It began not with fire, but silence.
A ripple in the sky—thin, vertical, and utterly wrong. Like a scar carved into the firmament. No sound, no light, no warning. Just a tear in the world's skin.
The first Rift appeared over the Atlantic. Then another in Siberia. Then Cairo. Tokyo. New York.
Within a week, monsters poured through. Creatures no one had words for. Shapes that didn't obey the laws of flesh or bone. Governments scrambled. Militaries deployed. Cities turned into feeding grounds.
By the end of the month, fifteen nations no longer existed.
The Collapse
Some countries tried to fight with tanks and drones—steel against nightmares.
They lost.
Others turned to desperate measures: bio-enhancements, population culling, national quarantines. A few sealed themselves off completely, building massive dome cities with artificial skies and armed borders. They called it survival.
It looked more like slow suicide.
The United States fractured into five territories. China vanished behind a digital firewall—no signals in or out. France evacuated into the Alps. Russia embraced the supernatural, publicly partnering with "Awakened" beings, making dark pacts for protection.
Africa's heartlands became contested zones—half sanctuary, half graveyard. South America was flooded with Rift residue—jungles mutated, cities reclaimed by growth and teeth. Australia closed its ports and hasn't answered a single call since.
By year two, currency collapsed. Nations became factions. Borders became myths. And people—people learned to pray to things older than gods.
Some called it the end of the world.
But others called it the awakening.
The Rise of the Powered
From the chaos came something new.
Humans began to change. Some could bend metal with thought. Others could see seconds ahead or command beasts. They called it the Surge.
Survivors called them Hunters.
Governments that still stood quickly conscripted them. Created Rankings. Divisions. Licenses. Some Hunters were trained. Others simply survived. Mercenary Guilds rose from the rubble like kingdoms. Some cities became safe zones, others—war zones.
And looming above them all were two names.
Whispered.
Never spoken loudly.
Ash.
Tears.
No records. No faces. Just echoes of devastation left in their wake.
Some said Ash burned an entire Rift city to glass when his team was wiped out.
Others said Tears walked into a dimensional breach and never came back—only for the monsters to pour out dead five minutes later.
All anyone knew was this: if either name appeared in a report, entire governments paused.
Now
Five years later, the world limps on.
Hunters patrol the broken cities. Rifts still open, still hungry. Monsters evolve. New powers awaken. Old rules don't apply.
Storms rise without warning. Black rain falls. Nightmares stalk the ruins.
And in the shadow of the new world, a boy walks alone.
No power. No legacy.
Just a name he barely remembers and a fire he can't explain.
Because something is coming.
Something worse than the first Rift.
And it already knows his name.
To be continued...