Date: October 21, 2000
Months Later
The world had changed.
It started with a tremor—so small, no one paid it any mind. But then, all across the globe, they emerged.
Towers.
Towering black spires, obsidian in texture, pulsing faintly with a crimson light. Each one stood silently, planted into the earth like the teeth of some ancient god. They came without warning, without explanation, without reason.
From the Philippines to Canada, from Russia to South Africa, every nation witnessed the rise of at least one.
And from these towers, monsters came.
Creatures of myth and nightmare—wyverns with molten breath, ogres with hide like steel, twisted beasts that no science could catalog—poured out like a plague. Cities crumbled beneath their claws. The military fought back with everything they had—guns, tanks, even missiles—but it wasn't enough.
Nations fell.
Governments collapsed into chaos. Martial law became the rule of the land. People fled the cities, seeking shelter in mountains, forests, anywhere the towers couldn't reach.
Panic became the new normal.
And just when it felt like humanity was slipping into extinction, hope sparked in the unlikeliest of places.
A video leaked online—raw footage from a scorched district in Nevada, USA. The sky was thick with smoke, and a wyvern loomed over a group of cornered civilians. But then, a single man stood between them and the beast.
He raised his hand.
And fire answered.
The wyvern screeched in pain as waves of flame engulfed it. In seconds, the monster fell, its body blackened and still.
That man's name was Roger Wilson—a 24-year-old college dropout, once aimless and forgotten. The world knew his name by morning.
In a live broadcast, Roger sat on a cracked hospital bed, still bandaged from the fight. His eyes were steady—not with pride, but with something deeper—like he'd seen something no one else had.
> "I was just sleeping," he said. "And in the dream... there was this angel. She looked at me—glowing, massive wings, eyes that felt like they saw every part of me—and she asked me one question."
He paused.
> "Do you desire power?"
The interviewer blinked. "And what did you say?"
Roger gave a half-smile. "I said yes."
He held up his hand.
> "When I woke up... it felt like my body was on fire. Not in pain—like energy. I looked at my fingers, and it was like something was alive under my skin. I snapped, and..."
He snapped again. A small flame flickered to life.
> "Just like that," he said. "As if it had been waiting in me all along."
The world exploded with curiosity.
At first, no one believed him. Then came others—dozens, then hundreds—from different nations, races, and walks of life. All with similar stories. All claiming to have dreamed of the angel. All waking up... changed.
They called themselves Awakened.
The media dubbed them Hunters.
And as the monster attacks grew worse, more and more Hunters began to appear—wielding fire, wind, water, shadows, light, and powers that defied logic.
Some chose to protect.
They formed guilds, battled the beasts, and defended the remains of civilization.
Others chose power.
They saw the world as a new game, where strength meant control and rules no longer applied.
Humanity stood at a crossroads.
And somewhere, among the ruins of a forgotten district, a boy named Rover stood alone, watching a flickering television from the sidewalk outside a shattered electronics store. The screen played the same footage on loop—Roger Wilson summoning fire, the angel's question, the rising legends of the Awakened.
People gathered around him, whispering in awe.
But Rover said nothing.
His hands were buried deep in his tattered hoodie. His face was thin, gaunt, hidden beneath overgrown bangs and a growing coldness in his eyes.
He remembered the way his mother screamed before the wyvern's claws tore through her.
He remembered the soldier's last stand—the final cry, the sacrifice, the silence that followed.
And yet, no dream had come.
No angel.
No whisper in the night.
> "Why not me…?" Rover thought bitterly, his throat tightening. "Why didn't she come?"
He stared at his reflection in the glass—small, broken, forgotten.
> "Don't I deserve it?"
The others around him spoke of miracles.
But Rover felt only rage.
And in that rage, a quiet promise was born—not made to the angel, not to the world—but to the mother he couldn't save, and the soldier who died a hero.
He didn't want power just to protect.
He wanted it to destroy.
To burn the monsters to ash.
To make them pay.
He stepped away from the TV as the fire on-screen crackled behind him, casting a glow on his back.
And as the crowd cheered for heroes, Rover walked into the shadows.
Waiting.
Still forgotten.
But not for long.
To be continued....