Sitting atop a tree, a skinny young man with messy hair was deeply engrossed in his book. Bathed in moonlight, his imagination ran wild as he read a battle novel featuring the mythical creatures Godzilla and King Kong. He kept flipping through the pages, seemingly unaware—or unconcerned—about the situation around him.
"Ckikikiki," he chuckled, imagining himself amid the battle between Godzilla and King Kong, trying to reconcile the two beasts.
In his imagination, Godzilla let out a blazing fire breath to attack King Kong. But the giant gorilla easily dodged it, leapt high into the air, and struck Godzilla with a powerful punch. He grew irritated with the two, endlessly fighting with no chance of reconciliation. So, he summoned his power—an arrow of love. Once that arrow pierced the hearts of Godzilla and King Kong, the two instantly made peace like old friends.
"Wouldn't it be cool to have a power like that," he whispered.
His imagination was so vivid that it made him utterly indifferent to the noisy surroundings, where nearby, others were hard at work training for battle. Not far from the tree was an open field where several people practiced combat—punching, kicking, dodging, even rolling across the dirt.
Their breath grew heavy, indicating exhaustion had crept into every muscle. But the fear of death was evident in their eyes, pushing them to keep going.
"Booza! Get down here and train so you don't die tomorrow morning!"
An old man training the youth for battle approached him. He called Booza to come down and train with the others in preparation for the grand event of the Luzia Kingdom—Genocide.
"Hey! There's a massacre tomorrow morning. Don't you care enough to train your body at least?" the old man shouted louder, irritated to see Booza lazing around in a tree.
---
The Kingdom of Luzia, where Booza lived, had a twisted tradition: a massacre of its own citizens. Held once every ten years, this was no ordinary slaughter—it was believed to be a way to awaken magical powers. At least, that's what the kingdom's ruling elites claimed.
This event was mandatory for every citizen of Luzia over the age of 18. Children below that age were relocated to the outskirts, where poverty and isolation reigned. That was where the battle—the massacre—would take place.
The announcement of this upcoming bloodbath had been made five months ago. Everyone knew. That's why they trained nonstop, hoping to survive. Training took place in the streets, in parks, even inside homes. The entire city rang with the clash of swords, the thunk of axes, and the screams of pain.
For the city dwellers, battle was no cause for fear—it was a source of pride. They were eager, impatient even, to test their strength. Combat and survival skills were taught from early childhood. Their bodies were strong. Even without magic, they were terrifying.
But it was a different story for those on the outskirts, like Booza. Formal education or proper combat training was a luxury they couldn't afford. They lived day-to-day, scrounging for food to survive. Each day, they went into the city to serve as laborers or servants for the nobles, returning late at night with aching bodies, too tired to even consider training.
---
Booza was thoroughly annoyed that the old man interrupted his peaceful reading time. It wasn't that he didn't want to train—he had tried. But his body simply wasn't made for combat. Ever since the announcement of the massacre, he'd pushed himself hard to train. But nothing had changed. His body was still weak, and his movements were still slow.
Once, he even tried running—only to collapse after 100 meters. His chest burned, his legs cramped, and his vision blurred before he blacked out.
"When the slaughter begins, you'll be dead in a second."
That's what his peers said, mocking him. They couldn't understand how someone could lack battle talent in a world drenched in bloodshed.
Under the moon's glow, his frustration with the old man's interruption was visible.
"Leave me alone, uncle. I don't feel like training tonight."
The old man only snorted in frustration and walked away, returning to train the other youth in that filthy corner of the kingdom.
But the truth was, Booza hadn't given up. He didn't want to die without a fight. He did have a plan for the massacre—he was going to hide in a bunker. He had built one beneath his neighbor's house—Grandma Karel. Just a few more hours, and he would slip into hiding, praying no one would find him when the killing began.
That was why he didn't want to train tonight. He just wanted to relax and enjoy his hobbies: reading, writing, and imagining. But again, his plan was disrupted—this time by Karel herself, who suddenly appeared beneath the tree.
"Booza! Get down now!"
Her shout shattered his fantasy battle with Godzilla and King Kong. Startled, he lost his balance and fell hard from the tree. He groaned in pain, glaring with annoyance.
"What is it?"
"We need to hide. Now," Karel whispered urgently.
Booza still looked annoyed. He thought it was too early to go into the bunker.
"It's still too late at night."
Karel's expression hardened. She didn't like being questioned.
"Move it!"
Left with no choice, Booza gave in. The two of them walked together down a muddy path, the ground soaked from clogged drains and overflowing garbage. Waste floated everywhere—from the slums and the richer city areas. It was a place unfit for human life. But for people like Booza and Grandma Karel, it was their only reality.
After a slow, sloshy walk, they finally arrived home. Like Booza, Karel lived alone. Their homes were side by side. Booza was her closest companion, caring for her like his own mother. Often, he would share the little money he earned from his daily servant work.
Karel's house was barely a house. It looked like a shack on the verge of collapse. Inside, it was just as bad—disorganized and crumbling.
Booza headed straight to Karel's bedroom, pushed aside her bed, and revealed a trapdoor leading underground—the entrance to the bunker. Without saying a word, Karel carefully descended the stairs.
Once she was out of sight, Booza pulled the bed back over the entrance and crawled beneath it himself, entering the narrow tunnel he had built.
The tunnel was shaped like a tube with steps leading down. At the bottom was the bunker. Karel was already there, looking uneasy.
"It's so stuffy in here."
Booza smiled faintly. He knew her body wasn't what it used to be. She didn't deserve this suffering. But this was the only way to survive the coming massacre.
"Just a little longer," he said. "It's only a few hours now."
The bunker was a half-circle about three meters wide. It was stocked with food and water. Everything they needed was there—if they got hungry, they'd be fine.
Karel lay down on a thin mat with a small pillow. It was now midnight. Before sleeping, she gave Booza one last piece of advice, hoping he would live through tomorrow.
"When the sun rises, the queen will leave her palace and bring disaster upon us outsiders."
"A magic circle will appear beneath anyone who doesn't yet have magic power. That's why city folks have the advantage. The queen's path begins in the city, so their young ones awaken powers sooner and adapt faster. Unlike kids from the slums like you."
"This is your first time experiencing this cursed ritual. So when the sun rises, you must be ready. Discover your power quickly—if you want to survive."