Amina crouched low, her breath steady as she eyed her opponent. The dimly lit underground fight club smelled of sweat, blood, and desperation. Concrete walls vibrated as the gathered crowd stomped their feet, chanting, eager for violence. This was where the unchosen came to test themselves—where those without divine favor fought to prove they were more than just background characters in a world ruled by the blessed. 

Her opponent was a broad-shouldered man, his muscles rippling beneath scarred skin. Jace "Brick" Morales, a former boxer turned enforcer for a local delver gang. He cracked his knuckles, smirking at her. “You sure you wanna do this, girl?” 

Amina didn’t answer. She just rolled her shoulders, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Her body ached from the past week’s training, but this was her proving ground. No system. No levels. Just skill and willpower. 

The referee, a wiry man missing two fingers, raised his hand. “Fight!” 

Brick lunged, a hammer of a right hook swinging for her head. Amina ducked under the punch, twisting her body as she moved. Her footwork, honed through years of practice, carried her to his blind spot. She struck, her fist slamming into his ribs. 

He grunted, but barely flinched. “That all you got?” 

He pivoted, elbow whipping toward her skull. She barely managed to twist away, but his follow-up kick caught her in the stomach, sending her skidding backward. Pain flared through her core, but she forced herself to stay upright. 

The crowd roared. 

Amina exhaled through her nose, reassessing. Brick wasn’t just strong—he was experienced. If she wanted to win, she had to be smarter. 

She darted forward, feinting left before spinning right. Her knee slammed into his kidney, then she followed with a sharp elbow to his jaw. His head snapped back, but before she could press the advantage, he caught her wrist. 

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“Gotcha.” 

She barely had time to brace before he yanked her forward and drove his forehead into her face. Pain exploded behind her eyes, and she stumbled back, tasting copper. 

The crowd loved it. 

Brick grinned, stepping forward. “You fight good, girl. But you ain’t got—” 

Amina exploded into motion. She twisted into a low stance, sweeping his legs out from under him. As he hit the ground, she pounced, driving her fist into his face once, twice— 

“Enough!” 

The ref yanked her back, and only then did she realize Brick was out cold. Her breath came in sharp gasps, her hands trembling. 

She’d won. 

The crowd erupted, some cheering, some cursing their lost bets. Amina wiped the blood from her lip and stepped back, rolling her shoulders. Her limbs ached, but victory burned in her chest. 

Still, there was no system notification. No experience points. No level-up. 

Just exhaustion. 

Later, after washing the blood from her face in a dingy bathroom, she sat on the club’s rooftop, staring at the neon glow of the city. The skyline was a mix of modern towers and old buildings barely holding together. Drones zipped between skyscrapers, flashing advertisements for the latest dungeon-clearing equipment. 

Amina pulled her hoodie tighter around her. 

Forty years since the first dungeon appeared. 

Thirty years since the first Chosen were blessed with the system. 

Ten years since the last dungeon break nearly destroyed a major city. 

She had spent her entire life on the outside looking in, training in martial arts and parkour, pushing her body to the limit, but it was never enough. Because she wasn’t Chosen. No god had marked her. No system had accepted her. 

Her phone buzzed. A message from Kojo: “Got a lead. Underground dungeon run. You in?” 

Her heart pounded. 

Illegal dungeon diving was dangerous—without a system, it was nearly suicidal. But if she wanted to prove she didn’t need divine favor to survive, this was the only way. 

She texted back: “Where and when?” 

A new path was opening. And she wasn’t going to let it slip away.