Another life

The crowd of young awakeners stirred as they were guided back to the slums by a stern, young man who had accompanied them from the awakening center. His gaze swept across the group before settling on the rich district they'd just left. "Tomorrow, you'll return here. You may choose an academy, or, if you're lucky, a noble family might choose you to join theirs." A faint smile played on his lips. "Good luck."

As the group dispersed into the slums, excitement buzzed through their chatter. Each of them was caught up in the thrill of choosing their futures. Even the poorest had heard the names of the top academies, and these were the dreams everyone chased.

"I'll try for Thunderclash!" a young boy exclaimed, his eyes shining. "They say it's the academy where lightning dances, and only the fastest minds and bodies can make it."

A girl with fiery eyes chimed in, "I'm aiming for Nephilim's Crest. They say the dean is a giant who can uproot trees with a flick of his wrist. It's perfect for those with strength classes."

Another girl joined the conversation, her voice lighter, filled with hope. "I've always dreamed of joining Skyfeather Academy. It's famous among girls—students there learn to harness the wind and soar like birds."

An older boy leaned in, grinning mischievously. "And who doesn't want a chance at Shadowbound?" His voice dropped to a whisper. "They say it's an academy for assassins, hidden in the shadows. Only the sharpest and deadliest get through."

The air grew hushed as someone mentioned the final academy, "And then... there's Sanctum of Virtues." The group fell silent, in awe of the academy that was a myth among them. It was the hardest to get into, accepting only a handful of students each year, and its classes centered around virtues and sins. Rumors claimed that only those with the purest intentions—or the darkest hearts—had any hope of acceptance.

As the group walked on, several young awakeners lowered their heads, realizing their limitations. "Guess I shouldn't reach too high," a boy murmured. "I'll settle for a grade-two or threeo academy. They're good enough for people like me, with a D rank."

Asmodeos stepped carefully through the familiar paths, feeling the weight of his new power stirring within him. His eyes took in each corner, each dilapidated home and cracked wall, knowing he was nearing the end of his days here.

As he approached his house, he noticed it with fresh eyes. What had once been a place of refuge, despite its worn appearance, now seemed smaller, its walls thin, barely containing the restless power he now carried.

Asmodeos paused on the threshold, glancing back at the slums one last time. In his mind, he'd made a quiet vow—to leave this place forever. This wasn't an escape but a step toward something bigger.

Stepping into his small room, he glanced around, taking in every familiar detail. The peeling paint, the creaky wooden floor, and most importantly, the sketches lining the walls—sketches that had been his only company in this lonely existence.

Moving with purpose, he carefully took down each drawing, folding them neatly and placing them into a small, battered box. These drawings had been his outlet, a silent voice that had spoken his pain, anger, and quiet dreams.

With the room bare, he set the box aside and focused inward, calling forth his system interface. The faint glow lit up his vision, revealing his newly acquired classes and abilities.

The Creator Class was displayed prominently. Its title was followed by its rank: SSS.

"Creator," he whispered, the word feeling powerful on his tongue. The tagline appeared in his mind: "Shaping reality, one stroke at a time."

He was captivated by the description of his abilities, each one promising a power that went beyond simple illusions. With his first ability, Sketch of Deception, he could bring his art to life in ways he'd only dreamed of.

Each creation was more than an image; it was an extension of his will, a fragment of his essence made real. With a sense of purpose, he reached for a scrap of paper and quickly sketched a small bird. Concentrating, he activated the skill.

The bird shimmered to life, flapping its wings with a vividness that left him breathless. It chirped, its sound filling the room, and for a few moments, it flew in gentle circles before vanishing in a faint glow.

A rush of exhilaration coursed through him. He had done it—he had brought a part of his imagination to life.

Curiosity urged him on, and he turned to his second class: Death. This class, shadowed in mystery, displayed his rank as "???"—a hint at the unknown potential within it.

Pain Infliction, his first skill in this class, came with a warning, as if the system itself recognized the dangers it held. The ability was described as Agony's Touch, capable of inflicting unimaginable pain.

He shivered, the dark nature of the skill unsettling yet oddly thrilling. Driven by an instinctive need to understand his limits, he focused on his own hand, deciding to test the skill on himself.

Bracing himself, he activated Pain Infliction, and instantly, a wave of searing pain shot through his arm. Every nerve seemed to catch fire, the sensation so intense he nearly cried out.

His vision blurred, and he fell to one knee, clutching his arm as the agony coursed through him. He held on, teeth clenched, his body trembling as he forced himself to endure it.

After what felt like an eternity, he canceled the skill, gasping as the pain faded. Slowly, he sat up, his breaths coming in shallow gasps.

Smoke rose faintly from his skin, his arm tingling with a new lightness. As he stood, he noticed an unfamiliar sense of clarity. His body felt lighter, his senses sharper.

Curious, he moved to a small cracked mirror, and what he saw surprised him. His face was smoother, his eyes holding a sharper glint.

His skin seemed untouched, as if the agony had peeled away some invisible layer, leaving him refined, almost… handsome? A low chuckle escaped his lips.

The physical changes were minor, yet they felt like a signal of something far greater. He could feel the potential within him, raw and unrefined but powerful, waiting to be shaped.

After catching his breath, he looked over the rest of his abilities, the possibilities unfolding in his mind. He envisioned a future far removed from this broken home, a life that didn't just rise above the slums but transcended it entirely.

His destiny, it seemed, was far grander than he had dared to imagine.

Carefully, he tucked the last of his sketches into the box