Awakening of the Weakest Slayer-Chapter 1: Trapped (edited)

"How long will these fuckers, go on with it" Sezel spat, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Three days without food, and now this—fighting over poisoned scraps like dogs, and the water water wasn’t even worth the fight. It tasted like copper pennies, thick with chemicals that probably killed more people than they saved.

But who cared. It was water.

And in this delightful corner of hell, that makes it more precious than gold.

The men at the front of the line snarled and shoved, their voices cutting through the blistering air like rusted knives.

These were slum-bred curs who’d long since abandoned any pretense of civilization. Why shouldn’t they? In this cracked, sun-scorched wasteland, survival was the only religion that mattered.

The sun was a merciless tyrant in the sky, its gaze was so furious that it baked the parched earth.

The wind, a supposed harbinger of relief, instead blew like the breath of a furnace, offering no solace, only scorching the skin and stealing the moisture from the air.

Nature itself has joined the conspiracy to kill us slowly and these bastards are fighting for water.

Below, maybe fifty people waited in the skeletal shadow of a broken bridge for their turn at the single working tap. The treated water from the factory that dripped from it was thick, but it was liquid. That was enough.

Sezel lingered at the rear, his gaze fixed on his bare feet. He was a ghost in this crowd. At sixteen, he looked twelve—all sharp bones and hollow spaces where muscle should be.

His frame was evolution’s cruel joke, too weak for this world, too stubborn to die.

His tattered clothes hung from his bones, fluttering as the hot wind raked through his tangled, raven-black hair.

Ten decades. That’s how long it had been since the First Gate tore a wound in reality, connecting Earth with the enigmatic Spirit realm.

It was an epoch of cataclysm and opportunity, but for Sezel, born long after the dust had settled, it was just the world he knew.

People started awakening Spirit Channels that allowed them to use the Spirit Energy and granting them abilities that defied imagination.

And then there’s me. Still firmly in the insect category, well guess i am just a bit unlucky, if that’s what people call it.

Sezel existed as an unremarkable orphan in a world obsessed with the remarkable. His life read like a catalog of human misery, yet he’d learned not to waste breath on complaints.

The slum he called home had been obliterated when a Gate opened in its heart just days ago. Many died screaming. Sezel clung to gratitude for his continued breathing.

What does it matter if my stomach is empty? I’m still alive. Isn’t that enough? The thought was worn smooth by repetition, like a stone rubbed by desperate hands.

The brawl at the tap escalated. A fist connected with jaw and someone hit the ground hard.

Perfect.

"You piece of shit," the fallen man growled, launching himself back into the fight.

Soon a full-on fight broke out; drawing the slum’s denizens like moths to a flame.

Nothing like a good old-fashioned bloodbath to lift everyone’s spirits.

They cheered with the desperate hunger of people who had nothing else to celebrate. Random violence was premium entertainment when your life was a slow crawl toward death.

While the crowd pressed forward to watch the fight, Sezel slipped through like smoke, filling his rusted cup he retreated without being seen.

Rule one of slum survival: be invisible. Rule two: stay invisible.

He’d learned to be invisible years ago. It was the only skill that kept him breathing.

The walk back was agony on bare feet—the ground was hot enough to cook flesh. But shoes were a luxury for people with futures, and Sezel could not even plan his next meal.

He’d made it maybe ten steps when something solid caught his ankle.

Reality tilted. His face met earth with bone-jarring force, and his cup went flying. The water—his precious, hard-won water, vanished into the hungry dirt in heartbeats.

"Oops."

Arty’s voice dripped false sympathy. The bastard crouched down, his shadow falling across Sezel’s face like a tombstone. "So sorry about your drink, Sez. But hey—it’s just water, right?"

Arty was everything Sezel would never be. Awakened. Rank 1, which was technically the weakest tier. Out here it made him a god among insects.

The corporation he served supplied him with resources, with status, with the power to be cruel without consequence.

Just water. Right. I’m sure you’d say the same thing if someone kicked over your meat platter.

Sezel pushed himself up without a word and picked up his rusted cup, the empty cup felt heavier than when it was full.

One day, he promised the darkness in his mind. One day I’ll watch you choke on your own blood.

’...’

"Sez? are you okay?" Rilli’s voice cut through his homicidal fantasies. She approached with concern written across her dirt-streaked face, brown hair catching what little breeze existed. Even half-starved and covered in grime, she was beautiful.

He shook his head, brushing dust from his rags. What was the point of words? She’d witnessed his humiliation along with everyone else.

"I’ll make him pay you back," she said, dark eyes flashing with anger.

"Don’t." The word came out sharper than intended. "Just... don’t."

Because the last thing I need is you going to talk to him over me...

His lips twitched and eyes burned, but he refused to let the tears fall, swallowing them down like broken glass. A few drops of water still clung to the bottom. He would not waste them.

The girl looked at him with pitiful eyes and decided to go with him.

They walked in silence toward the camp’s far edge, where he shared a tin-walled shack with his sister—not blood, but close enough. Sezel had just taken her in when her parents died of an unknown illness caused due to exposure to Spirit Energy.

"Oi, Sezel!"

He knew that voice. Trouble always announced itself.

Three boys blocked their path. two muscle-bound thugs flanking their leader, a wiry older kid with predator’s eyes and a smile that promised nothing good.

"Got a job for you," the leader said, grinning. "Real simple work."

Simple work. Right. Like there’s such a thing in this shithole.

Sezel kept walking. Jobs from people like this ended in blood or worse.

"Food," the boy called after him. "And clean water."

The words hit like a sledgehammer to the chest. Sezel stopped, hating himself for the weakness.

"We’re going into the Gate," the leader explained, a greasy smile spreading across his face. "Just need a porter. Carry our gear, you get a twenty percent cut of the harvest."

"Arty’s coming too," another thug with big beard added. "It’s a milk run. Perfectly safe."

Perfectly safe. Famous last words of everyone who dies horribly.

"Sez, no." Rilli grabbed his arm, her voice tight with worry. "You know what happens to people who go into Gates."

He knew. Most came back broken in ways that mattered. The rest came back in pieces—if they came back at all.

But he barely heard her. His mind was a maelstrom. Food. He hadn’t eaten in three days. The small stash he had was for his sister, and it was almost gone. The choice was no choice at all.

Well, that’s it then. I’ve officially lost my mind.

"I’ll do it," he heard himself say.

Rilli gaped, stunned. "Sez, what are you thinking?" she cried.

"I’m thinking I don’t have a choice," he said, his resolve hardening into something cold and sharp.

"Then I’m going too," she declared. "For free."

Sezel spun around. "What are you—"

Her hand shot out, pressing against his lips, silencing him. Her eyes, fierce and unwavering, locked with his. His heart hammered against his ribs. "I’m an Awakened, Sez. You’re the one who should be scared."

The truth hit like ice water to the face. She was right. She’d always been the strong one, and he’d been too proud or too stupid to see it.

Of course she is. Why wouldn’t the girl I love be everything I’m not?

He turned and walked away without another word, shame burning hotter than the sun.

-

-

-

Evening descended swiftly, the sun sinking below the horizon, bathing the sky in a haunting amber glow. Birds retreated to their unseen havens.

And here, in front of a tear in reality itself. A swirling, violet oval of pure energy pulsed like a malevolent eye—the Gate.

Six figures stood.

Sezel was at the very back, a heavy pack digging into his bony shoulders.

I am about to make the stupidest decision of my short, miserable life. But i do hope i get something home.

Arty puffed out his chest like a rooster claiming his territory. "It’s a D-Rank Gate," he announced, his voice loud with manufactured confidence. "The Slayers have already explored it. We’re just sweeping up the leftover Spirit Essence. It’ll be easy."

With a flick of his hand, he strode forward, the group followed him inside without hesitation.

It was an already explore gate of the lowest rank, and they had two awakened with them, what could possibly go wrong?

Everything, Sezel thought as they crossed the threshold. Absolutely everything.

The world dissolved into nightmare, the moment they crossed the threshold.

They emerged into a spectral forest bathed in sick purple light. The air tasted of copper and decay.

Then the ground screamed.

The earth bucked and heaved, throwing them down like ragdolls. Sezel’s ears popped. His vision went white. He could see Arty shouting, his face contorted in a silent scream, but the sound was swallowed by the roaring chaos.

When it stopped, the silence was absolute.

Behind them, the violet eye of the Gate snapped shut, sealing them in. They were trapped. Lost in a nightmarish forest with no way home.