Daemon stood from his bed and made his way to his small, cramped bathroom. He took a sharp, cold shower to wake his senses, then pulled on the most worn-out clothes he possessed. He chose them intentionally; he knew that today he was to receive new, superior equipment, and these old rags would eventually be thrown away.
Leaving his apartment behind, he began the trek toward the police station. It was obligatory to inform the authorities of an awakening, but first, he was determined to have a decent meal for the first time in his life.
As he entered the nicer part of the city, people stared at him with strange, judgmental expressions. Looking haggard in his cheap clothes, unhealthily thin, and pale, Daemon was indeed out of place in such a neighborhood.
Normally, he would have tried to look more presentable, but not today. Despite the stares, he was focused on his goal. He was going to buy meat—real meat, not the cheap synthetic kind he was used to.
Daemon entered a nice bar, caught the eye of the waiter, and said, "I want a steak... and 'The Coca-Cola'."
The waiter looked at Daemon as if he were looking at an alien from another world. "The Coca-Cola?"
Daemon felt a flash of shame, but he truly wanted to taste that legendary drink. "Yes," he insisted.
Sensing Daemon's slight discomfort, the waiter put on a superb professional act. "Today we have a marvelous steak for 30 credits, and a Coca-Cola is 3 credits. And if you wish to pamper yourself, we have coffee for 7 credits and dessert for 9, which will bring your total to 49 credits."
Daemon was tempted by the offer. "Does the coffee come in those cups that rich people carry to work in the morning?"
"Yes, of course. We can prepare it to-go," the waiter replied.
Daemon's total savings amounted to exactly 50 credits. One credit was usually enough to eat for an entire day, but if he was going to die today in the Tower, why should he die with money he couldn't take with him into his next life? He decided he would die happy.
"Then I want everything," Daemon replied resolutely.
The waiter beamed with joy. He had seen this strange kid being ignored by two other waiters, but he had remained at his post and tried to be a decent host. It had paid off; from this order alone, he would earn a 2-credit bonus. To think this poor kid was a tycoon, the waiter thought with a giggle.
Daemon did not have to wait for long. When his order arrived, he couldn't believe how incredible it smelled.
"Please have a wonderful experience," the waiter said, leaning in. "If I were you, I would keep the dessert for last." Smiling, the waiter bowed and left.
"Tha… thank you," Daemon replied with difficulty. It had been a long time since someone had treated him like a proper human being.
"What a foreign feeling," he muttered. After a moment, Daemon pushed the emotion aside and focused on his steak. The aroma alone almost intoxicated him; he couldn't wait any longer.
Taking a bite from the steak, he gasped. "Ah! So good!" his taste buds were having a blast.
Taking a bite of the steak, he gasped. "Ah! So good!" His taste buds were having an absolute blast. "I should have bought a piece of real meat earlier. Who knew actual meat was so good? The difference between the real thing and that cheap synthetic stuff... I don't even have the words to describe it. Well, at least I tried it."
Then he tried the drink. It was pitch black and filled with strange, dancing bubbles. He took a tentative sip, the carbonation stinging his tongue in a way that felt like a true luxury. "They say that this drink was very common before the war," he whispered to himself.
Finally, he tried the dessert. He had waited as instructed, and he was absolutely marveled. It was something he had never thought possible; he truly did not have the words to describe the complexity of the sweetness.
"Ahhh… every good thing has an end. I should leave."
As he left the bar with his coffee, Daemon felt rich. Enjoying that luxurious meal had cost almost all of his savings, but he had a new outlook on life: he wanted to survive, if only so he could try that dessert one more time.
Giving the cup of coffee an intense look, Daemon felt a bit confused. He didn't even know if he should start drinking it yet; he hadn't seen anyone else drinking coffee on the street that morning.
He was heading straight toward the police station when he noticed the affluent citizens of the city rushing past a small park. Curious about what could make them hurry, he asked a nearby person, "What's going on?"
The person frowned at Daemon's appearance but responded nonetheless. "An Ascender will show his strength today in the central plaza."
"Really?" Daemon thought. Since he was going to enter the Tower soon, it wouldn't be bad to see what an Ascender could do in person, rather than just watching a broadcast. Plus, the police station was located right across the plaza.
As Daemon reached the plaza, he saw two goons standing at the entrance. "1 credit for entry," one of the goons said to the person in front of Daemon.
"What do you mean, one credit for entry?" the person argued.
"If you don't have it, scram," the goon replied coldly.
Daemon wondered if he should enter. Then, realizing there was no point in saving his last bit of currency, he reached into his pocket. He had exactly one credit left. When his turn came, Daemon paid the fee and entered.
In the plaza stood a giant of a man, easily over 190 cm tall. Beside him sat a mountain-like stone boulder.
"Today, ladies and gentlemen, you will see an Ascender showing his strength!" the giant shouted. "Hello, I am a level 19 Ascender and I have an E-grade Talent. As everyone knows, it is the second lowest grade talent a human can awaken, but that doesn't make me weak—it makes me helpful! If you don't believe me, that's okay, because I am going to show you exactly what I can do and what other Ascenders of my level can achieve."
The Ascender took his position and struck the boulder with a single, massive punch. Daemon had his eyes peeled; he watched as the boulder cracked into a million pieces. He was amazed, but then, a severe pain hit him. Complex rune symbols started to appear in each of his eyes, and he saw the Ascender performing the exact same movement on repeat, down to the smallest detail.
"What was that?" Daemon groaned. His right eye felt as if it were bleeding. A shadow of a man, formed entirely from runes, was taking shape deep within his retina, almost touching something even deeper in his mind.
"I know, impressive. To think an Ascender of E-rank talent is so powerful," a bystander responded.
Daemon could not concentrate yet. The severe pain was subsiding, but his eye still felt alien to him.
"If you were impressed, then you should be; my attack was strong enough to kill an Orc in one strike," said the Ascender, pride oozing out of him like water from a hydrant.
Daemon was amazed. Orcs were known for being at least E-Rank monsters, meaning they were at least level 20. They were notoriously hard to kill, yet this man was technically still an F-rank Ascender with only an E-rank talent. He had shown such strength that Daemon didn't doubt his claim.
So what is the catch? Daemon wondered. Then he saw the difference between the man standing in the plaza and the constant, repeating movement playing in his right eye. The Ascender was clearly exhausted, but he was trying to hide it, and he almost got away with it.
"Now that I have shown what an Ascender of my level can do, I want to make a plea," the man continued. "You all know what will happen at the end of the grace period. We only have less than three years. So, if you have awakened and want powers like mine, go to the Tower. Don't belittle yourself; even a low talent can be useful in times of need."
The more Daemon heard, the more he understood. This was basically public propaganda. Have the Guilds and Clans become so desperate for fresh blood?