In the year 2046, humanity is no longer the apex predator.
A cataclysmic event 17 years ago shattered the laws of reality, birthing unstable dimensional tears across the globe known as Rifts. These Rifts open gates to hostile, alien worlds filled with monsters, aberrations, and ancient relics of power.
To fight back, humans began to awaken Protocols — supernatural systems embedded into their soul that grant them class-based powers. These Protocols are categorized into Tank, Blaster, Support, Assassin, Summoner, and more. Governments quickly lost control, and Hunter Guilds rose as the dominant power blocs.
Dungeons, boss monsters, and System-like quests have become a normal part of life. Only the strongest survive.
KAI ARDENT
A dungeon always smells like death.
Rotting blood. Burned air. That quiet, static hum like the world itself is holding its breath.
Kai Ardent crouched low behind a jagged rock, his heartbeat thundering in his ears as he watched the others from his squad move ahead. The tunnel was dim, lit only by the bioluminescent fungus growing on the cracked obsidian walls. Every footstep echoed like a countdown.
They weren't supposed to be here.
Not this deep. Not in a Class-C Rift. Not without backup.
But that didn't matter. Orders were orders.
Scrapper! Stay back and keep your mouth shut," barked Garrett, the squad leader — a self-important Tank with a voice like gravel and an ego twice the size.
Kai swallowed the insult. He was used to it.
Scrappers were expendable. The bottom-feeders of the Hunter system. No flashy spells, no cool weapons. Just basic support skills and low-tier healing. If a tank was the shield and a blaster was the sword, a Scrapper was the broom that swept up the mess afterward.
His only job was to keep a safe distance, log enemy positions, and maybe patch a wound or two if someone was too lazy to use a potion.
So that's what he did.
Until everything went to hell.
The boss room opened like the maw of some ancient god. Jagged teeth of stone. A pressure that squeezed the lungs.
It was supposed to be a Gnasher. A brute-type beast with predictable charge attacks. Slow. Stupid. Easy points.
But what stood before them was not a Gnasher.
It was a Wraith Tyrant.
Rank: B+. At least. Maybe higher. Its body was draped in spectral armor, eyes glowing like molten hatred. It floated above the ground, long claws dripping with something that sizzled on contact with the floor.
Garrett swore.
Then he turned to Kai.
"Scrapper. You're bait."
"What?"
"You heard me. Get its attention. We'll flank it while you distract it."
"That'll get me killed."
You're already useless. Might as well be useful in dying."
The others laughed. A bitter, hollow sound.
Kai looked at their faces — each one already writing him off. Each one not even pretending to care.
He stepped forward.
The Wraith Tyrant turned its gaze toward him.
And then the world exploded into light and pain.
When Kai woke, the air was heavy with ash. Blood pooled near his face. His leg was broken, twisted at a wrong angle. The others were gone. Left him. No potions. No rescue beacon.
Abandoned.
Used.
Thrown away.
He tried to move. Screamed. Nothing. The world flickered at the edges like static.
[SYSTEM ERROR DETECTED]
[UNCLAIMED PROTOCOL DETECTED: CLASSLESS | OBSOLETE SIGNATURE]
[INITIATING MANUAL OVERRIDE]
[DO YOU WISH TO SURVIVE?]
He blinked. A blue screen hovered in the air. Not like the others. Not like the Class Interface he'd seen before.
This was… wrong. Broken. Glitched.
[Y/N]
He didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
The shadows beneath him surged like liquid fire. Pain lanced through his body, but behind it — power. A cold, clear feeling. Like he could see everything. Hear every vibration. Smell the blood of the monster still somewhere nearby.
[SHADOW PROTOCOL INSTALLED]
[CONDITION: 4% SYNCHRONIZED]
[OBJECTIVE: SURVIVE]
Kai looked down at his hands.
They were no longer shaking.
The dungeon had buried him.
Now, he would climb back out — dragging every one of them into the dark.