size! It's like a skeleton child!"
"Is that scythe made of PLASTIC?"
Dylan stepped closer, examining Grim as if it were an insect in a jar. "Yeah, definitely a market for this. Rare parts. Maybe someone wants it as Halloween decoration."
"Please," Alex's voice came out as barely a whisper. "Just... let me go. You can have whatever money I have. Just—"
"We don't want your shitty money," Brett spat. "We want the skeleton."
They moved fast—too fast for Alex to react. Jake grabbed him from behind, pinning his arms. Brett advanced on Grim, reaching to grab the small bones.
"NO!" Alex struggled, but Jake was much stronger.
Brett's hand closed around Grim's arm—
And the skeleton didn't move. Didn't react. It just stood there as Brett began pulling, trying to wrench the arm from its socket.
"Come on, you piece of trash..." Brett grunted.
Something in Alex broke. All the humiliation, all the despair, all the helplessness of the last three weeks converged into a single moment of pure fury.
He twisted violently in Jake's grip, turning just enough to bite—actually bite—the other boy's arm.
"AGH! YOU PIECE OF—!"
Jake released him, and Alex lunged at Brett, not thinking, just reacting.
He crashed into Brett hard enough to make them both stumble—
Right toward Dylan's snake.
The creature struck by instinct, fangs gleaming. Alex felt the impact—no pain, not yet, just pressure—as the fangs sank into his shoulder.
Now there was pain.
Like liquid lava injecting into his veins. Venom. Dylan's companion was a Level 23 Venom Viper, capable of taking down an adult human in seconds.
Alex fell backward, his vision already blurring. The world tilted strangely.
"Shit! SHIT!" Dylan sounded distant, like he was underwater. "It wasn't supposed to—! We were just supposed to scare him!"
"Is he dead?" That was Jake's voice, tinged with panic.
Alex lay on the dirty alley ground, staring at the night sky. He couldn't feel his limbs. Blood—his blood—spread beneath him, warm against the cold pavement.
This is it, he thought with a strange calm. This is how it ends.
His vision was darkening at the edges. He could see Grim, still standing where Brett had dropped him, motionless.
Useless, he thought. As useless as me.
"Shit, we gotta go," Brett was saying. "If someone finds him—"
"Who cares? It's Lowtown. Another corpse, another statistic."
Their voices faded. Everything faded.
Alex felt something warm dripping from his shoulder. His blood, flowing in rivulets from the fang wound.
A rivulet that spread across the pavement.
Toward Grim.
The blood touched the skeleton's small bony feet.
And the world stopped.
---
The air changed. The temperature dropped so fast the bullies' breath turned to instant mist.
"W-what...?" Dylan stammered, turning toward Grim.
The skeleton, that pathetic pile of bones with a toy scythe, had raised its skull.
And its eye sockets were no longer empty.
They burned. Brilliant crimson, like embers from a fire that had been burning before time had a name.
Alex's blood—still dripping, still warm—was absorbed into Grim's bones. Vanishing into the calcium like ink into paper, staining the white to ashen gray, then onyx black.
"By all the gods...!" Brett backed away.
Grim began to grow.
Not slowly. Not gradually. Explosively.
Bones lengthened, thickened, intertwined with new structures. The tattered robe tore apart and was replaced by something darker, something that seemed made of solidified shadows. The small child-like form expanded—five feet, seven feet, eight feet—until Grim towered over the three bullies like a living tower of death.
And the scythe.
Oh, the scythe.
The plastic toy melted, reformed, became something real. A seven-foot blade of black steel that absorbed light. Runes no modern language could read glowed along its length, pulsing in sync with those crimson red lights.
[DING!]
The three bullies saw the system panel appear—not over Grim, but around Alex, enveloping his dying form:
[CONDITIONS MET]
[Master's blood offered under threat of death]
[First Restriction - RELEASED]
[System Unlocked: PATH OF THE DEATH SOVEREIGN]
[Soul Companion - EMERGENCY EVOLUTION INITIATED]
Name: Grim
Species: Reaper Fragment (Awakened Form 1/7)
True Rank: [SEALED]
Apparent Rank: S+
Level: 35
Affinity: Primordial Death, Soul Harvest, Decay
Active Skills:
· [Scythe of Ending] - Ignore armor and defenses
· [Shadow Step] - Short-distance teleportation
· [Terror of the Tomb] - Inflict paralyzing fear
· [Drain Life] - Absorb target's life force
[New skill unlocked: SOUL HARVEST]
[Evolution progress: Kill to feed the awakening]
Dylan saw this—all of this—and his mind broke a little.
"That... that's not F-Rank," he whispered. "That's..."