In December of 2025, the world was hit by an unprecedented crisis. As if the coronavirus hadn't been enough, we now had an alien invasion. All because one country had experimented on the peace envoy of these new species.
The species, who called themselves Hclri—or at least that's how we pronounce it in English—claimed they had discovered our solar system while searching for life in the universe. They decided to first send a peace envoy to study and understand our culture, society, and more.
They were very different from us. They had no concept of war, and every conflict was resolved through discussion. Even at their angriest, no one ever attacked or harmed another. So, the fact that something like this had happened—especially the death of some of their comrades during the process—was seen as barbaric to them. It made them decide to return the favor… but much worse.
Naturally, all countries denied the accusations and rejected any claims of experimentation.
It wasn't a time to point fingers, so most nations decided to come together to resolve the issue. They sent their own peace envoy. The Hclri spaceship had stationed itself in Antarctica, as they lived in low temperatures—and, frankly, they weren't thrilled to be surrounded by humans.
The envoy was received in a manner befitting any intellectual species, but due to the arrogance of certain parties involved, things deteriorated quickly. The Hclri demanded the perpetrators be brought before them to face punishment according to Hclri law. But everyone feigned ignorance. Some even demanded technological compensation from them. I mean—way to go, humans. We totally deserved what came next, if we're all part of the same species.
Like a parliamentary discussion gone wrong, people started yelling. The Hclri, with their sensitive hearing, were even more displeased. Unsurprisingly, the talks failed—and doomsday arrived just as the world was preparing to welcome the new year.
Dungeons opened all over the globe, appearing relative to population density. The higher the population, the more dungeons there were. India, having the highest population in the world, had the most. But thanks to its global influence and decades of technological advancement, India—along with countries like Japan—managed to recover and get back on its feet.
Neighboring countries like Bhutan, Nepal, Sri Lanka, Myanmar, and Thailand signed a treaty with India, allowing them to request dungeon hunters in emergencies or for special conditions.
Since those who "awakened" gained powers often related to their names, many powerful hunters emerged from countries where people were named after gods and goddesses. A woman named Laxmi might awaken with the Midas Touch, while a man named Viraj might have the power to dominate monsters.
However, there was one major drawback: only one person in the entire world could possess a specific skill, and it would never be transferred—even after their death. Because of this, some people were treated like national treasures, while others were discarded like dust.
Powers relied heavily on names—names that only came into effect after the global knowledge of every discovered and undiscovered text had been processed. This meant people with made-up names were simply powerless humans.
Also, if many people had the same name, only a select few would awaken any abilities. Name books were sold like prized jewelry, and websites suggesting names charged outrageous subscription fees. But people were willing to pay, hoping it might one day protect their child in this savage new world.
I was one of those children whose name was chosen with great care—though long before the invasion. I was born in 1999 and named Devansh (meaning "part of God"). My parents and I both hoped that I'd receive some truly cool power.
But nothing happened. Or so I thought… until my thirtieth birthday.
Oh no... I'm slipping again…