The Riftborn Hunter

Aiden stumbled as the world flipped, pressure slamming his chest like a dive into icy depths. Sound muffled, air thickened—the Rift's hum faded to a hollow silence that squeezed his ears.

His thoughts snagged on Reiss—still out there, lurking at that grimy checkpoint. Not the cold, bored B-Rank hunter he'd dodged, but the Kain who'd sneered down at him his whole life. Weakest of the family, sure, but strong enough to snap Aiden like a twig. What was he chasing? Not this D-Tier dump—unless he knew something Aiden didn't. The thought gnawed, bitter. Let him hunt. I'm done running.

Light hit—sharp, wrong. Jagged silver fractures split a blackened sky, a shattered dome casting shifting beams across the ground. Like something had punched through this world and left it bleeding.

His boots hit smooth slate—not dirt, not rubble. He steadied himself, eyes narrowing.

A city.

Or its corpse.

Towering husks loomed—scarred, leaning at impossible angles, frozen mid-collapse like time quit halfway. Not just ruins—wreckage. Something had torn through, leaving gashes in stone and steel. Pools of water shimmered along cracked streets—their reflections rippled without cause, flickering between the fractured sky and… something else. Faces. Shadows. Things that shouldn't be.

Aiden's breath fogged in the chill. "This ain't right."

Rift footage showed warped wilds—forests, deserts, beast lairs. Never this. Never a dead city whispering secrets.

The air pressed—not choking, but watching. A weight with eyes.

His hand twitched to his knife, fingers brushing the hilt. No golden flares. No System pings. Just silence—too heavy, too alive.

He pushed deeper, boots echoing on stone—the only sound in this tomb. A shattered bridge arched overhead, its shadow slicing the path. His gaze darted—every corner, every glint in those eerie pools.

Nothing.

Then—a temple.

It hulked at the ruins' heart—massive, ancient, its stone entrance half-caved. Cracked doors gaped, forced wide by something brutal. Worn carvings lined its frame—alien, humming with a presence the city lacked.

Aiden's pulse kicked. Something's in there.

His vision flickered—golden sparks teasing the edges. A shadow shifted beyond the doors—too fast, too faint to catch. Trick of the light? Doubtful.

A pulse thudded—low, distant, syncing beneath his own heartbeat.

He exhaled, breath visible. "Not alone, huh?"

Knife out, he stepped into the temple's gloom.

The ruins stretched ahead—cold, hollow, a cavern of stone and whispers. That second pulse grew—steady, strong, not his own. It thrummed from the depths.

Something waited.

The silence crushed—heavier now, unnatural. Low-tier Rifts buzzed with life—beasts, scavengers, threats. This place was dead.

Until—

A metallic scrape screeched through the chamber.

Aiden's grip tightened, knife catching the dim silver light. "Showtime."

Movement—fast, hunched. A shadow peeled from the rubble.

Then another. And another.

His stomach twisted. Not Rift beasts.

Humanoids—short, twisted, draped in patchwork armor scavenged from who-knows-where. Sickly gray-green skin stretched over bony frames. Some clutched rusted swords, others jagged, makeshift knives. Not goblins—something nastier, hungrier.

Ruin Dwellers.

Pack hunters—dumb alone, lethal in swarms. Aiden's briefing flashed: scavengers of dead Rifts, relentless when pissed.

And there were dozens.

One cocked its head, nostrils flaring, beady eyes glinting. Its cracked lips split—a snarl, teeth like shattered glass.

It knew he didn't belong.

Aiden grinned, cold. "Guess I crashed the wrong party."

He lunged.

Golden fire blazed in his eyes—futures snapped alive: Dodge left. Strike. Block. Step back. Twist right.

His body flowed—finally.

The lead Dweller swung its rusted blade. Aiden slid left before it twitched, boots skimming stone, knife arcing up. A shallow slash—throat split, black blood gushing. It gurgled, clawing air, too dumb to drop fast.

Another leapt—spear jabbing. Aiden saw it—pivoted hard, the tip grazing his jacket. His elbow smashed its face, bone crunching, then his blade plunged into its chest. A wet wheeze—it slumped as he kicked it free.

[SYSTEM UPDATE: REFLEX +0.2]

He smirked, panting. "Batting cages paid off."

Two more charged—axes high, snarling.

Gold flared—too many paths, too quick. Instinct kicked in.

Aiden dove into them.

The first axe swung—he ducked, snagging its wrist mid-swing, twisting 'til it snapped. The Dweller shrieked—his knife ripped upward, gutting it, guts splashing his boots.

The second thrust its spear—aiming for his ribs. Aiden sidestepped, pain flaring as it nicked his side—shallow, bearable. He seized its throat, slamming it down. Stone cracked under its skull—silence followed.

[SYSTEM NOTICE: ENDURANCE +0.3]

He stepped back, chest heaving. His body matched the glow now—close enough to taste victory. Before, he'd seen the moves but stumbled. Now? He was catching up.

The Dwellers froze—eyes flicking, snarls fading. Doubt crept in.

A roar shattered the quiet—deep, guttural, rattling the walls.

Aiden's breath hitched. "Oh, hell."

The warband leader.

Dwellers scattered like roaches, parting for their king. It lumbered in—twice their size, clad in scavenged steel, a patchwork giant. A jagged greatsword, chipped but deadly, dragged behind, sparking on stone. One crimson eye blazed beneath a crude helm, locking on him.

It growled—low, earth-shaking.

Aiden rolled his shoulders, knife steady. "Big guy, huh? Let's dance."

[SYSTEM ALERT: THREAT DETECTED – D-TIER+]

The air shifted—something watched from the dark.