Aaron was a normal boy who did normal things—until it happened. Fifteen minutes ago, demons rampaged across the land, killing multiple people with brutal precision. It didn't matter where you were; a demon would find you. No one was safe. No one could hide.
His family was caught in the crossfire. Aaron witnessed it all—demons slaughtering everyone he loved while he stood frozen, too weak to do anything. The screams still echoed in his mind, a haunting chorus that never faded. It was a miracle he survived at all, though he'd come close to death multiple times that day. January 6th. He would always remember the date, and the curse the heavens had placed upon him for what he'd witnessed.
**Years Later**
"Aaron! Wake up, young man," a voice called out.
Someone grabbed Aaron's covers and threw them on the ground. Aaron opened his eyes and looked up, disoriented.
"What?" Aaron mumbled.
"Did you forget already?" his friend asked, exasperation clear in his voice. "The hunter exams are in five days, and I haven't seen you train one bit. Time to get up and start training, man. All you've been doing is lazing around all day."
Jack stood over him with his arms crossed. He had black hair and wore his gear as always, a sword strapped to his back. His muscular frame cast a shadow across the bed, and a scar ran from his right eye down to his nose—a reminder of battles past.
Aaron groaned and dragged himself up from his bed. "All right, all right."
He shuffled to the closet by the door and began changing into fresh clothes. Speaking from behind the closet door, his voice slightly muffled, he asked, "Hey, do you have any coins? I need to buy some armor from the blacksmith shop, you know."
Jack smiled and called back, "No need. I have a pair of armor for you right here." He walked to a nearby dresser, opened it, and took out armor and a sword. "Also got a sword for you as well," he added, placing the weapon on Aaron's bed.
When Aaron emerged from the closet, he looked fresher, though his pants remained slightly wrinkled. Jack handed him the armor and sword.
"Put this on," Jack said.
Aaron took the armor and fastened it piece by piece. Then he paused at the sword, studying its dark blade. Something about it felt different—heavier with purpose.
"All right. Time for me to actually start training," Aaron said, his voice carrying a hint of determination he hadn't felt in months.
He walked out of the dorms and saw multiple students wearing armor. Only a few didn't have any, probably because they couldn't afford it and their parents were broke. At least they had parents, Aaron thought bitterly. They should be grateful for that.
Suddenly, while descending the stairs, a sword came striking near his head. Aaron ducked, nearly tumbling down the steps. Stumbling, he turned around in shock.
A guy stood right behind him—blonde hair, green eyes. Chris.
"What's that for, man?" Aaron demanded, his heart still racing.
Chris smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Well, you weren't training, and Jack told me you were slacking off. I just decided to give you a little test run." He paused, his expression hardening. "Plus, the hunter exams are in five days. Five days. Shouldn't the drive to avenge your parents' murder push you to train harder? I mean, if that happened to me, I'd feel some type of drive. It feels like you're dishonoring your parents—denying them the justice they truly deserve."
Those words hit Aaron like a train. He stumbled, nearly falling down the stairs again, shock written across his face. His chest tightened, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe.
Chris was right. He had been slacking off. He hadn't done his parents any justice since that day years ago. He could almost imagine them cursing at him from above, telling him to do something—to be something more than this hollow shell. Yet here he was, not training, not doing anything. It was as if he didn't care about them at all.
But he did care. God, he cared so much it hurt.
That reality check made him realize he needed to start training seriously. The weight of his failure pressed down on him, but beneath it, a spark of resolve began to kindle.
Aaron walked downstairs, Jack and Chris following behind. They headed toward the cafeteria, ready to grab breakfast before training for a few hours. When they opened the cafeteria doors, they nearly flew back from the noise. Students were eating, some chatting loudly, others just sitting there doing nothing productive whatsoever.
Chris walked toward his usual seat and sat down. Aaron and Jack followed. Chris scanned the menu—pancakes, boring biscuits, and an entire steaming hot breakfast. Now that was something he could work with. He decided to order the steaming hot breakfast platter.
Jack wasn't really hungry at the moment, so he just ordered a biscuit. Aaron also ordered a steaming hot breakfast.
Chris rubbed his hands together in excitement. "Come on, come on, come on. Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up."
While Chris waited anxiously, Aaron just chilled. "Dude, it's just breakfast. Chill," Aaron said, shaking his head.
"Yeah, but the steaming hot breakfast! I've never had that before," Chris said, his eyes wide with anticipation.
"Wait, are you saying you haven't had a steaming hot breakfast in the two years you've been in this place? What is wrong with you, man?" Jack asked, incredulous.
"Hey, at least I'm not the one who has his armor on while still eating breakfast, you freaky weirdo," Chris retaliated. "Don't you wear your armor everywhere you go? While you sleep, while you eat—you probably even brush your teeth in it. I bet you even wear it in the shower."
Jack's face turned red. "I do not have my armor everywhere I go!"
Aaron stepped in, smirking. "You do. You literally do."
When their breakfast was served, Chris ate like a wild animal, as if he'd never eaten a day in his life.
"It's not that good," Aaron said, eating his breakfast normally, savoring the taste of eggs, grits, sausage, bacon, and other things. The warmth of the food was comforting, grounding him after the morning's harsh wake-up call.
Jack just enjoyed his biscuit. After all, he wasn't really hungry for a big breakfast.
When they were all finished eating, Jack stood up. "All right, I'll meet you all in the training hall," he said as he walked off.
He left the cafeteria and entered the training hall. Multiple training dummies stood in rows—metal instead of wood because wood broke too easily. Some training dummies were even made of fake bone, tissue, blood, and organs to simulate real combat. These dummies also had swords. If you went to the back of a dummy's head and pressed one of the five buttons, you'd get the corresponding difficulty level. Button one was level one, button two was level two, and so on.
Jack had made it there first. He approached the realistic human dummy and set the difficulty to level two. The dummy's sword rose, and it jumped forward, leaping toward Jack. He dodged, parrying the blow and kicking the dummy back.
The dummy stood up and swung its sword toward Jack's head. Jack ducked, leaping forward and driving his sword into its stomach. Fake blood splattered everywhere, but the training dummy ignored the blow. It leaped forward, twisting mid-air as it tried to cut Jack in half.
Jack caught the blade with his bare hands. Using his raw strength, he split it in half. Then, jumping up mid-air, he cut the dummy's head off. The head flew toward the ground, splattering when it hit.
When Jack was done, he wasn't even panting. He hadn't broken a sweat.
"Maybe level two is too easy. I should go with level five next," Jack muttered to himself.
But as soon as he was about to approach the next dummy—while staff members were replacing the one he'd killed—someone walked into the room.
Chris.
Chris walked in, smiling. He noticed the staff replacing the destroyed dummy. "Man, that was quick," Chris said.
"Yeah, that quick," Jack replied, turning around.
"I'm not surprised," Chris said. "You've always had a little bit of talent in you."
Jack smirked. "Guess I'm just on the talented side," he said, smiling with quiet confidence.
Across the training hall, someone watched Jack with narrowed eyes. "Man, I hate how he's always so good," the man muttered. "So darn good."
A A staff member who had been observing Jack snarled and strode toward the control panel. "Level five isn't good enough for you, Jack?" He jabbed at the controls, switching to level six, then hesitated. A cruel smile twisted his features. "You know what? Why not?" His finger slammed the dial to level ten. "Let's see you beat that."
The air crackled with tension. Training ceased throughout the hall as students turned to stare. Jack's expression remained unreadable, but his knuckles whitened around his sword's hilt. The simulation hummed to life, and from the shadows at the far end of the chamber, something massive began to move.