June 04, 203X

  16:12

  Cat-Plus Gate -6.5054, 23.9928

  Somewhere in the Congo

  He was bloody, down on one knee. His exoframe was cracked, vents sparking. The mask had been torn off.

  He stared down at the shattered plating, assessing the damage. In one of the bent metal shards, he caught a glimpse of his reflection—something he hadn’t seen in a long time.

  This is not my face.

  This is his.

  Every time I see it, I see a dead man staring back.

  The man I couldn’t save.

  This is not my face.

  The mask slithered back on, liquid metal crawling across his skin. It sealed the cracks, dulled the pain.

  Chrome surface. Blue lines glowing faintly beneath.

  Good.

  He turned his eyes forward.

  The twelve-foot giant stood tall—wings of light and shadow fanned wide, horns long and smoother than silk. One of his eyes blotted out

  "Are you done yet, Golem?" the horned monster asked.

  He rose slowly to his feet as the exoframe’s glow intensified.

  His face now hidden once more—expressionless, featureless, unreadable.

  And spoke.

  He stared at the Demon King eye catching a glimpse of himself

  "No."

  This is my reflection.

  Burn in it.

  ……

  Rowan felt strange—like his entire body was vibrating. He followed Dev’s direction, trying to focus, as he sensed mana prodding along his insides. He inhaled sharply when the energy finally began to seep into his nervous system directly. For the first time, he felt like he could truly control it.

  He began to replicate what Dev had done—compressing the core, keeping the mana in motion, revolving it through his body until it came full circle.

  He could hear Xy’Rosh in the back of his mind, saying something, but it was muffled—distant. None of it mattered.

  Right now, it was just him, his mana, and his body.

  And then—finally—after completing his first full revolution, he drew in a deep breath and pushed for one last compression.

  There was a pop.

  And then—ding.

  His core had solidified.

  And a Screen popped up in front of him

  Name: Rowan Pierce

  Race: Enhanced Human

  Level: 1

  Class: [Unassigned]

  Titles:

  Stats:

  Strength: 25

  Constitution: 27

  Agility: 28

  Mana: 5 (+7)

  [Stat Points Available: 0]

  Innate Abilities:

  [Ω-Protocol] (Unique)

  Skills:

  [Mana Manipulation] – Lv 3

  [Burst] – Lv 1

  [Forge] – Lv 1

  So this was the thing that made Hunters.

  Rowan had always wondered why random people just awakened with powers out of nowhere, while someone like him had to go through this elaborate, painful process just to reach the starting line. But that question—why some awakened and others didn’t—was still being researched by scientists to this day. His pettiness wasn’t going to solve an age-old mystery, so instead, he focused on the mystery right in front of him:

  The status window.

  He didn’t know what stats most people awakened with, but his looked... high. Really high. His highest stat, Agility, was already close to 30.

  Then his gaze dropped to his Innate Ability.

  [Ω-Protocol] (Unique)

  A trait that allows real-time adaptation, self-repair, and enhancement based on environmental threats and combat conditions. The AI symbiote assists in analyzing opponents and optimizing physical and magical output.

  “Woah,” Rowan muttered. “Real-time adaptation? Doesn’t that basically make me Darwin’s wet dream?”

  ROWAN!?

  Xy’Rosh’s voice thundered through his mind so loudly he felt it rattle his brainstem.

  “WHAT?! Why are you yelling like that?”

  Because! Xy’Rosh replied, clearly agitated. When you started doing… whatever that was, some of my nanites detached from my main cluster and entered your core. I was trying to get you to stop in case it crippled you—but it looks like everything somehow went smoothly.

  “…Wait. What? Is that bad? What’s going to happen to me? Can’t you just pull them back?”

  No can do. I’d basically have to shove myself into your core, which is now made of pure, dense aether. That would fry me. Those nanites seem to have bonded to some of your cells along your aether network. I can still interface with them—but reabsorbing them is a tall order.

  Rowan stared at the description of his Innate Ability again.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  “…I might have some idea what they’re doing. But first, let me finish taking inventory.”

  He scrolled down to his skills:

  [Burst] – Lv 1

  Able to shoot out an instantaneous burst of mana in any direction, creating an explosion or enhancing physical abilities.

  [Forge] – Lv 1

  Allows the user to shape and solidify raw mana into temporary constructs such as weapons, tools, or barriers. The form and durability depend on the user’s control and available mana.

  He skimmed the descriptions. They seemed useful. Really useful.

  Already, combinations were forming in his head. Like forming bullets from pure mana and launching them using [Burst]. Of course, he’d have to test whether his constructs could last away from him first.

  “Let’s try it,” he murmured to himself.

  He mentally activated [Forge], and felt his mana move on its own. He focused on the image of a hammer. Slowly, a glowing, translucent blue hammer formed in his hand. He watched how the mana moved, memorizing the process. Then he placed the hammer on the floor and backed away.

  At first, nothing changed. But the farther he moved, the more strain he felt—like a cord stretching tighter and tighter. By the time he reached the kitchen, it was unbearable. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and the hammer blinked out of existence.

  “So... maybe no mana bullets yet.”

  “Yo, Xy,” Rowan called. “You remember the mana flow when I made that hammer?”

  Yes. I logged the aether pattern.

  “Good. Spot me.”

  Rowan used [Mana Manipulation]—not the skill function, but the core ability—to replicate [Forge] manually. It was harder than he expected; assembling an intricate shape from scratch took focus he hadn’t yet mastered. So he settled for something simpler—a sphere.

  After a few long minutes of effort, he finally completed it. Then came the notifications:

  [Mana Manipulation] – Lv 3 → Lv 4

  [Forge] – Lv 1 → Lv 3

  “So that’s how you level skills,” Rowan muttered. “Try to replicate their function manually. I wonder how the new levels affect automatic usage…”

  He was so caught up in experimenting that he didn’t notice it right away—that smell. Not just him. He glanced over.

  Dev was face-down on the floor, lying in a full snow angel position, eyes closed, unmoving.

  Turns out, they both had leftover impurities in their bodies that Xy’Rosh hadn’t completely cleaned out. And now the scent was leaking out.

  “…Well. That’s unfortunate,” Rowan muttered, wrinkling his nose.

  “Hey.” He prodded Dev with his foot. “Get up. You stink… again.”

  Dev didn’t move at first—just groaned and rolled slightly to the side like a corpse refusing resurrection.

  “Come on,” Rowan said, voice drier than sandpaper. “Don’t make me drag your ass into the shower twice in one day.”

  Dev took a deep breath, giving himself and his clothes a little sniff, then opened both eyes wide, blinking blearily. “Sorry… guiding your mana took a lot out of me. Especially since I just formed my core.”

  “I did ask if you were sure you wanted to do it so soon,” Rowan replied, crossing his arms.

  “Don’t worry about it. It was definitely some good [Mana Manipulation] training.”

  “Cool. Now please, hurry up and bathe again—then go home. Respectfully. Spending time with you has fried my brain with all this shit.”

  “Yeah, no kidding. It’s pitch black out.” Dev pulled his phone from his pocket, brows lifting as he glanced at the screen. “Shit.”

  “What?” Rowan asked, deadpan. “Your girlfriend blowing up your phone or something?”

  Dev stood up and wandered off toward the bathroom. “No. Even worse—the guy who brought me back from the hospital. My best friend. Basically my sugar daddy at the moment.”

  “…What the fuck.” Rowan just stared, expression flat as the bathroom door closed with a soft thud.

  …….

  Dev had showered for the second time today—at someone else’s apartment. Any more than this and Rowan might actually start charging him rent. He definitely seemed like the type.

  After stepping out and drying off, Dev grabbed his clothes again and gave them a quick sniff.

  “Huh. Smells like flowers.”

  Apparently, nanites worked faster than an in-home washer-dryer set.

  While toweling his hair, he idly scrolled through his notifications. One in particular stood out:

  [Mana Manipulation] – Lv 3 → Lv 6

  Three levels in one day. Not bad. Manipulating an external mana source had turned out to be excellent training. It felt like he was shaking off years of rust.

  There was only so much he could level it with his current mana pool, though. Once that stat increased, he’d probably start climbing back toward his old mastery—and at an exponentially faster pace.

  He put on his clothes and started thinking through his next steps.

  First, I need to register as an awakened, he thought. Then get my Hunter’s license sometime this week.

  After that? Diablos.

  He needed to find out more about their activities in this timeline. He knew Diablos had started as a guild in Argentina before expanding outward—initially through Hunter-related operations, then moving into black market mercenary work. Eventually, they evolved into a full-blown research conglomerate, using their still-active guild license to procure Gate materials without incurring extra fees. Over time, they racked up enough favors, blackmail, and money to entrench themselves across most of South America.

  He needed to investigate further—see if they could still be kept on humanity’s side. And if they were a lost cause… then he’d do what he had to.

  He also needed to get the Core-Maker Elixir formula—and the core formation process—out to the public. Or, at the very least, into the hands of Pantheon and as many guilds as possible.

  For that, he’d need to get a meeting with the Director of the WHC.

  And that was going to take time.

  Dev stepped out of the bathroom fully dressed, towel slung over his shoulder. Rowan was on the couch, tossing a ball of condensed mana into the air. On the third catch, the orb flickered and dissipated in a puff of light.

  “Yo, I’m done. I’m about to head out soon,” Dev said, stretching. “But before that—let me get your number.”

  Rowan raised his head, one eyebrow arching. “Kid, why are you saying it like this was some awkward one-night stand?”

  Dev sighed. “I’m not saying it like anything. Like it or not, we both know each other’s secrets now. And since we’ve both awakened, we’re literally required by law to register. I figured we should do that together—just in case we need to cover for each other.”

  “That’s smart,” Rowan admitted, sitting up straighter. “Alright, here—my digits.”

  He rattled off the numbers as Dev added them into a new contact on his phone.

  “I’ll give you a call sometime this week,” Dev said, slipping his phone into his pocket.

  “Classic one-night stand line,” Rowan muttered as Dev bent to put on his shoes.

  Dev rolled his eyes, already halfway out the door. “Ok old man.”

  The door shut behind him with a quiet click, leaving Rowan alone with the fading hum of radiator in the room.

  Dev stepped out of the building and into the night. The city air greeted him with a chill, the kind that prickled against his skin and filled his lungs with every breath. He looked up, hoping to catch a glimpse of stars, it was pitch black—deep and endless—but no stars greeted him. The glow of New York's light pollution smothered the sky. No constellations. No moon.

  A shame. He missed looking at the stars.

  The wind was sharp, brushing against his skin and tugging at his clothes. He took in a deep breath, letting the cold air fill his lungs. It was... good. Clean, in a way. His enhanced senses picked up traces of car exhaust and the faint scent of pine trees from somewhere nearby.

  So much had happened in such a short span of time. His life had been war for the past nine years—brutal, unrelenting. He was used to the air reeking of sulfur and ozone, the sky tinted in a haze of burning red.

  And yet here he was. Walking under a quiet sky. Alive. Breathing.

  He had been so desperate to change the future that he threw himself into a Gate without even awakening first. Reckless. Stupid. But it had worked. Somehow.

  He’d have to plan his next moves more carefully. Build failsafes. Create contingencies. He had to succeed—even in failure. Because true failure wasn’t an option.

  But now, with nothing but the hum of streetlights and the occasional whoosh of cars passing by, he stood still. Just for a moment.

  He closed his eyes and took another breath.

  Car smoke and pine trees.

  It had never smelled better than it did right now.