Awakening of the Weakest Slayer

Sezel and Vesta remained pressed against the crumbling wall, their eyes fixed on the approaching figures. Three of them walked confidently from the opposite direction, wearing the same jacket-type costumes, same as the Slayers that Sezel had found dead.

"Those are the same jackets you wore when we first met, aren't they?" Vesta asked, her voice just a whisper, only audible to Sezel.

But he was lost somewhere else, his mind a chaotic storm. His face flushed red with a sudden heat. His heart, which had been steady in the face of monsters and death, now hammered a frantic, wild rhythm against his ribs.

A bead of sweat traced a slow, cold path down his temple. 'Too close, too close, too close.' He could feel Vesta's warm breath at his ear when she spoke.

She was taller than Sezel, and hence was peeking from behind him, the subtle pressure of her body against his back as she peeked over his shoulder, a startling, intimate contact. He was flustered, his focus shattered. He shook his head violently, a desperate attempt to clear it. 'Shit, shit. Focus.'

He forced his attention back to the scene unfolding before them. The new arrivals' faces were obscured because the area had less amount of Spirit essence, and a suffocating blanket choked the pale light of the three moons.

The explosion had been immense. Sezel and his team had been nearly five kilometers away, yet they had seen it clearly, felt its concussive force. It was normal that it would have been seen by more people around the area and far-off places.

The teams sent into a Rank-A gate were a mix of desperate rookies and hardened veterans, ones who had dealt with life-and-death situations inside the Spirit Realm and went back on Earth living. These were the most dangerous ones to face for newbies like Sezel and his whole team.

And only two kinds of people would willingly walk toward a disaster of this magnitude: the supremely confident, who believe that they are strong enough to gaze into the abyss of an A-Rank Gate and return safely, and the supremely foolish ones, like Sezel and Vesta themselves.

Whether they liked it or not, this place was soon going to be a battleground and a grave for many. It was inevitable. The thought had barely formed in his mind when it was proven true. Another three figures materialized from the oppressive darkness nearby, their silhouettes stark and menacing against the dying, hellish glow of the embers.

"Let's get out of here," Sezel suggested, looking at the two teams, still oblivious to each other's presence, as they began to comb through the wreckage. Soon, they would see each other. And as enemies, they would engage in a deathmatch, a brutal, bloody dance for the sake of resources, for the honor of their country, for… pride.

'What a foolish thing to think. Pride? It's just a word. Reputation? Just a show for others to admire.' That was the world as he saw it.

He was not loyal to his country, not loyal to any flag or ideal. He was loyal only to his own life, the most precious and fragile thing one could possess. A truth that other humans seemed to so easily forget, treating life, both their own and others'—as a cheap, expendable currency.

'Taking others' lives has become a game for us.'

Soon, the faces of the first cohort came into clearer view as they drew nearer. The leader was a tall, muscular man, his very presence an intimidating force. Just a glance at him would be enough to terrify a normal, unawakened man. His muscles seemed to glow in the oppressive purple light.

Behind him, two other figures followed. One was a man with a lean, athletic build, what some might call a perfect, attractive body. He wore a pair of dark sunglasses, a detail so absurdly out of place in the dead of night that it made Sezel's lip curl. 'Freak.' He reminded him of Raelion. 'That bastard too always wore those sunglasses.' He chuckled inwards, a strange action.

And the last one was a woman. She was slender, her curvy figure barely concealed by the tight-fitting combat gear she wore. But what truly drew Sezel's eye was the thing she carried on her back—a monstrous, cloth-wrapped object, almost as long as she was tall. 'Is that a sword?' Sezel was shocked. To carry a weapon larger than oneself was a testament to either incredible strength or incredible foolishness.

Well, these three looked like a team of experienced professionals. The faint, silvered tracery of scars on the big man's forearms was proof enough, medals from his previous successful expeditions, one could say, if they were a true Slayer.

The other team, meanwhile, was less intimidating, yet they too wore a mask of experience, and they were accompanied by a sight that made Sezel's blood run cold: a living, breathing Night Crawler, its jagged teeth and razor-sharp claws a familiar, nightmarish vision. It moved with a strange, docile obedience, carrying their bags.

Sezel was shocked beyond words. There was only one explanation. A Fable. A power that allowed its user to tame the very monsters they were sent here to kill. If that was the case, wouldn't it be beyond dangerous to engage in battle with such a person? The question sent a new, more profound wave of fear through him.

The impending silence was broken by the growl of clouds. Sezel's gaze flickered upwards. The clouds, some formed of smoke and smog, others as black as night itself, churned and roiled. Another roll of thunder passed between them.

Then his gaze flickered to Vesta's horrified face. Suddenly, he remembered her words. 'It will rain poison.' The realization sent a jolt of icy dread down his spine. He instantly turned to her. "We need to move," he said slowly, his voice an urgent whisper.

Vesta nodded, before giving a final peek to the two teams. They had wasted their time spectating, fascinated by the impending conflict, and now, they had no time left at all. The sky was about to open up and drown them all in its venomous tears.