Chapter 1: New Beginnings
'The strong eat the weak, that's the law of nature. Don't forget, Bete. You need to keep your fangs sharp.'
'I'll be the strongest, and together we'll be the best!'
'I love you, Bete... Always.'
Orario, 9 Years Before Canon
"Fuck…" A white maned Werewolf massaged his throbbing head while collapsed on a wooden barrel in the middle of a dark alleyway.
The rising sun marked his fourth day in Orario, having arrived less than a week ago. In the short time he had been here, Bete had picked fights with a total of 22 random hoodlums, won a good portion of them... and not much else.
"What am I doing…" he muttered.
Bete had traveled all the way to Orario to become strong — stronger than anyone. Strong enough to never lose a precious person again.
His name was known by no one after the incident. Now, the only record of Bete's existence was a destroyed village and his name jotted down in the Guild's records of new citizens.
After the incident, the Werewolf stumbled his way around various towns for an entire year, scrounging for food and shelter before finally deciding to enter the dungeon city. Orario was the solution he found from the limited information he obtained. He had heard from his father of a glorious city on top of a dungeon where even ordinary commoners could become Heroes.
Of course, talking with people who had actually experienced the dungeon city revealed further information. Many people had warned him about Orario. Even aside from the dungeon itself, danger ran rampant on every street, corner, and crevice. Jealous adventurers, a gaggle of thieves, and even assassinations at night weren't entirely uncommon.
Despite the many righteous Familia that acted as sources of justice or even general providers of help for profit, only a tiny, tiny percentage of people who arrived at Orario with the same hopes as Bete achieved their goals.
However, Bete wasn't deterred. The trauma of losing his entire tribe sparked something inside of him. A fire that wouldn't be extinguished unless he knew he was stronger than a literal God. (Later he would come to realize how ridiculously easy the last goal was, courtesy of a slit-eyed redhead)
Of course, in contrast to his grand aspirations, the Werewolf was currently wearing worn, dirty rags that were the remnants of his tunic and shorts. Bete was sure he stank severely, and he was covered in dirt and grime. Still, his amber eyes shone brightly with determination.
'I need a Familia.'
It was a fact that every new Orario visitor who wanted to reach heights already knew or eventually came to realize.
'Not just an average Familia. A top Familia where he wouldn't have to worry about anyone holding him back. Yes, that kind of Fam-'
'Are you finished?'
'Oh, right. I forgot about you.' On top of the small list of accomplishments he had accrued during his time in Orario, Bete was also hallucinating. Hooray!
'I am not a hallucation.'
The voice was growly and masculine. Not unpleasing, but still threatening. Bete had heard hints of this voice during his trip to Orario, but he could only start to understand the words after his arrival.
'Anyways, I need information. I wasted too much time already. Father told me that one has the most opportunity for growth in their youth. I should gather some basic information, a list of top Familia, maybe some-'
'Have you finally gotten over that foolish girl?'
"Shut up."
Bete's expression contorted into a scowl.
'You claim you wish to leave behind your weakness, yet you cling to your past. Look at your foolish self. Fighting idiots on the street for your so-called pride. Knowing what to do yet refusing to put it into action.'
"Shut up!"
'If you wish to improve, you need to embrace change.'
"Yeah, and I think a perfect first step would be getting this voice removed from my head."
'You would dare remove your only hope at becoming the strongest in the world?'
"A voice in my head promising me the greatest power is about as believable as a pacifist Amazoness. Try growing a white beard and shoving yourself in some jewelry, then maybe I'll bite."
'Hmph! You doubt my prowess? Then let me prove myself. There is an enemy approaching from the right corner. He would be difficult for your current pathetic self. If you wish to emerge victorious and claim your desired power, then quickly vow your allegiance to this great one.'
"Another idiot? They really don't learn, do they," he grumbled.
Bete hopped off the comfortable barrel that had suited as his bed for the last few days. Honestly, there wasn't much he couldn't sleep without. His tribe slept on the hard, rocky ground with a few tents as cover.
As he walked towards the entrance of the alley, he reminisced on how this had all started. Of the 22 previously counted idiots that Bete had beat up, he had only approached 2 of them. He barely remembered their ugly mugs. Instead, what came clearly into his mind were the two blue and purple, beat-up faces after he was done with them.
Four Days Ago
⌜ "Hey, hey, hey!"
Not even an hour had passed after he was admitted into Orario. In his defense, Bete had just gone through hours upon hours of exhausting wait in a line filled with strange races, egotistical men boasting about their father's great uncle's nephew who was a prestigious Level 2 Adventurer after a grueling 12 years, and, worst of all, crying babies (who brought babies to a dungeon?).
'Is It Wrong to Try to Bring Babies in a Dungeon?'
'What?'
'Nothing.'
As a short, 9 year old Werewolf in the rough city of Orario, going about his life in a peaceful manner wasn't exactly easy. Combined with his already-rough personality, his mere existence was a recipe for disaster.
So anyone could understand why, when a pair of ugly humans invited him into a dark alley for a friendly conversations with the strangest smile possible that somehow made them even uglier, the Werewolf also grinned back.
Bete was from a nomadic tribe that only respected strength and battles. For two background extras who weren't even part of a proper Familia, even his adolescent body was plenty.
"AHH!"
"NOO!"
"IYAAA! Y-YAMETE~"
With one last final hit, Bete pulled back with a disgusted expression. At the very least, he expected them to properly fight back, but their scrappy resistance broke down into a pathetic begging half-kneel. Their faces were mangled, yet they almost seemed better than before.
'Honestly, I feel they should thank you.'
Bete snorted.
"Pathetic. Why do you go provoking danger you can't handle like that."
'Well... I vaguely recall you approaching them.'
His face grew red, yet he grit his teeth and stood by his words.
"W-well they shouldn't have irritated me with their weird faces!"
'I believe you mortals call that a smile.'
"Shut up! Stay locked in my head!"
'I am.'
"I... I'm done with arguing with myself. I came here to get stronger, not to give myself an identity crisis at the age of 9."
'...'
Little did he know, beating up those two idiots would bring upon troubles beyond anything he imagined.
.
.
.
The day from that moment onwards was packed with fighting random men in the alley. He couldn't even have an hour to himself before another hoodlum snuck up on him with a nefarious smirk.
"I'll kill you, Werewo- Agh!"
"You mother- Ack!"
"Wait- AHH!"
At some point, Bete felt their stock of runts were running low on quality.
"For Narnia!"
"Sasageyo!"
The following day was the same, save for a strange guy with a sign of a green-haried elf with the words, 'Riveria-Tan~' written in bold, pink letters. The i's dotted with hearts was the cherry on top.
While he had no idea who the supposed 'Riveria-Tan' was, that was indeed the man's battle cry as he charged into a harsh beating. He was definitely... strange.
3rd day? Rinse and repeat. After the 20th guy, Bete was finally sick of beating up random men. He chose the last victim as an interrogation target, and a few hard smacks revealed what kind of a headache he brought upon himself.
"O-ow! Ouch! Okay! I'll tell you..."
"Spill."
It took another harsh shake of his shirt collar to reveal the truth.
"You... you're a dead man. Do you even know who you touched yesterday?"
"No. That's why I'm beating you up."
Cough
Bete let go of his collar to dodge the spurt of blood.
"I'll tell you who," the man said mysteriously, wiping the blood from his mouth. "Those two were the younger brothers of the uncle of the step-sister of the cousin twice-removed of the personal massager of the greatest Level 2 in the city of Orario, no the entire world! The magical, magnanimous, John Doe of the Doe Dynasty!"
"..."
Bete's eyes became dazed and unfocused.
'Ah... so they weren't just normal idiots... they were dumbasses.'
The man seemed to have mistook his dumbfounded look for a look of fear.
"Haha! Do you regret things now? Well it's too late. You won't last much longer. Within a few days, an actual Level 1 wielding Falna will come deal with you. So count your remaining days... Bete Loga."
"!"
"Hehe... that's right, we know your name. You can't hide anymore. We know everything about you."
"You..."
"BWA HA HA HA! HA HA HA HA! HA HA HA-"
cough, cough, cough
"-HA HA HA HA HA!"
"So... you went to the Guild and asked about a grey haired, orange-eyed Werewolf kid?"
It was the beaten up man's turn to be shocked.
"H-How did you know our secret intelligence gathering technique?"
'Because no one else who knows my name is alive.'
Bete slapped his own forehead with annoyance. "You fuckers..."
He clenched his fists tightly.
"Fine! You want to play, let's play. Keep sending homeless guys after me and see what happens. Just know..."
He snarled against the poor man's face, scaring him shitless. "I won't be acting this nicely anymore." ⌟
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
noveler132
noveler132 Just a fic I was inspired for. I don't know how long this will go for but I'm hoping it'll be a long novel. I have a lot of good ideas for later scenes all the way until the start of canon and a whole plotline, so fingers crossed.
(Btw, this will be a pretty slow-burn)
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