As Damian heard a voice in his head—
[You have awakened your dormant power.]
[Absorb Soul Crystal of Dire Wolf.]
His heart skipped a beat.
Then reality crashed down on him like cold steel.
There was no voice. No light. No miracle.
Only blood.
Warm, steaming blood splattered across broken stone and trampled grass, the metallic stench forcing its way into his lungs. Damian's breath hitched as his eyes widened, pupils trembling while his mind violently rewound the moments that had led him here.
'No… this isn't a dream.'
He was not chosen.
He was not special.
He was just a man trying to survive.
And this—this was the price of that choice.
Damian Barik had never imagined himself wearing a military-issued vest.
***
At twenty years old, his life had already been reduced to numbers—hospital bills, medicine costs, daily expenses, and the ever-increasing interest clawing at his throat. Every morning began with calculations, and every night ended with quiet despair.
His mother lay in a narrow hospital bed, pale and frail beneath flickering fluorescent lights. The hospital itself was old, understaffed, and barely functional—but it was all he could afford. The doctors used careful words and tired eyes, never giving false hope, never saying it was hopeless either.
"She needs long-term treatment," they said.
"Stability," they said.
"Money," they didn't need to say.
Damian had worked everywhere.
Warehouses.
Delivery routes.
Factory floors.
Security night shifts.
He had exhausted his body, his time, and nearly his soul—but none of it was enough. In a world reshaped by portals and monsters, ordinary labor no longer paid ordinary people enough to live.
The age of safety was over.
That was when John found him.
John wasn't blood, but he might as well have been family. A man in his late twenties, rough around the edges, sharp-eyed, with the kind of presence that came from surviving things you didn't talk about. He had helped Damian more times than Damian could count—small loans, introductions, advice that carried weight.
They sat together in a dim roadside café, steam curling from cheap cups of coffee.
"There's a position open," John said casually. "Dispatch personnel. Monster cleanup division."
Damian froze.
"…WAU?" he asked.
John nodded.
The World Awakened Union.
The organization that stood between humanity and extinction. The governing authority overseeing Awakened, portals, rankings, monster materials, and everything that came with the new world order.
"They need non-awakened too," John continued. "Logistics. Processing. Dispatch. You won't be fighting."
'Won't be fighting,' Damian repeated silently.
He knew what that meant.
Portals.
Danger.
Death, always lurking just a step too close.
"They pay well," John added quietly. "Hazard bonuses. Medical insurance. Real coverage."
Damian didn't answer immediately.
He thought to himself at least the pay was good.
That night, he stood beside his mother's bed, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. Machines beeped softly, indifferent to his fear.
'I don't have a choice,' he thought.
Two days later, he signed the contract.
The WAU facility was massive—cold steel and reinforced concrete stretching toward the sky. Armed guards stood at every checkpoint, Awakened insignias gleaming faintly on their uniforms.
The contract was thick. Clauses stacked upon clauses, responsibility buried beneath legal language.
Risk of injury.
Risk of death.
No compensation beyond stated terms.
He thought for a second 'Do I have a choice?'
Even though he knew all the dangers he could face in the near future.
Damian signed anyway.
His hand did not shake.
With that single motion, he sold his safety for survival.
"You'll start immediately," the officer said. "Team will be assigned. Portal deployment in 2 hours and 30 minutes."
John clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Listen carefully inside. Don't play hero. Don't wander. You live by the rules, you come back alive."
Damian nodded.
'I will,' he promised himself. 'I have to.'
He had tried everything—every guide, every rumor, every forbidden forum thread about awakening. Breathing techniques. Meditation. Pain thresholds. Near-death exposure. Nothing worked.
Awakening wasn't effort.
It was fate.
And fate had passed him by.
'Guess I wasn't chosen,' he thought bitterly.
***
The portal loomed like a wound in the air.
A fixed gateway, stabilized by WAU technology, humming with otherworldly energy. Blue-white light twisted endlessly within its frame, space bending as if reality itself was uncertain beyond that threshold.
Damian swallowed.
'I always imagined entering one like this… but as an Awakened.'
Instead, he wore a reinforced vest, a dagger strapped awkwardly at his side, and a standard-issue firearm powered by a magic crystal—heavy, unfamiliar, and far from reassuring.
Five of them stepped through together.
The world shifted.
Pressure wrapped around his skull for a brief moment, his stomach twisting—then the ground solidified beneath his feet.
They emerged into ruin.
A city frozen in decay.
Stone buildings lined broken streets, architecture reminiscent of Earth's early nineteenth century—arched windows, cracked facades, iron balconies eaten away by time. Moss and vines crawled over walls, reclaiming what civilization had lost.
The sky above was pale and distant, clouds unmoving.
Damian's breath caught.
'It's… beautiful.'
For a fleeting moment, he forgot fear. His love for novels and forgotten worlds stirred, imagination whispering of magic, freedom, and rebirth.
'If I were awakened…'
"Hey," John snapped softly. "Focus."
Damian blinked and straightened.
Right.
Reality.
They reported in, received their area assignment, and were attached to an E-rank Awakened party—low priority, low risk, minimal engagement.
The Awakened barely acknowledged them.
Their leader was young, broad-shouldered, with striking red hair and a massive sword resting against his back. His gaze was sharp, impatient.
"Stay behind," he said bluntly. "Don't interfere. Don't slow us down."
No greeting. No courtesy.
Damian didn't mind.
He was used to this.
The party moved out, and the cleanup team followed at a distance. Damian observed them quietly—shield bearer, dagger user, mage with a staff, crossbowman. Balanced. Efficient.
They passed beyond the city walls into open grassland, trees casting long shadows across uneven terrain.
Then it happened.
A wolf lunged from the brush.
The Awakened reacted instantly.
Formation snapped into place, movements practiced and lethal. Steel clashed. Magic flared. The beast fell—but more followed.
Ten wolves in total.
But they didn't stop, they pushed forward.
They chased fleeing wolves instead of regrouping.
Weapons were dulled, breathing grew heavy and blood stained armor as they fought.
"Enough," the shield bearer gasped.
"We can handle it," the leader snapped. "Finish them!"
Ten wolves lay dead.
But the cost was obvious.
Cracked armor.Bent weapons.Deep gashes.Exhaustion written across every face.
Damian felt unease coil in his stomach.
They're past their limit.
Then the forest went silent.
A low growl echoed.
The dire wolf emerged.
Larger than the others. Scarred. Eyes burning with intelligence and rage.
The leader charged.
He died instantly.
The dire wolf tore him apart in a blur of motion.
Panic erupted.
The remaining Awakened fought desperately. Magic scorched flesh. Bolts pierced hide.
They injured it.
Deeply.
But it wasn't enough.
One by one, they fell.
Three died screaming.
Only one escaped—bleeding, crawling, disappearing into the trees.
The dire wolf turned.
Toward Damian and John.
The gunshot rang out.
The bullet struck—but the wolf barely flinched.
John moved.
Dagger flashing.
The wolf caught his arm.
John screamed as blood sprayed from his arm.
Damian's mind went blank.
Move. Do something.
The wolf lunged again—
Damian stabbed.
Again.
Again.
Then—
Nothing.
No voice. No light.
Only blood.