# Chapter One
2025 was the year humanity learned that Hell was real, and it had an address.
Rifts opened across the world like wounds in reality itself. Within forty-eight hours, desperate researchers had barely begun to understand what they were dealing with, but it was already too late. Demons poured through dimensional tears, bringing with them hordes of twisted beasts that turned cities into slaughterhouses.
As creatures hunted through burning streets, desperate humans began burying themselves alive, clawing into the earth with bloody fingers, seeking escape from a nightmare that had no end.
But humanity has always been stubborn about survival.
When conventional weapons failed and governments collapsed, volunteers stepped forward. Brave souls who looked into those gaping wounds in reality and asked a question no one else dared: What's on the other side?
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[26th September, Barna New California Post-rift]
Nearly a hundred years had passed since the first rift tore reality apart. Humanity had survived. More than that, they'd found hope.
Hope came in the form of hunters—powerful awakened individuals who fought demons, cleared rifts, and gave ordinary people a reason to believe tomorrow might actually come. Now their children filled training halls, learning how to maybe survive what their parents had endured. This hall taught teamwork. Down the coast, another taught stealth. Across town, they focused on combat. Three different bets on what might work.
One month. That's how long candidates got to prepare. Thirty days to learn which beasts would tear your throat out versus which ones would play with your corpse first. A month to memorize survival techniques and emergency signals that rarely worked anyway.
Next week would determine everything. Some would come back awakened, wielding power like heroes from old stories. Others would never come back at all. The lucky ones would die quickly.
The training hall sat right on the edge of everything, where ocean met district barriers and snow fell into dark water. Big windows showed waves smashing themselves against the barriers, over and over, like the world's most persistent suicide attempt.
Inside, candidates filled their usual seats, the familiar buzz of nervous energy heavy in the air, the weight of next week pressing down on everyone.
A boy stared through reinforced glass at the churning water outside. White hair caught the window light, making him look even paler than usual. Hollow cheeks, sharp bones, clothes that hung loose because regular meals were still a luxury. Twenty years old but carrying himself like someone who'd already seen too much.
Two years. Two failed attempts. Two chances wasted.
'Third time's the charm,' he thought, watching snow dance across dark water. Same view, same bullshit hope, same faces pretending they weren't terrified.
He recognized some familiar faces across the hall. There was Jason, hunched over his desk like he was trying to disappear into it. The kid always sat the same way, shoulders curved inward, avoiding eye contact with anyone who might remember his last failure.
His eyes rolled over to the girl every pervert couldn't stop staring at. Kira sat a few rows up, adjusting her uniform top, the fabric stretching across curves that drew attention from half the male candidates. She caught them looking and smirked, clearly enjoying every second of it. Some girls would be embarrassed. Kira seemed to feed off it.
Near the back, three repeat failures clustered together, whispering about strategy and second chances while their hands shook just thinking about portal runs.
"Hey, Liam!"
A girl's voice cut through the pre-lesson chatter, sweet and flirtatious. Shaun turned to see a brunette from the front row waving at his seat neighbor.
"Morning, Sarah," Liam called back with a charming grin, giving her a little wave that made her giggle.
Green hair bounced as Liam settled into the seat beside Shaun without invitation, still smiling from the attention.
"Sup, Shaun. Caught you people-watching again." Liam pulled something from his bag. "What's the verdict this time? Rating survival chances?"
Shaun kept watching the ocean.
"Come on, don't go all mysterious on me." Liam unwrapped what looked like a sandwich, the smell hitting Shaun's nose immediately. "We've been sitting together for weeks now."
Shaun's stomach growled, but he didn't react.
"Here." Liam thrust the wrapped food toward him. "You look like you haven't eaten since yesterday."
Shaun ignored it, turning back to the window.
"I'm not taking no for an answer." Liam placed the sandwich directly on Shaun's desk, pushing it against his arm. "Seriously, when's the last time you had a real meal?"
After a long stare at the persistent offering, Shaun finally looked at Liam.
"There's sausage in it," Liam added, as if that settled everything.
Shaun picked up the sandwich, unwrapped it slowly, and took a bite. The taste hit him immediately—actual meat, real bread, something that hadn't come from emergency rations.
"Thanks," he said quietly, taking another bite.
"See? Was that so hard?" Liam's grin widened. "I knew you were human under all that ice."
Before Shaun could respond, something hard smacked against the back of his head. Not painful, but enough to get his attention.
"Hey, mother-killer."
The voice belonged to Derek, a mountain of a kid with shoulders that barely fit through doorways. Buzz cut, thick neck, the kind of build that said he'd been lifting weights since he could walk. He loomed behind Shaun's chair like a wall of muscle and bad attitude.
The familiar words that had followed him for twenty years, whispered in hallways and shouted across streets. A few students turned to look, some snickering, others pretending they hadn't heard anything.
Shaun kept eating his sandwich, didn't turn around, didn't react. Same shit, different day. The stories never got old, apparently. His mother's failed attempt to end her pregnancy, the poison that killed her slowly while leaving him untouched, and his father's hatred that followed.
'Just another asshole,' he thought, chewing carefully. 'Nothing new.'
The training hall filled with the usual pre-lesson chatter, candidates settling in while instructors prepared for another day of survival education. Outside, the wind picked up, sending waves crashing harder against the barriers.
Then heels clicked against the polished floor.
Sharp. Measured. Each step a countdown to something.
The temperature seemed to drop. Conversations died. Even the repeat failures shut up for once. That kind of silence meant a predator had entered the room.
A woman appeared in the doorway.
Every male in the room forgot how to breathe properly. She moved like liquid steel, all controlled power and dangerous curves. Dark hair, perfect uniform, the kind of beauty that belonged in pre-rift magazines. But her eyes were winter cold, holding the kind of calculation that came from watching too many kids walk through portals and not enough walk back out.
Around him, testosterone levels spiked hard enough to smell. Boys straightening their shoulders, sucking in their guts, suddenly desperate to look mature and capable.
'Bunch of idiots,' Shaun thought, watching them turn into drooling fools. 'Like she'd look twice at any of you.'