"Ugh, the stench! Get out of here before you contaminate my store!" the shopkeeper bellowed, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

A group of children, barely teenagers, snickered as they circled me while I was huddled in a doorway. "Look at him, all tattered and dirty," one jeered. "Probably crawling with vermin!"

A woman clutching a perfectly coiffed poodle yanked the leash away from me. "Don't you dare touch Coco, you filthy thing!" she spat, her voice laced with fear and disgust.

A discarded ball bounced at my feet. I reached out, a flicker of hope in my eyes. But a cruel laugh shattered the moment. "Ew, gross! Don't touch it, you'll ruin it!" a child shrieked, snatching the ball away.

"Hey, let's have some fun!" a larger boy called out, a menacing glint in his eyes. His friends gathered around, their laughter echoing cruelly in the otherwise quiet street. "Let's teach the little hobo a lesson!"

A woman walking by cast a pitying glance at me. "Poor thing," she muttered, shaking her head. "Abandoned at birth, they say. But someone's gotta be at the bottom, right? Makes us appreciate the good life more, I suppose."

Thirteen years of garbage. One oversized shirt, a constant reminder of the life I sifted through. Hunger was a constant companion, driving me to steal scraps, to fight for scraps, to exist on scraps. Parents? Strangers lost in the fog of my forgotten past. Unlike some starry-eyed heroes, I craved no reunion. Let them rot, for all I cared.

Poverty was my scarlet letter, my stench a weapon wielded against me. They called me weak, a bag of bones barely clinging to life. Every day, a brutal symphony of slams and jeers, conducted by sadistic children who reveled in my misery. Thirteen years of this torture, until the anger within me, a simmering inferno long ignored, finally threatened to boil over. My soul, numbed by hardship, might have surrendered, but my body… my body held onto a flicker of defiance.

Then, it happened. A strange energy pulsed around me, shimmering in objects, trees, even some of the people who tormented me. My exhaustion blurred the edges of reality. Perhaps this was the end, a twisted dream before the final curtain fell. But no. The energy, the same energy that danced in the world, flooded my core. My body vibrated with an unfamiliar power, a chosen vessel for something magnificent, or something terribly wrong. In a heartbeat, I became one with the ground, the very earth channeling its power into me. Flesh contorted, bone rearranged, and I rose – a grotesque orb of razor-sharp spikes, a horrifying echo of the torment I had endured. The bullies, moments ago spewing their venom, were now mere pincushions, their cruelty silenced forever, their blood covering the floor beneath their corpses.

A twisted smile contorted my face, the first genuine expression I'd felt in years. Justice, brutal and merciless, flowed from my fingertips. I was an outlaw Flow user, born from the ashes of a garbage heap and a lifetime of cruelty. Every fiber of my being despised human society, and my power became my weapon of vengeance. They bled, they screamed, they met the fate they'd gleefully dealt to me for so long. In their final moments, a chilling realization dawned: anyone pushed to the brink could become a monster. And for a glorious, horrifying moment, I was the apex predator that reigned free for two whole years after my awakening!

But hubris is a fickle companion. My reign of terror was intoxicating, fueled by the undeniable truth – I was strong. The Flow, the very lifeblood of our world, hummed within me, a potent echo of my rage. However, my arrogance was shattered when I encountered others like me. Five Flow users, some older, some younger, but their presence paled in comparison to the towering figure at their center.

A single glance at him, and my newfound confidence evaporated. My Flow, a shimmering saint silver, felt like a flickering candle next to his. His aura, a bloody crimson vortex, pulsed with a terrifying heat, a tangible manifestation of his will. It was the Flow of a predator, a tyrant who wouldn't hesitate to crush those who defied him.

"They mentioned a Flow user responsible for the carnage here," he rumbled, his voice heavy with a power that sent shivers down my spine. I remained a trembling mess, my gaze glued to the ground. A cruel humor tinged his voice as he continued, "But instead, I find a diamond in the rough... someone worthy of molding into something magnificent."

His words were honeyed poison. My entire life, I'd been treated as worthless, a stain on society. The idea of someone acknowledging my potential, of offering a hand up, felt like a cruel joke. Yet, there he was, his hand outstretched. For the first time in my life, a sliver of hope flickered within me. Was this salvation, or the start of a new kind of servitude? I reached out, my trembling hand meeting his.

His grip was firm, surprisingly gentle for a man who inspired such awe. Leaving the carnage behind, I entered a world of unimaginable luxury. Warm water cleansed the grime of years, delectable meals tantalized my taste buds, and plush beds coaxed me into a sleep devoid of nightmares. Most importantly, I wasn't alone. Six others, chosen like me, shared this haven. The leader, the man who called himself Argentum, was a legend – feared as a god, revered as a father. Under his tutelage, we, the "Disciples," trained relentlessly. His dream, he declared, was to mold us into Flow practitioners who would one day surpass him.

Surpass him? A scoff escapes my lips whenever I think back at those words. No student could eclipse such a master. His power, a maelstrom of crimson Flow, was unlike anything I'd ever witnessed. He was a force of nature, a predator at the pinnacle of the food chain.

Six years flew by in a whirlwind of grueling exercises and esoteric teachings. By the time I turned twenty-one, our training culminated. Argentum declared us ready, honed to the peak of our abilities. I concurred. Progress had plateaued in the final years, and further lessons felt redundant. He released us, his parting words laced with a hint of melancholy.

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But we, the Disciples, weren't ready to part ways. Gratitude for our training warred with a newfound concern. What about those who, unlike us, couldn't control their nascent Flow? Their uncontrolled power could wreak havoc on the world. After much debate and a few heated arguments, a decision was made. We would establish Chasles Academy, a sanctuary for these "rough diamonds." The Seven Sponsors, as they came to call us, became beacons of hope, guiding lights for a new generation of Flow users.

From scavenger to slayer, to student, to revered mentor – the twists and turns of my life defied my imagination. Misery had indeed shaped me, but into what? A hero? A weapon? Only time would tell.

Each Sponsor bore an inscription, a word etched into our very being that embodied our contribution to the academy: Wealth, Knowledge, Strength, Experience, Unity, Legacy, Creativity. Mine? Experience. From the moment my Flow awakened, it became a weapon for survival, a constant test pushing me to hone my skills. This baptism by fire granted me an uncanny ability to read people, anticipate their moves, feel their emotions with an almost painful intensity. Experience – a truth etched not just in my title, but in the scar tissue of my soul.

We, the Seven Sponsors, stood at the pinnacle of the Flow hierarchy. Yet, even after reaching the clouds, the whispers lingered. Doubt, like a persistent itch, gnawed at me. I could still hear them, the murmurs laced with disdain.

"Lou? Up there with the others? What a joke!"

"Rumor has it he was a gutter rat, a serial killer in his youth. Can you believe it?"

"Empty shell, that one. Just a place filler at the top, they say."

"He barely looks alive, let alone powerful. Can we trust him?"

The whispers fueled a fire within me, a potent mix of anger and a strange sense of vindication. They couldn't see the truth behind the weathered facade. The depths of my experience, the battles I'd fought, the sacrifices I'd made – these were the secrets I held close. Perhaps, one day, they would understand. Or perhaps, the doubt would forever be a thorn in my side.

The polished surface of the mirror mocked me. While my reflection sported the prestigious title of Experience Sponsor, it spoke a different truth. My shoulders, a burden under their own weight, hunched perpetually forward. My black hair, a tangled mess, mirrored the storm within. Even my eyes, shadowed by heavy lids and dark circles, seemed perpetually half-closed, as if refusing to fully engage with the world. The apathy carved into my face by a lifetime of hardship remained, a constant mask that hid the simmering rage beneath. A smile, even for a child's innocent joy, felt like a foreign concept.

Reaching the pinnacle of the Flow hierarchy should have brought a sense of accomplishment. Instead, it tasted like ash in my mouth. Rejection, a familiar sting, still lingered. My ascent hadn't erased the loathing for the society that had cast me aside. Were it not for Argentum's ironclad grip and the fragile unity of the Sponsors, I wouldn't hesitate to answer the whispers with annihilation, to raze the world and rebuild it anew.

The view from the top was a desolate landscape. The climb had been grueling, the sacrifices immense. Yet, here I stood, ostracized even amongst those who acknowledged my power. The whispers, like a relentless parasite, burrowed into my mind. What was the point of it all - the training, the control, the responsibility - if doubt remained the seed of discord? Sometimes, I yearned for my death that might have been, for the killing blow that Argentum could have bestowed instead of this twisted redemption. The academy, my supposed haven, now felt like a gilded cage. Lou, the Experience Sponsor, a man teetering on the edge, a spark waiting to ignite. The embers of my past glowed, a constant reminder of the monster society had helped create.

Life was a bland fruit, devoid of sweetness, offering no sustenance for the soul. Small wonder they all thought me a pessimist. They knew nothing, yet their attempts at consolation were as irritating as gnats buzzing around a rotten melon. Pathetic.

Seeking solace in solitude, I'd built my home on the fringes of society, bordering the Beast Kingdom. Human interaction? Overrated. But tranquility, oh, tranquility was a beautiful dream, one shattered by a rude awakening.

One day. A bloodcurdling scream jolted me from sleep. Ugh. It was Romeo, the head of the Harmonizer department of Chasles Academy, wasn't it? Always the optimist, that one. Head of their district, I believe. Wait, didn’t I already mention that? No matter. Why was he here, disturbing my perfectly orchestrated slumber? I hadn't RSVP'd to any social gatherings lately.

Feigning deeper sleep, I shut down my senses, hoping the silence would be a not-so-subtle hint. Apparently, Romeo wasn't fluent in the language of blissful ignorance. The man was a persistent gnat, buzzing around my head with an annoyingly cheerful voice.

Finally, with a groan that could curdle milk, I cracked open an eye. Mistake. The harsh overhead lights, left on in my pre-sleep forgetfulness, stabbed at my retinas like angry vipers. Why, oh why, did I have to befriend someone as relentlessly optimistic and organized as Romeo? The man was an enigma wrapped in a cheerful disposition, a stark contrast to my perpetually stormy mood. It was enough to make a cynic question his motives.

A guttural growl escaped my throat, a feeble attempt to ward off the intruder. Sleep's grasp still clung to me, my mouth thick and unresponsive. But then, a wave of primal fear washed over me, icy tendrils constricting my chest. My eyelids snapped open, wider than ever before, as if flung back by an invisible hand.

Sweat beaded on my brow despite the chill that gripped me. Instinct took over, propelling me to my feet, sword grasped tight in a trembling hand. My gaze darted around the room, desperate to find the source of the threat, of the power that threatened to crack my carefully constructed composure.

It landed on a figure huddled in the corner. A girl. A young, seemingly harmless girl. Except... her Flow. It wasn't a gift, a spark of potential. It was a storm, a maelstrom of raw power that sent shivers down my spine. The girl's eyes, devoid of innocence, held the cold stare of an executioner, a reaper who had witnessed countless deaths.

A child. Barely six or seven, yet harboring a Flow that dwarfed most adults. She harbored a Flow that dwarfed us, the Sponsors. Had she awakened before the "gifted" age? What anomaly was she?

"Who... what are you? A God?" the question rasped from my throat, the tip of my sword hovering precariously at her throat. Overreacting? Misinterpreting her Flow? The very idea was laughable. Sponsors didn't make mistakes in reading Flow. No. This was the genuine article, a power so potent it sent a tremor through my soul.

But it wasn't just fear that held me captive. There was an unsettling familiarity in her gaze. A mirror reflecting the crimson depths of Argentum's power. Yet, it held something more, a raw, untamed potential that could eclipse even our leader. A goddess in the making. Perhaps even a destroyer of gods.