It was late. The clock had just ticked past eleven, and the camp, once buzzing with noise and movement, had finally settled into silence. Diego was finally done with the day's grind.
But there was still one thing left to do.
He opened his laptop, logged into PayPal, and transferred the little bit of money he'd managed to save from his wages to his mom. It wasn't much, but he knew it meant the world back home.
Jake was on night watch tonight, so the dorm was quiet—just him.
Diego leaned back against the headboard and tapped the screen to start a video call.
A few seconds later, the screen lit up with his mom's face. Maria adjusted the phone on its stand as she answered. His dad, Carlos, quickly joined her, sitting close by, eyes locked on the screen.
"You guys got the Awakening Program application today, didn't you?" Carlos asked, cutting straight to the point.
"Yeah, Dad." Diego nodded, picking up the completed form from his desk and holding it up to the camera. "I already filled it out. Just need to submit it."
Carlos stared at the screen, eyes fixed on the dense lines of text on the form. He didn't say anything right away. He just looked, like he was trying to see past the paper and into his son's heart.
Then, slowly, he lit a cigarette. Took a long drag. Smoke drifted lazily across the screen.
"You really thought this through?"
Diego didn't hesitate. He nodded, voice steady. "I have."
Through the screen, Diego noticed his father's hand tremble slightly. It wasn't fear—it was emotion, barely held in check, leaking out through his fingertips. Diego knew his dad wasn't calm inside.
"Good man," Carlos finally said, his voice thick with pride he couldn't hide. He gave a thumbs-up, a rare smile tugging at his lips. "I believe in you. You're gonna make it through Awakening."
Those words hit Diego right in the chest. He nodded back, voice low but firm. "I will, Dad."
"All right, it's late. Go wash up and get some rest. Big day tomorrow," Carlos said, his tone softening, his eyes full of warmth and hope.
Diego looked at their faces on the screen, and something swelled in his chest—something he couldn't quite name. He said quietly, "Good night, Mom. Dad. I love you."
Maria's voice came from off-screen, thick with emotion. "We love you too, baby."
The call hadn't even ended yet when Diego heard her start to cry. She wasn't on camera anymore, but the sound of her muffled sobs came through clearly.
Carlos didn't say anything else. He just ended the call.
Diego set the phone down and headed to the bathroom. The guy staring back at him in the mirror looked tired—but his eyes were sharper than ever.
He knew tomorrow would change everything.
Back in bed, he closed his eyes. His parents' faces lingered in his mind—warm, worried, but full of unwavering support. He could still hear his mom's quiet sobs, like a thread tugging at the softest part of his heart.
Awakening was never meant to be safe.
It was a gamble. A brutal one.
Out of every ten who entered, three or four would die. Of the rest, maybe one or two would actually succeed—gain a Supernatural Physique, and become one of the Awakened.
For someone like Diego, someone poor, someone with no other way out, it was a bet with no backup plan.
Failure meant death. Success meant rewriting his fate.
He understood his parents' fear. But they never tried to stop him. Because they knew—this was his only shot.
Diego bit his lower lip, took a deep breath, and forced the emotion down. He needed rest. He had to be at his best tomorrow.
…
Before dawn, Diego was already up and dressed, ready to go. He walked into the conference room, joining the other soldiers waiting for Major Rourke.
It wasn't long before Rourke strode in, a thick stack of application forms in hand. His face was as stern as ever, eyes sharp as blades as he scanned the room.
He sat down and started flipping through the forms, sorting them into two piles.
Minutes ticked by. The tension in the room was suffocating.
Finally, Rourke looked up. His voice was low, but it carried weight. "Soldiers, I've reviewed your applications. I'm pleased to say that over forty of you have chosen to enter the Awakening Program. Let's give them a round of applause."
Applause broke out across the room. Some soldiers looked proud, even thrilled. They were the ones who had submitted their forms. Others sat still, their expressions complicated, eyes flickering with doubt—they had chosen to walk away.
Out of the ninety-plus soldiers at Fort Whittier who qualified, nearly half had signed up. That was no small number.
"All right," Rourke said, clapping his hands once. "Those who submitted applications, stand up and follow me. The rest of you, stay seated."
His tone left no room for argument.
Diego stood without hesitation, joining the others as they filed out of the room.
Some glanced back, eyes full of uncertainty, maybe even regret.
But no one stopped.
They all knew—this step might be the line between life and death.
Under Major Rourke's lead, they moved down the corridor and entered a Military Classroom.
This was where it would all begin.
From today on, this room would be their training ground—the place where they'd cram every last bit of knowledge and strength into their bodies before the Awakening.
They'd study the basics of the Otherworld, undergo intense physical conditioning, and learn wilderness survival skills. This was the final sprint before the leap.
The soldiers who didn't sign up for the program? They'd be reassigned to other duties. No more access to these classes. No more talk of the Otherworld.
…
"Awakening"—on the surface, it sounded straightforward. But in reality, it was anything but.
The process, at first glance, seemed simple: once a soldier came into contact with Otherworld Essence, their body would be rapidly infused with supernatural energy from beyond. Then, the Otherworld itself would open a rift—a tear in space—and swallow them whole.
But that was just the beginning.
The journey through the rift between Earth and the Otherworld was a gauntlet of chaos and danger. Not everyone made it through.
Some were torn apart mid-transit by spatial turbulence, their bodies shredded and lost forever in the void.
And even if you made it to the Otherworld, that didn't mean you were safe.
Everyone landed in a random location. You might be lucky—dropped into a lush, resource-rich zone, surrounded by rare materials and ancient relics, like fate itself had smiled on you.
Or you might get dumped into a living nightmare—face-to-face with a pack of bloodthirsty Otherworld beasts the moment you hit the ground. No time to think. No time to run. Just death.
Worse still, some poor bastards materialized inside solid rock, deep underground, or right above a lava pit in an active volcano. For them, the Awakening ended before it even began.
That randomness—that brutal, merciless lottery—was why the death rate for the Awakening Program was so damn high.
To give them even a sliver of a fighting chance, Diego and the other volunteers were thrown into a whirlwind of training. No breaks. No breathing room.
It was a full-on assault—on their minds and their bodies.
They were force-fed everything they could possibly learn about the Otherworld: terrain types, creature classifications, energy flows, magical traps, survival tactics, combat strategies. It was like trying to drink from a firehose.
And even then, they were only scratching the surface.
The Otherworld was vast, unpredictable, and largely unmapped. There were entire regions no one had ever returned from.
At the same time, their physical training ramped up hard.
Because once you crossed over, there was no coming back—not right away. Most soldiers had to survive in the Otherworld for three to seven days before a return window opened.
Those days would be hell. And only the strong would make it out.
Physical fitness was the first line of defense.
Unless you were one of the unlucky ones who landed in a "death zone," you'd have to rely on your own strength to find shelter, avoid predators, and stay alive.
The Otherworld's ecosystem was savage. Its creatures were powerful, alien, and often hostile.
There was a saying that floated around Earth's military bases—a kind of grim joke among soldiers:
"The worst serial killer on Earth is still safer than the gentlest fairy in the Otherworld."
And it wasn't an exaggeration.
In the Otherworld, death wasn't the worst thing that could happen.
Some creatures fed on souls. They'd rip your consciousness from your body and toy with it—tormenting you over and over until your mind shattered. To them, human suffering was entertainment. A delicacy.
And for these young soldiers just beginning their Awakening journey, their bodies and minds were still too soft—too fragile to stand against the horrors that waited on the other side.
…
The next few months were a blur of brutal training.
Every morning, before the sun even thought about rising, Diego and his squad were yanked out of bed and thrown into the grind.
Mornings were for theory. They sat in rows in the military classroom, eyes glued to projection screens as instructors broke down the Otherworld's ecosystems, energy structures, danger zones, common traps, and how to survive them.
Each class was like a mental storm—information slamming into them nonstop.
Afternoons were all about the body.
They ran laps until their legs gave out, rolled through mud, sparred until their knuckles bled, carried weights, climbed walls. Their uniforms were soaked in sweat, their muscles constantly torn down and rebuilt.
Hand-to-hand combat, tactical movement, wilderness survival, emergency field medicine—every skill could be the difference between life and death.
Diego barely had time to breathe, let alone write. His novel, once his escape, now sat untouched for days at a time. His world had shrunk to three things: train, eat, sleep.
But he didn't complain.
The DFAC served high-calorie, high-protein meals that fueled his transformation. His body grew leaner, stronger. His reflexes sharpened. His endurance skyrocketed.
He was like a sponge—soaking up every drop of knowledge, every ounce of strength.
Because he knew what was coming.
That moment—when he'd finally step into the Otherworld—that would be the turning point of his life.
He had to be ready.
Because in that place, hesitation meant death.
And Diego had no intention of dying.
...