The air outside St. Veridia Medical Center was thick with humidity, heavy with the scent of rain-soaked pavement and the acrid tang of factory smog drifting from Neo-Veridia's industrial heart. Neon streetlights flickered, casting jagged pools of light across the cracked sidewalk as Henry Gray stepped forward, the hospital's towering silhouette fading behind him. His worn jacket hung loose on his frame, the cool evening breeze a sharp contrast to the sterile warmth he'd left behind.
Henry had ignored the hospital staff's protests, their pleas for further monitoring drowned out by a singular urgency. The mysterious system that had awakened within him, had issued a command that chilled his blood: Quest Assigned: Register as a Hunter within 24 hours. Failure to comply will result in severe consequences. He'd demanded clarification—what consequences? Death? A loss of this newfound power? A crippling debuff? The system's silence was a cold, unyielding wall, and Henry wasn't reckless enough to test its limits.
He pulled his hood up, hands buried in his pockets, and navigated Neo-Veridia's dim streets. The city pulsed with a weary vitality—shadowed figures hurried past, avoiding eye contact, some muttering into comm devices, others clutching bags with white-knuckled grips. Neon signs buzzed overhead, their garish colors clashing with the gloom of abandoned storefronts and rusted billboards. Neo-Veridia was a shadow of its former glory, its outskirts a graveyard of shuttered factories and broken dreams, where only the strong thrived and the weak clung to survival.
It had been two weeks since Henry last walked these streets, yet nothing had changed. The same hunger, the same desperation, the same unspoken rule: Survive.
The apartment door creaked as Henry pushed it open, the air inside thick with the scent of stale coffee and damp furniture. The cramped space was a relic of better days—peeling wallpaper, a sagging couch, a kitchen table scarred from years of use. Lily's gasp broke the silence. "Henry!" She rushed toward him, her diner uniform creased, her dark hair slipping from its ponytail. "You're home?"
He barely braced himself before her arms wrapped around him, her embrace fierce. He staggered, then patted her back, warmth flooding his chest. "Yeah. I—uh—left the hospital."
Lily pulled back, her frown sharp with worry. "You what?"
Tom, sprawled cross-legged on the couch, raised an eyebrow, his schoolbooks scattered around him. "You just walked out?"
Henry nodded, shrugging off his jacket. "Didn't see the point in staying. They said I was fine anyway."
Lily exhaled, rubbing her temples, her exhaustion etched into every line. "They said you were fine? Henry, you were in a coma for two weeks!"
"I feel fine," he said, his voice steady, though the system's hum in his mind made the words feel like a half-truth.
Tom tilted his head, squinting. "You look different."
Henry stiffened, his pulse quickening. "How?"
"You just seem… sharper," Tom said, his voice curious. "Like you're more awake than before."
Henry didn't respond, his thoughts racing. The Unbound Nexus's optimization had heightened his senses, but could Tom see it? He forced a neutral expression, deflecting the scrutiny.
Lily sighed, her hands on her hips. "You should've at least let us know you were coming. We could've picked you up."
Henry's eyes swept the apartment, taking in the familiar decay—the cracked window, the pile of unpaid bills on the counter. "Where's Mom?" he asked, though the question was a formality.
The silence was immediate, heavy. Lily's expression darkened, her jaw tightening. "She didn't even ask about you."
Tom crossed his arms, his voice low. "We told her you woke up. She barely reacted."
Henry clenched his jaw, a familiar bitterness rising. Their mother's detachment had started after their father's death, a slow erosion of care that had left them to fend for themselves. But this—ignoring his near-death—was a new low. "You don't have to think about her," Lily said softly, her voice cutting through the tension. "It's just us now."
Just us. Henry exhaled slowly, nodding. "Yeah. I know."
Sleep eluded him. Henry lay on his narrow bed, the cracked ceiling a canvas for his swirling thoughts. Memories flickered—his father's laughter, his death in a failed hunt, the name that haunted him: Eric, the finisher who'd let his father die. Henry's fingers twitched, a spark of anger flaring. One day, he'd face Eric, demand answers. But for now, the system's quest loomed, a deadline he couldn't ignore. Tomorrow, he'd register as a Hunter.
Morning brought the smell of burnt toast and the clatter of Lily and Tom preparing for school. Lily packed her bag, her movements hurried, while Tom munched on the last piece of their meager breakfast. Henry rubbed his face, the system's hum a constant undercurrent. "You two should eat more," he said, his voice rough with sleep.
Tom scoffed, grinning. "You're one to talk. You've been unconscious for two weeks."
Lily studied Henry, her eyes searching. "You sure you're okay being alone today?"
"I'll be fine," he said, deflecting her concern. "I have… something I need to do."
Lily frowned but didn't press. After quick goodbyes, they left, their footsteps fading down the hall. Henry stood, stretched, and took a deep breath. It was time.
The Hunter's Association loomed over Neo-Veridia's rundown district, its sleek, modern facade a stark contrast to the city's decay. Glass walls reflected the morning sun, and holographic screens flickered with hunt reports, dungeon clearances, and ranking updates. The lobby buzzed with activity—seasoned Hunters in tactical gear, rookies with nervous eyes, all moving with purpose.
Henry approached the registration desk, his boots echoing on the polished floor. A woman with short, dyed-blue hair sat behind the counter, her expression bored as she tapped a screen. "Name?" she asked, barely glancing up.
"Henry Eldrin," he said, using his mother's maiden name, a small rebellion against his father's legacy.
"Age?"
"Twenty-one."
"Previous combat experience?"
Henry hesitated, the weight of his inexperience pressing down. "None."
She sighed, unimpressed. "Expected rank?"
"F1," he said, his voice steady despite the uncertainty gnawing at him.
She raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. "That'll be fifty dollars."
Henry grimaced—money, always the barrier. He pulled out his bank card, the scanner's beep confirming the transaction, a painful dent in their already strained finances. The receptionist slid a sleek black ID across the counter, her tone flat. "Congratulations, you're now a registered F1 Hunter. Try not to die."
Henry exhaled, gripping the ID, its weight a tangible step forward. That was it—the first hurdle cleared.
But as he turned to leave, the system stirred.
Quest Completed: Register as a Hunter. Reward: +200 EXP, +10 Skill Points, F1 Ground Blade.
A rush of energy surged through him, his fingers tingling, his muscles sharpening with newfound responsiveness. The air seemed to hum, the system's power settling deeper into his core. Before he could process it, a new prompt appeared.
New Quest Assigned: Defeat a Dungeon Boss, Solo.
Henry's breath caught, his grip tightening around the ID. A boss? Alone? The system offered no explanation, no guidance, only the stark command. His pulse raced, doubt clawing at him. He wasn't ready—F1 rank, no combat experience, barely recovered from a coma. Yet the system's silence was a warning: there was no choice but to move forward.
The closest dungeon facility stood like a fortress at Neo-Veridia's edge, its reinforced steel walls a stark contrast to the city's crumbling outskirts. Unlike the sleek skyscrapers downtown, this place was built for survival—high-tech scanners hummed at the entrance, barbed wire gleamed under floodlights, and the air crackled with latent energy, as if the portals inside leaked power into the world. The facility loomed, a monolith of purpose, its presence both a promise and a threat.
Henry approached the security checkpoint, his new Hunter ID clutched in his hand. A group of heavily armed soldiers stood guard, their dark combat gear blending into the shadows, their faces obscured by sleek helmets. Their grips on their rifles were tight, their postures alert, as if expecting an attack at any moment. The weight of their scrutiny pressed against him, a reminder that a Hunter ID granted access, but survival was another matter entirely.
Henry paused, the system's quest pulsing in his mind: Defeat a Dungeon Boss, Solo. The words were a chain, binding him to a path he didn't understand. His fingers brushed the ID, its sleek surface cool against his skin. The dungeon facility was his next step, a gateway to the unknown. He wasn't ready, but the system didn't care. The consequences of failure loomed, a shadow he couldn't outrun.
He took a deep breath, the air sharp with the scent of oil and metal, and stepped toward the checkpoint. The soldiers' eyes tracked him, their silence louder than any command. Henry held up his ID, his voice steady despite the tremor in his chest. "F1 Hunter. Here for a dungeon run."
The lead soldier nodded, scanning the ID with a handheld device. A green light flashed, and the gate hissed open, revealing a corridor lined with warning signs and flickering lights. Henry's heart pounded, Whatever lay beyond, he'd face it alone.