Chapter 1: The Pulse in the Dark
Volume 1: Earth Arc & Divine Awakening
Ryn Aelric's boots skidded across the cracked asphalt of Old Chicago's ruins, his breath ragged as the gate-wolf's howl shredded the night. Neon signs flickered overhead, their half-dead glow casting jagged shadows on the rubble that was once a city of skyscrapers and dreams. A year ago, this street pulsed with cars and laughter; now, it was a graveyard of twisted steel, reeking of sulfur and blood. As a Human Class, Ryn was less than nothing—no magic, no enhanced strength, just a twenty-year-old scavenger dodging death in a world that chewed up the weak. The wolf's claws scraped closer, its red eyes burning through the ash-thick fog. Ryn's heart hammered, his legs screaming for rest, but stopping meant dying.
He ducked behind a shattered bus, its rusted frame pocked with claw marks from earlier hunts. The air stung his lungs, heavy with the stench of gate-spawned decay. A block away, a jagged rift of green light pulsed—the gate that had ripped open this morning, vomiting monsters into the city. Ryn clutched a jagged pipe, his only weapon, scavenged from a collapsed storefront. His knuckles whitened around it, his mind racing. Warriors got glowing blades; Mages got fireballs. Human Class? Nothing but grit and a prayer. He peeked over the bus, spotting the wolf—sleek, black-furred, twice his size—sniffing the air. Its jaws dripped with something too red to be water, and Ryn's stomach twisted. He'd seen those teeth tear through scavengers dumber than him.
Move, Ryn. Move or die. He bolted, weaving through overturned cars, his sneakers slipping on wet concrete. The wolf snarled, its paws thundering behind him, shaking the ground. Ryn was fast for a human, but not fast enough. The alley narrowed, walls of crumbled brick closing in like a trap. Ahead, a dead end loomed—a collapsed building, its rebar claws jutting like spikes. His chest tightened, panic clawing at his mind. He was cornered, alone, out of tricks. The wolf's growl vibrated through the air, low and hungry, as it slowed, savoring the hunt.
Then it hit—a pulse, sharp and electric, like a spark igniting his veins. His vision snapped clear, the world slowing as if time itself hesitated. His legs felt lighter, his arms stronger, his fear sharpening into something new: defiance. A cold, mechanical voice echoed in his head, clear as a bell: Adrenal System: Phase I Unlocked. Surge x10.
"What the—" Ryn gasped, but the wolf lunged, jaws wide, claws glinting in the neon glow. Instinct took over. He twisted, faster than he'd ever moved, and swung the pipe. It cracked against the wolf's skull with a force that shouldn't have been his, the impact reverberating up his arm. The beast yelped, crashing into a pile of debris, its massive form skidding across the asphalt. Ryn stood frozen, pipe trembling in his hands, his pulse pounding like a war drum. The wolf scrambled up, red eyes wary, then turned and fled into the dark, its tail low.
Ryn dropped to his knees, gasping, the pipe clattering to the ground. His body buzzed, muscles twitching with unnatural energy. That voice—Adrenal System? He'd never heard of it. Warriors had Battle Interfaces, Mages had Mana Cores, but Humans? They were the dregs, the ones guilds left to die. He stared at his hands, expecting something—glowing runes, maybe, like the stories. But they were just hands—calloused, scraped, human. His breath steadied, but the buzz lingered, like a current under his skin.
A flicker caught his eye in a broken shop window across the alley. His reflection stared back, but his eyes glowed faintly, a deep amber that wasn't his. Ryn blinked, heart lurching, and the glow vanished. "What the hell is happening to me?" he muttered, his voice hoarse in the quiet.
He couldn't stay here. The gate-wolf might return with friends, and Old Chicago's nights were never safe. Ryn forced himself up, wincing as the surge's energy faded, leaving his body heavy, like he'd run a marathon. His arm stung—a gash from the wolf's claw or the rubble, oozing blood. He hadn't even felt it during the fight. He needed to get back to the shelter, to Elane. She'd be pacing, her healer's hands twisting with worry, probably cursing his name for being late again. The thought of her steadied him, but it also stung. She deserved better than a useless Human Class who couldn't even protect himself.
The shelter was a mile away, tucked in the basement of a half-collapsed library in what used to be the Loop. Ryn stuck to the shadows, avoiding the open streets where guild patrols roamed. The guilds—self-styled saviors with their fancy classes—hoarded food, weapons, and safety, leaving scavengers like him to fend for themselves. He'd seen their Warriors strut through the ruins, cloaks marked with sigils, cutting down monsters with ease while sneering at Humans like they were roaches. Ryn hated them almost as much as the monsters. Almost.
A distant roar echoed, another gate-spawned beast somewhere in the city. Ryn quickened his pace, his pipe tucked into his belt. The library's silhouette loomed ahead, its dome cracked like an eggshell under the sickly green glow of a distant gate. He slipped through a gap in the barricade—a patchwork of scavenged metal and wood, barely holding together. Inside, the air was damp, thick with the smell of mold, sweat, and fear. Dim lanterns cast long shadows over the survivors—maybe fifty, huddled on cots or leaning against bookshelves that hadn't held books in months. Most were Human Class, like him, their faces gaunt, their eyes hollow. A few low-tier Warriors and Mages lingered near the back, their guild patches marking them as outsiders who'd deigned to slum it here.
"Ryn!" Elane's voice cut through the murmurs, soft but sharp with worry. She hurried over from a corner, her brown hair tied in a messy braid, her healer's robe stained with ash and blood from tending wounds. Her green eyes scanned him, narrowing at the gash on his arm. "You're late. And you're hurt. Again."
"It's nothing," Ryn said, but she was already pulling him to a cot, her hands glowing faintly with healing magic. Warmth spread through his arm, the pain dulling as the wound knit closed, leaving only a faint scar. Elane's Class—Healer—was rare, a blessing in a place like this. She was the only reason the shelter hadn't collapsed into despair.
"Nothing?" she said, her voice low but firm, her hands still on his arm. "You were out there alone, weren't you? I told you to stop scavenging at night. The gates are getting worse, Ryn. Another one opened today, bigger than the last. People are saying it's a dungeon."
Ryn tensed, his mind flashing to the stories. Dungeons were rare, massive gates that spewed hordes of monsters led by something worse—lords, sentient beasts with power to rival high-tier classes. The last dungeon had leveled half the South Side, leaving craters still smoldering months later. "Which guild's handling it?"
Elane's face darkened. "Iron Vanguard. They're demanding tribute again—food, supplies… or people." Her voice cracked on the last word, and Ryn's fists clenched. The Iron Vanguard were the worst of the guilds, treating survivors like livestock, abandoning "useless" Humans to monsters while protecting only those with strong classes.
"They can't keep doing this," Ryn said, his voice low, anger simmering. He'd heard the rumors—civilians handed over as bait to appease monster hordes, shelters raided for supplies. The thought made his blood boil, stirring that electric pulse again, faint but there.
"They can," Elane said quietly, her hands dropping to her lap. "No one stops them. Not even her." She nodded toward a faded poster on the wall, a recruitment ad for the Dawn Covenant. The image showed Lyra Varn, the guild's leader, her sword wreathed in light, her eyes fierce and commanding. A Blade Dancer Class, unstoppable, fairer than most. Ryn had never met her, but everyone knew Lyra—she was the only guild leader who didn't extort shelters outright, though her reach was limited.
"She can't be everywhere," Ryn said, but the words felt hollow. He wanted to do something, anything, to stop the guilds' stranglehold. The memory of the surge—the power in his veins, the glowing eyes—stirred something reckless in him. If he could tap into that again, maybe he could fight back.
Elane grabbed his arm, her grip surprisingly strong. "Don't, Ryn. You're not a Warrior. You're not—" She hesitated, her eyes softening. "You're not nothing, but you're not them. Promise me you'll stay safe."
He wanted to promise, for her sake. Elane was the only person who'd stuck by him after the gates appeared, after his parents didn't make it back from a scavenging run. She'd patched him up, kept him sane, believed in him when he didn't believe in himself. But the words caught in his throat. Safe meant hiding, and hiding meant watching more people die—people like her. "I'll try," he said finally, hating how weak it sounded.
She sighed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You're impossible." But there was a flicker of a smile, and it eased the knot in his chest.
Hours later, Ryn couldn't sleep. The shelter's snores and whimpers filled the air, a constant reminder of how fragile this place was. His mind replayed the wolf, the surge, the voice. Adrenal System. He sat up, slipping to a corner where a broken mirror hung on the wall, its edges cracked but reflective. His face stared back—dark hair, sharp jaw, tired eyes. No glow. Had he imagined it?
A faint hum interrupted his thoughts, like static in his skull. Words flickered in his vision, unbidden, like a glitchy hologram: Adrenal System: Emotional Threshold Exceeded. Surge Ready. Ryn's breath hitched. He hadn't called for it. The words pulsed, then shifted, new text forming: Night Protocol: Initiated. His skin prickled, a chill running down his spine. The system felt… alive, like it was watching him. Before he could process it, a low growl echoed outside the shelter, just beyond the barricade. It wasn't the gate-wolf—something smaller, but close. Too close.
Ryn grabbed his pipe, his pulse quickening. That electric spark stirred again, faint but growing. He glanced at Elane, asleep on her cot, her face peaceful despite the world's chaos. If a monster breached the barricade, she'd be the first to try healing the wounded—and the first to die. He couldn't let that happen.
He slipped toward the exit, ignoring the voice in his head—hers, warning him to stay safe. The night air hit him like a slap, cold and thick with the gate's sulfurous stench. The growl came again, from a pile of rubble near the library's entrance. Ryn crouched, pipe ready, his eyes scanning the dark. A shape moved—smaller than the wolf, but fast, its scales glinting under a broken streetlight. A gate-lizard, venomous, known for slipping into shelters and killing silently.
The spark in his chest flared, his vision sharpening. The system's voice returned, colder, sharper: Surge x10: Available. Engage? Ryn didn't know how to answer, but his body did. He lunged, pipe swinging, as the lizard hissed and darted forward. The impact was clean, crushing its skull, but another hissed from the shadows—then another. Three of them, circling him.
His heart pounded, fear and anger mixing. He thought of Elane, of the shelter, of the guilds who'd let them die. The surge hit harder, his movements a blur. He smashed one lizard, then another, the pipe a silver streak in the dark. The third lunged, but he sidestepped, impossibly fast, and drove the pipe through its spine. The creatures lay dead, their blood pooling on the asphalt.
Ryn panted, the surge fading, leaving him shaky but alive. He glanced at the library, hoping no one had seen. But a figure stood at the barricade—a guild scout, her cloak marked with the Iron Vanguard's sigil. Her eyes widened, locked on his face. Ryn's stomach dropped. In the faint light, he caught his reflection in a puddle—his eyes glowed amber, bright and unnatural, like a predator's.
"Who… what are you?" the scout whispered, stepping back.
Ryn didn't answer. He turned and slipped into the shadows, his heart racing with a mix of fear and exhilaration. Whatever this Adrenal System was, it wasn't human. And whatever he was becoming, the world would know soon enough.