Lyra screamed, fear gripping her chest like an iron claw. Without thinking, she bolted to Azrael's side, hiding behind him as a pair of burning red eyes emerged from the shadows, accompanied by low, brutal growls.
Hellhounds.
Lyra's voice cracked as she shouted the word, stepping back in horror. The beasts stalked forward, their matted fur bristling, fangs bared, each growl vibrating deep within the ground beneath them.
Azrael knelt suddenly, clutching his head as a jolt of agony tore through his mind.
Visions flooded him—memories he had forgotten.
These beasts... they had killed him once before.
He remembered it now.
He remembered Zoid and Jolene—the traitors who had paralyzed him, left him helpless, as the hellhounds tore into his body.
The betrayal.
The agony.
The cold, bitter end.
The images boiled inside him, morphing into pure, searing rage.
Slowly, Azrael stood, his body trembling—not from fear, but fury. His eyes darkened, and his voice dropped into a low, cold rumble, the words escaping like a curse whispered from the abyss:
"Your species killed me once."
"I happened to get a second chance..."
"And now, here you are again, to taste my flesh."
The hellhounds snarled and lunged forward.
But Azrael was ready.
He gripped the jagged rock he had instinctively picked up earlier when the visions first struck him. The moment the first hellhound leapt toward him, Azrael shifted his weight and swung the rock with brutal force, smashing it into the creature's skull with a sickening crack. The beast yelped and was thrown to the side, crashing into the undergrowth.
But there was no time to breathe.
Pain seared through Azrael's leg—sharp teeth sinking deep into his flesh.
Another hellhound had latched onto him, snarling viciously.
Azrael gritted his teeth against the pain.
The world around him blurred, his heartbeat pounding like war drums in his ears.
No more weakness.
No more death.
And this time...
He would be the predator.
Azrael let out a guttural snarl of his own, his fury blinding the pain.
Without hesitation, he seized the head of the hellhound clamped onto his leg.
Muscles straining, he wrenched the beast upward, its fangs tearing free from his flesh with a wet rip. Before the creature could react, Azrael raised the rock high and smashed it down.
The impact echoed through the clearing with a sickening crack.
Bone shattered. Blood sprayed.
The hellhound twitched once, then fell limp at his feet.
Azrael stood there, chest heaving, blood trickling down his leg, his hand still wrapped around the blood-slick rock. His gaze burned with something dark, something raw.
The remaining hellhounds hesitated, their instincts screaming at them to back away from the predator now standing before them.
For a brief moment, the forest fell deathly silent—save for the ragged sound of Azrael's breathing.
Lyra stared at him, wide-eyed and trembling, barely able to comprehend the transformation she had just witnessed.
This wasn't just a man fighting for survival.
It was something else entirely, like he carried a personal vendetta against the beasts, as if an ancient grudge drove every savage blow.
Azrael opened his mouth to speak, to spit one last curse at the dead hellhounds at his sides.
But the strength drained from his body all at once.his vision blurred. and his legs buckled.
And before he could say a word, he collapsed to his knees. Due to bloodloss his vision blurred the world around him twisted and shifted. Loosing its fragrance.
Colors drained away, fading into stark black and white.
The trees, the hellhounds, even the sky they became little more than blurred shadows.
Then
A screen blinked into existence before his dimming eyes.
[Congratulations. On becoming a Player.]
The letters glowed faintly, pulsing as if alive.
Azrael's mind barely registered the words before darkness swallowed him whole.
And he fell into absolute darkness.
______________Meanwhile________________Across the city, in the upper floors of a towering skyscraper, a young man sat behind an enormous desk, scrolling through reports with bored eyes.
The sudden blaring of alarms shattered the quiet.
WHOOOOW! WHOOOOW!
The man immediately shot to his feet just as the door to his office burst open.
"Sir!" a subordinate barked, rushing in, panting. "High-condensed mana fluctuations have been detected—six streets past Central Park, right in front of the Sung Yun Café!"
The man's eyes sharpened instantly.
His fingers drummed against the desk, thinking fast.
"Alright then," he said, voice cool and commanding. "What are you waiting for? Send the Gamma Squad to secure the gate. Let the Variants contain the threat."
"Yes, sir!" the subordinate saluted, but hesitated, his expression tight with unease.
"However, that's not the only issue, sir..."
The man's brows furrowed.
"What is it?"
"It's... Miss Lyra Evercrest, sir. She's trapped inside."
The color drained from the man's face.
"What?" he barked, his voice cracking into a rare shout.
"Send the full Gamma Squad!" he ordered, slamming his fist on the desk. "I want every operative we have there, now! Make sure she comes out in one piece—no matter what it costs!"
A heavy silence fell over the room, broken only by the distant wail of alarms.
"I can't afford a guild war," the man muttered, almost to himself. "Not now.
The losses would be catastrophic...
And humanity needs every ounce of strength if we're going to survive this catastrophe looming over us.
Across the sprawling campus of the Hunter Association's Base One, alarms blared through the command center.
In the garage, a squad of elite hunters—clad head to toe in black tactical gear—moved with mechanical precision, rallying beside rows of armored SUVs. Their weapons, sleek and deadly, gleamed under the fluorescent lights as they poured mana into them, sheathing swords and spears with vibrant auras of condensed power.
Unique contraptions—spellcasters' devices, mages' gauntlets, arcane focus rifles—hung from the backs of the team's casters, crackling with restrained energy.
One after another, six black SUVs roared to life.
Engines growling like beasts, the convoy rolled out from Base One, heading straight for the Sung Yun Café.
---
Meanwhile, at the gate—
Lyra grunted in exertion, sweat dripping down her face. She had managed to grab Azrael by the shoulders and was desperately trying to drag his unconscious body back to the swirling portal but as they said easier said than done.
His weight wasn't much—he looked almost frail, his plain white hair tousled, his skin pale as marble—but dragging a limp body was still a massive effort for someone barely holding it together herself.
The portal behind them flickered ominously, threatening to spit out more horrors.
Just as Lyra's strength was about to give out—
A convoy of SUVs screeched to a halt outside the café.
Doors slammed open.
Dozens of men in black poured out, forming a perimeter around the gate. Their weapons flared to life, humming with mana. The mages among them unfolded bizarre contraptions—arcane turrets, scanning devices, and spell shields—setting up a magical frontline with breathtaking efficiency.
A child across the street pointed and shouted, his voice ringing with excitement:
"Hey! It's the Gamma Squad! They're here!"
Other onlookers heard the cry and rushed out of shops and apartments, clapping and cheering. Relief washed over the small crowd—the nightmare was finally being handled by humanity's strongest defenders.
Without hesitation, half of the Gamma Squad sprinted toward the portal.
The first thing they saw almost made a few of them chuckle despite the tense situation.
There, struggling with all her might, was Lyra Evercrest—one of the most prestigious names in Seoul—dragging a scrawny-looking young man across the ground. His hair was a wild mess of white, and he looked malnourished, like a ghost wearing a human body.
But even at a glance, they could tell: something was different about him.
"Move, move!" one of the squad leaders barked.
Two hunters rushed forward, gently lifting Azrael from Lyra's grasp. Another immediately conjured a portable barrier around them, shielding them from any surprise attacks from the gate.
Lyra straightened, panting, her hands trembling—but her voice came out steady and commanding:
"Take him to the Association's hospital. He gets full VIP treatment. Top floor. Full security."
She leaned in, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper:
"If anything happens to him... you won't hear the end of it from me."
Despite being much stronger, despite outranking her in combat roles, the Gamma Squad operatives visibly paled.
"Y-Yes, Miss Evercrest!" they stammered.
Wasting no time, they loaded Azrael carefully into the lead SUV. Lyra jumped into the front passenger seat, slamming the door behind her.
The engines roared once again.
In tight formation, the convoy peeled away from the café, sirens howling, racing toward the tallest building piercing the skyline—the Base 1 of the Hunter Association and its state-of-the-art hospital facility.
The convoy screeched to a halt at the front gates of the Hunter Association's base 1
A team of doctors in white coats and armored medical gear were already waiting, lined up with stretchers and emergency equipment. The moment the SUVs came into view, they surged forward, weaving past the security lines with urgent precision.
Captain Jason, leader of the Gamma Squad, hopped out of the first vehicle and waved them over.
"Here!" he barked.
The doctors moved like a well-oiled machine, carefully pulling Azrael from the SUV. He was still unconscious, his breathing shallow but steady. They wasted no time in securing him onto the stretcher, medical scanners immediately lighting up with data streams.
Meanwhile, a pair of high-ranking operatives approached Lyra.
"Miss Evercrest," one of them said with a respectful bow, "our superiors have requested your presence immediately. There are... matters that require your attention."
Lyra stiffened, her gaze flickering toward the stretcher as it was rushed inside.
She wanted to stay with Azrael, to make sure he was safe. But she also knew she owed these men and the Association too much to simply refuse.
Grinding her teeth in frustration, she gave a curt nod.
"Fine. Lead the way," she muttered.
With that, she allowed herself to be escorted away, though her heart remained tethered to the figure being whisked toward critical care.
Days blurred into one another.
Azrael remained unconscious, suspended between life and death.
The best doctors tended to him, running countless scans, trying to make sense of the strange mana patterns coiling within his body.
Lyra visited every day, standing silently by the glass walls of the intensive care unit, her expression unreadable.
Despite all efforts, the young man slept on, locked in a world of darkness.
Until—
23/4/2025.
A full week after the collapse.
Azrael's eyelashes twitched.
Slowly, painfully, his eyelids slid open.
Bright, sterile white flooded his vision, making him wince.
For a few moments, he just stared at the ceiling, confused and disoriented.
Where...?
Then the memories slammed into him like a hammer.
The hellhounds.
The fight.
Lyra's screams.
The gate.
And before all of it, fragments of a betrayal, a brutal death, shadows of faces he could no longer fully remember.
Azrael jolted upright, gasping, his heart pounding against his ribs.
He twisted his head frantically, taking in his surroundings:
Smooth white walls.
Dim, humming medical lights.
An eerie quiet, broken only by the beeping of monitors.
"What the hell...?" he muttered hoarsely.
And then a faint shimmer appeared before his eyes.A screen materialised out of thin air.
[Welcome, Player.]
[Initialization complete.]
[Congratulations on surviving your first Awakening.]
Azrael stared at the floating text, his mind spinning.
What... is this?
Then another line of text slid into his view:
[Please say "Status" to begin.]