The slums of Ravenrock were a sprawling hive of hoodlums and rogue Awakeners, a place defined by misery, death, and deep-seated corruption. Most people stayed far away from the district, though some had no choice but to call it home. Even the Awakener's Guild had long since abandoned the area, deciding it wasn't worth sacrificing the lives of soldiers to clean up the streets. In reality, several Guild higher-ups even took advantage of the chaos, using local crime syndicates to line their pockets and eliminate anyone they deemed a potential threat.
In the heart of this decay, a sudden explosion ripped through the silence, jolting the sleeping residents awake and sending those nearby scattering for cover. The commotion centered on two figures standing amidst the dust. Behind one of them, the wall of a local clinic lay in ruins, the concrete shattered into jagged pieces across the dirty street from the force of a human body being hurled through it.
Arnolt held his arms in a rigid X-shape, his mana-coated forearms still smoking from the impact that had sent him flying. Even as he was launched through the clinic wall and into the street, he maintained a blocking position to mitigate the damage and he stood amidst the rubble with his teeth bared in a snarl. Standing before him was a teenager, barely eighteen years old. Keith's mind was so clouded by bloodlust that he seemed blind to the destruction around him; his only focus was the man in front of him. With his fists coated in a shimmering layer of mana, Keith launched a relentless barrage of strikes, each one aimed at Arnolt's vitals.
"You seem to have a death wish, you piece of filth," Arnolt taunted. His eyes flared with anger and disgust as he finally recognized the boy attacking him.
Keith's rage erupted further at the sound of that voice. His eyes turned bloodshot as his punches became even more frantic, eventually forcing Arnolt back against a standing wall. Sensing victory was within his grasp, Keith channeled every drop of his mana into a single, ferocious strike aimed at the man's head. However, in his blinded state, he forgot one crucial detail—his enemy was not only an Awakener, but a veteran far more experienced in the art of killing.
As the strike whistled toward him, Arnolt simply tilted his head to the right, letting the fist graze past him.
"You arrogant bastard, you think you can kill me?" Arnolt mocked. A wide, jagged, and sinister grin spread across his face, paired with predatory eyes that promised pain. He channeled his own mana into his fists and slammed a counter-punch directly into Keith's gut. The force sent the boy flying back toward the ruined clinic. Arnolt didn't stop there; he began to walk slowly toward the wreckage to finish the job.
"You just awakened and thought you could actually injure me?" Arnolt asked, his hands still glowing with power. But as he drew closer, a new figure emerged from the dust and debris. Arnolt's expression shifted from arrogance to shock as he saw a wrinkled old man holding a simple wooden staff.
"I won't let you hurt him any longer," Mr. Hoffman exclaimed, shifting his weight into a steady battle stance. Though he was a Healer by trade and not a combat-class Awakener, he had practiced martial arts for decades—a necessity for anyone trying to run a clinic in the slums.
"You should have kept your dog on a leash," Arnolt spat. He lunged at the old man, unleashing a barrage of strikes that left no room for rest or counter-attacks. Streaks of mana trailed through the air as the two clashed. Arnolt focused on every weak point and blind spot he could find, but to his growing frustration, the old man blocked every single one. Sensing the pressure, Arnolt tried to leap back to recover his stamina, but that was the exact moment Mr. Hoffman had been waiting for.
As Arnolt stepped back, the wooden pole whistled through the air, striking him hard in the side. It was followed instantly by a blow to his shin, another to his back, and a final, crushing hit to his chest. The wounds from his previous battles began to fail him; the strikes reopened old injuries, and deep red blood began to stain his shirt. Arnolt realized then that the old man knew exactly where he was hurt. Before coming to the clinic, Arnolt had been involved in a skirmish at a local bar where a rival rogue had attacked him out of jealousy. He had won that fight, but it had cost him a significant portion of his mana and left him with deep lacerations.
Seeing the threat the old man posed, Arnolt made a final, desperate decision. He would use every remaining drop of his mana to end them both right here. He released a terrifying aura, the air around him vibrating as he activated his power.
"Innate Skill: Piston Gauntlets!"
Massive amounts of mana concentrated around Arnolt's hands, manifesting as a pair of heavy, intricate gauntlets. They were crafted from luminous blue energy, forming complex plates and integrated piston mechanisms covered in glowing arcane runes. He closed the distance in a blur, launching a devastating punch toward the healer. Mr. Hoffman raised his staff to block the incoming blow, but when the attack connected, a reverberating boom echoed through the street. The wooden staff snapped in two, and the old man was sent hurtling through the air.