"Target lost."
High above the shattered remnants of the city, the angelic strike force hovers in the smog-choked sky. I watch them from the shadows of a half-collapsed storefront, keeping my body perfectly still.
"Apologies, Commander Raphael," a winged student reports, his voice echoing faintly down to the ruined streets. "The Zerg swarm masked his scent entirely. We cannot find any trace of the Fallen Werewolf."
I know the plot of this world. That werewolf they are hunting was once a top-tier predator in the Black City. However, a year ago, the corruption of the "Fallen" began to rot his mind. He broke out of maximum-security containment just yesterday. Bringing him in shouldn't be this difficult for a squad of elite Awakeners, but the sudden Zerg invasion has thrown the entire city into absolute chaos.
The leader angel of the squad, Raphael, remains perfectly impassive.
"Issue a bounty," Raphael orders, his voice soft but carrying an undeniable weight of authority. "Set up a perimeter and search every block."
"Yes, Commander."
As the angelic squad glides over the commercial district, checking for survivors, Raphael's sharp, silver eyes sweep over the ruins. For a fraction of a second, his gaze lingers on the exact spot where I am standing.
He sees me.
His eyes calculate my worth—a ninety percent chance of being an Awakener based on my reflexes alone. But what kind? That remains a mystery even to him.
He tears his gaze away, his massive wings beating once before he disappears behind the jagged skyline.
"They didn't catch him?"
A soft, breathless voice breaks my concentration. I turn my head to see Arlo standing a few paces away. He is staring at the sky, his eyes lingering on the retreating angels with undisguised envy and longing.
I ignore him, catching my reflection in a shattered glass door.
Long, silken hair spilling over my shoulders. Soft cheeks and big, innocent doe eyes. My face still screams helpless, naive schoolgirl—a laughable, highly deceptive shell for the cold-blooded heir of a top-tier Assassin Family.
Suddenly, a loud buzzing noise shatters the silence. A massive holographic billboard, miraculously untouched by the Zerg attack, flickers back to life above the intersection. A new advertisement pops up on the screen. No, not an ad. A Bounty Poster.
It displays the face of the werewolf who jumped over my head earlier. He is handsome, in a wild, untamed, deeply dangerous sort of way. His chaotic red eyes glare out from the digital projection.
But I am not looking at his handsome face. My eyes are entirely glued to the glowing yellow numbers beneath his picture.
Reward: 5,000,000 Credits.
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. I transmigrated into this absurd novel with absolutely nothing. I am completely, utterly, devastatingly broke. For a professional who is used to earning millions per contract, this poverty is unacceptable.
No time to waste. Time to go make some money.
Just as I turn to leave, Arlo catches up to me, panting heavily and clutching his chest.
"Why are you still following me?" I ask, unbothered.
"Are you going to Mythos Academy?" he gasps, looking at me like his personal savior. "Please, can you take me with you? I...I can pay you."
I know his backstory from the novel—a frail, runaway rich kid desperate for a cure. Right now, his survival instincts are screaming that I am his only ticket out of this warzone.
"I brought all my savings," he adds, his voice trembling with hope and fear. "I'll give you everything I have. Is that enough?"
I raise a single eyebrow. "Let's see the numbers."
Arlo quickly pulls out his high-end smartphone and pulls up his banking app. He turns the screen toward me.
My eyes widen. The string of zeros on his account balance is dizzying.
In a fraction of a second, my attitude does a complete 180-degree turn. The cold, calculating killer vanishes, replaced by the most enthusiastic, sugary-sweet persona I can muster. A bright, dazzling smile blooms on my face.
"Of course, darling! Consider the job taken." I reach out and pat his shoulder affectionately, though I am careful not to break his fragile bones.
"But let's make one thing absolutely clear, sweetheart, if you suddenly drop dead from a heart attack halfway there, my only responsibility is calling you an ambulance. There are absolutely no refunds. Deal?"
The sudden, whiplash-inducing shift in my personality makes Arlo twitch. He takes a half-step back, deeply unsettled.
"I know my own limits," he says, forcing a weak, uneasy smile. "Don't worry."
Mythos Academy is located in Floral City, about eight hundred kilometers away from our current location. The local airport has been destroyed by the Zergs, and even if the runways were intact, no civilian in their right mind would dare board a plane right now with giant mutant insects swarming the skies.
"We can buy a car," Arlo suggests, looking around the ruined street.
I wag my index finger at him like a disappointed teacher. "No, no, no, honey. Your money is my money now. I absolutely refuse to spend a single cent of my hard-earned profits on travel expenses."
The streets are littered with abandoned vehicles left behind by fleeing citizens. I casually stroll up to an intact, heavy-duty SUV. The driver's side door is wide open, and the keys are still dangling in the ignition.
Arlo watches me in pure horror as I slide into the driver's seat. He presses his hands together. "Amen. May the gods bless the poor owner of this car."
I pop the passenger door open from the inside with zero guilt, turning back to flash him my signature innocent smile. "Hop in, darling. Time is money."
Ever since I accepted his money, I have been calling him darling, sweetheart, or honey. Arlo looks deeply uncomfortable every time the words leave my mouth. I cheerfully explain that it is just my professional customer service voice, a standard protocol to show my excellent service attitude. He has no choice but to endure it.
"Do you even know how to drive?" he asks, nervously buckling his seatbelt and gripping the safety handle above the door.
"Of course," I say, effortlessly starting the engine and revving it to hear the purr. "I can fly a plane, too. Hmm...actually, why don't we just steal a plane? It would be much faster."
Arlo stares at me, entirely speechless. Confirmed, he thinks to himself. If she Awakens, she is definitely going to be in the Chaotic Evil alignment.
I eventually scrap the idea of stealing an aircraft. Not because it is illegal—the laws in this world are practically non-existent outside the safe zones—but because it is fundamentally suicidal.
As I steer the heavy SUV through the debris-filled streets, my mind reviews the complex, twisted world-building of this novel.
In this world, humanity is categorized by their genes. There are ordinary humans at the bottom. Then there are the Awakeners—elites who have awakened the genes of mythical creatures, gods, or demons. Below the Awakeners are the Demi-humans, who failed to reach the 10% Awakening threshold. They might have enhanced strength or animal ears, but they lack true power. And finally, there are the Fallen—Awakeners whose minds have collapsed under the weight of their own power, turning them into mindless, violent beasts.
But the most crucial rule governing the Awakeners is the Nine Alignments System. It categorizes every soul based on their morality—Good, Neutral, or Evil—and their attitude toward order—Lawful, Neutral, or Chaotic.
Naturally, those whose souls fall into the "Evil" or "Chaotic" alignments are far more susceptible to the mental corruption that turns an Awakener into a Fallen.
Right now, this ruined city is a playground for desperate Demi-humans. Left with nothing after the Zerg attack, many have taken up firearms to rob ordinary citizens. Looking at me and Arlo—two soft, harmless-looking teenagers cruising in a stolen luxury SUV—we are the ultimate prime targets.
If Arlo were alone, he wouldn't have made it two blocks.
BANG!
I casually blow a wisp of smoke away from the barrel of my black pistol. That makes the third wave of idiots we have dealt with in the past hour.
"Well, I'm out of ammo," I grumble softly, sounding genuinely annoyed by the inconvenience.
I reach over the center console into the backseat and pull out the red Fire Axe. "I guess I'll just have to use this next time!" I announce cheerfully, my eyes sparkling with dangerous excitement.
The entire backseat is piled high to the ceiling with supplies. I have systematically "requisitioned" food, water, and medical kits from abandoned stores, plus whatever valuables I managed to counter-rob from the thugs who attacked us.
"Want a snack, darling?"
"Thank you," he whispers. He carefully opens the bag and nibbles on a cookie like a small, cautious rodent. Crunch. Crunch.
The sound reminds me of a hamster I used to own in my previous life. It was just as soft, just as timid, and just as cute.
"I was born with a severely weak heart," Arlo says softly between bites, staring out at the passing ruins. "The doctors told my parents that without a miracle, I won't live past twenty-five. My family...they indulge me because they pity me. They never force me to study, they never expect anything from me. But I hate it."
He crushes a piece of cookie in his hand. "If my life is only going to be twenty-five years long, I want it to be spectacular. I want to take the test at Mythos Academy. If I can Awaken...maybe I can change my fate."
He pauses, a dark, heavy shadow crossing his porcelain face. "But the doctors also warned me. Unless I Awaken a Healing ability, the sheer physical strain of the Awakening process will probably kill me instantly. It's a massive gamble."
"I have an older brother," Arlo continues, his voice tightening with a mix of resentment and fear. "He Awakened as a Vampire. Before his Awakening, he said his teeth always felt inexplicably itchy. We don't get along at all. I haven't spoken to him since he left for the Academy. I just hope I don't run into him there."
He slowly finishes his cookie, his appetite vanishing, and puts the bag down.
"Full already, sweetheart?" I ask, my eyes fixed on the road.
He nods weakly. "I can't eat anymore."
I trace the sharp, cold edge of the fire axe resting comfortably against my thigh. "Arlo, if someone's pre-Awakening symptom is an overwhelming, uncontrollable desire to murder people...what kind of alignment or class do you think they would Awaken into?"
Arlo freezes completely.
"Ummmm" Arlo swallows hard, a drop of cold sweat rolling down his temple. "Maybe...one of the Twelve Demons? Satan? If not a demon, then maybe the Grim Reaper?"
Whatever it is, he is now absolutely, one-hundred-percent certain that I belong to the Chaotic Evil alignment. There is no saving my soul.
"A Demon? Hmm...lacks originality," I purse my lips, thoughtfully considering the options.
Arlo doesn't know how to interpret my expression, but he finally notices we've been driving in circles. We haven't even reached the city limits.
"Why aren't you following the GPS?" he asks nervously, gripping the door handle.
I casually steer the SUV into another dark alley. "My dear employer, do you mind if I pick up a lucrative side quest?"
"What do you mean?"
I hit the brakes. My eyes lock onto a massive, fresh claw mark gouged deep into the concrete wall ahead.
"I want to catch that Werewolf."