Shattered Gate: The SSS-Rank Mirror Inheritance

A threadbare teenager with messy black hair and a narrow frame stood on the rooftop of an old building. His name was Reid Eulison, fourteen years old, currently living in the city's lowest districts. Despite his spindly arms and exhausted face, tension lined every muscle as he stared down at the alley below.

He was waiting for someone—though not with any real enthusiasm. His eyes were glued to the street, searching for the silhouette of a man who'd promised to buy some salvaged circuit boards. Selling scrap was one of the few ways Reid could pay rent for his tiny room, feed himself, and maybe save enough to someday leave this dying corner of civilization.

"This place stinks," he muttered under his breath. He inhaled the pungent odor of garbage and rust, letting out a cough.

Before he could consider heading home, the faint screech of tires pierced the quiet. His buyer had arrived—though not alone. From this height, Reid made out three dark figures stepping out of an old car.

Immediately, his stomach twisted. He recognized the two silhouettes on either side of the buyer as enforcers from the Stonefang Gang. Each wore a battered leather jacket stamped with a coiled-serpent emblem. They definitely weren't here for pleasant conversation.

He glanced at the battered duffel bag at his feet. Those boards…they were worth a small fortune on the black market. His buyer seemed to have invited muscle to ensure he could haggle the price down—or snatch them outright. Reid grit his teeth, stuffing the duffel strap over his shoulder. "Yep. Always the short end of the stick," he muttered.

Still, he needed every coin from this deal. He was behind on rent, and if the landlord kicked him out, he'd be stuck sleeping on the streets—or far worse.

He couldn't back down now. Steeling himself, Reid pushed off the roof's ledge and made his way down the shaky exterior ladder.

The buyer—a middle-aged man known in the slums as "Gorin"—narrowed his eyes at the sound of shoes hitting the pavement. "You're late," he barked.

Reid shrugged, trying to keep his expression neutral. "You're early," he countered, keeping a careful few meters between them. He offered a small wave with one hand while gripping the duffel with the other. "Got the boards. Got my time. Let's just make this quick."

Gorin's two Stonefang muscleheads exchanged glances. One had a long scar cutting across his cheek, the other fiddled with a heavy baton. Typical intimidation tactics. They were both half a head taller and at least twice as wide as Reid. Good luck outrunning them if it came to that.

"Show me," Gorin demanded.

Taking a deep breath, Reid unzipped the duffel just enough for the faint glint of metal to reflect in the alley light. Damaged boards, yes—but top-tier salvage. Usually used in old weapon mod panels and scanning devices. With some repair work, they'd sell for five times the cost to the right black-market buyer.

Gorin leaned in. His eyes widened slightly in greed before his face went flat. "You said seventy-five credits for each."

"And that's already a discount," Reid replied, forcing his voice to stay steady. "Believe me, it took me months to find these in the scrap heaps. Seventy-five is fair."

One of the Stonefang goons snorted. "Kid's got a mouth on him."

Gorin smirked. "You see, we looked around. People say these things are worth maybe…one hundred credits? You must be downright suicidal to be hawking them for seventy-five. Which means either you're lying or you're desperate."

Reid's heartbeat pounded. "My conditions don't matter. I gave you a price. Pay up or walk away."

"Really now?" Gorin gestured slightly, and the thug with the baton took a step forward. "Let's do a little better. How about fifteen?"

Fifteen? That was an insult. Barely enough to buy food for the week. Anger flared in Reid's chest, but he quelled it. A confrontation with three grown men, plus Stonefang connections, spelled death. Right now, he had nothing but a small folding knife in his pocket and too much pride to beg.

Reid swallowed. "You're insane. The boards are worth more than that."

The goon took another menacing step. "He said fifteen. You deaf?"

In that tense moment, Reid's mind flashed back to the rumor swirling around Stonefang. They had a new boss, someone unbelievably vicious. The entire gang had been making examples out of random folks who didn't pay "tribute." If he resisted too hard, he'd end up another victim.

Yet, if he sold for fifteen, that might not even cover his current debt. "I can't. Not for fifteen. That's too—"

A baton whistled through the air. Pain exploded across Reid's forearm as he reflexively blocked. He staggered backward, biting back a cry. The duffel tumbled from his shoulder, landing at the gang members' feet. One of the men stomped on the bag, as if asserting ownership.

Gorin shook his head. "Tsk. You really thought this was gonna end different?"

Reid's vision swam. This was about to get much worse. The baton-wielding goon charged again, faster than expected. Reid barely twisted aside, but the second goon threw a punch that clipped his shoulder, sending him sprawling onto the dirty pavement.

He gasped, scrambling to stand. But a heavy boot pinned him in place. The baton rose—

[WELCOME TO THE SHATTERED GATE]

A dissonant voice thundered inside Reid's skull. For a split second, the entire world seemed to crack like glass. Sparkling shards of some intangible barrier glinted in front of his vision, only to vanish an instant later. The baton descended—but abruptly stopped.

"Hey, you seeing this?" The thug blinked in confusion, lowering his arm. He looked around the alley as if expecting to find an intruder. Gorin's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Reid's heart hammered against his ribs. That voice…he'd heard it. But nobody else seemed to. His fear momentarily turned to shock and curiosity. Something had just happened. Something that made the Stonefang enforcers hesitate.

He exploited it immediately, slamming his knee up into the man's thigh. It was enough to loosen the pin. Reid wriggled free and dove for the duffel. His fingers caught the strap. With adrenaline surging, he sprinted blindly down the alleyway, ignoring the curses echoing behind him.

"Get him!" Gorin roared.

Reid's thin legs propelled him forward. He felt an unnatural clarity in his mind, as if the world had slowed around him. He dashed around a corner, hugging the duffel to his chest. They were still behind him, but he knew these alleys better than them—he hoped.

Ducking under a sagging fence, Reid panted, sweat trickling down his temple. He risked a glance behind. No immediate pursuers in sight—maybe they'd split up. Great. That meant he could run straight into them if unlucky.

"All for a stupid handful of circuit boards," he hissed through clenched teeth.

[STABILIZATION FAILURE. NEW HOST RECOGNIZED. COMPLY WITH SHATTERED GATE PROTOCOL.]

That voice again. It was toneless and chilling, neither male nor female. Reid almost dropped the bag in shock. "W-Who's there?"

No response came. Only a looming sense of pressure behind his eyes, like a migraine forming. A garbage can clanged somewhere down the alley. He flinched, pressing himself against a damp brick wall, straining to quiet his breaths.

He felt something shift deep in his chest, a faint pulse of energy—if that was even the right word. The presence was intangible, but it felt undeniably real.

[ENTERING PHASE ONE: AWAKENED HOST. THE SHATTERED GATE OPENS, BESTOWING FIRST MIRROR UPON THE HOST.]

A wave of dizziness enveloped Reid. The bricks behind him seemed to warp. Light from a flickering streetlamp danced in weird patterns. He slid down, nearly dropping to his knees. He was sure he was hallucinating. The stress, the beatdown—maybe he was concussed.

He took a shaky breath. "Focus. Focus," he whispered. "You can't pass out here."

Two silhouettes emerged at the far end of the alley. One had a baton, the other a short blade. They spotted him, their eyes alight with anger and greed. "There!" the baton thug shouted.

Reid clenched his jaw. With no clear path forward, no sure exit, he needed a miracle. The baton goon advanced. The other spread out to flank. Reid's chance of outrunning them again was near zero in this cramped space.

Terror spiked in his chest. He pressed his back to the wall, scanning for an improvised weapon. Just more garbage. There was no way out.

[THE FIRST MIRROR: REFRACTION OF MOTION]

A swirl of shards blinked into existence around his right arm. They looked like broken pieces of mirror, each reflecting dim neon lights.

Reflexively, he raised his hand. The shards coalesced, forming a translucent bracer that flickered like a shifting reflection on water. It attached to his forearm, faint lines crisscrossing in an alien pattern.

He didn't understand. He didn't have time to question. He simply accepted it.

The baton thug lunged first, the heavy weapon whistling. Reid, unsure what else to do, flung his arm forward in a desperate attempt to shield himself. As baton collided with the bracer, the force seemed to distort. He heard a metallic ring, then saw the baton jerk back as if deflected by a thick steel barrier. The goon stumbled, eyes wide.

"What the—?!"

Reid's eyes widened too. The impact had sent a wave of shocks through the bracer, but he felt almost no pain. In that moment, something flickered in his mind:

[Aspect: Mirror's Touch]

[Function: When impacted by physical force, the bracer deflects and partially returns kinetic energy to the attacker.]

It was like reading an entry in a virtual manual, the words forming unbidden in his head. This was insane. Another blow aimed at his shoulder, but Reid stepped aside, bracer raised. The weapon slammed into the translucent mirror once more. The impact skittered off, forcing the thug's wrist to twist painfully. He howled, dropping the baton.

A surge of astonished relief coursed through Reid. This mirror-bracer was some kind of defensive ability. Did he dare go on the offensive?

Before he could decide, the second thug lunged with a short blade. More direct and lethal. Reacting on instinct, Reid angled the bracer. The blade struck. A flash of silver sparks erupted as metal slid across shimmering glass. The second thug hissed, his knife nearly wrenched from his hand.

"Y-you little freak!" The man spat, retreating a step. Blood trickled from a cut on his palm, likely from the recoil.

Reid swallowed. The duffel weighed heavily on his shoulder. He had to do more than just block. Another memory—no, more like a revelation—hit him like a lightning bolt:

[Reflection Surge: Absorb a small portion of the last impact to amplify a user's next physical strike by a mild factor. Current limit: 1 stored instance.]

So that's how it worked. He had some measure of "reflection" to turn defense into an attack. Steeling himself, Reid snapped forward, driving his bracer-arm at the thug's chest. He'd never been in a real fight beyond scuffles, but adrenaline guided him. The stored energy from the knife strike discharged in a jarring collision. The thug staggered back, eyes rolling. He crashed into a pile of wooden crates, unconscious or at least dazed.

The baton goon recoiled, fear in his eyes. "H-how are you…? What are you?"

Reid had no idea. But he seized the moment, pivoting and sprinting out of the alley. The battered duffel threatened to slip from his grip, but he clutched it tight. He heard the thug's curses behind him, but no pursuit. Maybe the gangster realized continuing would be suicidal, or maybe he was too shocked to react.

Only once Reid had run three blocks did he slow, lungs burning. He stumbled behind a locked storefront's awning, finally letting his trembling legs give out. His entire right arm tingled. The bracer was gone, leaving no trace except his rapid heartbeat. He exhaled, disbelieving.

"What the hell…was that?"

In his mind, the strange voice offered no reply, but an echo lingered:

[PHASE ONE INITIATION COMPLETE. FURTHER SHATTERS TO BE REVEALED.]

Fighting back a wave of nausea, Reid gazed at the starless sky. No matter how many questions hammered at him, one thing was clear: He was alive. And something had chosen him—some system or power called the "Shattered Gate." Maybe it was a blessing. Maybe a curse. But it had saved his life, and that was enough for now.