The city slept uneasily that night. Fog rolled over the streets, thick and wet, curling around the base of streetlamps like creeping fingers. Somewhere in the distance, alarms echoed faintly, the kind that never fully woke anyone but whispered warnings to those who listened.
Takumi walked with Ryo and the rest of Temporary Unit 47 toward the outskirts of Sector-12. The mission this time wasn't simple. The System had flagged an "unstable rift" — unclassified, dangerous, and potentially explosive. Civilians had been evacuated, though many didn't trust the announcements.
Takumi's boots splashed lightly in puddles as he scanned the streets. Broken signage, shattered glass, and the remnants of old barricades marked the approach to the rift's epicenter. The smell of ozone was stronger here. The air shimmered faintly, a distortion almost imperceptible, yet enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand.
Ryo broke the silence. "Keep formation. Don't stray. If the System flags anything unusual, report immediately."
Takumi said nothing. His instincts were already alert. Every fiber of his body hummed. Something was waiting.
The entrance to the rift was a collapsed industrial complex, twisted steel jutting outward like broken teeth. From the center of the ruin, a low, almost imperceptible hum emanated—like the air itself was vibrating. The System flickered on Takumi's wrist, then went dark.
[Warning: Dimensional instability detected.]
No one said anything. Not out of fear—they had trained for this—but because fear was too small a word for what they felt.
"Team split," Ryo ordered, voice clipped. "Sweep around the perimeter. I'll take center."
Takumi followed the order mechanically, moving toward the eastern wall. Every step felt heavier, though the ground was solid. Shadows twisted unnaturally in his peripheral vision. A flicker here, a pulse there, like something wasn't obeying the normal rules of space.
Then it happened.
A flash of crimson light erupted in the heart of the rift, brighter than any explosion. It shattered the dim night, reflecting off the puddles, slicing through the fog. Takumi instinctively dropped to the ground, muscles tensing.
For a heartbeat, there was silence. Not peace, but absence. The world seemed to pause. Even the hum of electricity in the streetlights died.
Then the air rippled. A dark, molten shadow flickered at the epicenter—shapes shifting, limbs forming and dissolving like smoke. Takumi felt it before he saw it: something alive, something ancient, something beyond comprehension.
The other Hunters froze. B-ranks whispered prayers. Ryo cursed under his breath.
Takumi didn't move. He watched.
[Warning: High-dimensional anomaly.]
The shadow didn't attack yet. It observed, stretching and pulsing like it was feeling the world. Its edges bled into the surrounding space, bending light, twisting gravity. Even the System couldn't read it.
Then, from the center of the shadow, a tendril shot outward—not targeting anyone specifically, but testing, probing. A B-rank screamed as the tendril passed near them, the air itself pressing down like a physical weight.
Takumi's heart pounded. Something deep in his chest reacted. Something familiar, though he had never met it.
"Move—stay spread!" Ryo shouted.
The team scrambled, but the rift wasn't just an environment. It was a force. Walls warped. Shadows extended unnaturally, swallowing chunks of concrete. Every step forward felt like stepping through molasses in a storm of invisible pressure.
Takumi's gaze locked on the core. That central pulsing mass of red-black shadow—it was alive. Intelligent. Curious. Predatory.
His mind raced. The System, normally a guide, had nothing to show. No threat levels, no combat suggestions. Only flickers and warnings that barely registered.
And then the first strike came—not directed, not deliberate, but impossible to evade. A wave of pure kinetic energy tore outward, throwing the team like ragdolls. Takumi hit the ground hard, scraping skin, bruising ribs, yet he rolled instinctively, keeping his vision on the rift.
When he looked up, the shadow had shifted. Its form was no longer humanoid but everywhere at once, stretching and retracting in impossible directions. Light bent around it; sound distorted.
A whisper of recognition flickered in Takumi's mind. Something called to him. Not words, but sensation. A pulse in his chest.
He swallowed hard, teeth clenched. "What… are you?"
The rift pulsed again, a violent shockwave that tore apart the concrete beneath his boots. Debris rained down.
Ryo screamed, struggling to stay upright, trying to organize the team. Takumi's reflexes kicked in—he pulled the nearest B-rank behind a jagged piece of steel, pushing her down before a second wave ripped the area apart.
And for a moment, just a brief, fleeting instant, the shadow seemed to hesitate. It recoiled slightly, as if watching, as if aware of him in a way it wasn't aware of the others.
Takumi's heart pounded. His body screamed to run, to flee, but his mind… something else whispered. Curiosity. Awareness. Recognition.
The rift trembled, and a low hum—barely audible—echoed through the night. Takumi knew, instinctively, that this was only the beginning.
This was not just a Dire-class anomaly. Not just a rift. This was something else. Something far older, far stronger, and far more dangerous than anything he had faced.
And far beyond the limits of human comprehension, in the hibernating folds of his unknown dimension, a presence stirred faintly, feeling the vibrations of Takumi's heartbeat, waiting patiently.
The night would not end quietly.
And Takumi Hanabira was about to learn that survival was only the first step.