"Aryan! Wake up!"
The piece of chalk hit me right in the forehead with the accuracy of a sniper.
I jolted up, wiping drool off my chin.
The entire class was giggling. Standing at the front of the room was Mr. Verma, our history teacher, looking like he was about to summon a demon just to eat me.
"Nice of you to join us, Aryan," Mr. Verma said, adjusting his glasses.
"Since my lecture on the Post-Convergence Economy was boring you, perhaps you can tell the class: What is the primary weakness of a Grade-D Ghoul?"
I blinked. My brain was still buffering.
"Uh,"
I stammered, looking around for help.
My best friend, Rohan, was sitting next to me, furiously mouthing the word 'Salt'.
"Pepper?" I guessed.
The class erupted in laughter. Rohan face-palmed so hard it made a slapping sound.
"Detention," Mr. Verma sighed. "Stay after class."
My name is Aryan. I'm 16 years old, and if life was a video game, I'd be an NPC (Non-Playable Character).
You know, one of those background villagers who walks into a wall while the Hero saves the world.
It's been ten years since the Great Convergence. Monsters are real. Magic is real—sort of.
The military uses "Aether-Tech" weapons to keep the cities safe.
There are elite soldiers, "Hunters," who are treated like celebrities on Instagram.
And then there's me. My biggest problem isn't a three-headed dragon; it's failing math and trying to explain to my mom why my uniform shirt has a chalk stain on it.
The school bell rang, signaling freedom.
I grabbed my bag and bolted before Mr. Verma could remember the detention he gave me.
"Dude, 'Pepper'?" Rohan panted, catching up to me in the hallway. Rohan was the smart one. He actually read the Hunter Survival Guide for fun. "You're going to get eaten one day. Literally."
"I was tired! I stayed up late grinding rank in Valorant," I defended myself. "Anyway, I gotta run. I'm taking the shortcut."
Rohan stopped dead in his tracks. "The shortcut? You mean through Sector 4? That's a Yellow Zone, Aryan! Civilians aren't supposed to go there. The fences are broken."
Sector 4 was an old residential district that got half-destroyed during the first attacks ten years ago. It was overgrown, abandoned, and strictly off-limits.
"It cuts my walk home by twenty minutes," I shrugged, adjusting my backpack straps.
"Besides, the military sweeps that area every week. There's nothing there but stray cats and garbage. I'll be fine."
"If you die, can I have your PlayStation?"
"Get lost." I grinned and waved him off.
Ten minutes later, I was regretting my life choices.
Sector 4 was creepy. The buildings were hollowed-out skeletons of concrete. Vines as thick as my arm crawled up the walls. The silence here was heavy—it didn't sound like the city. It sounded like a graveyard.
I climbed over a collapsed wall, my sneakers crunching on broken glass.
"Just a quick walk," I muttered to myself. "In and out. No big deal."
I was kicking an empty soda can along the path when I saw it.
Something was glittering in a pile of rubble near an old, blasted-out crater.
I stopped. Usually, I'm not the curious type in horror movies who investigates the strange noise. But something about this felt… weird. It felt like a magnet pulling on the iron in my blood.
I walked closer.
Embedded in a chunk of concrete was a bracelet.
It looked ancient. It was thick, made of some dull, grey metal that looked like rusted iron, but there were grooves of gold running through it. It didn't look like jewelry. It looked like a shackle.
"Who throws away gold?" I whispered.
I reached out. The moment my fingertips brushed the cold metal, a static shock—like touching a doorknob in winter, but ten times stronger—zipped up my arm.
"Ouch!" I jerked my hand back.
The rust on the bracelet cracked.
Hummmmm.
A low vibration started. The dull grey metal shifted, mechanics whirring underneath. The rust fell away, revealing a sleek, futuristic device mixed with ancient carvings. The face of the bracelet wasn't a clock; it was a dial.
It looked cool. Like, sci-fi anime cool.
"Okay," I said to the empty ruins. "I should definitely call the police. This is probably dangerous military tech."
My brain said leave it.
My hand said grab it.
I picked it up. It was heavy, warm to the touch now.
"I'll just... see if it fits," I rationalized. "Just for a second."
I slid my left hand through the metal loop.
CLANK.
The device clamped shut around my wrist instantly. It tightened, shrinking to fit my size perfectly.
"Whoa!" I panicked, grabbing it with my right hand to pry it off. "Okay, bad idea! Get off! Off!"
It didn't budge. It felt like it was welded to my skin.
Suddenly, the face of the dial lit up. A holographic projection shot out, floating in the air above my wrist. It displayed strange symbols I didn't recognize—Sanskrit mixed with binary code.
A robotic voice echoed directly inside my skull.
< BIOMETRIC SCAN COMPLETE. >
< COMPATIBILITY: 12%. >
< WELCOME, USER. THE ASTRA-CHAKRA IS ONLINE. >
"Compatibility 12%?" I yelled at my own wrist. "What does that even mean? Is that a failing grade? Even my watch is roasting me!"
Before I could panic further, a sound tore through the silence behind me.
GROWL.
It wasn't a stray cat.
I froze. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I slowly turned around.
Standing on top of the wall I had just climbed over was a dog. Well, if a dog had no skin, red eyes, and was the size of a small car.
A Hell-Hound. A low-level Asura beast.
Saliva dripped from its jaws, sizzling when it hit the concrete. It was looking right at me.
Or rather, it was looking at the glowing beacon on my wrist.
"Nice doggy," I squeaked, stepping back.
The beast tensed its leg muscles.
< THREAT DETECTED > the voice in my head said calmly. < COMBAT MODE INITIALIZED. PLEASE SELECT AVATAR. >
"Select what? I don't know what you are!" I screamed.
The Hell-Hound lunged.