The hot afternoon sun hung over the azure sky like a fireball stranded above a sapphire sea. Towering crystalline spires caught the light, refracting it into shards that danced across the city below.
Beneath, the metropolis pulsed with life. Hovercars glided along metallic roads, sleek jets carved trails across the skyline, and holographic ads blinked and shifted on floating screens, vying for attention in a riot of color.
[DING DING DING]
The high-pitched alarm bell pierced the city's hum—the campus erupting. Students spilled from every building: some laughing, their voices bouncing in excited clusters; others stiffened with tension, glancing at the gate like it held a secret they weren't ready for. Footsteps clattered on walkways, backpacks swung wildly, and the air thickened with a mix of anticipation and chaos as the crowd surged toward the massive entrance gate.
Amid the tide of students, a lean figure cut through the chaos with unhurried grace. Damian moved like someone untouched by noise—each stride measured, each breath calm. His worn backpack hung loosely over one shoulder, swinging in rhythm with his steps.
The afternoon breeze tousled his dark hair, and his crimson eyes swept across the crowd—not aimlessly, but calculating, as though every face and gesture were a piece on some invisible chessboard.
"Damian! Damian!"
The shout cracked through the noise. Damian slowed, turning slightly. A boy jogged toward him—red hair gleaming under the sun, ocean-blue eyes bright with mischief. Adrian always looked like he belonged in front of a camera, not trudging out of a classroom.
"Hey, Adrian." Damian's tone was calm, almost distant, as he resumed walking. Adrian groaned, quickening his pace to keep up.
"Man, can you believe it? High school's almost over!" Adrian grinned, clapping Damian's shoulder. "Final exams next week—finally!"
Damian gave a soft chuckle. "You sound eager to suffer." His voice was low and smooth, but the edge of irony wasn't lost on Adrian.
Suffer?" Adrian scoffed, tossing his hair back with exaggerated flair. "Please. With looks like this?" He tapped his own cheek, flashing a grin that would've made half their class swoon.
Damian snorted softly, stepping through the school gates and into the city's glow. The air shimmered with streaks of neon and the hum of distant hovercars.
"So, what's your plan now?" he asked without looking back.
"I don't know yet." Adrian shoved his hands into his pockets, shrugging.
Damian arched a brow. "You don't know?"
"I mean, it depends." Adrian stretched the words lazily. "If I pass—which, obviously, I will—"
Damian rolled his eyes at that, earning a smug grin from Adrian.
"—and if I can reach the physical requirements," Adrian continued, "then I'm shooting for Argion Academy. Top-tier, right? Up in Crestfall, Northern Virelia. But if that doesn't pan out…" He gave another shrug. "Guess I'll just hit a normal university and pray it's not too boring."
"Argion Academy, huh?" Damian murmured, half to himself, as Adrian's chatter faded into the city noise. His eyes trailed a sleek transport drone as it zipped overhead, sunlight glinting off its metallic shell.
"Getting there isn't easy," he thought, fingers tightening around his backpack strap. "Not for someone like me. No home. No family. No name anyone remembers."
The thought lingered for a moment before he straightened, his steps firming. "Then I'll just have to make them remember. Whatever it takes, I'll stand with the best."
He turned to Adrian. "Hey, I've got to go train. Can't afford to slack if I want a shot at qualifying."
Adrian gave a mock salute, grinning. "Yeah, yeah. Go break a sweat, genius."
They split paths at the edge of the transit hub, where a stream of students poured toward the mag-line. Adrian headed toward Dawnfield Quarters — glassy buildings glowing soft gold in the afternoon light. Damian's path curved the other way, deeper into the city's heart.
The hum of engines thickened as he passed row after row of gleaming storefronts and vending pods. Neon signs flashed, their letters shifting languages with every flicker. Street vendors barked deals, selling everything from nutrient bars to knockoff augment chips.
His destination rose ahead — the Zenith Gymatorium, a massive complex of reinforced glass and carbon beams, its sign pulsing with blue light. Inside, the air vibrated with the rhythm of fists meeting targets and the sharp bark of instructors correcting forms.
Damian exhaled slowly, feeling his pulse steady. This was the only place he felt grounded — no noise, no pity, no distractions. Just discipline and the sound of his own breathing.
The gym doors parted with a hiss, releasing a burst of chilled, perfumed air. Heads turned for a second — trainees — a few nods of recognition, then back to work. Damian had earned that kind of acknowledgment: quiet respect, no applause.
The scent of ozone and synthetic lavender mingled in the air. The place gleamed — a vast chamber of polished metal and cold light. Blue energy veins pulsed along the floor and walls, tracing geometric patterns like a heartbeat beneath the steel. Floating holo-screens broadcasted city news and sponsorship ads, their colors flickering across the mirrored surfaces.
Rows of advanced training rigs sprawled across the hall: exoskeletal frames, gravity platforms, kinetic simulators — each one whirring, clanking, humming like an orchestra of precision.
Damian went to the his biometrics sealed locker, dropped his bag in it and changed into a black leathery tight-fitting combat suit and made his way to one of the larger machines — a hulking punching unit anchored to the floor. Its concave strike plate was wrapped in dense, shock-absorbent material, faded from years of abuse. Faint scratches scored its surface, scars from countless trainees who'd tested their limits against it. Above it, a holo-meter hovered in the air, its translucent digits calibrated to measure impact force in kilograms.
He brushed his knuckles across the plate. The metal was cool — Obsidite alloy, mined from the heart of Abyss Gates. Durable, rare, expensive. He clenched his fist and dropped to a low stance. "Now let's see how far I've come."
BAM!!!
His fist slammed into the strike plate, the impact reverberating through the machine with a violent metallic groan. Shockwaves pulsed through the floor beneath his boots as the holo-meter flickered wildly, numbers climbing in rapid succession before freezing at 2013KG.
The gym quieted for a moment. Then the usual rhythm of grunts and whirs resumed. Damian exhaled sharply, shaking out his hand. The skin across his knuckles burned, veins standing out like cords.
"Not bad," he muttered, eyes narrowing at the display, "but not good enough."
He turned toward the speed rig — a sleek, fifty-meter kinetic track that shimmered with blue light. As he stepped onto it, a faint hum filled the air. Energy coils spun up, adjusting to his biometrics.
"Let's see what you've got today," he whispered to himself.
The machine flared to life, and Damian launched forward. His strides blurred, muscles screaming as the surface accelerated beneath him. Wind resistance kicked in, simulated by the system to mimic real-world drag. Holo-sensors tracked his movement, projecting ghostly afterimages of each step.
86 km/h. The meter steadied.
He slowed, panting, sweat beading down his temple. "Speed threshold… met," he thought grimly. "But strength's still lacking."
His gaze drifted back to the punching unit, the scars on its plate glinting under the neon lights. "I need to train harder."
Damian straightened, his breath steadying as his heartbeat slowed. The ache in his muscles pulsed like molten lead, but he wasn't done yet. His gaze locked onto the gravity platform — a circular metal dais thrumming faintly with blue energy, ringed by holographic stabilizers.
He stepped onto it.
"I've noticed my core's lagging," he muttered under his breath. "If I can't channel power efficiently, it's useless."
The platform hummed alive. A thin holo-barrier flared around him, encasing him in a translucent field of light. Lines of data streamed through the air — G-Force: 1.0 … 2.3 … 3.8 …
The pressure built. His legs trembled. Sweat slicked his back. Veins bulged against his skin as he forced his breathing to stay even.
4.7 … 5.2 … 5.9 …
The air thickened like syrup. The platform's sensors pulsed red, adapting dynamically to his strain level, calibrating the exact threshold he could endure. Damian's vision blurred, his body screaming for release.
Then— CRACK!!!
He dropped to one knee as gravity crushed him down. The reading peaked at 6.0 Gs, then blinked out. The field collapsed in a burst of light, and the platform powered down with a hiss.
Damian gasped, chest heaving. "Damn it," he spat, wiping the sweat from his chin. "Still not enough."
And then — a hush swept across the gym.
The automatic doors parted with a hiss as a man stepped inside, flanked by his chauffeur. His very presence altered the air — calm, heavy, commanding. Every trainee froze. Some whispered. Others straightened instinctively, voices overlapping as they greeted him.
The gym manager — an Abyss Champion (Tier 1) — walked with slow, deliberate steps. His tailored coat bore faint silver seams of tech-thread, and the air around him seemed to ripple faintly with latent power.
He barely acknowledged the greetings, his eyes fixed on the gravity platform — and on the boy still kneeling on it.
A flicker of surprise crossed his face. This one's still holding together? he thought.
The chauffeur followed his gaze. "A trainee, sir?"
The manager's lips curled slightly. "Not just any trainee," he said quietly. "He withstood five Gs without awakening. Impressive… for someone not even an Initiate yet."
The air around the platform shimmered faintly as the gravity field shut down. Damian knelt, one palm pressed against the cold metal. The pressure faded, but the ache stayed — his entire body vibrating with exhaustion.
A soft chuckle came from behind.
"You push yourself harder every time, don't you Damian?"
Damian looked up. The voice belonged to the gym manager — a man built like tempered steel. His eyes gleamed with calm confidence, the kind that came from years spent inside Abyss Zones. His presence was quiet but commanding — like gravity itself had bowed to him.
"Manager Klaus," Damian said, rising slowly to his feet. "I still couldn't pass six Gs."
Klaus nodded slightly, his expression unreadable. "You're not an Initiate yet. But holding five Gs without breaking bones or losing consciousness…" His gaze sharpened. "That's rare."
"I'm not aiming to be rare," Damian replied, steady but respectful. "I'm aiming to be strong."
Klaus's lips twitched into the faintest smile. "Strength without foundation collapses. Patience, boy. The body grows faster than the spirit — and that's where most fall."
He stepped past Damian, inspecting the holo-readings still hovering faintly in the air. Numbers flickered — G-Force: 5.93 Peak / Duration: 12.3s. Klaus studied them with quiet approval.
"Keep training," he said finally. "Your control over your center of mass is improving. When the time comes to awaken, you'll need that stability. Power without control just kills faster."
He turned and walked off, the chauffeur trailing behind him. The hum of conversation slowly returned as the gym's trainees exhaled in relief.
Damian wiped his sweat-damp face with his sleeve and gave a soft exhale of his own. "Control, huh?" he murmured. "Guess I'll have to master that too."
He stepped away from the platform, rolling his shoulders. Around him, others resumed their workouts, but something had shifted — a few eyes lingered on him longer now. Respectful. Curious. Maybe even envious.
Damian ignored them, heading toward the corner of the gym where a row of holo-screens floated above a metallic lounge bench. One was playing a news broadcast. Another displayed sports results. A third rotated through combat tournament highlights.
He sat, sipping water from a dispenser. Just as his breathing began to settle—
[BREAKING NEWS ALERT]
The holo-screens flickered red. The gym's background noise dimmed as everyone's attention turned toward the sudden broadcast.
A sleek female anchor appeared, her voice calm but heavy.
"We interrupt regular programming for urgent news. A high-ranking exploration team from the Black Bastion Guild has gone missing within Abyss Zone 12. The team, consisting of one Tier 3 Abyss Hunter, two Tier 2s, and one Tier 1, lost all contact with their guild headquarters four days after entering the Zone. Search and rescue operations have been initiated by the World Hunter Federation (WHF) and the Central Defence Command (CDC), but communication remains unstable. The cause of disappearance is still unknown."
Gasps echoed around the gym. Someone muttered, "A Tier 3? Gone?" Another whispered, "That's impossible—Zone 12 isn't even classified as High Risk."
Damian's eyes stayed locked on the screen. His expression didn't change, but something flickered behind his crimson irises — something between curiosity and dread.
The anchor continued:
"The Abyssal Containment Bureau (ACB) has yet to release a full statement, but local sources report fluctuations in spatial readings near the Gate suggests a minor Gate Breach. Citizens are advised to stay clear of Abyss-adjacent areas until further notice."
The broadcast ended, the gym returning to its usual background hum.
Damian leaned back slowly, eyes drifting toward the glowing ceiling. His reflection shimmered faintly on the metallic floor beneath him.
"Zone 12…" he muttered. "Even Tier 3s can disappear, huh?"
He clenched his fist. The knuckles popped softly.
"That's the world we live in."
Outside, the afternoon sun dimmed behind drifting aircars, casting long shadows through the glass walls of the gym. Somewhere beyond that bright skyline, the Abyss Gates pulsed — silent, endless, waiting.
And soon, Damian knew, he'd be stepping toward one himself.