The sound of the Rift was unbearable.
Like a thousand knives scraping against glass. Like thunder given voice and fury. The parking lot outside the warehouse boiled with violet light, the wound in the air widening until it gaped like a hungry maw.
Marcel stared, frozen in place, as reality itself unraveled.
Then came the first Raider.
It burst through with a roar—an ogre-shaped monstrosity, taller than the warehouse itself, its skin blackened like burned rock and glowing with cracks of molten fire. Behind it came more: smaller but no less horrifying, creatures that looked like wolves stitched together from metal and bone, things with too many legs and too many eyes, humanoid shapes with jaws unhinged to their chests.
The streets screamed. Civilians fled. Cars swerved and crashed. The ogre swung a single arm, and a delivery truck folded in half like paper, the driver's scream cutting short in the impact.
And then—they turned to the warehouse.
"Get inside! Lock it down!" the manager bellowed.
The staff scrambled, slamming the rolling doors shut, pulling chains, locking bolts. Marcel's heart hammered as he ran with them, shoving a pallet cart against the wall like it would do a damn thing.
But the Raiders were fast.
The wolf-things leapt first, clawing at the walls, their glowing eyes like headlights in the dim lot. Then the ogre slammed its fist down on the asphalt, the shockwave cracking the pavement. The warehouse shuddered.
And the doors didn't matter.
Metal screamed as claws ripped through it. Raiders poured inside.
"Run!"
Someone shouted, and the warehouse dissolved into panic.
Crates toppled, mana stones spilling like marbles across the floor, pulsing violently as though feeding on the chaos. Workers screamed, bolting in every direction. Some sprinted for the back exits. Others dove under shelves. A few froze, too terrified to move, until a Raider's maw snapped them up in a spray of blood.
Marcel's instincts screamed the same thing: Run.
And he did.
Feet pounding against the floor, lungs burning, he pushed through the throng of panicked coworkers. The warehouse became a funnel of bodies all surging toward the back, desperate for escape.
And it became a stampede.
Screams turned shrill as people stumbled, fell, and were crushed underfoot. The weight of dozens of terrified bodies stomped down without mercy, snapping bones. Marcel shoved forward, every nerve alight with fear. His legs carried him halfway through the warehouse before he even realized he was gasping his coworkers' names, begging them not to fall behind.
The exit. He saw it—the glowing red Emergency Exit sign above the back door. Safety.
He burst through the press of bodies, reached the door, and shoved it open.
"Here!" he shouted, voice hoarse. "This way! Everyone through here!"
The flood of workers surged toward him. But then—
The warehouse groaned. A Raider—something with eight legs and a chitinous shell—slammed into a support pillar. Metal snapped, and half the ceiling collapsed in an avalanche of concrete and steel.
Screams rose again. Dust and debris filled the air.
Through the haze, Marcel saw them—half a dozen coworkers trapped under fallen beams, pinned and helpless, while Raiders skittered closer through the rubble.
His blood turned cold. He could run. The door was right here, open. He could bolt into the night and save himself.
But their screams—God, their screams—cut through him.
Before he could think, he was climbing back into the wreckage.
"Marcel, what the hell are you doing?!" someone shouted from the doorway.
He ignored them.
Pain flared through his hands as he shoved beams aside, muscles screaming. He dug through rubble, pulling coworkers free one by one. A woman with blood down her face. A man with a shattered leg. He dragged them, shoved them toward the exit, shouting at them to move.
Every second was agony. Dust burned his lungs, debris cut into his arms. But he kept moving.
Until the Raiders saw him.
The wolf-things bounded forward, jaws snapping. Marcel grabbed a metal rod from the floor and swung wildly, smashing one across the muzzle. It barely staggered. Another lunged, claws raking across his chest.
Marcel screamed, falling back, the rod slipping from his bloodied grip.
"Help!" he choked, looking toward the exit. His manager stood there, eyes wide, coworkers crowding behind him. Relief flooded Marcel—until the man shook his head.
"Forget him! We need to go!"
"No—wait!" Marcel coughed blood. "Please! Don't—"
But they were already gone.
The door slammed shut, leaving Marcel in the dust and dark.
Alone.
The Raiders closed in.
Claws ripped into him, tossing him like a ragdoll. His body slammed into crates, bones cracking. He tried to crawl, but a massive hand grabbed him and hurled him through a wall. He crashed into the next room, glass and metal shredding his skin.
Blood poured from his mouth, his vision blurring red.
The ogre loomed in the distance, its molten eyes glowing as it stomped closer. Around him, the smaller Raiders circled, growling, waiting for the kill.
Marcel tried to rise. His body refused.
…..
He lay in the rubble, chest heaving, every nerve alight with agony.
"Bastards…" His voice was a rasp, tears stinging his eyes. "You… left me. You left me to die."
No one answered.
His blood pooled beneath him, warm and sticky. His thoughts spiraled. He was nineteen. A college kid. He hadn't even kissed anyone. This wasn't supposed to be his ending—not ripped apart by monsters in a warehouse no one would remember.
He clenched his teeth, sobbing through blood. "Please… just make it stop. Make it end. I don't care how. Just… end this."
The ogre raised its hand for the finishing blow.
And then—light.
Not from the Rift. Not from mana stones.
But from… something else.
Floating above Marcel's broken body, glowing lines of runes twisted into shape. A square—no, a screen—shimmered in the air. His blurred eyes struggled to focus, but the words burned themselves into his mind all the same:
[ Supreme Summoner System – Axtivated ]
[User Identified: Marcel Hugo]
[Condition: Critical. Survival Probability: 0.00007%]
[Emergency Protocol: Initiating First Summon.]
[Available Currency: 1 Summon Token.]
[Pull Rarity: Randomized.]
A massive golden button pulsed in the center of the screen.
[SUMMON ]
...
Marcel stared, stunned, delirious. His breath rattled in his chest. "What… the hell… is this?"
His vision darkened, his body slipping toward the abyss.
With the last flicker of strength in his mangled hand, Marcel reached out—
And pressed the button.