Minutes passed, the entire time Azrael stood frozen, eyes locked on the last place he saw the old man before disappearing.
Everything around him felt off, he wasn’t sure if it was the sour stench of the air in this rundown area or something deeper.
’Born on Judgment Day. Death’s Heir. Raised by a... Skinwalker.’
Was that meant to be ironic? Or tragic? He didn’t know anymore. He didn’t even know what he was supposed to feel.
He had thought that should he ever manage to gain a system, only happiness would await him, yet why did he feel so... hollow?
A stern voice broke him out of his haze.
Turning, Azrael saw a broad-shouldered man in green military attire. A brown cap sat on his head, marked with a symbol of an angel with a golden crown and spread wings.
"We have received reports that there has been a newly Chosen System User in the area. Looking at you, I presume I have found the person."
Taking a long breath, forcing his mind to calm down by bottling up his emotions as deeply as he possibly could, Azrael replied, "Yes, I am the one."
"Good," the officer nodded. "Grab your things. Anything—items, family members, pets. By law, we’ll make arrangements for them."
Azrael’s eyes briefly flicked back toward the old hut. The place he had once called home.
"I have nothing," he said plainly.
The soldier raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He turned and gestured for Azrael to follow.
Soon, they reached a military jeep parked near the edge of the street.
"What’s going on? The military’s here?"
"Have they come to help us?"
"Don’t get your hopes up. See that young lad? They’ve probably just come to recruit him. No way these bastards would pay any attention to us."
Since the scene was quite rare in the area, a crowd had gathered around the jeep, watching with curiosity.
Azrael didn’t pay them any mind, it wasn’t like he had any friends to say goodbye to. The only person who’d ever truly mattered to him was the Skinw... the old man.
He climbed into the passenger seat across from the officer. The driver started the engine.
It was his first time riding in a vehicle that didn’t reek of death.
Every other ride he’d taken, always in the back of a monster corpse gatherer vehicle, had been marked by blood smeared across the walls, the stench of rotting guts, and bones left behind like forgotten trash.
The air was clean. The seats were intact. Even the faint scent of something floral—probably an air freshener—hung in the space.
A few stray papers and open compartments hinted at the officer’s disorder, but otherwise... It was pleasant.
"So," the officer said, pulling out a tablet, "since you’ll be joining us, there are a few basic questions you’re required to answer. You have the right to remain silent, but it’s better if you cooperate."
Azrael nodded silently, eyes fixed on the screen.
He’d heard of such devices but had never interacted with one.
In the slums, most of your time was spent hunting for food, or in Azrael’s case, obsessively training his body to the very limit under the old man’s guidance.
"First question," the officer began. "Name?"
"Full name," the officer added.
"Azrael," the same answer came.
"I see," the officer nodded, getting a clearer picture of the situation.
"Fifteen. Soon sixteen."
"A late bloomer," he muttered. "Doesn’t matter. It all ends up the same."
The soldier’s hand froze. His shoulders slumped slightly as he let out a long, heavy sigh.
"Look, kid," he said, his voice softening, "I get that you don’t want to give the government all your info. Nobody’s blaming you. But lying about your birthday? That’s a bit much, don’t you think?"
Azrael frowned. "That is the truth."
"So you want me to write down that you were born on Judgment Day? Stop pulling my leg. No one will believe that nonsense."
Azrael simply continued to stare coldly at the man.
The officer muttered something under his breath. "Whatever. They don’t pay me enough to argue with troublemakers like you."
Writing the stated date, he continued with the questions.
"Inborn Trait and its Rank?"
Azrael remained silent.
The officer didn’t press on further.
"Give me your wrist."
Azrael did so. The man strapped a bracelet on his wrist. "This is your identifying device, ID for short," the man explained.
"It’s basically a personal holographic terminal that works like your system. You can access the internet, store credits, send messages, and make calls. Think of it like the most advanced smartphone imaginable."
Azrael blinked a couple of times. "Messages? Calls? Smartphone?"
"You’ve never heard of those?" The officer sighed. ’Another slum kid with a sob story.’
He adjusted his posture. "I’ll explain it."
For the rest of the ride, Azrael listened carefully to the lecture. Each word revealed a world he never knew existed.
In the end, he got too overwhelmed.
"Stop," he said, placing a hand on his head. The pressure, the overload of information, it was all too much.
Trying to not think about such confusing terms, he spoke, "Let’s talk about the matters at hand. I am registered in the government officially. Now what?"
Leaning back, the officer answered, "That depends on your Evaluation Test."
"Evaluation test?" Azrael arched an eyebrow.
"The world’s massive. Hundreds of millions of people. Millions get Chosen by the system. We can’t train all of them. So we separate the useless from the average, the average from the talented, and the talented from the exceptional. The way you perform in the Evaluation Test will determine your path. Barely scraping by at the bottom... or rising to the top of the hierarchy."
"Wait, then I am at a massive disadvantage. I just recently gained my system. I haven’t had any time to interact with it, learn its ins and outs, and gather more skills that could help me in the future," Azrael protested.
Seeing the worry on the lad’s face, the officer laughed. "Don’t worry about such things. We are not testing your system or the skills you’ve accumulated. No matter if you have an Inborn Trait with a high or low Rank, you can always rise to the top."
The man paused, pointing towards Azrael’s chest. "What we’re testing is the most important thing that will determine how useful you will be—your will and determination. Everything else is secondary."
"My will?" Azrael arched an eyebrow. "How do you test something like that?"
The officer scratched his chin. "How well do you handle blood and pain?"
’Are these lunatics about to torture me?’ Azrael thought, alarmed.
"Well... better than average," he answered, unsure of himself since he’d never really tested such things.
Putting a hand on Azrael’s shoulder, the man grinned. "Well, you’ll probably do better than average then."
As if on cue, the jeep came to a halt.
"We’ve arrived," the officer said, stepping out.
"Now, Azrael... It’s time to be tested."