A figure slumped back in its chair, defeated.
The figure was a young man no older than 18 years old. There was a scowl on his face, lips tight with annoyance, he curled up in his seat.
The scoreboard appeared on the screen, declaring the victor.
Michael — 15.
Derrick — 2.
A second figure, Michael, grinned. "Gaming is life," he said, his voice filled with the arrogance of a winner.
Derrick threw his controller onto his lap with a clatter.
"God, I hate this ga," he groaned. "They nerf my M4 and suddenly it feels like I’m shooting rubber bands.
Fine. Next round – snipers only. Kar98k on Shipnt."
Michael smirked. "Sure. If you think that’ll save you."
It was then that the lights flickered. A buzz filled the ga shop, consoles freezing.
Derrick groaned louder. "Don’t tell the server’s lagging again."
But Michael’s eyes were fixed on the front window. Across the street, the air rippled. A glowing purple crack bled through the sky, splitting existence apart.
Michael stood, shoving his chair back. "Derrick. Go ho. Now."
Derrick blinked, confused, then he saw the crack tearing itself wider, warping cars and streetlights. "...Oh, hell no."
The world buckled. High-pitched screams echoed from the street as police sirens began to wail.
Gates are dinsional rifts that tear through the fabric of reality, connecting Earth to other hostile dinsions.
They appear without warning and vary in size and rank. From these rifts, monstrous creatures known as ’Gatefiends’ erge to wreak havoc.
The DGC, or Departnt of Gate Control, are the governnt agents tasked with containing these threats. They set up barricades and evacuate civilians, leaving the fighting to a special class of warrior.
Hunters are individuals who have awakened latent mana within their bodies, granting them superhuman abilities.
They are humanity’s sole defense against the Gatefiends and are ranked from F-Rank, the weakest, to the legendary S-Rank.
Their battles are often broadcasted, turning them into modern-day celebrities.
Michael’s father had been one of them.
Marcus Arcana, the S-Rank legend known as the Broken Blade. But now he was just Marcus, a broken man who gave his son only one rule: be normal.
"It’s a life of ghosts, kid," his father’s hollow voice echoed in his mory. "You fight monsters until you beco one."
From the violet tear in the sky, things began to spill out. They were nasty, dog-sized creatures covered in oily black fur with too many joints in their legs. Gutterfangs.
They slamd onto the pavent and scrambled into the chaos.
A Hunter in gleaming silver armor summoned a wall of fire, incinerating a half-dozen of the creatures in a single whoosh. The fleeing crowd let out ragged, star-struck cheers.
Michael felt nothing but tired. His only goal was to escape, to follow his father’s command.
Stay away. Don’t get involved. Be invisible.
Then he saw her.
A figure was on the ground, small and trembling. The figure was a little girl no older than seven, clutching a bright pink unicorn backpack. She had fallen behind a hot dog stand.
One of the Gutterfangs had split from the pack. It was bigger than the others, its fur matted, its eyes glowing with an intelligent light. An Alpha.
Its jagged claws tore into the pavent as it barreled toward her.
The heroes were too busy with the main swarm, generating footage for their highlight reels. The police were focused on containnt. No one else saw them.
Michael’s feet froze. His father’s words scread at him to run. To live. To be normal.
He turned to go. He made it two steps.
He glanced back.
The Gutterfang lowered its head, thick saliva dripping from its clicking mandibles. The little girl whimpered, trying to press herself into the cold tal of the hot dog cart.
Sothing inside Michael snapped. It wasn’t courage. It was pure, undiluted annoyance. He was annoyed at the monsters, at the heroes, and at the fear that had hollowed out his father.
"Dammit."
He moved before he could think. He had no weapon and no powers.
"Hey!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "Bug-Face! How about you pick on soone your own difficulty setting?!"
He ripped his calculus textbook from his backpack—all 800 pages of it—and hurled it with all his might at the creature’s head.
The book struck with a solid THUD.
The Gutterfang staggered, its multiple eyes swiveling to fixate on him with pure, murderous intent.
"Run!" Michael scread at the girl. He heard the patter of her sneakers behind him. Good.
The Gutterfang hissed, a sound like scraping tal, and charged.
His father’s lessons, learned from watching forbidden Hunter-cam footage, kicked in. *Alpha Gutterfang. Poor peripheral vision. Weak spot behind the jaw.*
It lunged. Michael ducked under the attack, clenching the jagged key in his fist. He punched upward with all his terrified strength, striking the soft spot.
The monster let out a piercing screech. He had hurt it.
The victory was cut short as the enraged beast spun, a razor-sharp claw slashing through the air. A burning, tearing pain ripped across his chest. He looked down. There was a gash on his chest as blood dripped down his shirt.
"F*ck," he muttered.
His legs gave out and he fell to the ground. The Gutterfang lood over him, its jaws opening for the final bite.
And then, a blue screen appeared.
[CRITICAL VITALITY DETECTED]
[HOST ETS ACTIVATION REQUIRENTS]
[SYSTEM INITIALIZING...]
A translucent blue screen flickered into existence in his vision, a display only he could see.
[VERIFYING BLOODLINE: ARCANA... VERIFIED.]
[BINDING SOUL... PROCESS COMPLETE.]
[WELCO, LAST SCION.]
The Gutterfang froze, confused.
[FIRST QUEST GENERATED: SURVIVE]
[DESCRIPTION: A large, pointy creature is attempting to convert you into a fine paste. It is recomnded that you prevent this.]
[REWARD: System Integration, 100 EXP]
[FAILURE: PERMANENT DELETION (DEATH).]
[NOVICE HEALTH POTION (F-RANK) ADDED TO INVENTORY.]
[CONSU?]
[Y/N]
His consciousness clung to a single thought, forcing it towards the glowing letter ’Y’.
The screen flashed. A small, corked vial of red liquid materialized in his hand with a soft pop. He pulled the cork free with his teeth and tipped the entire contents down his throat. It tasted of cherries and static.
A wave of warmth spread from his chest. The searing pain stopped. He pushed himself up, touching his chest. The gash was gone.
The Gutterfang shrieked in frustration, but it was too late.
A shadow fell over them. "Kid, get down!" a voice bood.
The Hunter in the silver armor was there. A lance of pure light erupted from his palm, vaporizing the monster in a flash of energy. He knelt beside Michael, his helt retracting.
"You alright, kid? Are you hurt?"
Michael just stared. Floating in front of his face, visible only to him, was a single line of blue text.
[QUEST COMPLETE. SURVIVAL: CONFIRD.]
[SYSTEM TUTORIAL CONCLUDED. AWAITING USER INPUT.]
--------------------
The DGC debriefing was held under fluorescent lights and slled of stale coffee. Michael, running on adrenaline, constructed his story. He was trying to help. He got lucky. The Hunter arrived in ti.
He did not ntion the blue screens, the magic potion, or the voice in his head.
They classified him as a civilian casualty and sent him ho in a DGC cruiser. When he walked through the door of their small Brooklyn apartnt, his father was waiting.
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