The Guild hall had finally quieted after another long day of requests, raids, and paperwork Sung Jin-woo hardly cared for. Since ascending beyond humanity, most of the Hunter Association’s formalities were just a courtesy he extended to his old allies. Still, tonight, Chairman Go Gunhee had insisted he stay for tea, a rare thing Jin-woo rarely turned down out of respect for the man he regarded as a second father.
They had spoken of peace—of how the world was slowly learning to breathe again after the Monarchs’ fall—when suddenly, Jin-woo’s shadow stirred on its own. A ripple coursed through the black at his feet, like ink shivering across glass. His expression sharpened immediately.
Another Gate? Impossible…
Go Gunhee noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor. “What is it, Jin-woo?” “…Something’s opening.”
Before either man could move, the shadow erupted, not into the familiar darkness of a Dungeon, but into a distortion—an aperture twisting sideways, humming with unstable resonance. It wasn’t mana. It wasn’t even anything Jin-woo recognized. And yet it called to him.
A choice lay before him, though deep down he already knew what he would do. If this was a threat to Earth, to the fragile peace he had fought for, then he had to investigate.
“Chairman,” he said, bowing slightly, “watch over the others while I’m gone. I’ll return.”
Go Gunhee’s old eyes softened with worry, but he nodded. “Be careful, my boy.”
And then Jin-woo stepped through.
The transition was nothing like any Gate he had ever entered. Instead of mana’s cold grasp or the dungeon’s choking weight, he felt gravity tear sideways, like a black hole had swallowed him whole. His chest compressed painfully as if the air itself was a hand squeezing him. His instincts screamed danger, and his hands tightened around the twin black daggers that materialized instantly in his grip.
The world slammed into him.
Concrete shattered. Metal shrieked. Jin-woo landed hard on fractured asphalt, water splashing high as he rolled and rose to one knee, his breath steaming in the sudden cold. His obsidian eyes narrowed as the distortion behind him collapsed with a heavy clang, sealing him in.
Rain poured endlessly from a bruised sky, streaking down the skeletons of skyscrapers that loomed like gravestones over a dead city. The air was thick with the acrid bite of rust and the damp stench of rot.
Jin-woo rose slowly, his dark coat already soaked through, his gaze sweeping every ruined street corner. Silence pressed on him like a weight. No mana. No reishi. Just… nothing.
“…What is this place?” His voice was low, almost swallowed by the rain.
He moved cautiously, boots splashing through shallow floods as he passed abandoned vehicles half-swallowed by ivy. Neon signs flickered faintly above him, scrawled with graffiti in jagged English: HARD. CRIME. DON’T TRUST M0THER SPHERE. Words layered over older Russian script, washed into bleeding rivers by the downpour.
He stopped before a collapsed storefront. A figure slumped against the glass doors—a corpse clad in strange, futuristic armor, chest caved in and helmet still locked in place. Jin-woo crouched, studying it. No rot. No smell of decay. Time had not touched it. His jaw tightened.
“…Not human.”
He straightened, his daggers humming faintly in his grip as he scanned the drowned street. The hairs on his neck rose. Something about this place was wrong. It wasn’t just empty—it was waiting.
For the first time in years, Jin-woo felt the whisper of unease creep into his gut.
“Did I… fall into another world?”
The rain answered only with silence, pounding against metal and bone as he pressed deeper into the ruins of Eidos 7.
And somewhere ahead, beyond the broken towers and flooded streets, a pulse stirred—faint, but alive. The heartbeat of another survivor.
His eyes sharpened. His grip tightened.
Without realizing it, his steps carried him toward you.