The mist pressed against the world like a suffocating shroud—alive, watching, and cold as the grave.
Noah stepped lightly, each footfall barely stirring the damp forest floor. His heart pounded like war drums, relentless and wild. Every breath dragged iron and rot into his lungs. The fog twisted the world around him, warping trees into clawed horrors, sculpting stones into hunched silhouettes that stared with eyeless malice.
Then they came.
First, shadows slithered through the roots—slick, boneless things, silent and hungry. Then came crawling figures, malformed and unnatural. Their limbs bent at impossible angles. Bones jutted like blades from torn skin. Dozens emerged, stitched-together abominations with ember-like eyes and fangs like shattered glass.
The stench followed—wet fur, rotting flesh, and burning ozone. It clawed into Noah's nose, turned his stomach.
A low growl rumbled through the air.
Noah staggered back as the trees split open. Something vast moved with the grace of a god and the weight of a mountain. Four-legged, cloaked in obsidian scales that glowed from within like molten rock. Its horns were jagged spears of volcanic glass. Its breath hissed through razor fangs.
Its eyes met his.
Cruel.
Ancient.
Intelligent.
A Rank 3 Beast.
The very air seemed to collapse. Pressure dropped like a tomb sealing shut. The lesser beasts cowered, their growls dying to whimpers as they scurried aside, yielding to their alpha.
Noah couldn't move.
"I'm not awakened," he thought. The panic swallowed him. "I can't fight that. I can't even—"
The fog stirred, and the smaller beasts leapt.
Fangs. Screams. Chaos.
Noah moved without thought. Pure survival.
His dagger flashed in arcs of silver. It bit through tendons, sank into sockets. He rolled beneath a lunging maw, only to be tackled from behind. Claws tore into his shoulder. Pain bloomed—but he drove the blade through its skull with a snarl.
His body became the price of survival.
Every wound was a toll. Blood spilled like coins in the mud.
A gash opened along his thigh. His ribs cracked under a swipe. But he didn't stop. He couldn't. His breath was fire, his heartbeat thunder, and every strike was desperate, savage, final.
When the last of them twitched in the dirt, Noah staggered. The world swam. Blood poured from torn flesh. His vision flickered.
And then—
Spark.
A flicker of power danced across his hands. Lightning. Raw, sharp, divine. It kissed his skin, made his bones hum.
Hope surged.
He reached for it—
And it vanished.
Gone like a dream upon waking.
"I finally awaken and I can't even use it," he hissed. "Damn my luck."
The Rank 3 hadn't moved.
It watched.
Then—it charged.
The ground cracked beneath its bulk. Trees bent from its roar. Noah turned and ran, lungs burning.
He glanced back toward the distant tower.
"I hope you guys survive," he whispered.
The forest shifted around him—paths warped, trees bled into stone, marsh into cliff. There was no logic here. No direction. Just the mist, swallowing everything.
He was alone. Lost. Hunted.
His leg buckled. His wounds screamed. But he kept running.
Eventually, he collapsed beneath a shattered tree, gasping for breath. The growl echoed again—closer now. It was tracking him. Smelling his blood.
Then—he saw it.
A rusted iron rod, jammed into stone. Forgotten. Ancient.
Desperation sparked.
He crawled, fingers trembling, and pried the rod free. Wedged it at a cruel angle between two stones. A trap. A final gamble.
He stood in front of it, shaking.
Bait.
The mist split apart. The beast charged, death in motion.
Closer.
Faster.
Now.
Noah dove to the side.
SCHK-THUNK.
The rod punched through the underside of its jaw, burst out the crown of its skull. The beast spasmed—then fell like a mountain.
Silence.
Noah lay still. Breathing. Trembling.
Then—something surged.
Power flooded him. Not a spark this time—but a storm.
Lightning danced across his skin, coiling like serpents. His veins burned with it. His eyes glowed faintly. The pain was drowned beneath it, replaced by something greater.
He collapsed to his knees.
He had killed a Rank 3.
Alone.
He laughed. Bitter. Broken. "I should be dead."
But he wasn't.
The mist had spared him.
He hadn't outmatched the beast.
He'd gotten lucky.
But the world didn't care.
The system didn't care.
It recognized the kill.
He carved meat from the corpse with shaking hands, wrapped it in torn cloth. His blade was cracked. His fingers numb.
He wandered through the shifting forest until he found a shallow cave hidden by vines. He built a fire from wet branches and beast fur. It smoked and hissed, but burned.
He ate.
He felt the change in himself—wild, unshaped, powerful. Like a river trying to burst its banks.
And he thought of the others.
Did they make it out?
---
Outside the Tower
The massive door creaked open, spilling pale light into the ruined courtyard.
Three figures emerged, bloodied and battered.
Ryan. Aeris. Lucan.
They limped from the tower's shadow, weapons in hand—rewards granted by whatever force ruled the place. A spear, a shield, a jagged blade. Power. Gifts earned through trial.
But at a cost.
Ryan clutched his side, blood staining his jacket. Lucan supported him, face pale but healing, his ability already knitting skin beneath the surface. Aeris followed, a deep crimson gash crossing her arm. She didn't flinch. She never did.
They reached the edge of the clearing.
And froze.
Dozens of beasts lay scattered across the forest floor. Torn. Burned. Shattered. Claw marks carved into the trees. Blood soaked into the soil. Soot lingered like ash from some forgotten fire.
None of it made sense.
Ryan dropped to one knee beside a corpse, eyes wide.
"These things… they were killed recently. Sloppy. But effective. Someone fought them."
Lucan's brow furrowed. "Could've been Noah."
Aeris didn't answer. Her eyes followed the blood trails. So much blood. Too much.
Then—deep gouges in the earth. A trail leading into the forest. Something massive had charged through.
"No one could fight this many alone," Ryan whispered. "Not unawakened. Not Noah."
His voice cracked.
His hands trembled.
"I should've listened to him. I should've stayed—" He choked. "He's dead. Because of me."
Lucan knelt beside him, quiet for a moment. Then, gently, he placed a hand on Ryan's shoulder.
"We all make mistakes."
Ryan didn't answer.
Aeris still said nothing—but her fists clenched.
"I won't let this happen again," Ryan said finally, voice cold with resolve. "No more."
And together, they turned from the clearing.
Into the mist.
Not knowing that Noah was still alive.
That he had survived.
That somewhere, just beyond the fog, he was changing.