Ethan Draven, a 24-year-old part-time worker at a local convenience store, stood behind the counter, absentmindedly ringing up items for the few customers trickling in. He'd long since gotten used to the monotony of his job, but today his mind was elsewhere. The news had been rife with stories of yet another dungeon break, a tragedy that had claimed dozens of lives in the neighboring district.
"It could happen anywhere," Ethan muttered to himself as he handed a customer their change. The thought was chilling, but it was a reality everyone had to live with. Dungeons could appear out of thin air, turning everyday places into nightmarish battlegrounds. Hunters were the ones who kept these threats at bay, entering the dungeons to slay monsters before they could escape into the world. But not everyone could be a hunter.
Ethan knew that all too well. He had tried the hunter exams once, years ago, driven by the desperate need to escape his mundane life. But his body was too frail, his reflexes too slow. He was deemed unfit, unranked—a failure. Since then, he had resigned himself to a life of mediocrity, watching from the sidelines as others fought for glory and riches.
As the store's automatic door slid open with a soft chime, Ethan's eyes darted up. A group of young men entered, their jackets emblazoned with the insignia of a local hunter guild. They radiated confidence, their loud banter filling the small space. Ethan couldn't help but feel a pang of envy mixed with resentment. These were the people society revered, the ones with power and prestige.
"Hey, you," one of them called out, pointing at Ethan. "Get us some energy drinks, will you? We're in a hurry."
Ethan nodded, swallowing his irritation. He fetched the drinks and placed them on the counter. As he rang up their purchase, the hunters continued their chatter, discussing a recent raid and the loot they'd collected. Ethan tried not to listen, but their voices were impossible to ignore.
"You know, with how many dungeon breaks are happening lately, they should really lower the standards for hunters," one of them remarked. "Even a weakling might come in handy in a pinch."
They laughed, and Ethan felt his fists clench beneath the counter. He finished the transaction in silence, handing them their drinks and watching as they left, still laughing and joking.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Ethan's shift ended, and he found himself walking home through the dimly lit streets, his thoughts swirling with frustration and hopelessness. He had always dreamed of being more, of doing something meaningful. But the world seemed determined to keep him in the shadows, a mere spectator in the grand theater of life.
As he approached his apartment building, a strange sensation washed over him—a sudden chill, as if the air itself had turned to ice. He stopped in his tracks, looking around. The street was empty, the usual sounds of the city muted. It was then he noticed it: a faint, glowing fissure in the air, barely a few feet away from him.
"A… dungeon gate?" Ethan whispered, his heart pounding. He'd never seen one up close before, only on the news. It was smaller than he had imagined, but its presence was unmistakable. He knew he should run, alert the authorities, but something kept him rooted in place.
Before he could make a decision, the fissure widened, and a dark, clawed hand emerged from the void. Panic surged through Ethan as a monstrous creature stepped through the gate, its eyes glowing red, its fangs bared. It let out a guttural growl, turning its gaze on him.
"No," Ethan gasped, stumbling back. His mind raced, searching for an escape, but the street was deserted. No hunters, no help. Just him and the beast.
The monster lunged, and Ethan's world exploded in pain. He felt its claws rake across his chest, tearing through his clothes and flesh. He hit the ground hard, his vision blurring, the cold seeped into his bones.
"I… I don't want to die," he thought, his consciousness slipping. "Not like this."
In that moment, something inside him stirred. A voice, ancient and powerful, echoed in his mind.
"Do you wish to live? Do you wish for power?"
Ethan's eyes flickered open, his body trembling. "Yes," he whispered, the word barely audible but filled with desperate resolve.
The voice responded, resonating through his very soul.
"Then awaken, and rise above the weak."
A surge of energy coursed through Ethan's body, banishing the cold and the pain. His wounds began to heal, and a strange warmth enveloped him. He felt his strength returning, growing beyond anything he had ever known.
The monster, sensing the change, hesitated, its growl turning into a snarl. Ethan rose to his feet, his eyes glowing with a new, fierce light. He clenched his fists, feeling the power within him, a power that demanded to be unleashed.
"Your mistake," Ethan said, his voice steady, "was thinking I was still weak."
He charged at the monster, a newfound strength guiding his movements. This was no longer the life of a spectator. This was the beginning of his awakening.