The world had ended seven years ago.
At least, that's what the history books claimed. But Riven Kael never needed books to tell him how broken life was. The ruins of the old city were enough. Shattered towers stood like bones against a gray sky, their hollow windows staring down at the people who crawled below, scavenging like rats.
Riven was one of those rats.
He tightened the straps of his worn jacket and adjusted the rusted knife at his belt. His stomach growled, but he ignored it. Hunger was normal. Hunger was survival.
Seven years ago, a cosmic wound had torn open the heavens. They called it The Rift. From it spilled storms of light and fire, and with them came beasts that shouldn't exist. Humanity nearly crumbled in days. Then, as if mocking their weakness, strange marks began appearing on people's bodies — the Origin Marks. Those chosen gained powers, abilities to wield elements, summon fire, command storms. The lucky became heroes. The unlucky… remained prey.
Riven had never been lucky.
He had no Origin Mark. No family, no clan, no backing. Just a sharp tongue and sharper instincts. He survived because no one expected him to.
The streets of the outer district were unusually crowded today. People gathered near the collapsed metro station, murmuring with nervous anticipation. Riven slid into the throng, curious.
"What's happening?" he asked a man clutching a rusted spear.
The man shot him a suspicious look. "You don't know? A Gate's about to open."
Riven's lips thinned. Origin Gates. Tears in space that led to monster-infested realms. Deadly dungeons where countless died — but those who survived came back stronger, with powers beyond imagination.
And once a Gate appeared, everyone nearby was dragged inside.
The air thickened. The ground trembled. A pulse of cold light erupted from the cracked pavement, expanding like a living heartbeat. People screamed as a vortex of darkness unfurled, swallowing them whole.
Riven tried to run. Too late.
The world bent, snapped, and he was pulled into the abyss.
When he opened his eyes, the city was gone.
He stood in a vast wasteland of cracked stone, black fog curling around jagged cliffs. The sky glowed faintly red, a scarlet sun hanging too close, casting long shadows that writhed unnaturally.
Around him, dozens of other people staggered to their feet. Some were soldiers, armed with rifles. Others were scavengers like him. All bore the same expression: fear.
Then the pain began.
It was as if fire had been branded into Riven's chest. He collapsed, gasping, clutching his shirt as searing symbols carved themselves into his skin. The agony dragged on, stretching seconds into eternities.
When it ended, he was left trembling, sweat soaking his clothes.
And on his right hand, a mark glowed faintly — a swirling spiral of black lines.
An Origin Mark.
He stared, hardly daring to believe it. After all these years, after watching others awaken while he remained powerless… he finally had one.
A voice thundered across the wasteland, not from the air but from inside their minds.
[Origin Gate Initiated.]
[Trial Condition: Survive until dawn.]
[Failure: Death.]
The words were simple. Terrifyingly simple.
All around, people cried out. Some prayed. Some laughed in hysteria.
Then, one by one, their Marks flared. Fire erupted in a soldier's palm. Sparks of lightning crackled around a girl's arms. Water streamed from thin air, coiling around another man's hands.
They looked at their powers with awe.
Riven waited.
And waited.
Nothing happened.
He grit his teeth. "Come on," he muttered, staring at his Mark. "Don't tell me this is a joke."
Then a whisper slithered into his mind.
[Ability Awakened: Devour.]
A chill ran down his spine. Unlike the others, no flame appeared in his hands, no lightning, no weapon of water or wind. Just that word. Devour.
The laughter started almost immediately.
A boy with sparks dancing in his hair sneered. "What's that supposed to be? You gonna eat the monsters, rat?"
Others joined in, mocking. "Trash ability." "Better off dead already."
Riven ignored them. He had learned long ago that the world loved kicking those on the ground. But inside, a knot of fear twisted tighter.
What the hell was Devour?
The first attack came swiftly.
Shadows rippled across the wasteland as creatures emerged — twisted beasts, their bodies half-wolf, half-smoke, with too many eyes and mouths. Their claws gleamed like obsidian.
The group panicked. Fireballs flew. Lightning cracked. Water blades sliced. Screams filled the air as monsters lunged into the crowd, tearing apart those too slow to defend themselves.
Riven stumbled back, clutching his knife. His throat was dry. He had no flashy power, no fire to throw, no shield to raise. Just a word in his head.
Devour.
A beast lunged at him, jaws gaping. Instinct screamed at him to run, but something deeper pushed him forward.
He slashed wildly with his knife, the blade barely scratching the creature's smoky hide. The monster knocked him down, claws scraping against his chest.
Desperation flooded him. His Mark burned.
And suddenly, his vision darkened.
A command echoed inside.
[Devour.]
Riven grabbed the monster's face. His hand sank into the shadow-flesh, and the creature shrieked. Black smoke poured from its body, flooding into his arm, into his chest.
Agony ripped through him. It felt like swallowing fire and ice at once, like his veins were bursting open. He screamed, body arching, as the beast dissolved into nothing.
When it ended, he lay panting, shaking violently. His skin burned. His stomach twisted as if something alive writhed inside.
But the monster was gone.
And in his mind, a new line of text glimmered.
[Fragment Devoured: Lesser Shadow Beast.]
[Trait Gained: Darkvision.]
Riven blinked. His vision cleared — sharper, brighter, piercing through the fog and shadows as if the world had been repainted.
He sat up slowly, chest heaving. Around him, the survivors were still fighting, unleashing torrents of fire and lightning. No one noticed what he had done.
But he noticed.
His hands trembled as he whispered to himself. "I… ate it."
A laugh, shaky and disbelieving, escaped him. "What kind of cursed power is this?"
And yet, beneath the fear… a spark of hunger stirred.
Because for the first time in his life, Riven Kael wasn't weak.
Not anymore.