Chapter 1: Arrival at the Weinstein Institute
"We have arrived at the final stop... Weinstein's Null Program Center...."
The tram sounded with an artificial intelligence voice. Ashnight gave a tired yawn before finally scooping his ass off the rusted seats of the tram, while the dangling wires above..beautiful 300-volt dancers...swayed.
Sluggishly, he ruffled his wavy black hair before arriving at the gray metallic door of the tram, which slid open by itself.
And when it did, he was shocked. He definitely did not expect the best "shuttle" of the Downside—nice name for the slums—to be this fancy enough to possess a walk-in sliding door.
He had half expected himself to climb out of the emergency hatch, but well, maybe today was a lucky day. But it had not been lucky enough.
He dropped off the cable tram, which departed as soon as he did, leaving him choked by dust on this barren landscape.
What only existed in front of him was a glorious facility with polished brown walls and a low roof, a few glass windows here and there with a stadium-like architecture. Other than that, nothing much caught his attention.
Funny how that was coming from a kid who had not seen a concrete building all his life.
He took one last torturous sip of the synthetic coffee in his palms before continuing his walk with his heavy backpack.
Now he understood Sunny's pain. He did not fucking understand why the upworlders would waste money on this bitter shit.
He crushed the can as he ascended the inviting steps to this facility, which was a good facade for what could be described as a hellhole that was going to transform candidates like him into aspirants optimized for surviving the tumultuous confines of the Nullworld.
The Nullworld's existence dated back a few years, about half a decade. There was this Great Darkness that was simultaneously birthed at some point in the observable universe. It devoured the Old World.
But not all of it. According to some legends—not actually facts, though you could not trace the facts anyway—they said a radiant being of pure light created a bastion, this little hemisphere covering only about 20 percent of Earth's initial mass and population, shielding the remnant of fleeing mankind from this Great Darkness.
They called this Divine Messiah..... Steelsorrow, the First Saint.
He was interrupted by the irritating sound of an unnecessarily loud automobile. Ashnight tilted his head to the source, only to be blinded by the intensity of the light reflected from the gleaming automobile.
He had to fucking squint his eyes to notice the black sports-type classic. It had a strange symbol on it, which he guessed was the brand name he damned well did not know, because this was his first time seeing a four-wheel automobile in his whole damn life.
Holy shit! But outside, he was composed. How he had fricking prayed to see one all his life. I mean, driving one was not a dream but a delusion. Seeing was enough.
"Hey, freak. What's with you? You gonna wear my baby out with your crappy eyes?"
He straightened up and adjusted his sweater before staring bewildered at the owner of this vanity. This motherfucker had a smirk on his face,well-trimmed peppered hair, and flashy crimson eyes.
Not to mention the blinding glow of his skin. Upworlders.
"Sorry." That was what he could stammer before resuming his ascent up the concrete stairs.
He had anticipated that. That he was going to be the oddball among a group of wealthy freaks. The only one, after all. He, by some miracle or sheer luck or maybe his delusion of being a legend like Sunless from his treasured encyclopedia Shadow Slave, had somehow won the one out of the ten slots in Area 49: Weinstein.
"Hey, you are a slumfolk, ain't you?" Mr. Red Brows called at him from behind. But instead of turning, Ashnight continued his peaceful walk. He did not want to get all tangled up with some wealthy proud freak. Most of them upworlders.
People who stole the sun from them, left in harrowing darkness under the influence of the Great Darkness slamming against the Bastion's Barrier, and yet still didn't offered medical aid in return for the devastating plague that was rampant in these lower zones.
He scratched his back. Noxious Infestation, that is...
"Hey, I am talking to you, damn it." Mr. Red Brows tugged at his shoulder, earning a death stare from Ashnight.
They stood for some time in silence, only broken by the whistling winds. Ashnight did not mind, but it seemed Mr. Glowing Skin actually did mind, since with a sigh he added, "You are here for the Program, so it is safe to say you are the infamous slum kid who won a slot."
Winning a slot was not a big deal since it was like a death sentence, surely to these wealthy freaks. Risking one's life for power in order to serve the balance did not exactly fit the idea of early retirement.
But for those who had crawled in filth all their life, the slums, this was a perfect chance to eat nice food, breathe air that was not cramped or infected with some virus, to be bathed in the sun. To Ashnight, this was paradise.
Mr. Red Brows sighed again before stretching his hand. Was this a courteous gesture?
"Rael Stormnight, actually Raphael, but most of my peers just call me that, an abbreviation. It means like they shortened it from..." Then this irritating fellow made to describe with his hands.
"I might be from the slums, but I know what an abbreviation is." He smiled while his eyebrows twitched, then he shook hands with him.
He nearly winced at the contrast between his pale white skin and Mr red brow's glowing tanned skin.
"The name is Ashnight." Might as well partake in it, after all. They were going to be stuck together for a week.
"You have a name?" Rael asked as he ascended the steps with Ashnight following suit. He steadied the sword behind his backpack.
"Sorry if that came wrong, but most of you guys do not have names, just numbers, alphabets. I am guessing literacy constraints."
Seems Red Brows was not the proud type, more like the understanding webnovel protagonist type. He eyed Rael's woolen tracksuit. A wealthy one.
"I gave myself that. I happen to be a bit educated."
He shrugged. Slowly, they were getting close to the black glass entrance, but his eyes were not there but actually on the weapon behind Rael. That weapon would be no ordinary treasure. It emitted a faint sinister wave of déjà vu exactly like the Great Darkness corruption.
Perhaps it was a Sentient Treasure. Guess it is nice being some fricking big shot already affiliated with a clan.
"Nice pants, by the way," Rael pointed. Ashnight followed his eyes to his dead pants, then back to Rael's shiny black ones.
Yeah, bastard is just showing off. He even got a smug smile on his lips.
"Thanks."
Actually, these were the best of the best. Back at the slums, he could be a celeb wearing this. He dusted his dear tracksuit.
But the very next instant, Ashnight felt the violent displacement of wind slam across his face, wafting his black hair all over his face. Even Rael struggled to keep hold against the wind.
When he swiped his black hair upwards, he saw the obvious shape of a dual-wing black chopper descending from the skies.
Holy fuck! Another big shot. But it wasn't that there weren't any good roads in Weinstein. Oh, he raised one of his brows, then he nodded.
Aura farming.
The flying machine finally picked up on the far leveled tile ground at the very end of the steps. Then the doors swooshed left, revealing a figure with white hair, obviously dyed, blue eyes behind a pair of transparent glasses.
This opulent wealthy freak had a full three-piece suit on—that is what they call it—with a leather baggage. Mr. White Hair traced a few steps away from the chopper while steadying his suit against the wind as the chopper gainfully took off abruptly.
"Damn motherfucker already showboating," Rael cursed. Ashnight watched obliviously as Mr. Red Brow's hands tightened over his baggage.
"You know him?"
Rael gave him a surprised glance, then raised one brow. "You don't?"
No, he didn't. It is not like they had TVs or radios back at the slums. They were both in the dark, literally and informatively.
He shook his head before steadying his eyes on Mr. White Hair taking off his glasses slowly and meditatively.
"That is Moraine Nightingale, the frickin son of the Mayor. The last and the most disappointing, actually." Ashnight noticed how Rael raised his voice when delivering the final line.
Was it to taunt Mr. White Hair—uh, actually, Moraine? And his guess was right.
"Oh, if it is not the orphan of the Stormnight. The left-behind Rael. What is with the praises? You got blinded by my opulence or my extravagant sense of fashion?"
"Actually, it is by your fucking lack of common sense." Rael arrived in front of the smiling Moraine, then he let his baggage slide to the ground but not the sheathed sword, which he held in his palms.
"Wanna go at it? I could use some exercise. We could start by knocking off those artificial contacts."
Rael adjusted his shoulders, but Moraine simply walked off him towards the spectating Ashnight, who was actually hoping to get a full-blown wrestle.
"Sorry, Rael. I am a bit... civilized now. You learn that, when you have some responsibilities." Ashnight watched Mr. White Hair stand akimbo, staring first at him dismissively, then at the parked car Rael came with.
"So what are you now? Pauper? I am guessing Daddy's money ran out. You had no choice but to ride that toy with this... this... filth." He dangled his fingers at Ashnight.
Moraine stared at the slum boy, expecting some reaction, but he was simply dismissed as Ashnight quietly walked past him without any word. But there it was. He felt it again. The unholy aura following this boy around.
He was pretty certain. Little Rael must have sensed it. He stared backwards at the Downsider who walked to the entrance..
'Innate Domain..?, Maybe he was wrong. Or maybe deep down,he sincerely wished he was wrong..'