I got back to my shithole of an apartment — one cramped bedroom in good ol' Sacramento. The place creaks like it's holding trauma, but whatever. I pop open a Red Bull, head to my room, and let everything sink in.
That power… whatever it is… it's insane. But it also makes zero damn sense.
I still don't have essence, so how the hell am I using skills?
The math isn't mathing.
After a couple minutes of spiraling, I snap back. I need answers. And the best way to get them is simple:
Test my skills. Get an Awakeners License. Hit a dungeon. See what breaks first — the monsters or reality.
I grab my phone and check Cash App.
$14,683.73.
Barely enough left after blowing $62,457.00 on that seed/rune. Painful. At least I've got enough to eat microwaved nonsense for the next half year.
Getting a license isn't hard. You just gotta show the examiners that you're not completely useless.
Wallet? Check.
Backpack? Check.
Life choices? Debatable.
I head downtown.
Half the cities in California got overrun over the years, so Sacramento's Awakening Center is one of the few still operating. Walking there is the usual: tents, trash, the whole neon-dystopia vibe. I make it in about half an hour.
Inside, it's chaos — awakened running around, vendors yelling prices, cores changing hands left and right.
Basic Strength/Vitality cores go for $1500–$3000.
Essence cores? Triple that. Everybody wants to be a mage.
As I'm heading to the Registration Hall, I bump into him.
Of all people.
Rich kid. Sacramento's golden brat.
You can name him whatever you want — I call him Damien Pierce, because that's the kind of name that smells like expensive shampoo and entitlement.
We've hated each other since high school. He was the type who thought money made him tall.
He steps in front of me with that smug little smirk.
"Didn't expect to see you here, Kaelen. Place has standards, you know."
I try to go around him. Not worth the energy.
He sidesteps, lowering his voice.
"Just so you know… if we end up in the same dungeon, try not to die. Bad for my reputation."
I don't even give him a word. Just walk off.
Let him talk tough. The world already humbled him three times — it just hasn't told him yet.
At registration, the receptionist gets my info down — name, DOB, address, banking, the whole HR packet — then sends me to the testing room. Four judges sit behind reinforced glass thicker than my rent contract. The floor is bare except for training dummies.
They tell me to demonstrate control.
I lift my hand.
Ten black flaming orbs snap into existence above all ten dummies, each one holding them suspended like puppets caught mid-scream. I let them simmer, glowing hotter and denser, then flick my finger.
The orbs slam down.
Implosion. Total wipe. Nothing left but dust and atmosphere trauma.
Even behind the glass, the judges flinch.
One of them blurts out, "That's… peak D-rank output. Possibly higher if that wasn't full strength—"
Another whispers, "A rookie shouldn't be able to stabilize ten constructs at once…"
The third just mutters, "What the hell did this kid awaken…"
I pretend not to hear the panic.
A few minutes later, they hand me my Awakeners License — a sleek platinum-black card that looks way too professional for my life.
People stare on my way out. Can't blame them. Sacramento has maybe fifty C-ranks, a couple hundred D-ranks, and everything else is E or F. Starting off at peak D is basically speedrunning life.
Time to check my status.
[Kaelen]
[Occupation: ????]
[Vitality: 4500/????]
[Focus: ????]
[Strength: 975/????]
[Skill(s): (Genesis Singularity — 100%)]
Occupation? Zero clue.
Skill proficiency already 100%? That's straight-up abnormal. Most people take years to hit triple digits. Either the gods pity me, or the system that bound itself to me is built different.
Next step?
Dungeon.
The closest one is the Redwater Sinkhole — twenty levels deep, swarming with fast-healing reptilian beasts that get uglier the lower you go. The boss is a four-to-five-meter Flameback Devourer, basically a crocodile fused with a furnace, armored from jaw to tail. Normally you'd need a full party: two Knights to tank, two Berserkers to handle melee, a Mage for range, and a Healer to stop them all from dying stupidly.
The boss usually drops at least one skill seed and a couple of rare items.
Soloing it as a peak D-rank?
Insane.
Stupid.
Perfect.
My heart's thumping, blood hot with anticipation. This is what I've been waiting for.
I head straight for the dungeon entrance.
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