The earth shattered and the sky bled.
It didn't happen slowly. There was no warning. Just a low hum in the air—like the whole world had taken a breath—and then boom.
A massive rift tore open in the middle of the bustling city, splitting roads, buildings, and reality itself. One moment, there were honking cars, shouting vendors, and blinking traffic lights. The next, there was chaos.
Monsters poured out like water bursting through a cracked dam. Hulking ogres with tusks and clubs. Winged beasts whose screeches shattered glass. Things that had no name—amalgamations of teeth and muscle and eyes—dripping with hunger and hate.
People didn't scream right away. The brain doesn't always accept what it sees. But when the blood started painting the streets, when a woman in a bright pink blazer was torn in half by something with too many limbs—then the screaming began.
I was on the 3rd floor of an office building downtown, frozen mid-step in the hallway. A paper cup of coffee slipped from my hand and hit the carpet without a sound. My legs shook like leaves in a storm. The screams outside—the roar of monsters, the thunder of collapsing glass and metal—rattled my bones.
Then—snap!—something inside me broke loose. Panic turned to motion.
I bolted.
The stairwell was chaos. Dozens of coworkers crammed into the narrow exit, elbowing each other, crying, screaming. The air stank of sweat and fear. Someone tripped, and another person stepped on them without stopping. No one helped anyone.
Across the hall, I caught a glimpse of others huddled by the elevators, hammering the call button like it was a magic key to safety. As if anything was coming to help them.
Then—ROAR!
An ogre's bellow shook the foundation of the building. The walls groaned. Dust rained from the ceiling.
It was below us.
No time to think.
I turned, sprinted past the mob, and slammed through the door to the emergency stairs—
And froze.
Outside the narrow window on the landing, the streets were a bloodbath. Monsters feasted on bodies. Cars were flipped and burning. Somewhere in the distance, a building was crumbling, collapsing floor by floor like a tower of cards.
And the stairs? Empty. No one was climbing up. Why?
SCREECH!
A sound like steel tearing. I looked up—and understood.
Seven eagle-like monsters circled above, each with six black wings and eyes like molten gold. Their beaks gleamed like swords. Their talons? As long as machetes.
That's why no one was going up.
This wasn't a disaster.
This was a game. And in games, you made the right move—or you died.
I turned and started climbing.
Not down—up. Destination: 8th-floor cafeteria.
It wasn't a random choice. I remembered the reinforced doors, the kitchen knives, the pantry with its thick steel lock. Maybe a place to hide. Maybe even something to fight with.
My feet pounded the metal stairs—3rd floor… 4th…
CRASH!
The stairwell shuddered. One of the eagle monsters dove, slamming into the railing. A talon punched through the metal grate of the steps—half a meter from my face.
My heart exploded in my chest. I stumbled, almost fell backward.
Tears blurred my eyes.
But I climbed. One step at a time. 4th… 5th… 6th—
CRACK!
A sound like bone snapping.
One of the monster's talons broke off and clattered down the stairs, spinning until it landed right at my feet.
Something flickered in the air.
A floating screen. Glowing blue text.
[Acquired: Lvl 8 Bird's Talon][Attack: 6]
I stared at it, dumbfounded.
Just like a game. Exactly like a game.
My hands moved before my brain did. I grabbed the talon—it was hot and light, like a forged dagger—and shoved it into my pocket. The fabric tore, but I didn't care.
BANG!
Another eagle slammed into the stairs. The metal screamed as it bent under the weight. Two monsters now. Hunting me. Trapping me.
My courage cracked.
I didn't think. I lunged for the 4th-floor door and yanked it open. I dove through, slammed it shut behind me.
Talons scraped against the other side, shrieking like knives across metal.
I staggered back, breathless.
I wasn't a soldier. I wasn't trained for this. I had no weapon. No team. Just fear, adrenaline—and now, a bird's talon in my hand and a HUD floating in front of my face.
Somehow, the rules had changed.
And I was still alive. For now.
I shut the stairwell door behind me, cutting off the monster's line of sight. For a moment, the screeches faded. I stood still, catching my breath, right in front of the 4th floor hallway door.
I opened the door.
A foul stench hit me first—sweaty, rotten, like old meat left in a sealed trunk. Then I saw it.
A goblin.
Barely a meter tall, but grotesquely fat. Its belly jiggled with each slow breath, and its green skin was slick with some kind of slimy film. Tiny eyes, bloodshot and sunken, locked onto me beneath a wrinkled brow. It stood hunched, breathing heavily, a crude shard of rusted metal clutched in its stubby fingers.
A floating screen appeared above it.
[Goblin – Lvl 1 | HP: 2/2]
I froze.
My heart thudded in my chest—loud, fast, panicked.
My fingers closed tighter around the talon I had stuffed into my pocket. It was curved, sharp, and warm from my grip. Not a real weapon. But it would have to do.
The goblin let out a strange noise—half snort, half hiss—and began to move toward me.
Slowly.
Its legs waddled under the weight of its own bulk, each step an effort. Its feet slapped against the floor with wet, meaty sounds. It wasn't charging—it was more like a walking sack of potatoes with teeth.
But that didn't make it less dangerous.
Down below, I had already seen what larger goblins could do. One the size of a truck had torn through a city bus like tissue paper. If that thing was a later version of this one, then this small, fat creature was just a weaker copy of something much worse.
This was the tutorial fight.
But in this game, losing meant dying.
I made my decision. I was going to end it—fast.
The goblin waddled closer, still maybe five meters away. It raised its jagged metal shard—but its movements were sluggish, untrained, like it was swinging underwater.
I inhaled sharply, braced myself, then stepped forward.
One step.
Two.
The goblin raised its weapon with a clumsy grunt.
I ducked low and drove the talon straight into its gut.
The strike wasn't clean—I felt resistance, muscle, and something that might've been bone—but the talon pushed through. The goblin's eyes bulged. It gave a low, wet cough, and slumped back, twitching.
Above its head, a red number floated up.
–6 HP
[Goblin – Lvl 1 | HP: 0/2]
The creature dropped like a sack of meat, hitting the floor with a sickening splat. No death scream. Just a twitch, a final rattle of breath, and silence.
I pulled the talon free, my hand shaking.
Then a warmth spread through my chest—a strange energy, pulsing from the center of my body outward. It was calming and wild at the same time. Like something was awakening.
Another screen popped up in front of me.
[You leveled up.]
[Unlocked Innate Skill]
[Magic unlocked]
Jun – Lvl 2
Innate: Any skill you cast will have no cooldown.
I stared at the glowing text, heart still pounding.
For a second, I just stood there, stunned.
Then my lips curved into a slow, knowing smile.
I was a gamer. I'd seen this before. The HUD, the skill trees, the stat boosts. It was real now. But it worked the same way.
No cooldowns?
That was broken.
I remembered an old MOBA match—two bug abusers had locked an entire team in place. Infinite stuns. Infinite debuffs. The match ended with the losing team quitting, unable to even move.
Now that bug was me.
I looked down at the dead goblin, the blood pooling beneath it, and whispered, "Tell me, monster… do you know why skills in games have cooldowns?"
My eyes narrowed as I grinned wider.
"So that people like me don't abuse them."
I knew exactly what build I was going to make.
One with no breaks—just seamless chains of stuns, slows, and debuffs, keeping enemies stuck and helpless.