I remember the day the towers of hell descended. It was as if the skies had cracked open to release a fury beyond imagination. The colossal structures appeared out of nowhere, falling from the heavens like meteors heralding the apocalypse. They landed with a deafening impact, standing tall, shrouded in darkness, their surfaces etched with bizarre, otherworldly patterns that seemed to pulse with an eerie life of their own.
For an entire month, the towers loomed silently over our world. No immediate threat, no chaos—only a haunting reminder that something monumental had occurred. They became an unsettling part of our daily landscape, a grim omen slowly weaving itself into the fabric of ordinary life.
Then, on the thirty-second day, everything changed. All at once, the towers erupted in a brilliant, synchronized display of light. From their depths poured forth a relentless horde: monstrous beings and unfathomable creatures, emerging in a torrent that brought with it a flood of death and chaos. That day was forever etched into history as Pandemonium.
In the aftermath of that fateful day, humanity awoke to a new reality—a system that granted power to those who dared confront these nightmarish aberrations. I was with my parents in an isolated region of England when Pandemonium began. Despite the terror around me, I was spared from the awakening that granted power. It was as if fate had decided I was not meant to bear the burden of that sudden might.
Did I regret it? A part of me did. Had I awakened earlier, perhaps I wouldn’t be struggling in poverty now. Yet, I also pondered the cruel irony that maybe such power would have led me to an untimely death, robbing me of the chance to grow stronger and carve out my destiny in this ravaged world.
In the chaotic aftermath, several smaller nations crumbled, and society itself turned on its head. More towers descended—this time, their glow was an unsettling green. Intensive research and countless perilous tests eventually led to a classification system for these enigmatic structures. Four distinct classes emerged:
Green Towers: The most common type. Though they offer minimal rewards, they pose little risk of unleashing monsters.
Red Towers: Dangerous if not periodically cleared, they are commonly used for training or competitions, challenging those brave enough to confront their hazards.
Orange Towers: These become active when a group attempting to conquer them is wiped out. They promise great rewards but at an equally great risk, often wreaking untold havoc.
White Towers: The rarest and most coveted. Each white tower boasts 100 floors with a unique structure—after every floor, one can choose to retreat. Every tenth floor holds a boss, and at the peak of the tower, on the hundredth floor, an infernal lord awaits.
Thus far, only two white towers have been fully cleared—classified as 98 and 97. They are regarded as the pinnacle of challenge and reward, offering relics and abilities of immeasurable power.
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It has been five long years since those events, and I was on the brink of turning 19. I sat in my modest apartment in the bleak expanse of City A65, clutching an orb that glowed faintly in my hand—a tangible remnant of hope in a shattered world.
Seven months after Pandemonium, my life took another tragic turn when I lost both my parents, leaving me to navigate the cruel remnants of society alone at the tender age of 15. Bereft of guidance and burdened by despair, I found work wherever I could—construction sites, local markets, even at the cinema. Each day was a struggle, a desperate bid to survive in a world that had long since abandoned its old order.
After years of hardship and scrimping away an almost laughable salary, I managed to gather enough credits to purchase an awakening stone—my final, desperate bid to transform my fate. I had paid a staggering one hundred thousand credits for it, every coin a sacrifice of my dwindling future.
Deep inside, I had always harbored a wild dream: to become a hunter of the extraordinary, to harness elemental powers—lightning, ice—and wield giant swords and spears in battle against dragons, demons, and every nightmare that had been unleashed. It was a childish dream, perhaps even foolish, but in this fractured reality, even the wildest dreams carried a spark of truth. I needed to seize that spark, to turn it into the fire of a new beginning.
That day, fortune favored me in a way I hadn’t dared imagine. At an underground auction—a place where the desperate and the daring mingled—I acquired an awakening orb. It was a day drenched in luck, and as I smiled broadly, I swallowed the orb, feeling it slide down my throat silently, as if it were just another mundane pill. But as it reached my stomach, pain like I had never known surged through me.
“Fuck!” I cried out. The sensation was excruciating—like thousands of needles piercing my flesh before a searing, fiery burn set in. I gritted my teeth, clenching my eyes shut in a futile effort to bear the agony. Faintness and nausea threatened to overtake me; I could sense the edges of consciousness fraying. Amid the chaos of dizziness, a metallic tang of blood mingled with the crimson puddle beneath me, a grim testament to my body's brutal reaction.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, everything stopped. The pain, the turmoil—it all faded into a stunned silence. In that suspended moment, a purple screen materialized at the corner of my vision.
[Status: Orion Merau]
Unique Ability: Vision
Level: 1
Health: 100
Mana: 100
Strength: 10 / Agility: 10 / Endurance: 10 / Magic Power: 10
Talents: (Blood Swordsmanship); (Equally Matched)
Skills:
A smile broke across my face—my awakening had granted me two talents from the start.
[Blood Swordsmanship: Your body and mind instinctively grasp the basics of swordsmanship. Like ink on a page, the art of the blade is written into your DNA. This talent grants a modest bonus to all abilities involving blades.]
[Equally Matched: You are innately balanced, your attributes perfectly even as if destiny itself had imposed equality upon you. This balance is said to bring justice and stability, though it may also risk rendering you merely average in all aspects.]
I frowned as I attempted to focus on my unique ability, yet no further explanation came forth. It seemed I would have to unravel its mysteries on my own. Though intrigued by the potential of Blood Swordsmanship, I couldn’t help but feel a nagging uncertainty about Equally Matched. Did perfect balance mean that I was destined to remain mediocre in every field? The thought both frustrated and fascinated me.
Yet, despite my doubts, hope flared within me. With a heart full of determination, I realized that my new life as a hunter was finally beginning. I could forge a path out of poverty, out of despair—a path that might one day lead me to power and recognition.
Lying on my worn-out bed, I glanced at the ancient clock hanging on the wall. Its tired hands pointed to 11:42 PM. It was late, and on any normal day, I would already have succumbed to sleep. But tonight was different. Tomorrow, I was to report to the hunter center for the tedious bureaucracy that marked the start of every new hunter’s journey. After that, I would join a group of fellow neophytes on a training tower run—a chance to test our mettle and, perhaps, find a glimmer of redemption in this broken world.
As I lay there, the orb’s residual warmth pulsing in my hand, I could almost hear the echo of a distant promise: that in the midst of chaos and ruin, there remains a possibility—a chance to rise again. And so, with a mix of trepidation and exhilaration, I drifted into an uneasy sleep, ready to confront whatever fate had in store.
