The sky split open one morning, not with fire or lightning, but with jagged cracks of purple that stretched across the heavens like open wounds. The ground shuddered violently beneath cities, swallowing streets, vehicles, and even entire buildings. Screams erupted, but no one could stop what had begun. Reality itself had been torn.
Then the monsters came.
From fissures in the earth, twisted forms poured into the streets—hulking beasts with jagged claws, fanged maws, and eyes that glowed with something inhuman. They moved with terrifying purpose, tearing everything in their path apart. Civilians were devoured, cars crushed, streets reduced to rubble. Humanity had no defense. Soldiers, tanks, and helicopters fell quickly. The world was losing, fast.
And then the hunters appeared.
The ranking system was cruel, practical, and unyielding. Those who awakened—latent powers manifesting in certain humans—were graded from E to S. E-ranks were weak, barely capable of survival. S-ranks were gods in human form, capable of decimating monsters alone. Everyone else—those without awakening—were prey, fodder to be slaughtered.
Aiden Vale was alive. That was the only thing in his favor.
He was sixteen, weak, frail, and untested. By the time he reached his first dungeon, his entire body trembled with fear. A fissure had opened in a quiet suburban park. The entrance was enormous, a yawning gap in the earth, the darkness inside pulsing and alive. Faint growls echoed, followed by the shuffle of claws against stone. The stench of decay and blood filled the air, and every instinct screamed for him to turn back.
But there was no choice.
Clutching a dull iron sword, heavier than his own arms felt capable of holding, Aiden stepped inside. The dungeon was alive. Shadows twisted unnaturally. Every corner seemed to breathe. Broken tiles crunched beneath his boots. The first creatures appeared—small, grotesque things with jagged teeth and black, burning eyes.
He swung. Missed.
Pain flared as the creature latched onto his shoulder. He stumbled backward, taste of blood in his mouth. Around him, other hunters moved with practiced precision. Most ignored him, a few sneered.
"Watch your step, E-rank," one said, stepping over him with a grin. "Don't trip on your own fear."
Aiden's stomach churned. He swung again, missed again. Another hunter, stronger and faster, dispatched the creature in a single strike. His face burned with shame, but he pressed on, because stopping meant death.
The dungeon had no mercy.
Hours—or maybe minutes—passed as he moved through wave after wave of monsters. Small, quick ones, then larger, armored beasts with claws like knives. Spiked traps, swinging blades, and acid-spitting horrors tested him at every step. Blood coated his arms, legs, clothes. His body shook from exhaustion, pain, and fear. Every nerve screamed for him to collapse, but he forced one foot in front of the other.
Hunters mocked him constantly.
"You're pathetic," a B-rank whispered as a monster lunged past him. "Move faster, or the dungeon will eat you first."
Another laughed as Aiden's blade bounced uselessly off a creature's hide. "Stay behind me. You'll die if you try anything else."
Pain became endless. Cuts crisscrossed his body. Broken ribs burned with every breath. Bruises and claw marks bloomed across his legs and arms. And still, he pushed forward.
By the time he reached the dungeon's mid-levels, his clothes were tattered, blood-soaked. Pools of blood—his own and that of creatures and hunters alike—lined the floors. Every door, every corner, every shadow threatened death. And yet, the dungeon seemed to shift, closing paths behind him, opening new corridors. He was trapped in a labyrinth that wanted him dead.
At last, he arrived at the approach to the boss chamber. The air thickened, hot and oppressive, filled with the metallic stench of blood. Shadows twisted along the walls unnaturally. Ahead, massive doors yawned like a beast ready to devour him whole.
Inside waited the dungeon boss.
Colossal. Hulking. Claws like blades, scales dark and metallic, eyes glowing molten red. It roared—a sound that shook the walls and rattled Aiden's bones. The hunters around him whispered, planning strategies, ignoring him. He was weak, fragile, disposable.
"Feed him to the boss," someone muttered. "Let him be the first meal."
Aiden gripped his sword. Tried to stand. Tried to swing. Pain flared with every movement. The boss struck first, swiping him across the room. Bones cracked. His vision blurred. Blood poured from his mouth, ears, and nose.
He rose again. Crawled forward. Each movement was agony. Each breath screamed in his chest. The boss struck again and again, breaking him piece by piece. Limbs refused to obey. His sword was heavy as lead. He tried to shout, but the sound was swallowed by the dungeon.
The hunters didn't help. Some watched, sneered. Others turned away. The dungeon didn't care about courage, skill, or hope. It only consumed.
Aiden's life became pain, and pain became endless. His body was torn, battered, broken. The boss loomed above, claws ready. Time slowed. Darkness crept into his vision. Everything faded.
Death claimed him.
The dungeon swallowed him whole, leaving only a pool of blood where a boy had struggled and failed.
And yet… even in that death, something stirred.
A faint pulse, imperceptible to the living, pulsed inside him. A whisper in the darkness, unseen, unheard, waiting.
This was not the end.