The Riftborn Hunter

Aiden exhaled, breath fogging in the dim apartment light, hands trembling before him. Sweat streaked his face, blood flaking from his knuckles—souvenirs of last night's slaughter.

He nodded, jaw clenched. Next fight, his body would match his visions. No more bleeding out while his power mocked him.

The weight settled deep— heavier than his bruised ribs. His foresight worked—golden flashes of perfect dodges, killer strikes. But seeing wasn't enough. His body lagged, a traitor that nearly got him shredded by that shadow. That gap was a death sentence.

He flexed his fingers—shaky, frail. His frame ached, battered to hell, but something stirred beneath. Not just exhaustion. Something raw.

A flicker blinked in his sight.

[PHYSICAL CALIBRATION IN PROGRESS.]

Aiden's teeth gritted. That damn message—same as after the fight. Even now, slumped and sore, it buzzed. His body wasn't just patching up—it was shifting.

He tapped his wristband, screen glowing.

[Hunter System Evaluation – Subject: Aiden Kain]

[Rank: E]

[Core Trait: Unactivated]

[Strength: 0.9 → 1.1]

[Agility: 1.1 → 1.4]

[Endurance: 0.8 → 1.0]

[Perception: 2 → 2.5]

[Mana Capacity: 1.2]

[System Override Attempt: Failure]

Stats crept up—tiny, stubborn ticks. Hunters didn't grow like this. Level-ups, Core Traits—that's how it went. Not this slow, weird bleed of power.

Aiden's skin crawled. The System couldn't peg him—didn't know what he was. Good. He'd shape it himself.

One way: train.

He started simple—running.

Instant regret.

Two strides in, his ribs stabbed like hot blades, lungs scorching. He pushed harder, boots pounding the city's muck. Three miles later, he hunched over, gasping, pulse hammering.

"Survived an S-Rank Rift," he wheezed, swiping sweat, "and running's my executioner? Figures."

Not enough. Speed dragged. Strength waned. Reflexes? A gaping hole.

Wristband pinged: [Strength: 1.1 → 1.2 | Agility: 1.4 → 1.5]

Barely a nudge. Real, though. Too small.

He needed more.

An old batting cage hulked nearby—rusted, groaning, ideal. He eyed the dial: 100 mph.

"That'll do," he muttered.

The grizzled attendant squinted. "No bat, kid? You crazy?"

"Dodging practice," Aiden said, stepping in. "Call it survival."

"…Freak."

The machine hummed. Golden sparks lit his eyes.

A baseball screamed for his head.

He ducked—almost. It grazed his hair, crashing with a thunk. "Too damn close," he hissed.

Next one flew. He twisted—late. It slammed his shoulder, pain biting. "Ow—son of a—"

Three more roared in. Visions flared—too slow. One cracked his ribs—air fled. Another nicked his leg. The last smashed his forearm, a grunt slipping out.

The old man cackled. "You're a piñata, boy!"

Aiden shot him a look, rolling his shoulders. "Keep laughing, fossil." He was off—overthinking, freezing. That's what got him hit.

Another ball launched.

He exhaled. No thinking.

Head tilted—just right. It zipped past his ear.

Next—shoulder shifted. Clear.

Third—torso twisted. Gone.

His body synced—chasing the glow. Not perfect, but closing in.

[Agility: 1.5 → 1.8]

The old man scratched his chin. "Huh. Not a total loser."

"Shock to me too," Aiden grinned, panting.

Thirty minutes later, he dodged every ball—smooth, sharp, alive. The gap tightened—not closed, but tighter.

He dropped onto a bench, flicking open his Hunter device. Low-tier Rifts scrolled up—E-tier, D-tier, small fry.

Normal Hunters dove in blind.

Aiden wasn't normal.

His real name would light up the Association's radar like a flare. He needed cover.

Twenty minutes of digging snagged it:

[D-Tier Rift: Solo Cleanup Request]

[Unofficial Clearance | No ID Check | No Paper Trail]

[Entry: 300 Credits | Payout: 2,000 Credits + Drops]

Chump change. Perfect grind.

He booked it—"Nathan Crane"—and hauled himself to the spot: a crumbling lot on the city's fringe, rogue Hunters buzzing like flies.

Aiden shook out his arms, breath steadying. Time to test it.

Then—

"You've got to be kidding me."

His gut sank.

That voice—etched into his bones.

He turned, slow, dread rising.

Reiss.

His older brother slouched near a checkpoint truck, arms crossed, scanning the crowd with cold boredom. Aiden had never seen him—not like this. Lean, sharp, a Kain's edge in every line.

Reiss didn't clock him. Not yet.

Aiden held still—another shadow in the pack.

The handler barked, "Crane, move it!"

He exhaled, stepping up, pulse thudding. The Gate loomed—swirling, hungry.

A chill prickled his neck.

He glanced back—Reiss's eyes swept the lot, narrowing.

Aiden slipped through the Gate.

Something watched him vanish.