On a weathered bench in a quiet part of town, a young man sat alone, staring silently at the distant hospital building. His gaze carried the odd duality of sorrow and warmth, like a man watching the funeral of a lifelong enemy—someone he'd loved to hate.
In his hand, he held a juice box. Something fruity. Probably peach or mango, though the scent alone turned his stomach. He sniffed it once, winced, then sighed.
"Sweet. Too sweet," he muttered, before tossing it into the nearby trash can without a second thought. The box hit the edge, teetered dramatically, and finally slipped in. "Finally, a win," he added dryly.
Today was no ordinary day. Today, James Skyrider was going to become special—or die. It was a fifty-fifty shot.
Strangely enough, he wasn't afraid. No cold sweat, no shaking hands, not even the annoying tickle of nerves at the base of his spine.
Nothing.
He felt... liberated. Maybe for the first time in his life.
Because today, the rules changed.
He checked his phone. 7:40 PM.
"Right. Starts at 8, doesn't it? Better not be late to my own transformation," he said aloud, standing up with a lazy stretch. His limbs cracked like old wood. One last look at the hospital that had caged his youth, and then he started jogging, slow at first, then faster.
He didn't even realize he'd left the juice behind.
As he ran, the wind hit his face like a forgotten lover—rough but nostalgic. The city around him blurred into background noise. James felt something stir in his chest.
Freedom.
It was wild and reckless, like a drug he hadn't known he was addicted to.
When he finally reached the abandoned construction site, he wasn't surprised to see he wasn't alone. Maybe two dozen people were already gathered. Teenagers and twenty-somethings, some wide-eyed with panic, others pretending they weren't scared out of their minds. A few stood still, like statues, emotionless and ready for the unknown.
Classic portal trope behavior, really. James almost laughed.
He'd read about this phenomenon. Everyone had. Since the 1960s, bizarre markings began appearing on random individuals. Symbols etched into skin, like cosmic tattoos from a god with a questionable sense of humor. Those marked were eventually dragged into another world—no warnings, no explanations, just poof. Gone.
Sometimes they reappeared. Sometimes they didn't. Sometimes monsters came back instead.
The scientific community called it a sentient disease. The public called it the Portal System.
James had gotten his mark two weeks ago. He'd thought it was cancer at first.
Then the voice came.
That part was less fun.
An invisible whisper echoing through his head, gentle but firm, like a GPS that promised death if you missed your exit.
The voice had told him where to go. When to arrive. That was how the Portal System worked—conscious, intelligent, precise. If multiple marked individuals gathered in the same place, the Portal would activate at 8:00 PM. Always.
The world had adapted. Governments studied the rules. Telepaths were trained to contact the Marked, offer them guidance, give them GPS coordinates like celestial Uber drivers.
If you didn't comply? You transformed. Horribly. No one liked talking about that part.
James had tried to ignore it at first. But when the whisper got louder—you will be there—he caved. Not out of fear. Curiosity. Or maybe he was just tired of rotting in a hospital bed.
He was about to die anyway. Might as well gamble on a death that meant something.
The crowd shifted. Someone large stepped forward onto a cracked foundation slab—an absolute mountain of a man, muscles straining under a sleeveless combat vest. His beard looked like it had fought in two wars and won both.
"Alright, rookies," the man bellowed. His voice could flatten a building. "Listen up. I'm Renegat Skyrider. Some of you might recognize the name. Some of you might even think that means something. It doesn't. Out there, your bloodline won't save you."
James blinked.
Oh. A Skyrider? Guess that makes us... cousins? Uncles? Second half-step bastards removed by shame?
Technically, they were family. But only technically. James came from a throwaway branch of the house. Barely even a leaf on the tree.
Renegat continued, "You're about to be transported. Each Portal has rules. Missions. You survive by completing them. Fail, and you turn. Into monsters. Real nasty shit. If that happens, me and my boys put you down. Fast."
There was a pause. Some in the crowd exchanged looks. Others tried to breathe quietly. James? He smirked.
Monsters, huh? Might be an upgrade.
Renegat wasn't done yelling.
"While you're in there, you might meet locals. Creatures, people—doesn't matter. Don't trust 'em. Don't get attached. Most aren't real. Stay cold, stay sharp. Work together if you can. Survive. No one makes it out alone."
James grimaced.
"No one makes it out alone"? What kind of pathetic slogan is that?
He hated teamwork. Hated the idea of relying on others. People weren't safety nets. They were liabilities. Weaknesses.
If you wanted to climb, you climbed alone. And if someone else reached the top, you pushed them off.
That was the first rule of being a Skyrider.
The second rule?
Don't look back.
He narrowed his eyes at Renegat. You sure you're really one of us? Or just another actor playing hero in this cosmic circus?
Then, without warning, the ground lit up. Blue lines carved themselves into the concrete like veins of fire. James didn't even get time to curse.
Here we go.
The world vanished in a flash of azure light. The air screamed. The ground dropped.
They were gone.
Let the game begin.
[A world as dark as it is mesmerizing. Creatures both divine and grotesque. A war where only ideology survives. And in the end? Only evil endures. Welcome to the Dungeon.]