2 The Sect of Scraps (I)

The room was dark. There were no windows or cracks in the walls through which light could enter. If not for the glowing runes on the floor, it would have been impossible to see anything.

They were world-like, alive, and twisting—a chaotic tangle of interconnecting scribbles, coiling like luminous snakes. Although they were not uniform, their varying shapes and sizes formed a wondrous circle on the floor, repeatedly breaking apart and melting back together in flux. At the center lay a boy, common in looks. His black hair was glued to his face and forehead with sweat and his black eyes quivered in fear as they filled up with tears.

A tall man with similar features stood in front of him. His ravenous eyes stared at the boy sprawled at his feet. His chiseled face was painted with a devious smirk; it wasn't concerned with the boy's emotions. He knelt down to make eye contact, his serene voice breathed calmness into the scared child.

"I need you to be brave, Amon. This is going to hurt, but you can't leave. It's okay to cry and scream if you want, but never move from this spot," the father coaxed, before walking around the golden circle.

As he placed fist-sized, black crystals on a few of the runes, he didn't look at his son. He knew that Amon was terrified. Afterwards, he ventured to a corner of the room. There, he stood next to a short man that had been silent the entire time. The golden light from the runes seemed to be absorbed by wriggling shadows as they tried to illuminate the small man's face, giving him an ominous air.

"Scholar, he's ready."

The father gave a nod and the other man approached the circle. The Scholar bent down and touched two runes on the floor with his hands; his sneaky eyes were filled with pity. He took a deep breath and a strange pulse flowed from his shoulders to the tip of his fingers before finally entering the runes before him. This caused them to glow with a blinding, golden light that travelled through the other runes on the floor.

A bizarre hum emitted from the walls and ceiling, but the area beneath the runes was unnaturally silent. As each rune lit up, the sound became louder, making the room vibrate wildly. The crystals twirled, their shape was now blurred and indistinguishable. They launched into the air, floating a few meters from the high ceiling and Amon went with them.

His body contorted into unnatural positions with the sound of his young bones cracking and mending back together. Blood-curdling screams filled the room as the two men looked on. They knew Amon would never escape the hell they had thrown him into.

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Amon woke up abruptly—it was the same nightmare every time. His body was pained and drenched in sweat. His clothes clung to him, making him feel restrained, uncomfortable, and heavy. He felt like he hadn't slept in days.

He dejectedly pulled off the white, linen sheets and threw them to the side before slowly getting up. The warm wooden floor felt comforting beneath his feet. Upon opening his creaking windows, the sun greeted him from the bright, blue sky, lighting up every inch of his room.

Amon's room wasn't anything spectacular. Somehow, in his restless slumber, his pillow ended up in front of his small desk on the opposite side of the room. Although the desk was usually tidy, a few pieces of paper and a pen were scattered at its center. A circular black rug was positioned at the center of the room, worn down from years of use and torn around the edges. On the wall adjacent to it was a simple mirror hanging on the wall above a small table which held a basin filled with water to wash himself.

Amon stood in front of the mirror and stared at his reflection. His youthful face, framed by black hair, contrasted his peculiar golden eyes. The dark circles around them made his eyes look like lamps shining in the dark.

He ran his fingers through his black hair as he tried to comb it, but something felt off. He looked at his hand and saw a black stain on his skin. He turned around and examined his pillow; it too was stained with smeared black patches.

Amon couldn't help but sigh. He would have to buy a new batch of black nuts soon. He tried to wash the stain off in the basin before him, but was unsuccessful. He gave up and continued to wash the remainder of his body with a damp cloth. The cool water in the basin was a relief to his hot and sticky skin. He kicked open a chest next to his bed and put on a fresh set of white clothes. They were plain, but he hated standing out.

After making his way to the shabby kitchen located at the other end of the house, he noticed an old iron pot on the countertop. He carefully reheated its contents, some lumpy rice porridge, and scooped it into a small bowl. The steamy porridge gently jiggled in the bowl as he carried to a small room located off the living room.

He knocked twice on the wooden door and a weak voice called beckoned him to enter.

"Come in, Amon," his mother, Rebecca, crooned.

A sweet smile caressed her face when she saw him step into her room. It was as quaint as his; small and lightly decorated with a medium sized storage chest at the foot of the bed.

"Mom, I brought some food," Amon said, slowly walking to her bed. He steadied the bowl and spoon in his mother's shriveled hands. Her frail arms shook slightly under their weight. She looked older than she actually was. Her thin hair was a soft platinum color—a stark contrast to the thick, golden locks she once had.

"You've eaten some too, right?" she asked worriedly, her misty-green eyes staring at his tired face as he sat down next to her.

Amon nodded before changing the subject.

"I'm going to exchange some contribution points. We need more rice, vegetables, and black nuts."

Rebecca giggled at his serious tone, gently ruffling his hair. He closed his eyes and smile; the feeling was quite pleasant to him and he enjoyed her spoiling him on occasion.

"Oh my," his mother said, playfully tugging at his hair, causing him to open his eyes.

She held out her black-stained hand causing him to avoid her gaze.

"Why don't you forget about the black nuts? You could save the points and use them on other things for yourself after a few months."

"I need them, mom. I don't want anything else for myself, having them is enough for me."

He couldn't look at her loving face. He knew he'd give in to her requests if he did.

She started poking him on his arm and then again on his belly. His mother loved trying to make him laugh, even if it meant tickling him.

"I'm thirteen, mom. Don't do that!" he protested with a reddened face.

"Oh, I'm sorry, mister grown-up. You are old enough to refuse my tickles, but not old enough to stop me ruffling your hair, are you?"

Amon grumbled at her comment before turning to face her.

"You know I love your hair and your eyes, don't you? I find them so beautiful. You should really stop with the black nuts, Amon."

"Not yet. Let me keep buying them for a bit longer, alright?'

His shoulders drooped and his head hung low in embarrassment.

"Fine. You've got one month. After that, you'll stop, promise?"

She knew she had to make a compromise early to avoid excuses from him later. She extended her pinky finger to him and he stared at her, slightly confused.

"It is a pinky promise," she continued, "or are you too old for that too?"

A smirk grew on her face and Amon knew he had been defeated. As much as he wanted to keep his hair black, he could never do anything to hurt or anger his mother. Interlocking his pinky with hers, he gave her a wide smile.

"I promise I'll stop," he said, ruffling her hair.

Rebecca scowled with feigned annoyance, before trying to tickle him once more. He dodged her attacks before giving her a hug. She pulled him in tight and kissed his cheek before sending him off. As he exited the room, he left the door open. His mother liked it more when her door was open. It made her feel less restrained. Even with a large bay window letting light into her room, all she could do was dream about going outside again.

Amon entered the living room, making his way to the main door. He suddenly stopped midway, directing his gaze at the strange, guardless sword hanging on the wall. Its glossy, pitch-black scabbard shone like a perfectly polished piece of glass. The thin, single-edged blade was slightly curved, making it good for slashing and chopping. Although it was hidden by the scabbard, Amon knew its color was even darker.

Amon didn't know if it would affect the handling or the balance of the weapon, but the lack of a guard made it seem menacing even when sheathed. It was a sword made only with killing in mind—focused on being swift and aggressive, forgoing defense in exchange of efficiency in murder.

Amon had never held the sword in question, but he had seen his father using it. Raven, he called it. Even though it piqued his curiosity, he had no affection towards the weapon, just hate. If his mother hadn't been so persistent on leaving it there, he would have sold it ages ago.

Feeling himself growing agitated, he quickly left the house to take care of his errands. A sea of lush and vibrant trees surrounded their home. Being on the northern outskirts of the Abyss sect had its perks. The area was quiet and fertile with plenty of streams and rivers to draw water from. The sect's headquarters was located inside of Hell Keeper's Mountain. It was massive in scale and rumored to have been a volcano at some point, though he didn't bother at all with such meaningless things. Looking at the mountain only made him feel queasy and angry.

Despite all farms and livestock belonging to the Outer Sect, Amon and the other members managed them year-round. They exchanged their work for contribution points, which they could use to buy almost anything. Food, medicine, and technique manuals were the most affordable things. Classes from specialized teachers and access to the infamous Red Quarters, located within the Inner Ring, were more expensive.

Housing and land rental also required the use of contribution points. The closer you lived to Hell Keeper's Mountain, the more expensive rent was and the higher your standing in the Outer Sect. Buying your way into the Inner Sect was also an option for those with enough points. However, buying a master to teach you the ways of cultivation was impossible.

People from the Inner Sect lived with just one worry: cultivation. They only had to pursue power and contemplate the mysteries of the world, paying back the sect's investment by doing special missions. While the sect covered all of their daily needs, the elders would handle specific requests or problems, but only if they were worth the trouble.

Amon turned south towards the mountain. He couldn't see the top due to a blanket of white clouds swirling around it. He felt intimidated by its sheer size. Even its shadow seemed as though it would crush him at any moment. His chest felt full. An uneasy feeling welled up inside of him, causing his breathing to turn raspy. Closing his eyes, he took deep breaths until the feeling subsided. The warm sun helped to ease his tense mind. He lowered his head and set off towards the monstrosity in the distance.