The sharp buzz of an old alarm clock cut through the flimsy walls of the Gray family’s apartment. It was a relic, scavenged from some junk pile, but it did its job—waking Henry Gray from a restless sleep.He groaned, dragging himself upright. His body ached from yesterday’s endless hustle, and his eyes burned as he stared at the cracked ceiling. A thin fracture ran across it, like a warning the whole place might come crashing down. The cot squeaked as he swung his legs over the side, the cold floor stinging his bare feet.Across the room, his fourteen-year-old brother, Tom, was curled up on a pile of tattered blankets, his face soft in sleep. Henry watched him for a moment, reluctant to wake him. Let the kid dream a little longer.He moved quietly through the dim apartment, avoiding the creaky floorboards. In the next room, behind a door so thin it might as well be paper, his sixteen-year-old sister, Lily, was still asleep. Their mother’s room was silent except for the faint flicker o

The hospital room was cloaked in shadows, the only light coming from the faint glow of the machine beside Henry’s bed, its steady beeping a constant reminder that he was still here. Alive. Somehow.His body didn’t feel like his own. Every muscle ached, heavy with the memory of the crash, but there was something else—a restless energy crawling under his skin, like a current he couldn’t shake. Two weeks had slipped away while he lay unconscious, leaving Lily and Tom to fend for themselves. The thought of their struggle, of their mother’s absence, pressed against his chest like a stone. But it wasn’t just guilt that gnawed at him. Something felt… wrong. The air itself seemed sharper, heavier, as if the world had shifted while he was out.Henry stared at the ceiling, his head throbbing with a dull ache. He tried to piece together the accident—blinding lights, the scream of a truck, then nothing. But the more he thought, the more that strange, electric feeling pulsed inside him.Then it ca

Henry held up his new Hunter ID to the guard at the dungeon facility’s checkpoint. The man, clad in dark combat gear, barely glanced at him before scanning the card with a handheld device. A small beep confirmed Henry’s status.“First-timer?” the guard asked, his voice flat, almost bored.Henry gave a tight nod. The guard’s eyes flicked to the basic sword strapped to Henry’s waist—a standard-issue F1 blade, nothing special. Something like pity flashed in the man’s gaze before he waved Henry through. “Don’t die in there, kid.”Henry didn’t respond, his jaw set as he stepped past the checkpoint. The air shifted, heavy with an electric hum that made his skin prickle. The lobby was a hive of activity—Hunters adjusting armor, checking weapons, or whispering strategies in tight-knit groups. Along the walls, portals glowed with an eerie light, each marked with a difficulty rating. Even the weakest ones pulsed with danger.Henry’s destination was an F-rank portal, the lowest of the low, but t

Henry stood in the dim glow of the dungeon’s bioluminescent moss, his chest heaving, a grin spreading across his face. “Hell yeah,” he muttered, the thrill of survival buzzing through him.He focused inward, and a faint shimmer appeared in his mind’s eye—a status display, like something from one of Tom’s video games, but real. Too real.[Status: Henry Gray. Level: 2, Rank: F. Progress: 120/3000. Vitality: 150/150. Strength: 45. Agility: 50. Endurance: 38. Perception: 25. Skill Points: 60.]No time to overthink. He needed to be stronger, faster—now. He poured most of his skill points into raw power and speed, trusting his instincts. [Strength +40. Agility +20.] His stats surged: Strength to 85, Agility to 70.The change hit like a jolt. His muscles tightened, his body felt lighter, like he’d shed a heavy coat. His arms were steadier, his legs itching to move. He smirked. “Alright, let’s see what I can—”He took a step and nearly stumbled, his body lurching forward too fast. The sudden

The boss chamber was a pressure cooker, the air thick with the weight of the Stonebreaker Troll’s presence. Each breath Henry took felt heavy, laced with the damp scent of stone and the faint tang of his own blood. The troll loomed before him, its four-meter frame nearly brushing the cavern’s ceiling. Its rocky skin glinted in the dim dungeon light, muscles rippling like a living mountain. Its yellow eyes glowed, locked onto Henry, watching, waiting.This wasn’t a mindless beast. It was calculating, sizing him up. Waiting for him to make the first move.Henry’s grip tightened on his sword, his body taut, heart steady despite the ache in his ribs from Boros’s earlier hit. He’d faced monsters before, but this was different. This thing knew how to fight.“Alright, big guy,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders to shake off the lingering pain. “Let’s see if you’re all muscle and no brains.”He shifted his stance, then moved. [Dash] kicked in, his body blurring forward in a zigzag, unpredict