Arcane: Sea of ​​blood

Abel, barely alive, crawled out of the ditch, his body still trembling from pain and exhaustion. He looked around: he was in the outskirts of Zaun, and they were far worse than what he had heard about in the shelter. This was a world ruled by chaos, poverty, and violence. The narrow streets were filled with trash, and the air was thick with the smell of chemicals and rot. In this part of Zaun, where he found himself, there were few of the alchemical neon lights that burned so brightly in the center. Here, the light was dim, barely piercing through the thick chemical fog that perpetually hung over the streets. The few functioning streetlights flickered, as if struggling against the darkness, while most were either broken or extinguished. Shadows from the ruined buildings stretched along the streets, creating the impression that the city itself was a living entity, ready to devour anyone who dared to challenge it.

The people he saw looked just as worn out as he was. Their eyes were empty, and their movements were slow, as if they had already resigned themselves to their fate. They walked, constantly glancing over their shoulders, as if expecting an attack from the shadows. Abel felt their gazes slide over him, assessing whether he was a threat or, conversely, easy prey. He understood that here, his abilities could be both an advantage and a liability. His "Adaptation" had already begun to work, healing his wounds, but he knew that in this world, no one could be trusted. He had to be careful.

"Is this Zaun?" he thought, looking around. "The place Mom spoke of with such hatred?" He felt disappointment rising in his chest but quickly suppressed it. Now was not the time for emotions. Now was the time to survive.

"Why was I reborn?" he wondered, staring at his hands, covered in scratches and chemical burns. "Of all the possible worlds, why did I have to be born into this one? Why here, in this hell? Why? What did I do to deserve this?" He clenched his fists, feeling a weak anger bubbling inside him. But he knew now was not the time for questions. Now, he needed to find a way to survive.

The outskirts of Zaun, as he saw them, were a place where life and death were so closely intertwined that it was sometimes hard to tell one from the other. The chemical fog hanging in the air made everything around him slightly blurred, as if reality itself was unstable. He saw people walking the streets, their figures barely visible through the haze. They moved slowly, as if every action required immense effort. Some of them coughed, their lungs likely long poisoned by the air. But they kept going because stopping meant death.

Abel noticed that even the children here looked old. Their eyes lacked the light that usually accompanies youth. They played among the garbage, their games cruel and aimless, as if they already knew their future was predetermined. He saw a boy, no older than ten, trying to snatch a piece of rotten fruit from another. Their struggle was brief and merciless. The winner ran off, leaving the loser lying on the ground, crying from pain and hunger.

He kept walking, trying to stay in the shadows. His body still ached, but he knew he had to keep moving forward. He noticed people looking at him, but no one approached. They watched him with suspicion, not sympathy. There was no place for compassion here. Here, everyone was an enemy until proven otherwise.

Abel walked down a narrow alley, trying not to draw attention to himself. His bare feet stepped on the cold, sticky ground covered in dirt and chemical waste. Each step caused a slight burning sensation, but he was used to pain. It was his constant companion. Silence surrounded him, broken only by the occasional sound of footsteps and distant screams. 

He walked with his head down until he noticed two beggars ahead. Their figures were hunched, their clothes torn and dirty, much like his own now. They approached slowly but with a certain purpose. Their eyes gleamed with hunger, but upon seeing that Abel had nothing of value, they snorted dismissively and continued on their way.

But a moment later, one of them stopped. "Hey, kid," he said, turning around. "You look like you just crawled out of hell. You don't even have pants. What are you doing here?"

Abel stopped, not answering for a long time, which made the speaker snort again and continue on his way. Abel knew he needed to be careful, but he also needed information. He gritted his teeth and stopped them before they could leave.

"Wait," he rasped. "I'm new here. Tell me, how do I survive in this place?"

The beggars exchanged glances, and then one of them smirked. His face was covered in scars, and his eyes were cold and lifeless.

"Survive?" He waved his hand toward the city. "Look at us. If we knew how to survive, we wouldn't be like this. But if you're young, try getting a job at one of the chem-barons' factories. They always need workers."

Abel shook his head, feeling like he was wasting his time. He knew that working at a factory meant slave labor, and once you got in, it was nearly impossible to get out. There, you were given two choices: either you became useful and died in the factory, or you became useless and died in the factory—the only difference was how long it took to die. Besides, the very thought of being someone's slave disgusted him. He thanked the beggars and walked on, but their words helped him realize the reality he was in. He needed to find another way.

As Abel was about to disappear around the corner, the beggar glanced around as if checking to see if anyone was nearby who might be listening.

"There are gangs," he whispered. "They control the districts. If you can prove your usefulness, they might take you in. But be careful. They don't forgive mistakes."

Abel nodded, feeling plans begin to form in his mind. He knew it wouldn't be easy, but he was ready for anything.

The beggar nodded and left, leaving Abel alone with his thoughts.

Realizing that surviving in the city would be difficult, Abel decided to return to the ditch he had crawled out of. The place was dangerous, but it offered some protection. It was definitely better than being stabbed by some beggar in his sleep over a piece of bread. At least in the sewers, there was no one to do that, simply because the high toxicity made it impossible for anyone to survive there except him and the mutated rats.

Standing at the edge, he looked once more at the murky, toxic liquid emitting a foul stench, reminding himself once again that surviving in his condition was already a miracle. Suppressing his gag reflex, he began to climb down, ignoring the corrosive tingling in his feet from the chemicals that had eaten away at his clothes.

As he remembered from the series, beneath Zaun lay abandoned mines, sewage pipes, and ventilation shafts—all of it built through the efforts of Zaun's people under the watchful eye of Piltover. Abel recalled how Jinx had once used these passages to deliver a "surprise" to the residents of the upper city. Remembering those moments, he felt a faint smile touch his face, thinking that in the future, he might be able to use these same paths to pay a visit to some old "acquaintances."

After twenty minutes of walking, he found what he was looking for: a relatively chemical-free concrete platform at a junction of sewer paths. The place was far from ideal, but it could serve as a temporary shelter.

Abel began inspecting the platform, trying to figure out how to make it livable, but the thought quickly faded as soon as it appeared. There was nothing around that could help him. No furniture, no tools, not even a piece of cloth. The only thing surrounding him was the stench of toxic waste.

The platform itself looked like a former outpost for workers who must have stored their tools here. Bare floors, concrete walls, and a ceiling supported by a couple of stone columns, now reduced to exposed rebar.

Abel sat down on the cold concrete floor, leaning against the wall. His body still ached from exhaustion, but he knew he couldn't rest for long. He had to act. He looked around again, trying to find something useful, but all he saw was trash and signs of decay. In the corner, he noticed a few rocks that had likely broken off from the ceiling or walls. They were jagged and sharp-edged but could serve as tools for defense or hunting.

Thoughts of food began to torment him again. His stomach twisted with hunger, and he realized he could no longer delay finding something to eat. The rats he had seen earlier were the only available food source in this place. Trying to hit a couple of rats as they scurried past, he quickly realized they were too fast to catch, and their hides were tough—the stones just bounced off them as they fled.

"I need to come up with something," he thought, gripping a rock in his hand. "Otherwise, I'll just starve to death."

He stood up and began slowly circling the platform, finding nothing. "If only I could use bait..." he thought, deciding to go back and retrieve the rat he had recently defeated in a battle for survival. He dragged the half-eaten rat, now emitting a foul smell of rot, back to the center of the platform.

Holding half of the rat in his hands like a precious treasure, he placed it in the center. Then, gritting his teeth, he cut his finger with the sharp edge of a rock, letting a drop of blood fall onto the carcass. The smell of blood, even his own, would attract the rats. He knew they could sense it from afar.

Now, all he had to do was wait. Abel looked around for a place to hide. His gaze fell on one of the rebar structures that once supported the place but now jutted out from the walls and ceiling. They should be strong enough to hold his weight, at least for a short time. After a few more minutes of struggling, he managed to climb up the half-collapsed column and secured himself on the rebar, trying not to make noise. His hands trembled from the strain, but he knew he had to hold on.

The minutes dragged by slowly. Abel felt his fingers going numb, but he couldn't afford to climb down. Finally, he heard a rustling sound. A rat emerged from the shadows. It was large, with glossy fur and red eyes. Cautiously approaching the carcass, it began sniffing it, occasionally glancing around.

Abel froze, trying not to breathe. His heart pounded so loudly he thought the rat would surely hear it. But the rodent, enticed by the smell of blood, didn't notice the danger. When the rat leaned down to grab the carcass, Abel let go of the rebar and dropped down like a sack of stones.

His body crashed onto the rat, and he immediately wrapped his arms around it, trying to keep it from escaping. The rat hissed, biting his hands again, but Abel sank his teeth into its neck. Hot, acrid blood sprayed into his mouth. He felt its taste burning his tongue but didn't let go. The rat struggled weakly until it finally went still. After the rat's death, a small crimson flower bloomed where it had died.

Abel leaned back, breathing heavily. His hands and face were covered in blood, and his body trembled from the exertion. He looked at the dead rat, feeling a mix of disgust and satisfaction. This was food. Dirty, smelly, but food.

He picked up a rock and began to butcher the carcass, trying to remove the most toxic parts—the liver and intestines—which his "Adaptation" wasn't yet ready to handle. The meat was dark and tough, but he knew he had no other choice. When he took the first bite, his stomach protested, but he forced himself to swallow. The taste was revolting, but he kept eating until he felt the hunger subside slightly. It seemed to him that the first time he ate rat meat, it hadn't been as disgusting—probably thanks to the adrenaline rush.

After eating half the rat, he saved the rest for later, wrapping it in a piece of his already tattered clothing. His stomach began to ache, but he knew it was inevitable. In this world, even food could be poison.

Abel sat back against the cold concrete wall and looked at his hands. They still trembled, but not as much as before. His body was gradually recovering, though his stomach still growled and ached from the toxic meal. He knew this was the price of survival in this world. Here, even food was a luxury, but he couldn't afford to refuse it. Hunger was stronger than fear.

"I have to get stronger," he repeated to himself like a mantra. "Stronger than this world."

But for now, he needed to rest. His body was at its limit, and he knew that without rest, he wouldn't be able to move forward. He settled in, trying not to think about the cold and pain.

He closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax. His breathing slowed, and his thoughts grew quieter. He knew tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for now, he needed to rest. Sleep slowly enveloped him like a warm blanket, and he let himself drift into it, forgetting for a while about the pain and fear.