This novel contains graphic themes of violence and mature content. Reader discretion is advised.
The sky was black. Not the kind that came with the night — the kind that devoured everything.
The clouds hung low, made from smoke and poison. The sun? No one ever saw it. Light bled through the sky: pale and dim.
But rain? That was worse.
You step outside? Your lungs get corroded, your eyes go blind, and your skin burns off in a matter of seconds.
Past the walls that marked the territory owned by humanity, in the outer ring of this oasis, lay a dumpyard.
It was the dumpyard for the weak — where the strong sent them to rot.
Humans didn't thrive here. They barely survived. Buildings rotted. Walls were eaten by rain.
Most here had no names. No homes. Just scraps of memories and stronger predators to fear. The outer ring didn't bury its dead. The rain took care of that. When the corpses vanished, no one asked questions.
Asking got you noticed. And getting noticed? That got you killed.
Everywhere was poison. But here? It reeked of rot — not animals. Humans.
Thwip!
The crows shrieked and scattered. One didn't make it. The arrow had gone straight through its neck.
Yuki didn't move. Still crouched, hidden behind a pile of rubble as he watched.
Three figures walked toward it. Boots crunching over rubble on what used to be a road.
He didn't rush. The right moment always comes if you stay patient.
The three figures stopped near the corpse, one of them lightly kicked it with his leg.
"Woah! It's still fresh?" said the tallest, scanning the sky. "More will surely come."
"They always do," another muttered as he crouched, picking up the dead crow with his fingers.
"The neck is clean. Arrow went all the way through."
The third laughed. "Told you the bait would work, stink brings 'em."
Yuki stayed crouched behind the rubble, motionlessly observing.
It wasn't the body he wanted. Just what was inside one of those stained sacks they carried — black feathers poking out, a trail of blood smearing the fabric.
They were collecting the crows. Skinning them later. Cooking them if they had a fire.
Meat was meat.
The tall one pulled the arrow out of the crow's neck, wiped it on the corpse's clothes, and dropped it in the sack. "Give it another five minutes."
"Too risky," the crouched one said. "We should return or we could become the hunted instead."
Yuki moved.
He silently lunged out from behind the rubble, snatched one of the many sacks, and ran.
The sack was slick with blood, but he didn't care.
"Oi! Hey! HEY!" one of them shouted as he snatched up his bow and fired.
Woosh!
The arrow went past Yuki's side, barely tearing through a part of the clothing in his arm.
"Appreciate the meal."
Rushing past the piles of rubbles on the road, he went past various bent street signs and dead animals. Their bodies were so bloated with decay that flies covered their every inch. His foot splashed into a pool of sludge, something weird moved inside it.
Huff! Huff!
His breath burned as he exerted force more than his body could muster. His lungs clawed for air. Something cracked in his ankle, but he didn't stop.
But then—His foot got stuck in some kind of metal pipe, his balance breaking as he crashed down.
He hit the ground hard, and the sack of stolen meat fell open in front of him. Blood flowed down from it, staining the ground even more.
And then:
Footsteps thundered behind him.
"Shit."
He cursed, dragging himself behind a half-broken wall. His ankle screamed with pain. He couldn't run again.
He looked at the crow's body. It was still warm.
A dry laugh slipped past his lips. "Guess this is it, huh?"
I'm dying anyways...
And then, he did the unthinkable — he grabbed a crow and bit in.
"When something comes into my hands, I never return it."
The footsteps stopped.
"Is he… eating it raw?"
"You filthy piece of—"
A boot slammed into his ribs. Pain exploded. He didn't let go of the meat. Then another kick came on his side. His body jerked with impact, but he didn't let go of the meat.
One after another, multiple kicks rained over him.
The world seemed to move in slow motion.
Each blow rang a dull ringing sensation in his skull. His ears buzzed as his nose stopped working — all he could smell was iron and dirt. His face dragged across the broken concrete, sharp particles slit on his malnourished face.
Ah my handsome face...
Boots stomped around him like wild animals circling prey. The taste of blood and rotten crow filled his mouth, warm and metallic. He chewed anyway.
Is this my fate?
From a king… to Someone who would die a dog's death?
Blood trickled from his lips as he gritted his teeth.
He wasn't born for this. Not for dirt and scavenging and broken bones.
Just a week ago, he sat in a leather chair worth more than the average man's life savings. Floors polished like glass. Men and women bowed their heads when he passed, too afraid to make eye contact. He could buy silence, loyalty, and death — all with a nod.
His father raised him like a weapon. "People don't need to like you," the man once said. "Just fear the consequences of defiance."
And now? He was gnawing on crow guts in a ruined alley while flies waited for him to stop twitching.
Yuki Shirogane.
The heir to the Black Orchid Syndicate. One order from him could vanish a man and his family overnight. Clean offices. Suits tailored in Italy. The power that came in silence.
A boot slammed on his ribs as he coughed out some blood.
And then?
He blinked—
—and the world was gone.
"Bastard's still chewing!"
"You want to die that bad?!"
A fist cracked across his cheek. His head bounced off the wall behind him. Bones shifted. Something inside gave.
Seven days...
Seven days in this hellhole.
Seven days of running, hiding, choking on ash, and drinking from puddles with dead things floating inside.
Seven days of being hunted like a rat.
All just to survive. And today when he found an opportunity, he's going to die like this.
He'd survived worse. Hadn't he? But this wasn't Tokyo. This wasn't his world, not until he conquered it.
From steak to scavenging. From million-dollar deals to chewing feathers.
A final kick to the gut made him retch.
"Fucking freak. Let him rot."
The three retreated, fading into a distance. Not a single glance back.
Yuki lay there, twitching, his jaw throbbed. Blood swirled down from his mouth. His black hair stained red. Limbs broken. Barely breathing.
He barely had any chances to survive this.
Silence.
He had just eaten a crow, and many crows started revolving over him, ready to scavenge him soon.
"Cough...Hehe, I ate one of you, now you want to eat me?"
A subtle hum crawled through the air. A red glow of light bloomed from behind, casting long shadows across the ruined street.
Even if it was day, it would still be pretty dark outside.
Yuki smiled as he turned his back to look in that direction.
It was a Gate.
Yuki had heard about it from the other scavengers — rumors he traded over rotten meat.
It's called the Gate of Temptation.
They said it was a doorway built by beings from another realm — just to see who was desperate enough to crawl through.
The moment you enter it, you can be considered dead.
Most who entered didn't come back. Those who did? Monsters or messiahs. Sometimes both.
Those who came back though...came back with powers.
And those people became the leaders of this region.
Yuki chuckled inwardly at the thought that spirits found him interesting.
Gates weren't something everyone was 'worthy' of. Only a few people in the world ever had the opportunity to see it.
Guess I don't have any choice do I?
Yuki stared at it. Tall, sharp, glowing red — like a gate to the hell.
Of course, a giant black gate with a red light had to show up now.
While he was bleeding out, surrounded by crows.
Yuki squinted at the Gate.
"You late, bastard," he muttered.
Maybe this was fate's idea of a joke. Strip the crown. Break the bones. Then hand him a glowing door like it was charity.
Still... if death was certain, he'd rather die walking forward than rotting in place.
Besides—he'd always been curious about what hell looked like from the inside.
Yuki stared at it, half his face pressed into dirt and blood.
The pain didn't fade. The cold didn't either. But his hands moved.
One pull. Then another.
"If I die now," he muttered, coughing up blood, "at least it'll be not here."
The glow got brighter. His shadow stretched long behind him.
The edges of the Gate shimmered as he reached it. His fingers passed the threshold and...
He vanished.
The warmth vanished. So did the pain.
Then something spoke.
[Enter.]