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"It all began when the sky tore open."
A few years ago, the world changed forever. The first crack in the sky wasn't noticed at first — a strange shimmer, like a heat wave in winter. But within days, gates began appearing across the planet. Not just in cities — they emerged in forests, deserts, oceans, and even beneath the ground.
From them came horrors: beasts with ten eyes, demons that walked like men, and creatures that whispered madness into the minds of soldiers.
But just as the world braced for extinction, it found a strange hope.
Some humans began to awaken powers — raw, unexplainable abilities triggered by the dimensional energy. They became warriors. Heroes. Survivors. The world called them Saviours.
They pushed the monsters back. Fought. Won.
And then… the gates closed.
No more monsters. No more dimensional energy leaking through.
The war, they thought, was over.
But that was when everything truly began to fall apart.
---
The year is 2025.
Earth is still here — scarred, scared, and silent.
After the gates sealed shut, many Saviours refused to give up their power. With no monsters left to fight, some turned to ruling instead. Nations broke apart. Cities became territories.
The world called them protectors. Now, they call them Tyrants.
Among them is the feared Saviour organization "Hounds of Ecos", based on a sovereign island-nation born after the war. Isolated like New Zealand, it became a haven for power — and corruption.
---
Rain poured like judgment.
In the heart of a dimly lit city, Peter sprinted through empty streets, hoodie soaked, sneakers slapping puddles. Neon signs buzzed weakly above him. A hospital tower stood ahead, its red emergency sign blinking like a warning.
His breath came fast. His eyes — wide and stormy, just like the sky.
"Please be okay. Please..."
He burst through the hospital doors, nearly slipping on the tile floor. The receptionist barely looked up — this was the third assault case tonight. But Peter's eyes locked on a figure down the hallway.
His mother.
She was slumped on a bench, hands trembling over her soaked purse, mascara ruined.
"Mom!" he called.
She looked up. Her eyes were red.
Peter knelt beside her. "Where is he?"
Her voice broke. "Your father's in ICU. They... they said he was beaten. He's unconscious."
Peter's fists clenched. "By who?"
She hesitated. "They said... someone from the Hounds of Ecos. A new trainee. Rico something…"
A police officer walked over, soaked hat in his hand. "You the son?"
Peter stood. "Yeah."
The officer glanced at the mother, then sighed. "We're aware of the suspect. Name's Rico Vane. Trainee class. Recently awakened. Says your dad 'got in his way' when he wouldn't give him access to some secure files."
Peter's jaw tightened. "So? You gonna arrest him?"
The officer exhaled slowly. "Can't touch him. Not without clearance. He's under Ecos protection. Higher-ups are already blocking the report. I'm sorry, kid."
Peter didn't respond. His breathing slowed. His eyes froze.
Then he turned and walked out into the rain.
---
The bar was lit like a cheap nightmare.
Neon red, cigarette haze, and synth music buzzing in the corners. Rico was laughing over a drink with two women, arms wide, swagger heavy.
The door slammed open.
Everyone turned.
Peter stood in the doorway, soaked to the bone. Blonde hair dripping. Blue eyes locked on Rico.
The music died.
Rico raised an eyebrow. "Oh? So the kid shows up. Lookin' all dramatic. I like that."
Peter walked forward. "You hurt my father."
Rico chuckled. "Man wouldn't cooperate. Thought he was above us. Guess he found out he wasn't."
Peter didn't speak. He just took a stance.
Feet angled. Fists clenched.
Taekwondo.
Boxing.
And rage.
Rico smirked. "You serious? You think you can take on me, the great Rico? I awakened three months ago. Got strength. Got durability. You? You're just a wet kid with some kicks."
Peter dashed forward — a feint to the left, roundhouse to the right. His foot slammed into Rico's side, fast and precise.
Rico barely flinched.
Then he moved.
One punch.
A shockwave ripped through the air. The road behind Peter cracked in a spiderweb pattern. Streetlamps flickered. Car alarms blared.
Peter flew ten meters, smashed into a trash bin, and didn't get up.
Rico walked over, slow, menacing.
"Ruined my drink. My mood. My night," he muttered, cracking his knuckles.
Peter coughed blood, blinking up at the sky. It was still raining. His ribs were broken. His fingers didn't move.
"Is this it?" he thought.
"Is th
is how I go?"
"What happens to Mom? To Dad?"
Rico raised his hand for the final blow.
And then—
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Chapter 1 Ends.
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