Blood.
Blood pooled across the cracked tiles, spilling down the edge of the bathtub in sluggish, uneven rivulets.
The air reeked of iron and damp porcelain, a suffocating scent that clung to his lungs like dust in an abandoned room.
Han Jaemin lay half-submerged, eyes fixed on the flickering bathroom light above. His breath came in slow, deliberate drags, not because he wanted to live, but because his body refused to stop.
Another failure.
"…Again," he muttered, voice rasping, more annoyance than despair. "It's always another failure."
The water around him was dark, nearly black under the dim bulb, but his vision stayed painfully sharp. No dizziness, no fading warmth. Just the same steady heartbeat, stubborn as ever, mocking him in the quiet.
With a sigh, he dragged himself upright, the blood sliding down his arms and dripping onto the floor. His wounds were already closing, thin pale lines sealing where deep gashes had been moments ago.
He pushed himself to his feet, the soles of his socks sticking briefly to the wet floor. The mirror above the sink was streaked and fogged at the edges, but his reflection still looked back at him with irritating clarity.
Messy black hair fell just past his eyebrows, stubborn strands clinging to his cheek. His skin was pale, not the kind born from illness, but from years of avoiding sunlight. Dark eyes stared out of a face that should've belonged to someone younger, if not for the faint lines carved by sleepless nights.
His shirt clung damply to his frame, showing a body that was lean but built, the kind that came from years of battle rather than a gym.
If he tilted his head just so, he could almost see the faint white lines crisscrossing his skin, scars that never faded, no matter how many times his flesh healed.
He leaned closer, studying himself like one might study a stranger.
"…You're still here," he murmured.
The corner of his lip twitched upward, but it wasn't a smile. More like a reflex.
He glanced past his own reflection, catching the faint shadow of the living room beyond the bathroom door.
Dust coated everything in sight. A broken coffee table. A couch with fabric torn at the seams.
Faded photographs still hung on the wall, their frames tilted, glass cracked. In one of them, he and another man smiled, arms over each other's shoulders.
This had once been their apartment.
Now, it was just another hollow space in the Prohibited Zone, a part of the city abandoned after repeated Rift appearances made it uninhabitable. The kind of place no one bothered to patrol anymore.
Without another glance, he grabbed a towel, wiped the worst of the blood from his arms, and stepped out into the stale air of the apartment.
By the time he left the building, the morning sky had already brightened into the washed-out grey of a city that never truly slept. The streets hummed with the sound of traffic, boots on pavement, and the faint static buzz of massive LED billboards hanging between skyscrapers.
A news broadcast caught his attention, if only because of the crowd gathered beneath it.
[Breaking News — A Rank S Rift has opened in the US. Estimated monster tide: catastrophic level.]
The anchor's voice was steady, but the tremor in the background audio, the distant wail of sirens, the muffled shouts, betrayed the chaos on the other side of the screen.
Jaemin's gaze lingered on the scene: armored Hunters rushing past the camera, the flash of runes activating along the edge of a shimmering rift, the distorted silhouettes moving beyond its surface. He knew what awaited them inside. He knew it all too well.
Portals, or Rifts, as the System named them, had first appeared twenty-five years ago. They tore through the fabric of reality like claws dragging over wet paper, spilling fragments of alien landscapes into the human world.
At first, people thought they were rare disasters, like earthquakes or tsunamis.
But then the monsters came.
Creatures of impossible anatomy, some massive enough to crush buildings beneath their weight, others so small and fast they could slip through alleyways like shadows. Each Rift carried its own environment, its own rules, and its own predators.
To fight back, certain humans awakened, their bodies and minds rewritten by the very mana leaking from these tears. The System appeared alongside them, a presence no one could see yet everyone could hear, marking, ranking, and guiding those it called Hunters.
Ranks ranged from the weakest F to the near-mythical SSS, but beyond that, there were Rifts, and Hunters, so powerful their level was simply labeled as Unknown.
Jaemin turned away from the billboard and kept walking.
The crowd seemed to part ahead of him, not out of respect, but because of the dark stains still visible on his clothes. The faint metallic scent of dried blood trailed behind him, subtle yet impossible to ignore. A mother pulled her child closer. A man muttered something under his breath and stepped aside.
He didn't care.
His apartment was a cramped one-room space on the edge of the Prohibited Zone's safer district. The paint on the walls had long since peeled away, and the ceiling bore the dark marks of old water damage.
Still, it was quiet, and no one asked questions. That was enough.
He tossed his bag onto the worn futon, stripped off the bloodstained clothes, and stepped into the shower.
Hot water hit his skin, running red for several seconds before clearing. Beneath it, his body was a map of pale scars, thin lines across his ribs, jagged marks on his arms, a faded gash stretching from collarbone to hip.
Every scar had a story.
None were worth telling.
Closing his eyes, he let the water run over him, feeling the heat seep into old aches that never quite faded. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the memory of a different apartment, one warmer, fuller, alive, surfaced. Laughter, the clink of glasses and a voice calling his name.
He shut the memory out and reached for the soap.
The steam began to fade, curling into the dim air as he shut off the water. He stood there for a moment, dripping, watching the condensation bead along the cracked tiles. Most people, after nearly bleeding out in a bathtub, would feel shaken. Jaemin felt… bored.
Not because he was immune to pain. He just didn't see the point in reacting anymore.
He stepped out, wrapped a towel around his waist, and crossed the room with slow, unhurried steps. The apartment was small enough that he could see the front door from the bathroom.
A pair of boots waited by it, their soles worn thin. They were cheap, but sturdy enough for the long walks he sometimes took at night, not because he liked the city, but because moving kept his thoughts quiet.
On the low counter by the window sat a chipped mug. He poured the last of the instant coffee into it, the bitter scent mixing with the faint trace of blood still lingering in the air. He didn't bother with sugar.
The streets outside were already busy. He could hear vendors shouting, engines humming, and the occasional voice raised in argument. Life went on out there, even in the shadow of the Prohibited Zone.
Jaemin sipped the coffee and watched two kids run past, laughing as they chased each other. Their energy, their noise, all of it felt like a world he no longer belonged to.
Maybe he never had.
He pulled on a clean shirt, plain, dark, and loose enough to hide the faint stiffness in his shoulders and laced his boots. His wallet, a set of keys, and a half-broken flip phone went into his pocket.
It wasn't like anyone ever called.
As he locked the door behind him, he let his gaze drift over the hallway. Paint flaked from the walls, dust clung to the dim light fixtures, and somewhere above, water dripped steadily into a rusted bucket. This building, much like him, kept standing for no reason other than the fact that it couldn't fall apart just yet.
His phone buzzed twice in his pocket.
He didn't need to check the caller ID, only one person ever bothered.
With a sigh, Jaemin flipped it open.
The screen showed a message, the words cramped and impatient:
[Where the hell are you?
The morning batch isn't going to bake itself.]
He stared at the text for a few seconds, then typed back with one hand as he kept walking.
[Got delayed.]
The reply came almost instantly.
[Delayed by what? The apocalypse?]
A dry smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
[Something like that.]
He closed the phone before another message could arrive and slid it back into his pocket.
The shop was a tiny neighborhood bakery, the kind that smelled like sugar and yeast from a block away. He'd been working there for almost two years now, though not because he loved it. Kneading dough, frosting cakes, it was simple, repetitive work that didn't ask questions and didn't care about the past.
Still, some mornings, the scent of fresh vanilla or melting chocolate had a way of catching him off guard.
Not that he'd ever admit why.
He was halfway across the small plaza when the air shifted.
It wasn't wind.
It was heavier, a low, vibrating pull that made his shirt cling to his skin and rattled the metal of the nearby street lamps.
People slowed, looking around with confusion. Someone's drink fell from their hand, the splash loud in the sudden hush.
Then, with a sound like tearing fabric stretched over bone, reality itself split open in the middle of the plaza.
A shimmering distortion spiraled outward, growing in seconds into a warped oval the height of a building. The edges glowed faintly, mana crackling and hissing as it spread.
A Rift.
The crowd reacted too late. The pull hit like a silent explosion, yanking loose papers, bags, and people off their feet. Screams tore through the air. A man stumbled past Jaemin, fingers clawing at the pavement as he was dragged toward the swirling maw.
Jaemin's gaze swept the chaos, until he saw a small figure ahead.
A boy, no older than eight, frozen in place, staring at the Rift as if it might vanish if he blinked. Jaemin recognized him instantly; the kid lived two buildings over, always running errands for his grandmother.
The suction caught him a moment later, dragging him off his feet.
Jaemin muttered under his breath.
"Of course it had to be you."
Without hesitation, he surged forward, boots pounding against the pavement as the air around them warped tighter.
The pull grew stronger. The air near the Rift felt heavy, thick, each breath dragging mana into his lungs like smoke. The distorted oval churned with colors that didn't belong in this world, bending light in a way that made his head ache.
The boy was seconds from vanishing inside.
Jaemin lunged, one hand catching the back of the kid's shirt. The force almost tore them both forward, his boots skidding across the stone tiles. With a sharp pull, he yanked the boy into his arms and turned his back to the Rift.
Too late.
The ground vanished beneath them, and the world dissolved into white noise.
***
When sensation returned, the first thing he noticed was the silence.
Not the kind that came from peace, the kind that followed after everything alive had been wiped away.
They stood inside a cavern that could've swallowed a cathedral whole.
The ceiling vanished into shadow far above, crowned with stalactites that looked like they'd been sharpening themselves for centuries, just waiting for the perfect moment to drop on someone's head. Somewhere up there, water dripped at an almost petty pace, each splash echoing like a slow, deliberate countdown.
There's something most people don't understand about Rifts.
When you enter one, it isn't just a change of scenery, it's a complete shift in reality.
The density of mana here is dozens of times higher than outside. Your body recognizes it as hostile, even if your mind doesn't.
Muscles lock, vision narrows, breathing turns shallow and etc.
And then there's the Presence, that invisible pressure from the dimension itself, the kind that makes you feel like your bones are being slowly ground into the floor. It's not something you can see or touch, but your instincts scream that you've stepped into a place where you are no longer at the top of the food chain.
Most first-timers collapse where they stand, too overwhelmed to move.
Just like now.
Jaemin's eyes swept over the others who'd been dragged in, some crouched low against the ground, others covering their heads with trembling hands. Not a single one of them could even bring themselves to look up.
That's why none of them noticed the hulking shadow breaking through the fog.
It moved on four limbs, its gait uneven and jerky, as if its joints had been twisted into shapes they were never meant to hold.
Black, sinewy muscle clung to its bones in uneven patches, skin torn in places where pale ribs jutted through. Its head was elongated, the lower jaw splitting into two curved mandibles slick with dark saliva.
Rows of clouded eyes blinked out of sync, each focusing in a different direction before locking on the closest prey.
It was a Bone Mauler.
Jaemin exhaled slowly.
"…Ugly as ever."
The creature lunged, claws gouging deep lines into the cracked ground. It moved with a speed that would have shredded an unprepared Hunter before they could even scream.
Jaemin stepped into its charge.
His left hand shot out, gripping one of its forelimbs mid-swipe. Bone snapped under his fingers with a sharp, wet crack. He twisted, dragging the creature's head down as his knee came up, the impact shattering several of its teeth.
Before it could even stagger back, his right hand hooked into the side of its skull, claws and mandibles snapping uselessly in the air. One sharp motion, and he drove its head into the stone floor.
The ground split under the force.
The Bone Mauler twitched once, then went still, its clouded eyes staring blankly at nothing.
Jaemin wiped the back of his hand across his cheek, smearing away a dark streak of blood that wasn't his.
His gaze shifted from the Bone Mauler's corpse to the huddled figures further back, still crouched low against some stone.
"Get up." His voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the stillness.
A few heads lifted. Cautious eyes met his, uncertainty flickering behind them.
"I said get up. Now. All of you."
Slowly, one by one, they rose. Some stumbled forward without hesitation, relief breaking through their shock.
One young man in his twenties stepped forward almost immediately, relief breaking through his fear.
"You're a Hunter, right? We're safe now!"
"Safe?" Jaemin raised a brow. "If you mean 'safe' as in 'minutes away from being torn apart,' then sure."
Another woman hurried closer, pulling an older man with her. "Please, you can get us out, can't you? You know the way?"
From the back, a man barked out, "Wait a second, who even are you?"
Jaemin glanced at him. "Han Jaemin."
The name earned a few blank stares. One of them frowned. "Never heard of you."
Jaemin didn't even blink.
"Good. That means my enemies won't either. Now get up, we're moving before more of those things find us."
Not everyone moved. Two people still crouched low, shaking their heads. One muttered, "We should stay here. If we wait, the Rift will close on its own. Hunters will come."
Jaemin let out a short breath that wasn't quite a laugh.
"That's not how it works. The only way a Rift closes is when the boss monster dies. Until then, more of them will keep spawning."
A younger man crossed his arms, trying to sound confident. "So? We can just hide. Let the boss wander off or–"
"Or it finds you first," Jaemin cut in, his tone sharpening. "And if it doesn't, the spawn rate will bury us in monsters before anyone from outside even steps through the gate. This Rift's rank is B. That means fast spawns, stronger mobs, and enough teeth to strip you to bone before you can scream."
That shut him up.
Jaemin let his gaze pass over the group, making sure each of them understood.
"You can sit here and wait for death, or you can follow me and maybe make it out alive. Your choice."
One of the hopeful ones stepped forward immediately. "I'm going with him."
Another followed, muttering, "Better than rotting here."
The hesitant ones exchanged glances. Some finally stood, others stayed back.
Jaemin turned toward the fog ahead, his gaze steady as he scanned the shifting shadows.
"Stay close and don't split up. If something happens, hide and let me deal with it."
Without waiting for their answer, he started walking. The sound of hesitant footsteps began to follow, but not all of them.
From behind, a voice called out sharply, tinged with accusation.
"How can you just leave us here? You're a Hunter! Isn't your job to protect people?"
Jaemin stopped mid-step and glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable.
"My job?" His tone was dry, almost amused. "My job is whatever I decide it is."
He shifted his gaze to the small boy clinging silently to his sleeve.
"The only one I'll be saving personally is him. The rest of you…" His eyes swept over the faces of those still lingering near the wall. "…if you want to stay here and die, that's your choice."
Without another word, he turned and walked into the thickening fog.
The survivors who'd chosen to follow exchanged uneasy glances, but in the end, their feet carried them after him, because even if his words were cold, he was still the only one moving toward a way out.