The Abused is The Abuser in Another World

Chapter 9: The Grimreaper's Hunger

Noir stepped out of the chamber, feeling the chill of the forest air bite against his skin, the mist swirling around him like a shroud. The dense canopy overhead blocked much of the weak sunlight, casting everything in a perpetual twilight. His footsteps were quiet on the leaf-strewn ground, his senses alert to every rustle, every distant sound of movement.

Yet, despite the oppressive silence and the shadows that seemed to close in around him, his thoughts were louder than ever. The merging of souls, the strange game-like dashboard—these new realities weighed heavily on him. But a more pressing thought pierced through the noise in his mind.

How can I execute my revenge... if I'm not even in my old world?

The realization struck him like a hammer blow, sending a wave of cold dread through his veins. His goal, his single-minded purpose... it seemed further away than ever. He was trapped in a land he did not know, surrounded by creatures he could barely comprehend. How could he find Jess now? How could he fulfill his vow?

I don't even know where I am... or how to get back...

Takir's voice interrupted his thoughts, cutting through the silence like a knife. "Your steps falter, mortal. Are you lost, or merely hesitant?"

Asmodeus was quick to add his own contemptuous sneer. "So, the junk collector finally realizes the futility of his so-called vengeance. You're as pathetic as I thought."

Noir's lips tightened into a thin line. "You both talk as if you know me," he said, his voice carrying a sharp edge through the stillness of the forest. "But you know nothing. You don't know what I've been through, what I've lost... or why I need my revenge."

Takir's tone softened slightly, a hint of curiosity creeping in. "Then tell us, boy. Share your tale. Perhaps we might better understand this rage that drives you."

Noir hesitated, his grip tightening on the handle of The Grimreaper. He had never spoken of his past, never felt the need to explain himself to anyone. But now, with two powerful beings residing in his very soul, perhaps it was time to let them see the truth of who he was.

Taking a deep breath, he began. "I wasn't always a scavenger. I was born to wealthy parents, people with power, influence... and no room in their perfect lives for an inconvenient child." His voice was calm, but a deep anger simmered beneath the surface.

"They handed me off to a desperate couple in the slums, paid them to take me, and walked away without a second thought." He continued, a bitter edge creeping into his tone. "To my biological parents, I was a mistake... an inconvenience. And to the couple who took me in, I was nothing more than a way to make some quick money."

Asmodeus's voice was filled with a mocking tone. "So, you were tossed away like trash. How tragic. And here I thought you might actually have something interesting to say."

Noir ignored him, pressing on. "The money they were given vanished fast—spent on booze, gambling, and whatever else they could waste it on. I was just another mouth to feed, another burden they didn't want. They took their frustrations out on me... beat me, starved me, treated me like I was less than human."

Takir remained silent, listening intently as Noir continued. "I was forced to scavenge for scraps, to dig through garbage for anything I could sell. I became a junk collector, roaming the slums, trying to survive. I saw other children going to school, learning, growing... while I was stuck in the dirt, digging through refuse. I wanted more. I wanted a chance."