DISCLAIMER
Rift Looter Esper is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
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WARNING
This story contains material that may be disturbing or triggering to some readers. Discretion is advised:
- Depictions of combat and violence
- Themes of loss, grief, and displacement
- Intense, life-threatening scenarios
- Mild language appropriate to context
- Subtle romantic and emotional themes involving two male characters, including intimate moments and relationship dynamics
This story is intended for mature audiences.
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THE air reeks of iron and burnt magic, thick enough to choke. Above the wreckage of a once-grand castle, the sky churns in violent swirls of crimson and obsidian—no sun or moon in sight, only the sickly glow that bleeds from every crack in the stone walls. The floor is cold as death beneath Julian's boots, littered with the twisted forms of both Espers and monsters. Limbs lie scattered across broken flagstones; charred armor clings to skeletal frames; and in the center of the throne room, atop a splintered marble seat, rests the massive, headless corpse of the rift boss—its dark scales still smoking from the final blow. Everywhere is evidence of a brutal battle that left nothing untouched.
Julian stabbed his rugged sword into the ground to support himself. His mind was a blur of steel and fire—no sense of when the Black Rift expedition had started, or how long he'd been fighting. All he could hold onto was the memory of watching his comrades fall one by one inside the rift and the searing weight of the final blow that felled the beast.
After gathering the scattered, disfigured remains of his fellow fighters, Julian stared at their fallen forms. For the first time, he let out a wail as tears streamed down his face, hot against dust-caked cheeks. He cried for his comrades who had died with honor. He cried for the family he'd left behind in the world beyond. And he cried because, despite their victory, he was the only one left standing.
But his grief was cut short when a new rift tore open directly in front of him. Its edges crackling with unfamiliar energy. Julian stared in shock; never before had a rift appeared inside another rift. However he didn't hesitate, yanking his sword from the earth. Even with grievous wounds and bone-deep exhaustion weighing him down, he was ready to fight. If this was to be his final stand, he would take as many monsters as he could with him.
Yet, the new rift held no living threats. Only the silent, decapitated bodies of monsters, felled by weapons and magic alike. A flicker of warmth ignited in his chest, chasing away the cold of despair. Could some of his comrades have survived, fighting their way here ahead of him?
As he pushed through to the final doorway, voices drifted to him, along with the sharp clink-clink-clink of pickaxes against stone.
"These energy stones are high-grade," one man said.
"Of course they are. This is a red-color rift," another replied.
Julian's grip on his sword tightened until his knuckles blazed white. He didn't recognize these voices; the looters who usually arrived after his group cleared a rift were all familiar to him. Were these illegal scavengers? Or perhaps monster traffickers who'd slipped into the rift undetected?
Either way, they're criminals who need to be apprehended.
When Julian turned left, he spotted a group of men in looter's uniforms—all of whom froze in shock at the sight of him.
"Shit! is there an Esper left behind in here?" one miner cursed to his coworker. The group's leader spoke into a strange black device with an antenna: "We've got an injured Esper down her. Looks like he was left behind."
Julian tuned out their panicked chatter, his eyes falling to their belts. Hanging from each was an identification tag stamped with the imperial seal—proof they were legal looters.
"Good... you're legal," he mumbled, before his strength gave out and he collapsed to the ground.
The looters inside the rift burst into chaos until their leader barked an order: "Get him out of here. Now."