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The city was a carcass of its former self—charred skeletons of buildings, ash choking the sky, the silence broken only by the occasional groan of something... wrong. Osiris walked through the crumbling district with calculated steps, wrapped in a borrowed cloak, hood up, shadows hugging his movements. The streets where he'd once watched kids kick pebbles now hosted claw marks, blood trails, and the stench of rot.

He wasn't here for nostalgia.

He was looking for truth.

The old orphanage squatted at the edge of the block like a wounded animal. The sign was half-burnt, hanging from a single rusted chain. But before he could reach the door, a scuttling noise cut the air. Then another. From beneath a cracked sewer grate, they emerged—grotesque, nightmarish things.

A mutated rat, the size of a small dog, its flesh patchy and metal wires threaded through its limbs, like some sick attempt at forced evolution. One of its eyes glowed red—a mana reactor. Its tail sparked with electricity, coiling like a whip.

And the cockroach... hulking, bipedal, its carapace a chitinous black armor pulsing with green light. It released a screech that rattled Osiris's teeth. Its limbs clicked with sharp blades, and something about its movements—almost intelligent—sent a chill down his spine.

"Alright," Osiris muttered, rolling his shoulders. "Guess we're doing this."

The rat struck first—blinding speed, tail lashing out like a thunderbolt. Osiris ducked, barely avoiding the arc of lightning that scorched the wall behind him. The roach followed up, claws whistling through the air as it launched itself forward.

He was fast—but not fast enough. A slash grazed his cheek. Pain bloomed.

Focus. Focus.

He drew on the energy humming beneath his skin, trying to will it into shape, but it pulsed wildly—untamed, like a storm with no center.

"You're using it all wrong, sweetheart."

The voice came from above, soft and amused. He looked up, breath heavy.

And there she was.

Delythera.

Floating in midair as if gravity were beneath her. Barefoot, with golden anklets wrapped around her legs, each step sounding with the delicate chime of bells that shouldn't echo in this ruined place. Her long pink hair drifted around her like silken threads in water, and her curves—divine, commanding—were sheathed in an impossibly white gown that shimmered with embedded runes.

She looked at him like a mother watching her child fumble with their first toy. And yet her gaze was sharp—knowing.

"Mana isn't a hammer, darling," she said sweetly, descending slightly, toes never touching the ground. "It's a stream. You let it flow. Not crash."

"how is that exactly not useful ," Osiris snapped, wiping the blood from his face.

The rat lunged again.

He dodged. Barely.

"yes it is" she said, still smiling. " you've to believe it.... cause you're about to die."

She raised her hand slightly. Osiris immediately dropped to one knee, spine locking up. The air had shifted. Pressure. Crushing. His breath hitched.

"W-What the hell...?"

"I'm not your enemy," she said gently. "Just making sure you're listening."

He grit his teeth, glaring up at her, defiance shining in his glowing green eyes.

"Now," she continued, "your core is misaligned. You're forcing output through every pore. That's why it hurts. Focus it into your center—your chest, not your limbs. Then think: what do you want your power to do?"

Osiris sucked in a breath.

"...I want them to burn."

The mana answered him. His hands pulsed with energy—darker now, more focused. The rat charged again. This time, Osiris raised one hand—and the air shimmered.

BOOM.

A burst of raw kinetic force shot from his palm, slamming the rat into a rusted car across the street. It squealed, convulsed—and twitched no more.

The cockroach paused. But Osiris didn't.

He rushed forward. His hands vibrated, condensed with swirling mana. He let it blast point-blank into the creature's thorax, blowing a chunk of its armored chest open. It shrieked, stumbled, and fell.

Panting, Osiris stood. Hair wild, his eyes brighter than ever.

Delythera clapped softly, floating down just above his shoulder. "See? I knew you were clever."

Osiris didn't thank her. He just looked at his hands.

"What do you mean my power is rare?" he asked quietly.

She tilted her head, hair cascading like rose silk. "Very few are born with a direct connection to raw force. You're a conduit, Osiris. A living anomaly. With the right push…?"

She smiled wider.

"You could level empires."

His silence stretched. Then: he shrugged and walked away. Straight towards the orphanage.

____

The cracked tiles of the orphanage floor groaned under Osiris's boots. Dust scattered with each step, thick in the air like forgotten memories. The world outside still rumbled with distant echoes of chaos, but here—it was quiet.

Delythera floated a few feet behind him, toes never quite touching the ground. The soft chime of her anklets followed them like a ghostly lullaby. Her silky pink hair trailed in the air as if underwater, and her eyes—blue, but beginning to flicker with a hint of pink—remained trained on him.

Osiris pushed over a fallen cabinet with a grunt, metal screeching as it scraped against the floor. Papers spilled out, faded files and old data pads, each potentially holding something—anything—about his past.

Delythera tilted her head, eyes narrowing with amusement. "You're not exactly gentle with your search."

"Don't need to be," he muttered, kneeling and flipping open a cracked folder. "It's not like they're gonna yell at me now."

"Hmm." She hovered closer, arms crossed, chin resting on one hand as she floated upside-down for a moment, just to tease gravity. "You haven't told me what you're looking for, Osiris."

"Information."

"About?"

"Who dumped me here." His tone was dry, disinterested even, but his fingers moved quickly. He scanned every page like a machine.

Delythera's smile flickered. "Oh. You mean your parents?"

He paused.

"Or... the man with the eyepatch?"

Osiris looked up at her. "Both, if I'm lucky."

She floated down until she stood beside him, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "So... why?" Her voice softened. "Do you want to talk to them? Ask them why they left you? Or maybe... you want closure?"

Osiris met her gaze without blinking. "No."

A pause.

"I just want to know who I'm supposed to kill."

Silence.

Delythera blinked.

For once, she didn't have a ready smile. Her lips parted slightly, as if to ask what the hell happened to you, but she stopped herself.

Osiris turned back to the papers, casually as ever, brushing off the dust like none of this mattered. "Emotions? Not really my thing."

She watched him for a while longer, eyes scanning every inch of his expression—how calm he was. How deadly that calm truly felt.

Finally, she said, softly, "You're more broken than I thought."

Osiris smirked. "Or maybe I'm just the only one finally being honest about it."

Delythera said nothing more.

But her gaze didn't leave him once as he returned to digging through the remnants of his lost childhood. She didn't float as casually now. She was still. Watching. Thinking.

Wondering just what kind of god she had tethered herself to.