The dagger in Justin's hand still pulsed faintly, like it hadn't quite finished drinking the blood of the beast he just killed.
It wasn't some low-poly loot drop or a floating digital prize. It had weight, balance, and a dark bronze finish etched with markings that shimmered beneath the white, hollow sky above Floor 1. The blade curved slightly at the edge, with serrations like broken teeth.
It felt real.
Everything here did.
[WEAPON EQUIPPED: BRONZE DAGGER]
[BASIC DAMAGE: 15 – 20]
[EFFECT: MINOR BLEED]
[DURABILITY: 100 / 100]
He turned it over once in his grip. The leather hilt fit his hand snugly—too snugly. It felt personal, like it had been waiting for someone exactly like him.
A soft chime rippled through the air.
"Level 2 achieved," Hakuda's voice spoke—calm, direct, almost casual, like this was just another day at the office. "You've been granted access to your basic skill tree. Would you like to unlock your first combat perk?"
Justin wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. His breathing had begun to steady, though his heart still beat like a war drum beneath his ribs.
He nodded. "Show me."
A glowing blue window blinked open before his eyes:
[SKILL UNLOCK: TIER 1 AVAILABLE]
Choose One:
> Shadow Step (Passive) — +10% Movement Speed when undetected
> Precision Kill (Active) — Deal +50% damage on critical strike (Cooldown: 20 seconds)
> Adrenal Surge (Passive) — Temporarily boosts speed and reflexes by 30% when HP drops below 30%
His eyes flicked over the options, but the choice was already made. He didn't hesitate.
"Shadow Step."
In a world where hesitation meant death, and death was forever, speed and silence were survival.
[SKILL ACQUIRED: SHADOW STEP]
[PASSIVE ACTIVATED]
A strange warmth pooled in the soles of his feet. His stance subtly shifted—more grounded, more fluid. Like his body had finally synced with the rules of this place.
He inhaled deeply.
For the first time in days—hell, maybe in years—he felt a little more like he was in control of something.
His gaze shifted to the towering obsidian gate up ahead.
The stone doors, taller than any building he'd ever seen, began to groan open—runes lighting red-hot along the edges as if the tower itself were waking up.
Floor 1 had just begun.
Beyond the gate stretched a battlefield disguised as a wasteland—jagged stone, broken ruins, trees with hollow trunks and bark that oozed black sap. It was eerie, like a graveyard that hadn't finished burying its dead.
Other players were already scattered across the field—some fighting, some screaming, some crying out names that would never be answered again. A few clung to each other in blind, desperate groups.
Justin didn't join them.
He dropped into a crouch, dagger tight in his grip, and moved through the ruins like a shadow—fast, quiet, unseen.
He passed a pair of players locked in frantic battle with a creature that looked like a cross between a panther and a scorpion. One of them screamed as claws tore open his shoulder. Blood splattered against the stone.
Justin didn't stop.
Not because he didn't care.
But because he couldn't afford to.
Not yet.
"Target ahead. Level 3 threat. Vulnerable when attacking," Hakuda said quietly in his head.
Justin paused behind a cracked pillar. He peered out.
There it was.
A Cave Ghoul—gray-skinned, hunched, jaw distended like a snake halfway through a meal. Claws slick with blood. Eyes hollow. It moved between the ruins like it was looking for a memory it had lost—and would kill anything that wasn't it.
Justin exhaled through his nose.
Time to test the skill.
Shadow Step activated.
His feet barely touched the ground.
He closed the distance in two breaths, lunged, and drove his dagger into the ghoul's lower spine.
The beast screamed—high-pitched and full of hate—and twisted, claws flailing.
But Justin was already gone, rolling behind it, cutting deep into the back of its leg.
The creature stumbled, fell.
He didn't hesitate.
He slammed the blade into its throat—once. Twice. A third time to be sure.
The body convulsed… then stilled.
[ENEMY DEFEATED: CAVE GHOUL]
[+30 XP]
[LOOT ACQUIRED: LEATHER WRAP ARMOR (COMMON)]
[HP: 82 / 100]
[XP: 80 / 100]
He stood slowly, chest rising and falling. Blood painted the side of his face like war paint. The taste of iron clung to his tongue.
His fingers trembled.
Not out of fear this time.
But adrenaline. Victory. Survival.
It felt… good.
Too good.
He pulled the leather armor over his hoodie. It was ugly and stiff, but it was better than nothing. A pair of worn boots and a rusty throwing knife soon followed, looted from another fallen player's bag.
He didn't know their name.
Didn't have time to learn it.
Time blurred.
He lost track of how long he hunted—maybe an hour, maybe two.
He moved like a whisper through the ruins, each kill more precise than the last. He didn't fight fair. He fought to live.
[LEVEL UP → LEVEL 3]
[SKILL ACQUIRED: PRECISION KILL (ACTIVE)]
Precision Kill made his strikes deadlier. His rhythm became instinct. Strike. Disappear. Strike again.
"Efficiency rating increasing," Hakuda noted after another takedown. "Your kill rhythm is adapting to optimal tempo."
Justin smirked faintly.
"Not trying to impress you."
"You're not. You're trying to survive. That is impressive by default."
He chuckled softly. Just once.
Then the world shifted.
The sky dimmed.
The air went still.
The ground rumbled beneath his feet like something ancient was waking up.
Then—an announcement, loud and unmistakable:
[FLOOR BOSS APPEARING: "GUTREND THE CARNIFEX"]
[REQUIREMENT: DEFEAT OR SURVIVE FOR 15 MINUTES TO PROCEED]
[WARNING: THIS BOSS IS 8 LEVELS HIGHER THAN YOUR CURRENT LEVEL]
Justin's entire body went cold.
Eight levels.
He wasn't ready. No one was.
Across the battlefield, players screamed. Some dropped their weapons and ran. Others tried to hide behind rubble or band together in last-minute desperation.
Justin didn't run.
He climbed.
Perched atop a half-shattered archway, dagger in hand, he scanned the horizon.
And then he saw it.
Gutrend.
The name didn't do it justice.
The thing was a living war crime—nearly ten feet tall, muscles twisted like roots, twin axes dragging behind it, the metal soaked in thick, tar-like black blood. Its chest pulsed with molten runes. Its head looked like a skull dipped in oil.
And it was coming straight toward the largest group of players.
Straight toward the weak.
The desperate.
The ones who wouldn't survive the opening minute.
He gritted his teeth.
He could run. He should.
He could hide for fifteen minutes. Wait it out. Survive like a coward.
But then—
Through the dust—
He saw her.
A girl.
Slender. Bleeding from the leg.
Yet still fighting like the floor owed her something.
Her chain dagger moved like lightning—spinning, cracking, wrapping around a monster's throat mid-dance before pulling it into her blade.
Matilda Evans.
The Ballerina.
She was outnumbered. Injured. Alone.
But not giving up.
Something twisted in Justin's chest. He didn't even know her.
But something about her reminded him of himself.
Of what it looked like to keep fighting when the world gave up on you.
He growled.
"Nope."
He vaulted from the archway, dagger drawn, Shadow Step already activating beneath his feet.
Because even in this broken, blood-soaked world—
Some people were worth saving.
(To be continued...)