NOVEL WEB Chapter 1: SSS-rank Awakening.
The rain drummed steady against the high-rise windows, a metallic hush that filled the silence of Silas Veil's living room.
He slouched on the battered faux-leather couch, one leg hooked over the coffee table, the other dangling limp as a dead man's arm.
His T-shirt was stretched and stained, a cigarette burn near the collar. One hand burrowed beneath the thin fabric, scratching furiously at a patch of skin on his chest that refused to stop itching.
God, why does it always itch there…?
He winced and scratched harder.
On the ancient flatscreen in front of him, an immaculately groomed news anchor stared out with frozen cheer, her bright voice slicing through static:
"Hunter Nathan Cross has officially cleared the New Avalon Abyss Gate, an S-rank dungeon, solo. The Hunter Association has confirmed he's now ranked among North America's Top Ten. The Gate is now sealed, although residual mana storms remain in the area."
The camera cut to a young man in sleek hunter armor, sword strapped across his back. His dark hair was tousled, sweat gleaming on his brow.
The crowd behind him screamed his name in frenzied waves:
"Nathan Cross! Nathan Cross!"
Silas blinked. He felt a dull, buzzing pressure in his skull.
Top Ten in North America… The guy's younger than me by at least five years…
He dropped the remote on the table. The plastic clacked sharply against a ring of dried coffee stains.
Outside, New Avalon sprawled like a neon spiderweb, its skyline splintered with shimmering mana barriers that flickered against the rain.
Giant digital billboards washed the streets in shifting colors: crimson, indigo, emerald. Drones zipped between buildings like mechanical hornets, scanning for Gate anomalies.
What the hell am I doing with my life…?
He sighed and scrubbed his palm over his face, feeling stubble rasp beneath his fingers.
"Man…" he muttered to the empty room. "I'm just a damn F-rank. Can't do shit."
A siren wailed two blocks over. Somewhere, glass shattered. Silas didn't bother checking the window. Noise was constant in this city. Especially after it happened.
He let his eyes drift to the news ticker crawling across the screen's bottom edge:
[HUNTER ASSOCIATION REPORTS RISING SIGHTINGS OF A-RANK MONSTERS IN MIDTOWN DISTRICT. CAUTION ADVISED.]
A faint tremor passed through him.
If a single A-rank monster showed up on my block… I'd be dead before I could even scream.
He glanced around his tiny apartment: peeling wallpaper, dishes stacked in the sink, and a cheap plastic fan oscillating uselessly against the humidity.
Five years ago, none of this shit existed…
Five Years Ago
Silas was nineteen. He remembered standing in the middle of a crowded subway platform in winter, earbuds blasting rock music.
One blink, and the crowd around him had thinned like smoke, hundreds gone without a trace.
After that:
Reports of The Vanishing flooded the news—millions simply gone overnight.
Rifts tore through the sky, opening portals to alien landscapes churning with monsters.
Governments fell, rebuilt themselves around Hunters.
Humanity clawed its way back under the glow of mana towers and shield barriers.
And some people Awakened. Powers blossomed in their bodies like nuclear reactors. Superhuman strength. Magic. Elemental manipulation.
They got ranked: F, E, D, C, B, A, S, SS, SSS.
The rest… were left behind.
Back to Now
Silas blinked and found himself staring at the TV again. The anchor had moved on to a fresh headline.
"Hunter Guilds are now recruiting for new Dungeon Clear Squads. Signing bonuses exceed fifty thousand dollars for C-ranks and above"
Fifty thousand dollars…
Silas felt his throat tighten.
That's my dream. Just enough to get out of this rat hole… to live like an actual person.
He leaned forward, pressing his fingers into his temples.
"I want money. I want strength. I want… more." His voice cracked. "But what the hell can an F-rank do?"
He thought of the last time he'd tried applying to a guild.
"Sorry, Veil, we don't accept F-ranks. Even E-ranks are a liability."
He'd forced a polite smile as they shut the door in his face.
I'd rather die than keep living like this…
He stared at the fruit basket on the counter. A battered chef's knife stuck out of the apples like a warning sign.
A dark thought coiled in his gut.
Maybe I should just… end it. One clean cut. No more debts. No more scraping by. No more waking up with this fucking itch in my chest.
His fingers trembled as he rose from the couch. The rain roared louder against the windows, like a crowd screaming from the other side of reality.
He crossed the room, bare feet slapping the cold linoleum. He reached for the knife. The handle was slick with condensation, as if it too were sweating under the neon lights filtering through the blinds.
Silas lifted the blade and held it before his throat. He could see his reflection in the polished steel—a pale face, sunken eyes, dark hair falling like a shadow across his brow.
One little push. That's all.
He pressed the point into his skin. A thin trickle of warmth slid down his collarbone.
"Fuck… this…"
He inhaled sharply and prepared to drive it in.
The Voice
And then—
"Awakening initiated."
The words didn't come from the TV, nor the rain, nor anywhere in the world. They bloomed directly inside his skull, vibrating in his bones, carrying a weight that felt as ancient as stone.
He froze. The knife slipped from his hand, hitting the floor with a metallic clang.
Silas staggered back, clutching his chest. A burning heat bloomed beneath his sternum, pulsing in rhythm with his racing heart.
The room changed.
Pale golden lines scrawled themselves across the air in front of him, forming shifting sigils and runes. Like a hologram, but impossibly sharp, impossibly real.
Am I hallucinating?
The letters rearranged themselves into words he could read, blazing brighter:
"Greetings, Silas Veil.You have been chosen."