BATERBANE: i want to life

Ruin, Betrayal, and the Hope Left Behind

Pazran couldn't remember how he had ended up in this place. The last image burned into his mind before darkness claimed him was blood—blood gushing from his mother's neck as her head was severed by a Holy Knight, followed by his father's desperate scream as he summoned the last of his strength to cast a teleportation spell.

Now, his eyes opened slowly.

A foul stench hit him like a punch, stabbing into his nose until he nearly retched. The air was damp and rank. The sound of scurrying rats echoed between dilapidated buildings, while the faint footsteps of the forgotten drifted through the narrow, muddy streets.

Ziballah. The slum city where the world's discarded were left to rot.

Pazran exhaled, a heavy breath laden with grief. He recognized the air, the soil—he was still within the country of Somnia. His father's final spell hadn't carried him far, only just enough to spare him from death. Which meant danger was still close. Lurking. Waiting.

But even the thought of death no longer terrified him. It paled beside the weight of sorrow crushing his chest. He had witnessed his family's slaughter. Their screams still rang in his ears. He wanted to cry, to scream, to curse the world for what it had done to him—but all that came out was a faint sob. A quiet, broken sigh.

He wanted to die.

But death was too easy. If he died, those who had destroyed his family would go on laughing, go on living, as if nothing had ever happened.

So, Pazran gritted his teeth—and chose to live.

Life at the Bottom of the Abyss

The first days in Ziballah were torment.

No food. No shelter. No money.

Pazran relied solely on instinct to survive.

He scrounged through rotting heaps of garbage, fighting off rats and stray dogs. He forced down moldy bread, gnawed on bones with scraps of meat still clinging to them, chewed on spoiled fruit peels—anything to silence the gnawing hunger.

The people of Ziballah didn't spare him a glance. Most of them were worse off than he was. When he asked for help, all he got in return were glares or sneers.

"What, you think life here is free, kid?" one man had spat at him. "If you can't work or pay, you'll die like the rest."

His nights were spent huddled in alleys, beneath the crumbling remains of homes, shivering from the cold and his empty stomach.

But he endured.

Because he had to.

A Misplaced Kindness

One night, while wandering through a dark alley in search of scraps, Pazran came across an old man collapsed on the ground. Emaciated. Wounded. Barely breathing.

His first instinct was to walk past.

But then his mother's voice echoed in his mind.

"Remember, Pazran… a true noble isn't one who has wealth or power, but one who can protect and help those weaker than themselves."

His hands trembled.

He hated this world. He hated what had happened to him.

But could he abandon the teachings his parents died for?

With a sigh, he knelt beside the man and placed his hands over the frail body. He channeled his mana, slowly mending the man's wounds.

The man stirred, blinking in confusion.

"W-Who… are you?" he whispered.

Pazran said nothing. His mana was spent. His body too weak. And before he could reply, the darkness pulled him under once again.

Betrayed by Those He Saved

When Pazran next awoke, something was wrong.

His hands were bound.

His body ached.

Dozens of eyes surrounded him—eyes brimming not with gratitude, but with greed and desperate hope.

Realization struck like ice in his veins.

They had seen him heal. And now, they wanted that power.

"Let me go!" he shouted, struggling, but a heavy-set man held him down.

"You've got healing magic, don't you?" a voice said. "Heal us. Heal everyone!"

"I don't have any mana left!" he yelled.

But they didn't care.

They beat him. Threatened him. Forced him to try, again and again.

Until his body gave out.

He fainted.

When he awoke, it wasn't to pain—but laughter.

"Jackpot!" someone crowed. "The kingdom's got to be offering a huge bounty for this one."

"Nah, forget the kingdom," another argued. "Slave traders will pay more. Nobles love rare talents like this."

Pazran's chest tightened—not from fear, but from pure, burning rage.

"You ungrateful filth!" he shouted. "I saved you! And this is how you repay me?!"

Laughter answered him.

"Stupid kid," one of them sneered. "Ziballah doesn't know mercy. Show weakness, and you'll be devoured."

He wanted to kill them all.

But he was too weak.

So, he let them drag him toward the capital—toward death.

A Chance to Escape

The road to the capital was anything but smooth. Arguments broke out among his captors.

Some wanted the kingdom's gold. Others wanted the slave market's fortune.

Greed overtook reason.

The squabbling turned to violence.

In the chaos, Pazran ran.

Shouts chased him, but none followed seriously. They were too busy beating each other bloody.

And for the first time since his family's massacre, he felt it:

Hope.

Flight, Fire, and an Unexpected Encounter

He ran through Ziballah's endless alleys, gasping, pushing his body beyond its limits. But the mob was persistent. The scent of gold made them blind to danger.

Pazran glanced back. Too close.

His rage boiled over.

"If this world only understands violence," he growled, "then I'll speak its language."

He raised his hand.

FWOOSH!

Fire exploded down the alley, scattering his pursuers in panic. Screams echoed through the flames.

Yet still they came.

And then—a voice.

"So, you can use attack magic too."

Pazran turned, hands raised.

But darkness claimed him before he could strike.

A Different Place

He woke to the scent of food and the creak of old wood. Thin children sat nearby, eating silently as a man in a black cloak handed out bread.

An orphanage.

The man noticed him and set a plate before him. "Eat."

Pazran hesitated. Then hunger won. He devoured the meal like a starving beast.

"You owe me," the man said. "You'll work for me."

Pazran narrowed his eyes. "And if I say no?"

The man pulled something from beneath his cloak—a long, black metal object, dangerous and unfamiliar.

"This will crush your skull in an instant."

Pazran clenched his fists. "Fine," he growled.

First Task — The Ziballah Orphanage

The man led him through the orphanage.

The children were sick. Wounded. Pale.

"Your first job," the man said. "Heal them."

Pazran could've refused.

But he didn't.

His hands glowed. One by one, he mended broken bodies. Soothing pain. Restoring strength.

And for a reason he couldn't explain… it made him feel lighter.

When he was done, the man turned to leave.

But Pazran followed.

**Chapter 9: A Conversation in Ziballah's Night**

"What do you want?" the man asked.

"You seem like a good person," Pazran said. "Take me with you."

The man laughed bitterly. "You've got the wrong idea, kid. I'm a Light."

Pazran froze.

Light—the most feared criminal syndicate in Somnia.

But he didn't care.

"I want revenge on the Holy Knights."

The man raised an eyebrow. "What can you do besides heal and burn?"

Pazran met his gaze without flinching. "I can wield all five primary elements of magic."

The man was silent for a long time. Then he smiled.

"…You're something else."

But his voice grew stern. "The Light isn't good."

"Nothing in this world is," Pazran replied.

The man paused—then nodded.

"…Alright."

Pazran's First Trial — A Step Toward the Ligh

Days passed.

They arrived at a ruin hidden between forest and stone. Inside, torches flickered. Eyes watched with suspicion. Hands hovered near weapons.

A girl's voice cut through the air. "Reus, why'd you bring a stranger here?"

The man—Reus—grinned. "Relax, Lilia. He's a Baterbane."

Silence fell.

Lilia's glare deepened. "So what?"

"He can use all five elements," Reus said. "And healing."

Her gaze sharpened, locking onto Pazran. "If you betray us, I'll kill you."

Pazran stared back without fear.

Then—THWACK!

Lilia kicked Reus to the floor.

Laughter erupted.

Reus groaned. "I won't stop teasing you, Lilia~."

Introductions followed. Drex, the bruiser. Hana, the gentle healer. Rudy, the calm strategist.

Drex offered a nod. "Sorry about your family."

Reus added, "We never stole from the Baterbanes. Your family was too good."

Pazran offered a faint smile.

His eyes landed on the strange metal weapon Reus carried.

"This?" Reus smirked. "A sniper. The only one in the world. Made by Professor Clover."

Rudy finally spoke. "We've got a mission. Three-person team: Drex, Lilia, and Pazran."

Lilia glared.

Reus clapped Pazran on the back.

"Your first trial. Prove you belong."

Pazran clenched his fists—and nodded.

"I will."