The neon glow of Sector D flickered against the skeletal remains of ruined skyscrapers, casting fractured shadows along the cracked streets. This place was once a beacon of civilization, a thriving metropolis before the Cataclysm reshaped the world. Now, it was nothing more than a graveyard for those who had been deemed unworthy by fate.

Zane Vexis moved with quiet precision through the alleys, his grip firm on the worn handle of his mana gun. The weapon hummed faintly with residual energy—one last shot left in the chamber. He had no Class, no enhancements, no system-given power to call his own. Just skill, instinct, and a sheer refusal to die.

The distant howl of a Stray Hound sent a chill through his spine. He pressed his back against the cold metal of an abandoned transport truck, his sharp gray eyes scanning the dimly lit street.

A low growl echoed from the shadows ahead. The creature stepped into view—a twisted, mutated beast born from dungeon energy. Its bone-plated spine protruded like jagged blades, and its hollow yellow eyes locked onto him.

Zane exhaled, leveling his gun. One shot. He had to make it count.

But before he could pull the trigger, his mind drifted—back to the history that had led to this world of power and disparity.

100 Years Ago — The Cataclysm

No one knew why the Cataclysm began. One day, the world simply… fractured.

Reality tore open, birthing endless dungeons across the planet. From these dark abysses, monsters emerged, spreading chaos and destruction. Cities fell overnight, swallowed whole by creatures no weapon could destroy.

And then, the Cataclysm System awakened.

It was a force beyond comprehension, embedding itself into the very fabric of the world. Those it deemed worthy were granted Classes—warriors, mages, assassins, beings who could wield power beyond human limits. These chosen individuals became humanity's last hope, fighting back against the dungeon-born horrors.

But the system was not fair.

Only a select few awakened. And among them, only those with strong bloodlines or sheer luck.

A decade ago, when humanity rebuilt itself after the Cataclysm, the world had split into sectors based on power and survival.

Sector A & B housed the strongest—the highest-ranked awakened, the noble families, and the ruling elites.

Sector C & D were home to the working class, where unawakened humans lived not because they were weak, but because they had intelligence or skills useful to society. Researchers, factory workers, mana engineers, and low-ranked awakened all worked here.

Sector E was the dumping ground, where those who couldn't contribute—whether awakened or not—were abandoned to live in poverty.

Sector F… wasn't a sector at all. From here distroted world starts.

It was a dead zone—the scarred remnants of the old world, where the earth itself had been destroyed. Mutated monsters, failed dungeon experiments, and the ruins of ancient cities festered in an endless wasteland.

---

Present Day — Sector D

A snarl brought Zane back to the present. The Stray Hound lunged, its claws glinting under the flickering streetlights.

Zane didn't hesitate. He pulled the trigger.

A sharp crack split the air as the mana bullet tore through the creature's skull. The beast staggered, then collapsed into a heap of twitching limbs.

Zane exhaled. Another kill. Another day survived.

He stepped forward, pulling out a hunting knife to carve the mana core from the beast's chest. Even a weak core had value in the Black Market.

But before he could pocket his prize, a shadow loomed over him.

"Vexis."

He froze. He knew that voice.

Slowly, he turned to see Dain Morrow, flanked by two lackeys. Unlike Zane, Dain was one of the Chosen, a B-Rank Ironhide Warrior from Sector C.

His smirk was as arrogant as ever. "Still pretending to be a real hunter?"

Zane's fingers curled into a fist, but he kept his expression neutral. He had dealt with Dain before. The bastard enjoyed picking on those beneath him.

Dain's eyes flicked to the mana core in Zane's hand. "You know the rules, Classless. This sector belongs to those with real power. Hand it over."

Zane's jaw tightened. He needed this core—without it, he wouldn't be able to buy bullets, food, or shelter. But fighting back? That was suicide.

Dain must have seen the hesitation, because he chuckled. "Come on, don't be stupid. You know how this ends."

Zane didn't answer. He had no choice.

With a slow breath, he tossed the mana core forward. It rolled to a stop at Dain's feet.

Dain bent down, picking it up with a satisfied smirk. "Smart boy."

Zane clenched his fists, watching as Dain turned and walked away, his lackeys laughing at his expense.

The moment they were gone, he exhaled and ran a hand through his dark hair. His stomach twisted—not with anger, but with something worse.

Helplessness.

This was the world he lived in. Power dictated everything. And he had none.

But one day… that would change.