The Crater District smelled like burnt air and rotting garbage.
Ethan stepped off the bus into morning drizzle, pulling his hood up against the rain.
Around him, the south side of Seattle looked like a war zone that never got cleaned up. Broken windows. Condemned buildings. Graffiti tags covering every surface that wasn't actively crumbling.
And the portals.
Three of them shimmered in the lot ahead, vertical tears in reality, each one pulsing with blue light. F-grade portals, permanently open, maintained by the Bureau as training grounds. Stable. Relatively safe.
Relatively being the operative word.
Ethan's hands shook as he walked.
The quest timer in his vision read 08:17:33. Eight hours left on FIRST BREATH. Then the real test would unlock.
He was early. Getting a head start on his own terror.
The checkpoint came into view—a prefab trailer with a bored Bureau clerk sitting behind bulletproof glass. A handful of hunters milled around nearby, mostly young, mostly D or E-rank based on their gear. Cheap leather armor. Basic weapons.
The kind of people who couldn't afford better portals.
People like him.
Ethan approached the window. The clerk didn't look up from her phone.
"Portal selection," she droned.
"Rat Warren. F-grade."
Now she looked up. Took in his worn hoodie, his empty hands, the absence of any visible equipment. Her eyes flicked to his forearm, scanning the barcode tattoo.
"E-rank." She didn't hide her skepticism. "Solo entry?"
"Yes."
"That's two hundred dollars. Cash or cores."
Ethan pulled out the crumpled twenties, counted them onto the metal tray. The clerk swept them away with practiced efficiency, then stamped a permit slip and slid it back.
"Portal three. Exit proximity alarm triggers if you're inside more than six hours. Extraction costs extra if we have to send someone in for you." Her tone said we won't bother. "Good luck, E-rank."
He took the permit, hands trembling. Behind him, someone snickered.
"Solo F-grade? Kid's got a death wish."
"Nah, probably just needs cores for rent. Desperate times."
Ethan kept walking. Their voices faded behind him, but the judgment stuck. Everyone assumed. Everyone knew. E-ranks didn't solo portals unless they were stupid or suicidal.
They're not wrong.
Portal three waited at the far end of the lot, cordoned off by chain-link fence. The shimmer was hypnotic—blue light rippling like water, occasionally flickering to show glimpses of stone tunnel beyond.
Ethan stopped at the threshold. His chest tightened.
I can't do this.
The thought came loud and certain. Every instinct screamed at him to turn around, get back on the bus, go home. He'd survived this long by running. By hiding. By being smart enough to avoid situations exactly like this.
His phone buzzed. He pulled it out.
SYSTEM NOTIFICATION
QUEST PROGRESS: Enter the portal.
Reward awaits. Courage awaits. Death awaits.
Choose.
"Not helping," Ethan muttered.
He looked at the permit in his other hand. Two hundred dollars. His death savings, buying him a chance at... what? Proving Chrysos right? Proving everyone else right?
No.
The anger surprised him. Hot and sudden, cutting through the fear.
Proving them wrong.
Jake and his party. The hunters who'd laughed. The two million people who'd watched him run screaming from a goblin. They all thought he was finished. Trash. Worthless.
Maybe they were right. But maybe, maybe—he could be worth something if he tried.
Ethan took a breath. Another. His heart hammered against his ribs.
Then he stepped through.
The transition was instant and Unauseating. Reality twisted, his stomach lurched, and suddenly the drizzle and traffic noise vanished, replaced by damp silence and the smell of mold.
Ethan stumbled, catching himself against rough stone. The portal shimmered behind him—his exit, his escape route. Ahead stretched a tunnel, barely wide enough for two people, disappearing into darkness.
The Rat Warren. He'd been here once before, six months ago, with a party of five. They'd cleared it in forty minutes, killed maybe thirty rats total, and he'd contributed exactly three kills.
Now he was alone.
"Okay." His voice echoed. "Okay. Just one. Kill one rat. Get out."
The quest didn't specify which rat. Didn't demand he clear the whole dungeon. Just one kill.
Easy. Simple. Fast.
Ethan pulled the Rusted Fang from his pocket—still the only weapon he owned, still at twelve percent durability. The blade was dull, the handle worn smooth. It had barely killed him yesterday. Now it had to keep him alive.
He moved forward, each step careful, trying to remember the tunnel layout.
The Warren wasn't complicated, main tunnel, side chambers, rat nests in the deeper sections. Stay near the entrance, find a lone straggler, finish it quick.
Don't think. Just do.
The tunnel curved. Darkness pressed in from all sides, broken only by faint bioluminescent moss clinging to the walls.
Ethan's breathing sounded too loud. His footsteps echoed. Everything echoed.
Then—movement.
He froze. Twenty feet ahead, something shuffled in the shadows. Small. Low to the ground.
A rat.
Giant Rat, technically—the size of a large dog, with matted fur and yellow teeth visible even in the dim light. It hadn't noticed him yet, busy gnawing on something that might have been a bone.
One rat. Just one.
Ethan's grip tightened on the dagger. He could do this. He'd done it before. Rats were the lowest threat in any F-grade portal, barely above slimes in danger level.
He took a step forward. The rat's ear twitched.
Another step. His foot scraped stone.
The rat spun, red eyes locking onto him. It hissed—a wet, diseased sound—and foam dripped from its mouth.
Oh God.
Ethan's body locked up. Every muscle seized.
Oh God.
The rat charged, claws scrabbling on stone, teeth bared, and he couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't—
It leaped.
Instinct took over. Ethan swung the dagger wildly, eyes half-closed, and missed completely. The rat slammed into his chest, weight and momentum driving him backward.
He hit the ground hard, skull cracking against stone, and the world spun.
Fuck, I... really am going to die here today.