Everyone knew what a Monarch was… who didn't?
Even a child could recite their names and legacies.
The Monarchs were the first Awakeners… the six who rose several hundred years ago from humanity's darkest trial.
They were the pioneers of strength, the first to conquer the Apocalypse when the world still had no idea what a "Call" even was.
The Monarchs faced nightmares no ordinary person could imagine. They were the ones who fought back when the monsters began spilling into the real world.
They cleared dungeons, destroyed corrupted humans, and pushed back the tide of chaos that threatened to wipe out civilization.
Without them, there would be no safe cities.
They were the ones who built the five Supercities, humanity's last bastions… immense fortresses of light surrounded by walls of mana and reinforced steel.
Every Awakener in this era owed their lives to the Monarchs.
Their stories were written into scripture, their bloodlines became Great Families, and even after their deaths, their influence never faded.
It was said that from the heavens above, they could still choose successors — mortals blessed with fragments of their divine power.
Those chosen by a Monarch were called the Chosen Line.
And that made them monsters in their own right.
Being chosen by a Monarch meant you were far stronger than the average Awakener, even stronger than most elites. But it came with a curse: slow growth.
A Monarch's Chosen grew in power far slower than others, because their abilities were rooted in ancient laws rather than simple experience.
Still, the greatest drawback wasn't just the slow growth…
It was the trial.
The first Apocalypse trial of a Monarch's Chosen was said to be ten times harder than that of a regular Awakener.
And even worse, if a Monarch's Chosen lost control… if they turned into a monster, the average Awakener could contain them.
Tim sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "So that's what I am now, huh? A walking disaster."
His words faded into the ashy world around him.
[You will be sent to the Dark Lands now…]
Before he could even react, the world vanished again.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
He felt the same sensation as before… falling endlessly, his body weightless, his vision twisting between light and shadow.
His stomach churned, but there was no pain, just that eerie floating feeling before…
He woke up.
In the… same place?
He blinked, looking around. The same field of gray ash stretched endlessly beneath a sky the color of old smoke. The same human skull lay at his feet, staring up at him like an old friend.
The same stale wind brushed his hair.
"Wait…" he muttered, squinting. "Is the Apocalypse pranking me or something?"
He'd already been here. It was the exact same spot as before… same robes, only this time, there was some useless sword lying in the dirt beside him.
But then…
He froze.
This time, there was a sound.
A growl.
It was low and distant but close enough to make every nerve in his body tighten.
He turned his head slowly, scanning the horizon.
There was nothing but ash and mist.
'What the hell was that?' he thought with his heart pounding.
The growl echoed again, this time a little closer.
"Okay… okay… not panicking. Not panicking at all."
He forced a nervous laugh. "What the hell are the Dark Lands, anyway?"
The name alone didn't sound friendly.
He tried to lift his right hand to summon his status screen, that's what all the other Awakeners did in the reports but the moment he did, his hand felt… heavier.
He frowned and looked down.
A faint green light pulsed on the back of his hand.
The light spread, taking shape… forming a strange mark that looked like an hourglass.
"What the…"
Before he could inspect it, a chime echoed in the air.
[Your status is loading…]
A transparent blue screen materialized in front of him, floating in midair.
Tim's eyes widened. "Finally!"
Lines of glowing text began to appear one by one:
—
[Status Window]
[Name: Timothy]
[Rank: Tester (This rank is given to those called before their first awakening.)]
[Age: 19]
[Gender: Male]
[Class: Dark Necromancer]
[Class Info]
[This class allows the user to summon and command the shadows of beings that have died within the last 48 hours. These shadows retain their original skills and instincts but exist in a corrupted, obedient form. However, the Dark Necromancer can only bind souls they have personally slain… ensuring every servant is both a trophy and a reminder of their kill.]
[Stats]
[Strength: 10]
[Constitution: 10]
[Agility: 10]
[Intelligence: 10]
[Mana: 5 → 200]
[Shadow Slots: 0 / 30]
[Skills]
[Shadow Raising (Lv.1)] — This skill allows the user to reanimate any creature they personally kill, transforming its corpse into an undead servant bound by their will. The raised undead retains a fraction of its former strength and instincts but follows the Dark Necromancer's commands absolutely. The number of undead that can be controlled depends on the user's rank and mental stability.
…
Tim blinked at the glowing window, his jaw slightly open.
'It looks… nice,' he thought, a bit impressed.
Then his smile slowly vanished.
"Wait. Where's my offensive skill?"
He scrolled the panel twice, just to be sure, but there was nothing else.
No attack magic, no weapon techniques, not even a basic punch enhancement.
Just the necromancy stuff.
He looked at his hand, then at the empty ash field around him.
"How the hell am I supposed to kill something to raise it… if I don't have anything to kill with?"
He picked up the sword beside him, the rusty blade catching light.
It looked so worn it might break if he swung too hard.
"I'm doomed…" he muttered.
The words had barely left his lips when he heard something else.
Footsteps.
Soft at first, crunching against the ash.
But it was getting louder.
His head snapped toward the sound, and his stomach dropped.
He wasn't imagining it.
Something was moving toward him through the mist.
'Oh, come on,' he thought. 'Already?'
He looked around… no rocks, no trees, no cover.
It was just an open field with nowhere to hide.
"Damn it, damn it, damn it," he whispered.
And then, the shape emerged.
At first, it looked like a wolf.
But the longer he stared, the less that description fit.
Its body was too long, its limbs stretched wrong, and its face… its face was grotesque.
The snout was split, revealing rows of uneven teeth, and four gleaming eyes burned across its head like molten coals.
Its tongue… long and purple hung out of its mouth, dripping saliva that hissed when it hit the ash.
The air grew cold.
[Dark Wolf, Lv. 3]
The system text hovered above the creature's head, confirming what Tim already feared.
He could feel the creature's hunger before it even moved.
It stepped forward slowly, each paw pressing deep into the ash, its four eyes locked onto him.
Tim swallowed hard. "Nice puppy… good puppy…"
The wolf's lips peeled back, exposing more teeth.
'Okay. Nope. Not friendly.'
He tightened his grip on the sword, though his hands trembled so hard the blade rattled.
The creature lowered itself into a crouch, muscles coiling like springs.
'There's only one thing I can do…'
Tim's mind screamed at him to think… but his body had already made the decision for him.
He spun on his heel.
And ran.
He didn't even look back.
His legs pumped as fast as they could, the ash kicking up behind him like smoke.
'Run away!!!'
His heartbeat roared in his ears as he sprinted, tripping once but catching himself before he face-planted.
The wind burned his throat, and the sound of the wolf's claws scraping against the ground told him it was chasing.
He didn't care.
He didn't stop.
There was only one rule in the Apocalypse: if you can't win, run like hell.