The city of Iron Crest trembled under the roar of the rift, a sound that wasn’t just heard but felt: a deep pulse that reverberated in the bones and made teeth rattle. Cain, still reeling from hunger and the effort of following Lira, stopped at the edge of a cobblestone plaza, his body protesting with every step. The rain kept falling, diluting the blood and sweat staining his tattered tunic, but the air now carried a new scent: ozone, like the moment before a lightning strike, mixed with something rotten and alive.

  In front of the wall, where rusted spikes rose like the remains of a defeated giant, chaos had erupted. A rift tore through reality, an irregular gash about five meters tall that hovered just above the ground. It wasn’t just a portal; it was a festering wound, its edges vibrating as if space itself were unraveling. From its interior spilled a sickly purple light, and with it, something emerged: a monster that defied any biological logic Cain knew.

  It was massive, at least three times taller than a man, with a body that looked like a melded mass of flesh and bone. Its torso was bulbous, covered in irregular bony plates that dripped a viscous black liquid. Four asymmetrical arms sprouted from its sides—two ending in scythe-like claws, the others in knobby bone maces. Its head—if it could be called that—was a writhing mass of tentacles, each tipped with a red eye that blinked without rhythm. The ground beneath its trunk-like legs cracked with every step, and a guttural roar escaped from a mouth that opened in its chest, revealing rows of curved teeth.

  Cain pressed himself against a wall, his mind racing as he cataloged what he saw. Not a natural organism. Chaotic structure, but functional. Rift-induced mutation? Or something designed? His photographic memory searched for parallels—mythological creatures, biological experiments—but found nothing. This was ANRK, and ANRK didn’t play by Earth’s rules.

  “Stay back, little one,” Lira growled, her voice sharp but lacking its earlier sarcasm. She crouched beside him, a dagger in each hand, her feline eyes fixed on the rift. Her tail twitched restlessly, a metronome of tension. “That’s no pup like the one you faced. It’s a Devourer, mid-tier. If it sees you, you’re food.”

  Cain didn’t respond but filed the term away. Devourer. Mid-tier. That implied a hierarchy, a classification of monsters. And if Lira knew it, then this world had rules, systems he could learn and exploit. For now, he limited himself to observing, his body weak but his mind sharp as a scalpel.

  The plaza had emptied of civilians, who fled into alleys and buildings, leaving only the hunters. There were a dozen of them, men and women in reinforced leather armor, wielding weapons ranging from swords to bows and runic staves. Some had demi-human traits—pointed ears, scales on their skin—but all shared the same posture: tense, ready to kill or die. Cain noted they didn’t act as a unified team; there was distance between them, wary glances. Interesting. Not soldiers. Mercenaries? Opportunists?

  The Devourer advanced, and the battle began.

  The first hunter, a burly man with a braided beard and a hammer the size of a barrel, charged straight at the monster. His boots left smoking marks on the ground, and Cain narrowed his eyes, catching the detail. Heat. An awakened ability? His suspicion was confirmed when the man raised the hammer, and a wave of fire erupted from it, engulfing the weapon in orange flames. The blow struck one of the Devourer’s claws, shattering a piece of bone that sizzled as it fell. The monster roared, its chest-mouth spewing a jet of green ichor that melted the stone where it landed.

  Elemental. Fire control, amplified by the weapon, Cain thought, his mind dissecting the scene as if he were in a lab. Likely limited by the user’s physical energy. Heat requires fuel. He noticed the man panting after the strike, his face flushed. High cost. Not sustainable.

  But the Devourer gave no respite. One of its mace-like arms rose and fell like a meteor, smashing the ground where the hunter had stood a second before. The man rolled, more agile than his size suggested, but not fast enough. A tentacle from the monster’s head lashed out like a whip, wrapping around his ankle and hoisting him into the air. The hunter screamed, his hammer falling, and then the Devourer’s mouth widened, its teeth spinning like a shredder.

  Cain clenched his jaw, expecting the end, but a second hunter intervened. She was slender, with silver hair that gleamed under the rain, and carried no visible weapons. Instead, she raised both hands, and the air before her warped, forming an invisible barrier that stopped the tentacle inches from her companion. The Devourer pulled harder, but the barrier held, vibrating with a low hum. The woman grunted, blood dripping from her nose, and shouted, “Break it now!”

  A third hunter, a demi-human with twisted horns and a longbow, fired. The arrow wasn’t wood or metal; it was a spear of blue light that sliced through the tentacle, severing it cleanly. The hammer-wielder fell, free, but the Devourer didn’t stop. Its claws swept the plaza, forcing the hunters to scatter.

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  Mental ability. Force barrier, possibly limited telekinesis, Cain thought of the woman. And the archer… energy converted into projectiles. Solid light? Plasma? Each ability was a puzzle, and Cain wanted to take it apart piece by piece. But he also noted the costs: the woman trembled, her barrier collapsing after seconds, and the archer breathed heavily after a single shot. Awakened abilities are powerful but draining. Like my… Fleshshaper.

  The memory of his own ability snapped him back to his body. The hunger was still there, a constant knife, but the tingling in his skin hadn’t faded. He glanced at his hand, still swollen from the alley’s effort. If they can manipulate fire, force, light… I manipulate flesh. But I need mass, energy. Without food, I’m useless. The root Lira gave him barely kept him conscious. He needed more, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the battle.

  The Devourer advanced, unstoppable, and the hunters shifted tactics. A short woman with glowing tattoos on her skin sprinted toward the monster, her hands wrapped in a green aura. She touched the ground, and thick roots sprouted from the stone, entangling the Devourer’s legs. The monster roared, tearing the roots apart, but it gave time for another hunter—a man with metallic claws instead of hands—to leap onto its back. The claws flashed, slicing through bone plates like paper, but the ichor that sprayed burned his skin, making him scream.

  Biological control. Plant manipulation, Cain cataloged. And the other, physical enhancement. Artificial or natural claws. Both limited by environment and bodily resilience. The battle was a living laboratory, each ability a hypothesis Cain wanted to test. But it was also a brutal reminder: this world didn’t tolerate weakness. He, with his skeletal frame and clumsy ability, wouldn’t last a minute there.

  Lira, still crouched beside him, cursed under her breath. “Idiots. No coordination. If they don’t close the rift, that Devourer will tear them apart.”

  Cain glanced at her, catching the tension in her voice. “Close the rift? How?”

  She snorted but answered, perhaps too nervous to stay silent. “Not easy. You need an ability that messes with space, or raw force to collapse it. Good hunters know this, but these…” She grimaced. “They’re scavengers. Just want the Devourer’s core to sell.”

  Core? Cain filed that too. An organ, a crystal, an energy source? Before he could ask, a new hunter entered the scene, and the air shifted.

  He was tall, wrapped in a black cloak that didn’t soak in the rain. His face was hidden under a hood, but his hands, pale and scarred, gripped a twisted metal staff. The other hunters stepped back—not out of respect, but fear. The man raised the staff, and the rift itself seemed to groan. An invisible wave of energy pulsed, not toward the Devourer, but the portal. The purple light flickered, and the rift shrank, like a wound closing.

  Spatial manipulation. Or something more complex, Cain thought, his pulse quickening. This hunter wasn’t like the others. He was precise, efficient, and the Devourer noticed. The monster turned, ignoring the rest, and charged at the cloaked man. Its claws swept the air, but the hunter didn’t move. Instead, the space before him warped, and the claws struck a barrier that deflected them, sparking against the ground.

  The Devourer roared, but the man was already acting. He struck the staff against the stone, and a spear of black energy erupted, piercing the monster’s torso. Ichor exploded, splashing nearby hunters who screamed as it burned. The Devourer staggered but didn’t fall. Instead, its chest-mouth widened, spewing a cloud of black gas that engulfed the plaza.

  Cain felt the sting in his lungs before he saw it. “Poison!” Lira shouted, yanking him toward a nearby alley. They ran—or rather, Lira ran, and Cain stumbled, his legs buckling under his own weakness. They stopped behind a wall, gasping, as the gas slowly dissipated.

  From their hiding spot, Cain saw the end. The cloaked man hadn’t retreated. He walked through the gas, his body wrapped in a faint gray aura, and struck again. This time, the energy spear didn’t just pierce the Devourer; it disintegrated it, reducing its flesh to ashes the rain washed away. The rift, now a mere thread of light, collapsed with a dry snap.

  Silence. The remaining hunters, wounded and exhausted, eyed each other. Some rushed to the Devourer’s remains, searching for the core Lira mentioned. The cloaked man didn’t join them. He simply turned and vanished into the shadows, as if he’d never been there.

  Cain leaned against the wall, his mind spinning. Awakened abilities. Fire, force, light, plants, space. All with costs, all with limits. But the cloaked man… he was different. Not just strong, but calculated. Like me, if I survive long enough. The thought hit him with a mix of envy and determination. Surviving wasn’t enough. He needed to be more. Better.

  Lira looked at him, her tail still for the first time. “You saw that, didn’t you? That was a real hunter. Not like those idiots.” She paused, studying him. “You want to be like that, little one. I see it in your eyes.”

  Cain smiled, cynical. “I don’t want to be anything. I just want to not die.”

  She laughed, but there was an edge to her voice. “Keep telling yourself that. But here, in Iron Crest, you don’t choose. You grow, or you get eaten.” She stood, shaking off the rain. “Come on. Stick with me, and maybe you won’t die today.”

  Cain didn’t answer but got up, ignoring the pain in his muscles. The battle had given him more than information; it had given him a goal. Fleshshaper. If they could burn, cut, bend space… he could remake himself. But first, he needed food, shelter, time. And maybe, just maybe, he needed Lira. For now.

  As they moved down the alley, the rain washed the blood from the plaza, but the echo of the Devourer’s roar lingered in his mind. ANRK didn’t forgive, but neither would Cain give up.