A cigarette was lit in an ashtray as a young, handsome man sat at his desk, looking at a floating screen. His face was burdened with exhaustion.
"Finally, after ten years, it's done," he muttered. "It's finally fucking done. This novel has taken years, and I can finally write a book I actually want to write."
The man, who looked no older than twenty-six, suddenly felt weak an impossible sensation. He staggered, and then the room rippled. It wasn't an outside force; it was the young man himself. His body didn't merely ripple; it was space itself that distorted around him. The young man was a Hunter in this world a Hunter untouched by anyone who could control space.
"What is happening?" the young man weakly stated. "There is no poison or physical ailment." He looked inside himself, like an X-ray but using gravitational waves, and saw no bodily ailment. "Maybe it's spiritual?"
His eyes turned a green hue, and he saw countless threads that seemed to go on forever it was time. But as he looked, every timeline he saw was the same. His future was fine. He saw tomorrow: an interview with a reporter, then he would bump into a woman who looked like an angel. Three years from now, they would get married. A year later, they would have a son named Min-Jun. Then, seven years later, his wife would die from mana exposure. His son would awaken his mana core, and thirty years later, they would lead humanity into a new age as a leader of the newly formed republic that replaced the current one. Finally, at the age of eighty-nine, he would die after his son had twins, a girl and a boy—the boy named Min-Je Hun.
The man was confused. It seemed as if he was dying a second from now. He should have been in the hall of his house, yet he was facing death. He knew it. He wondered, "Was it his Lord? No, why would the great Lord want him dead? A cult that harnesses the Lord's power? Impossible. His Lord would not allow such disgraces." His mind raced, but he never got to figure it out as his vision went black.
Then, an ear-piercing scream hit his ears, along with the smell of blood and soot. His head was ringing. He was here. He heard a language he didn't really understand. A woman who seemed to be in her thirties was easily picking him up off the ground. They were in a burning building.
His confusion was replaced by fear. By instinct, he tried to use his ability to scan the area, but he couldn't. It wouldn't activate. Something was missing: his mana core.
Now, he realized he was a whole foot and a half shorter. The woman was speaking English. Then, life memories flashed in his mind: his name was Jackson Moore. He lived in South Carolina and was seventeen. The woman yelling at him—he finally understood what she was saying was his mother, urging him to get up and run as the house was burning down.
As he got up, the horror was cemented by the outside world: giant, slick, obsidian structures were descending onto the Earth, some already having landed. Out of these pillars came beings of great horror: small, large, winged, and walking beings. Monsters was the best word to name them.
But all of this was an exact playout of the novel he had just finished writing. To sum it up, living in this novel was a death sentence, and that was being nice to say. But that wasn't important right now. He needed to survive by any means necessary, find a way home, and figure out what had happened to him and why he was here.
Anyway, he and his mother fled the house. More memories flooded his mind: his father, Eric Moore, was overseas in Korea, stationed at a US Army base. He had a younger brother, Ian Moore, and an older sister, Olivia Moore, in college at the local university. His mother's name was Helen Moore.
His mother grabbed him and his little brother, who had already been outside playing as it was a weekend, and she hurried them into the family SUV. His sister was living on campus and so wasn't home. But the imposing pillar could be seen in the direction of his sister's university. The pillar was at least a mile away, but its height easily showed even over the horizon