The roar of the motorcycle faded as it came to a halt in front of a massive hockey stadium, miles away from Jump City. Its façade reflected the orange tones of the early sunset—iron doors sealed shut, stands silent and deserted.
Ethan dismounted, taking a deep breath. The cold air lashed against his skin, heralding the coming night. Wasting no time, he summoned his inventory with a discreet gesture. A screen flared to life before his eyes. One command was all it took.
The uniform appeared piece by piece, fastening itself onto his body like a second skin. The reinforced chestplate, the dark boots steady on the ground, the fitted gloves. Finally, the helmet sealed over his head, reflecting the dim glow of dusk.
He forced one of the side doors open and stepped into the empty stadium. His footsteps echoed through the frozen corridors until he reached the central arena. Ice still covered the rink, shimmering with faint blue beneath the emergency lights that remained on.
Ethan walked to the center of the arena. The absolute silence was broken only by the sound of his own breath inside the helmet.
"System" he murmured. Before him, the translucent screen materialized.
🌀 [SHADOW ADAPTATION SYSTEM — ACTIVE]
· Level: 21
· (Daily missions completed: 51 consecutive days)
· Species: Human
· Class: Shadow Monarch
Attributes:
• Strength: 60
• Constitution: 50
• Agility: 60
• Intellect: 40
• Perception: 50
Physical Condition: Stable
HP: 575 / 575
MP: 460
Fatigue: 03 / 100
✨ Available Points: 0
Next Level Bonus: New skill unlocked at Level 30.
Skills:
[Authority of the Ruler] – Allows manipulation of physical objects without contact, up to 50 meters away, with strength and range proportional to the user's Intellect attribute.
[Shadow Regeneration] – Passive. Reactivates once the user enters suspension mode. [Sleep is recommended.]
[Shadow Extraction] – Allows the user to revive defeated enemies as shadow soldiers under their command.
After reviewing his stats and concluding he was ready, he gave the command. The Rift Key appeared in his hand, pulsing with unstable energy. Unlike the first time, its aura wasn't red—it burned with a deep, stormy blue, like a furious sky.
The ground quaked as he raised it. The icy air seemed to twist, as if the stadium itself were about to be swallowed by an invisible storm. At the center of the arena, space tore open—first a thin fissure, then a violent gash of pure blue energy.
The portal spun like a vortex, blue lightning crackling along its edges, devouring the darkness around it. It was like staring into an abyss of ice and storm.
Ethan clenched his fists, the vibration coursing through his body. He took a step forward—and enter.
Crossing the portal was like plunging into the ocean. Ethan's whole body trembled, every muscle taut, vision consumed by flashing blue. In the blink of an eye, the stadium was gone.
When his sight returned, he realized he was still walking on ice—but it was no longer the arena he knew. The ground stretched white and uneven, covered in a thick layer of snow. The wind cut like blades, whipping up whirlwinds of frost that clouded his vision.
When he lifted his gaze, he saw what remained of a city.
It was a graveyard of steel and concrete. Twisted skyscrapers pointed skyward like broken spears—some split in half, others toppled like fallen giants. Cars lay half-buried beneath the snow, reduced to colorless blocks of ice. Shattered storefronts gaped like exposed ribcages, swallowed by time and frost.
Blue lightning tore across the gray sky, reflecting in the fractured windows of the ruined buildings. The wind howled through the structures, carrying a cold so sharp it seeped through Ethan's reinforced uniform. For now, it was just a subtle pressure—but it promised to grow unbearable the deeper he ventured.
He adjusted his helmet and trudged a few steps forward. Each movement left deep imprints in the snow, quickly erased by the merciless wind. The system displayed nothing but a pulsing icon at the edge of his vision:
Rift Dungeon – Floor 11 – Sector DMC (Devil May Cry)
Type: Infernal Hunt & Survival
Objective: Eliminate all enemies, survive, and defeat the Boss.
Reward: ???
Recommended Level: 20+
Ethan inhaled deeply, the frigid air burning his lungs. He had no choice. If he wanted to survive, he would have to cross this frozen hell.
The silence was absolute.
But he knew—he wasn't alone.
Hours later
Ethan had no idea how long he had been walking. The wind kept battering his armor with growing intensity, each step heavier than the last. He could feel the temperature plummeting, making every movement harder.
At some point, he would have to stop—find shelter among the ruins—before the cold consumed him entirely. The deeper he went, the darker the world around him became.
It was then, near what seemed like the twilight of that frozen world, that he felt a presence.
In the middle of a street filled with frozen vehicles and surrounded by abandoned buildings, the mist twisted like living smoke. From it emerged tall, skeletal silhouettes draped in tattered cloaks that whipped in the wind. Crimson eyes glowed like burning coals in the storm, and the sound of their scythes dragging across the ice screeched like nails on glass.
Hell Prides.
At least a dozen of them, spreading out in a circle, closing in from every side. Each step they took stirred the snow, as if the earth itself rejected their presence.
Ethan wasted no time. The cold was already an enemy—prolonging the fight would be suicide.
"Arise" his voice echoed through the void.
Behind him, the ground split open into darkness, widening into a living portal. From it emerged a colossal figure: the Hell Vanguard. A massive scythe in its hands, eyes burning like spheres of azure fire, body forged of pulsating shadows.
"Advance" Ethan commanded.
With a guttural roar, the shadow lunged forward, vanishing in a distorted blink and reappearing in the midst of the Hell Prides. Its scythe swept in a devastating arc, splitting the ground and cleaving four creatures apart in one strike.
Ethan raised his hands. His pistols materialized in a burst of dark light, the cold metal molding perfectly into his grip. He opened fire. The shots thundered like cannons, each round finding vital points in the enemy forms. With every Hell Pride that fell, Ethan stretched out his hand:
"Arise"
From their corpses, shadows emerged—hooded, wraithlike specters, bending to his command and joining the battle. One, two, four, six… his army grew with every kill.
The Hell Vanguard carved through the battlefield, teleporting from one spot to another, reaping enemies with merciless precision. Ethan matched its rhythm, his instincts and reflexes sharpened by the system.
At the corner of his vision, the interface flashed:
[Current Shadows: 17 / 20]
There was still room. Still more power to gather.
But the Hell Prides kept coming. More and more emerged from the blizzard, as though the storm itself was vomiting them into existence.
Ethan gritted his teeth, pulse hammering in his ears.
"Then come… all of you."
The screech of scythes against ice rang like a death chorus, but he felt no fear.
He knew these enemies. He had faced them before—on his first Rift incursion. And now, with the Hell Vanguard at his side and an army of shadows swelling with each kill, they were nothing more than echoes of a nightmare long surpassed.
"These aren't the problem," he thought, unloading a burst that tore through three at once. "The real enemy here is the weather… this damned cold is draining my strength with every breath."
His exhalations fogged the inside of the helmet, fingers beginning to numb even through reinforced gloves. The wind lashed against the Hell Vanguard's cloak, and even his summoned shadows moved sluggishly across the frozen terrain.
He needed to move faster. Night was falling, bringing exhaustion—and something worse.
A red alert pulsed at the edge of the interface:
[Fatigue: 73 / 100]
His body grew heavier. The cold gnawed at his joints.
Ethan pressed on, ordering his shadows to clear the way, cutting down any Hell Pride that emerged from the mist. His steps quickened, searching desperately for shelter. Time was against him.
Finally, he spotted a mid-sized building still standing, its cracked walls clinging to stability. Shattered windows, frozen curtains fluttering in the wind. But it would do.
"Search," he commanded.
The shadows fanned out, prowling through every floor and ruined corridor. Minutes later, two returned with debris—dry wood, fragments of furniture, hardened upholstery. Another guided him to a rusted door in the basement.
The old boiler room was like the hollow belly of a dead machine. Frozen pipes snaked across the walls like exposed bones, rusted tanks stood like tombs encased in ice. But within those walls, the wind fell silent, smothered by concrete and steel. For the first time since crossing the portal, Ethan could hear only his own heart.
He stepped inside, boots echoing against the floor.
"This will do," he muttered.
His summons stacked the wood and fabric into a pile. With a metallic snap, Ethan pulled a lighter from his inventory and sparked a flame. It struggled against the cold, resisting, but eventually caught, spreading across the pile in stubborn defiance. Orange light danced against frost-coated walls, shadows writhing across the room and blending with his own creatures.
Some remained motionless, stationed around the basement, blue eyes glinting in the dark like sentinels. Others circled near him, forming a protective ring.
Ethan sank onto an improvised seat of rubble, exhaling in heavy clouds that mingled with the smoke.
[Fatigue: 86 / 100]
The bar pulsed crimson, a reminder he was running out of time.
"If I stop completely, I might freeze to death. But if I keep pushing, I'll collapse before reaching the boss…"
The crackle of burning wood filled the silence. Metallic creaks echoed from the old pipes, as if the building itself complained of the frost eating away at its bones. But here, in this underground shelter, there was at least a breath of warmth.
He ran a hand across his helmet, shutting his eyes for a moment. And one more time, Robin's words struck like a blade: "If you ever cross the line… the Titans come with me." Ethan clenched his fists, the concrete beneath him groaning under the pressure.
"They have no idea what I face in here…"
Ethan's thoughts drifted—his brother, his sister, his mother… and finally, even Raven's face. But it didn't last long; his body screamed for rest.
And there, surrounded by fragile flames and silent shadows, he finally let his eyes close—just for a moment—praying sleep would come before the cold.
(Continue...)
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