Eugene gripped the steering wheel, his foot pressed hard against the accelerator as the car tore through the empty streets. Buildings blurred past him.
He touched the communicator in his ear.
"So, what's the category of the rift?"
The voice on the other end crackled with urgency. "Category 2 rift. The rift master is estimated to be Fiend rank. It could break open any moment. Please arrive quickly."
Eugene's jaw tightened. 'Fiend. One rank above me. And I don't even know what class it'll be.'
"On my way. Just hold the perimeter."
He ended the call and pressed the accelerator harder.
'Must reach!'
***
The plaza came into view—a wide, open space surrounded by shops and cafes that had long since closed their doors. In the center, suspended three meters above the ground, hung the rift.
It was beautiful in a terrible way. A swirling mass of light blue energy, pulsing like a heartbeat, with tendrils of distortion reaching out to warp the reality around it. Strange sounds emanated from its core—not the world-rending scream of the first rifts, but something deeper. A wailing, like monsters crying from somewhere far away.
Eugene parked hastily and jogged toward the gathering Pathwalkers. The plaza was otherwise empty—civilians had been evacuated, their safety the only victory before the battle even began. The wind howled through the space, slamming doors against their frames, rattling awnings, whipping debris across the ground.
He counted quickly. Fifteen Pathwalkers total. Himself and one other Pathfounder. The rest were Pathwayers—the lowest rank, new to this life, their faces pale with fear they tried to hide.
His mind raced through calculations. 'Category 2 gate. Two waves before the rift master. First wave will be Monster and Awakened ranks. Second wave will be tougher. And then the Fiend.'
He didn't know what class the Fiend would be. What powers it might possess. What weaknesses it might have. That uncertainty was the most dangerous part.
He spotted a Pathwayer standing nearby—a young woman, maybe early twenties, gripping her weapon with white-knuckled hands.
"When will the Pathwalkers from the government arrive?" Eugene asked.
She straightened at his approach. "They're busy with other matters, sir. It might take some time."
Eugene nodded, keeping his expression calm for her sake. 'Of course they're busy. They're always busy.'
He looked at the young woman—really looked at her. The fear in her eyes. The way her shoulders tensed. The slight tremble in her grip.
"What rank are you?" he asked.
She hesitated before answering. "Pathwayer, sir."
Eugene nodded again. "Don't worry. It'll be quick. Just don't give in to fear. Fear might take you before the monsters do."
She swallowed and nodded, straightening slightly. The words hadn't erased her fear, but they'd given her something to hold onto.
Eugene turned to face the rift. The other Pathfounder—a man named Viktor, someone he'd fought beside before—caught his eye and gave a grim nod. They were as ready as they'd ever be.
The rift pulsed. The wailing grew louder.
And then reality around it began to distort.
It started subtly—a shimmer in the air, like heat rising from pavement. But it grew quickly, the space around the rift bending and warping in ways that hurt to look at. The sound shifted from wailing to something else. Something hungry.
Unlike the first rift years ago—the one that had torn the sky open with a world-ending scream—this one opened almost silently. One moment it was there, swirling. The next, a jagged hole split the air, and darkness poured through.
Eugene summoned his sword. It materialized in his hand—a thrusting sword, long and narrow, designed for precision rather than power. Beside him, weapons materialized across the line of Pathwalkers. Swords. Axes. Bows. Strange tools he didn't recognize.
"Pathwalkers!" Eugene's voice cut through the wind. "Be ready to give your all! Everyone must survive this rift and see another day!"
The first monster emerged.
It was canine in shape—like a dog, but wrong. It stood as large as a lion, the kind that had gone extinct during the early days of the Tempus when Earth's own animals had been swept away by the chaos. Two horns curved backward from its skull, following the same line as its pointed ears. Its claws caught the light, each one longer than a large knife, capable of slicing through a mundane human like butter through hot metal.
Behind it, more followed. Smaller versions of the same creature, pouring from the rift like water from a broken dam. A pack. A hunting party.
The largest one—the pack leader—locked eyes with Eugene.
'Monster rank? No... that one's bigger. Stronger. Awakened.'
Eugene charged.
He ran straight for the largest beast, trusting the other Pathwalkers to handle the rest. The young woman with the trembling hands would have to find her courage now or die. Viktor would lead the others. And Eugene would take the biggest threat.
The beast sensed him coming. It turned, muscles coiling, and lunged.
Eugene thrust his sword straight at its chest.
The beast twisted mid-air—faster than something its size had any right to be—and dodged. Its body angled left, avoiding the blade by inches, and then it was on him. Jaws snapped at his face. He ducked, feeling the wind of its bite rush past his ear.
But he couldn't dodge everything.
The beast's claws raked across his back as it passed over him. Pain exploded through his body—sharp, burning, deep. He stumbled, nearly fell, caught himself on one hand.
'Wounds already. First exchange and I'm bleeding.'
He forced himself up, ignoring the fire spreading across his back. The beast had landed a short distance away and was already turning for another pass. Its eyes gleamed with hunter's satisfaction.
Eugene reached for his other tool.
Summoning took time—precious seconds he didn't have. But he'd learned to multitask in twenty-five years of fighting. He ran toward the beast again, sword ready, while in his other hand, something else materialized slowly.
The beast lunged.
Eugene grunted as the wound on his back screamed protest. He pushed through it, met the beast head-on. At the last second, he veered right, letting the beast overshoot.
His other hand closed around the summoned object.
A pouch. Made from the skin of some monster he'd killed years ago, treated and prepared for exactly this purpose. He tore it open and threw the contents directly at the beast's face.
Grains of sand—ordinary in appearance, but imbued with something more. A powder that blinded, that clung to eyes and refused to let go.
The beast stumbled. Its eyes were open, blinking frantically, but it couldn't see. It thrashed, confused, striking at empty air.
Eugene didn't hesitate.
He lunged to its side, sword extended, and thrust with everything he had. The blade sank deep into the place where its heart should be. A clean hit.
The beast screamed—a terrible, piercing sound—and thrashed wildly. Its claws swiped at where Eugene had been, but he was already moving, leaping onto its back, wrapping his arms around its thick neck.
He squeezed.
The beast bucked and twisted, trying to throw him off. Its strength was immense—even wounded, even blinded, it could have killed him with a single solid hit. But Eugene held on, his muscles burning, his wounded back screaming, his teeth gritted so hard he thought they might crack.
"Die!" he roared. "Die, you filthy animal!"
Seconds stretched like hours. The beast's movements grew weaker. Slower. Its screams faded to whimpers, then to nothing.
It collapsed.
Eugene let go and fell beside it, gasping for air. Blood soaked his back, his side, his clothes. But he was alive.
And then the voice came.
It wasn't spoken aloud. It resonated inside his mind, familiar and strange at the same time—the same cadence as the Light Figures who had called themselves The Voice, but softer. More personal.
[Congratulations. You have successfully slain a Grade 7 Awakened monster, Calizan.]
Eugene let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "Finally."
He pushed himself up, ignoring the protest of his body, and looked around the plaza. The other Pathwalkers were engaged with the remaining monsters—smaller ones, weaker ones. And they were winning. Bodies of the creatures littered the ground, far more monsters than Pathwalkers among the fallen.
The young woman he'd spoken to was still alive, fighting back-to-back with another Pathwayer. Viktor was carving through a group of the beasts with methodical precision.
Eugene allowed himself a moment of relief.
Then he looked at the rift. Still open. Still pulsing.
'First wave down. Second wave coming.'
He gripped his sword tighter and jogged toward his comrades.
The battle wasn't over yet.