Rain hammered the cracked asphalt, turning the alley into a slick nightmare. Kieran Voss crouched against the cold brick wall, his breath fogging in the chill night air. Somewhere down the narrow lane, a low growl rippled — guttural, unnatural, closer than it should be. His fingers twitched, trembling despite the adrenaline prickling under his skin.

“Come on, just stay calm.” He whispered to himself, lips barely moving, claws of panic scraping inside his mind.

The beast had been spotted moments ago—a twisted amalgam of bone and shadow, glimpsed through the flicker of faulty neon. The sound of shattered glass echoed, fast footsteps splintered on wet concrete. But none of the “big-name” hunters had come to help. No, their sleek armor and glowing interfaces blinked somewhere a few blocks away, leaving Kieran alone in the gutter with the worst creatures the dimensional gate spewed out.

A familiar burn flared behind his eyes. That fragile, mocking voice from the control center floated in his mind.

Hunter 47, ranking dead last—

Weakest in the district. No upgrades, no talent, no future.

He swallowed back the bile settling in his throat. There was nowhere to run. The creatures didn’t care about rank or pity.

A shadow flitted across the glistening alley floor. Kieran’s heart slammed—gone was the icy knot of fear, replaced by a surge of desperate clarity.

He scrambled forward, skidding on rotten garbage, clawing for purchase. The beast lunged, jaws snapping, teeth like knives tearing the air beside his face.

Snap!

Cold rain splattered on his cheek. Kieran twisted out of reach, gasping. His hands scrabbled for the small pistol strapped inside his jacket.

“Get off me!” The words cracked with shattered confidence.

Behind him, a chorus of laughter, harsh and cold. The other hunters—decked in chrome and energy shields—sidled out from the shadows, faces lit by neon smugness.

“Seriously, Voss, you call that fighting?” one jeered, voice thick with scorn.

Another wagged a finger, eyes glittering in the dark. “You’re a joke. A liability. How many times are we going to babysit the district’s weakest?”

The beast growled again, advancing. Kieran’s fingers wrapped around the cold metal of the gun, shaking.

“I’m not dead yet,” he said, voice rough.

“Not yet,” the first hunter smirked, stepping back as the creature lunged, but too slow to react.

In a blur, the beast’s claws sliced through their defenses, ripping a wound that burned with unnatural heat.

Screams ripped the night. The sleek hunters scrambled, abandoning their derision for survival. Kieran seized the moment, blood pounding in his ears. He turned and sprinted — each step pounding the despair deeper into his bones.

His breath came ragged. The rain soaked through his shirt, chilled him to the bone. But he kept running, past the derelict storefronts, past shattered streetlights flickering like dying fireflies.

Inside the chaos, a silence bloomed, raw and suffocating. The humiliating weight of failure dragged at his feet. He knew every eye would remember this night—and the truth that he was the weakest link, the one everyone despised.

Back in the rundown hunting guild he called home, Kieran sank onto a cracked leather chair, head bowed, palms slick with sweat. The hum of neon outside seeped under the cracked door like a sickly pulse.

His uwagę jerked.

Something... different. A faint heat crawling under his ribs, a slick shimmer against his skin. Not before. Not ever.

His vision tunneled.

Then—a crackling light flickered across his retinas.

A small, rectangular interface, glowing faint amber, bloomed in the space between heartbeat and breath.

Forsaken System.

The letters hovered, burning with a savage iciness as the interface blinked once, twice.

Kieran’s fingers froze mid-air, a tremor racing up his spine.

No one else in the guild could see it.

No one else could hear it.

But it was there. Alive. Waiting.

A slow, cruel smile curved at the corner of his lips.

“What the hell...?”