The house was in ruins.
Beno stood at the threshold, the door hanging off its hinges, creaking with every gust of wind. The once warm and inviting home now lay in shambles, its walls charred, and the air thick with the acrid scent of smoke and destruction.
He stepped inside, his boots crunching over shattered glass and splintered wood. The familiar hallway was barely recognizable, the family portraits that once adorned the walls now reduced to ashes.
"Dad? Mom?" his voice trembled, barely audible over the eerie silence.
No response.
Panic surged through him as he navigated the debris, calling out again, louder this time. "Renzo?"
He reached the living room, and his heart sank.
There, amidst the wreckage, lay his father's lifeless body. A gaping hole pierced through his chest, the blood long dried. Beno dropped to his knees, cradling his father's head in his hands.
"Dad... please," he whispered, tears streaming down his face.
"Wake up."
But the body was cold, the eyes staring blankly into nothingness.
He gently laid his father down and rose, determination replacing despair. He had to find the others.
The kitchen was a mess of overturned furniture and broken dishes.
No sign of his mother.
He moved to the hallway, where he found his younger brother, Renzo, standing motionless. The ten-year-old's eyes were wide, unblinking, staring at something only he could see.
"Renzo?" Beno approached cautiously.
Renzo didn't respond. His face was pale, his expression vacant.
Beno reached out, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder.
"It's me, Beno. Are you okay?"
Renzo slowly turned his head, his eyes meeting Beno's. They were filled with a haunting emptiness.
"You weren't here," Renzo whispered, his voice devoid of emotion.
Beno's heart shattered anew.
"Beno!"
The shout jolted him back to reality.
He blinked, the vivid memories fading as he found himself standing over a sink full of soapy water and dirty dishes.
"Snap out of it, man," his coworker, Marco, said, giving him a concerned look. "You've been staring at that plate for five minutes."
"Sorry," Beno muttered, shaking his head. "Just... lost in thought."
Marco sighed. "I get it. But if the boss catches you slacking again, he'll have your head."
Beno nodded, returning to his task. The clatter of dishes and the hum of the restaurant filled the air.
A television mounted in the corner caught his attention.
"Breaking news!" the reporter announced. "Renzo Mark has successfully cleared an A-rank dungeon solo!"
Beno froze, his hands submerged in the soapy water.
The screen displayed footage of Renzo, now eighteen, emerging from the dungeon, his black hunter gear pristine, his expression calm and composed.
The restaurant erupted in cheers and applause.
"That kid's a legend!" someone exclaimed.
"An S-rank hunter at eighteen? Incredible!"
Beno's grip tightened on the sponge, his knuckles turning white.
The reporter approached Renzo, microphone in hand. "Renzo, any message for your family?"
Renzo paused, his eyes narrowing.
"I'll never forgive you for what you did," he said coldly before walking away.
Beno felt as if the air had been knocked out of him.
He turned away from the screen, his vision blurred by tears.
CLANG.
A metal pan struck the back of his head.
> "Ouch!"
Beno flinched, clutching the spot. He turned.
The old man—his boss—glared at him, grease-stained apron flapping.
> "You crying in the sink again, punk?! I swear, one more slip-up and I'll start charging you for standing!"
"Sorry…" Beno muttered, eyes down.
> "Get the hell back to work!"
The boss walked off, still muttering curses.
Behind him, the voices of customers filled the air again. Laughter. Gossip.
> "Renzo's different. Even when we were kids, he wasn't like the rest of us."
> "He's S-rank for sure. Just wait."
> "And his brother? Hah. Guy's still mopping floors somewhere."
Beno didn't turn around. But he heard it.
Every word.
Especially the last one—whispered, but meant to sting.
> "Should've changed his name. Dragging Renzo's legacy through the mud, working like a rat in a kitchen…"
He stared down at the dishwater.
His reflection stared back—skin pale, eyes red, hair stuck to his forehead in greasy strands. His apron was stained, fingers raw.
He barely looked human.
---
Renzo's voice echoed again in his head.
Not from the screen.
From memory.
> "If you ever contact me again… I'll kill you."
He hadn't been shouting. Just… saying it.
And Beno had believed every word.
He blinked. The sponge was still floating in the water.
He picked it up again and kept scrubbing.
There was nothing else to do.
No friends to text.
No family to call.
No one waiting for him outside these walls.
Only dishes.
Only silence.
Only the reminder that he was a forgotten stain in the shadow of someone the world now called a legend.
And yet—
Somewhere deep inside that silence…
Something stirred.
Beno stands at the sink, scrubbing dishes. Steam rises from the water. His hands move automatically.
SFX: Dripping water. The distant hum of a TV.
FLASH—
INT. DARK HALLWAY – MEMORY
Blood. Cold tile. A lifeless hand sticks out from a doorway—his father. Silent.
A scream in the distance—his mother, vanishing into smoke.
A ten-year-old Renzo, standing in the center. Crying. Face streaked with ash and tears.
YOUNG RENZO (whispering):
"You weren't here…
FLASH BACK—
INT. KITCHEN – NIGHT
Beno drops a plate. It shatters in the sink.
SFX: CRACK!
His hands tremble. He grips the counter, breath heavy, shoulders tight. Water runs. Soap bubbles drift, untouched.
BENO (V.O.):
"You weren't there… You weren't there…"
His reflection stares back at him in the dishwater—tired, pale, broken.
Silence.
A Night That Should've Been Normal
Later that night, Beno pedaled slowly through the outer streets of Veno City.
The night air was cool and thin, brushing against his cheeks like the fading remnants of something warm. But there was no warmth left in him.
Just silence. The kind that wraps around your ribs and squeezes.
Neon signs buzzed. Streetlamps flickered. The roads were nearly empty—just a few late commuters, the hum of distant traffic, the soft pulse of a city trying to forget how broken it really was.
Beno came to a stop at a red light.
He sat quietly, one foot on the ground, his eyes lifting toward the sky—cloudless, starless, like a void stretched across the heavens.
> I wish I could disappear into it...
Then—
BOOM.
The sound wasn't thunder.
It was wrong.
The sky cracked like shattered glass. A jagged tear ripped itself open above the main intersection. Black mist poured from the rift—thick, pulsing like smoke that slithered.
And from that wound in the sky, monsters began to fall.
At first, just a few.
Then dozens.
Goblins.
Twisted, snarling creatures with malformed limbs and jagged weapons strapped to their backs. Their eyes burned with orange light, their armor rusted and blood-stained.
They hit the ground and moved fast.
Too fast.
Pedestrians screamed. One woman dropped her groceries and ran. A taxi crashed into a light post trying to avoid a panicked crowd. Someone shouted for help—then screamed again as a goblin pounced, teeth sinking into their throat.
The street erupted into chaos.
Goblins tore through metal like paper—ripping car doors open, dragging people out, slicing with rusted blades. The sound of shattering glass, human shrieks, and the wet slap of torn flesh filled the air.
Beno's blood turned to ice.
One goblin stopped in front of him, its mouth stretching into a grin.
> It's looking right at me.
His legs kicked backward instinctively.
> Move!
He barely turned the handlebars when the goblin lunged.
Its clawed hand slammed into him, knocking him clean off the bike.
The world spun.
Concrete cracked against his side.
He hit the road hard, ribs flaring in pain. His bike clattered and sparked against the pavement, flipping once before landing in a heap of bent metal.
Beno groaned, blood already slick in his mouth.
The goblin stomped toward him, dragging a chipped club across the asphalt.
He tried to crawl.
The goblin raised the club high.
Beno twisted—BOOM!
The club crashed where his skull had been a heartbeat ago, leaving a crater in the sidewalk.
He scrambled to his feet, legs weak, lungs burning.
He ran.
His shoes slipped on blood-slick pavement. A body lay nearby—a man with half his face missing, his eyes glassy with horror. A woman's scream rang out, followed by the unmistakable sound of tearing flesh.
> This isn't a raid.
> It's a massacre.
Beno dashed into a side alley, panting hard, vision spinning. His hand scraped against a dumpster, using it to push forward.
A second goblin dropped from the fire escape ahead, landing like an animal, its twin daggers already gleaming with blood.
He skidded to a stop.
Turned back.
Three more were already coming from behind.
He was surrounded.
> I'm not a hunter.
> I don't have magic. I don't have weapons. I don't even know how to throw a punch.
A scream escaped him—raw, animal.
He leapt at the chain-link fence and began climbing. His hands burned on the rusted metal, but he didn't stop. One goblin grabbed his ankle—he kicked blindly, catching it in the face.
It screeched, falling back.
Beno dropped over the top and ran, nearly tripping on the landing.
The alley opened into a plaza.
Bodies littered the space.
A child sobbed next to her mother's corpse, only to be silenced as a goblin's blade cut clean across her back. Beno nearly vomited.
He looked around—anywhere, *anywhere* to hide.
Then he saw it.
A stairwell leading down into the subway.
He bolted for it.
The stairs were slick. He stumbled once, nearly falling, but he kept going. The air grew damp and cold as he descended. Fluorescent lights flickered like dying fireflies.
He turned into the underground platform—deserted. Silent. Train tracks stretching into endless dark.
He dropped behind a column, breathing hard, sweat and blood dripping down his face.
His ribs throbbed. His knees shook. His vision blurred.
> I'm gonna die here…
He didn't even have the strength to stand.
But then—a sound.
Heavy. Grinding.
Metal boots on stone.
He turned his head slowly.
It emerged from the top of the stairwell.
A Goblin Giant
Nearly eleven feet tall.
Muscles like coiled rope beneath cracked black armor. Two giant tusks jutted from its mouth. It dragged a massive axe behind it, the blade grinding sparks from the stairs.
Its red eyes locked onto Beno.
And it smiled.
The same way someone might smile before stepping on a bug.
Beno couldn't breathe.
The goblin lifted its axe.
And charged.
The ground trembled with each step.
Beno turned, forcing his legs to move—he sprinted down the tracks, heart slamming in his chest. The metal of the rails clanged under his feet. Behind him, the thundering steps of the beast echoed like war drums.
He glanced back.
Too close.
The goblin raised the axe—
And swung.
The air screamed.
Steel howled.
Beno dove left—
CRASH.
The axe hit the tunnel wall, tearing stone like paper. Shards exploded across the track, dust clouding the air.
Beno rolled, coughing, eyes stinging.
He crawled, hands shaking.
The goblin roared behind him—a deep, guttural sound that rattled his bones.
He stumbled to his feet.
The darkness of the subway stretched before him—unknown.
But better than the monster behind him.
He ran.
And the giant chased.
Soon he reach Dead end and giant Goblin raise his Axes and
---
To Be Continued...