Chapter 23: Mass Awakening

Mark thought it was pretty bad that one of his best friends had fallen from a rooftop. While the rumors surrounding the incident hinted at suicide, the truth remained unclear. Still, Mark couldn’t shake his fear that the worst might be true. Thomas shared his unease, though he kept his concerns to himself. They both decided to tread lightly, agreeing not to overwhelm Noah with the news. Instead, they planned to ease him into the conversation over the coming days, hoping their friend would open up when he was ready.

After all, falling from a rooftop wasn’t exactly a trauma-free experience—no pun intended.

But their careful approach unraveled the next day when they discovered Noah was gone. At first, Mark tried to calm Thomas, suggesting Noah had taken an extended vacation without telling anyone. It was plausible—Noah had always been a bit unpredictable. Yet, when another day passed and Noah still didn’t show up, their optimism began to waver.

Even the usually flippant Mark realized something was wrong when he saw the worried look on Mrs. Haram’s face during attendance.

Even after the duo visited Noah’s home, they found nothing,,, not Noah’s dad or uncle.

Fast forward…

It had been three months since their best friend vanished, and the world around them seemed to have shifted into a colder, darker place. News of missing persons had spread across the city like wildfire, with no discernible pattern to the disappearances. Even Raven, their class president—always dependable, always present—had vanished without a trace.

Moresby High School felt gloomier than ever, the usual energy of bustling halls replaced by an uneasy silence. Mark, who had always looked at the world through a lens of fun and pranks, found it harder to hold onto that carefree perspective. It wasn’t just the missing people or the whispers of fear; it was the feeling that something far bigger and stranger was unfolding around them.

The internet didn’t help. Conspiracy theories were becoming more rampant, fueled by the growing infamy of Oz, the so-called “Otherworlder.” Most people online labeled him a psychopath and a dangerous lunatic. But Mark had his doubts. In his experience, true psychos didn’t lie—they either believed their delusions wholeheartedly or thought in ways that simply didn’t align with everyone else. Oz, with his elaborate theatrics and cryptic messages, struck Mark as something else entirely.

He wasn’t sure what to believe, but one thing was certain: the world felt more unsteady with every passing day.

Out of nowhere, chaos descended upon Obelisk City. Monsters, the kind usually confined to [Dungeons], spilled into the streets. [Dungeon Breaks] were rare phenomena, typically involving only a small number of creatures. But this time was different. It wasn’t just one [Dungeon Break]; it was many, all at once. goblins, undead, sea creatures, beast kin—monsters from countless biomes—poured into the city, turning it into a war zone.

Mark had been sitting in his science class at Moresby High School when it all began. The screams came first, faint and distant, growing louder until panic reached their classroom. Mrs. Haram, their dependable homeroom teacher, quickly took charge, urging everyone to barricade the door and windows. Her calm under pressure made her seem invincible, even as terror gripped the students.

Mark clutched a desk leg as his makeshift weapon, but fear gnawed at him as the walls shuddered with the impact of claws and weapons outside. When the goblins finally broke through, chaos erupted. Mark fought desperately, but in the scuffle, a goblin smashed his glasses, leaving him nearly blind. Mrs. Haram shielded him, her resolve unwavering even as they lost classmates to the monsters’ frenzy.

By the time the creatures were repelled—or perhaps simply moved on—many of Mark’s classmates were gone. The survivors huddled together, shaken and bloodied, in a classroom that no longer felt like a sanctuary. The halls echoed with distant cries, the dead outside their barricaded walls a grim testament to the horror unfolding beyond.

Mark dared not imagine the state of the rest of the city. His thoughts of his best friend, Noah, vanished under the weight of his own survival. Right now, staying alive was all that mattered.

With the lack of first aid kit or anys specialist, Mark’s eyes weren’t given the treatment it deserved. It left him blind the next day… and Mark barely held into his sanity as he resisted to cry, since crying hurts and he’d ate to worsen the already downed morale. He was supposed to be the optimistic happy-go-lucky guy.

Mark’s blindness made the already dire situation so much worse. Every step felt treacherous amd every noise was a potential threat to him. He stumbled often, bumping into walls or tripping over debris. He felt more like a burden than a survivor, constantly needing help. Yet, somehow, Thomas stayed by his side, shielding him from harm and guiding him through the chaos. Mark could never repay him for that.

The worst part wasn’t the physical vulnerability—it was the fear. Without sight, every cry, every scream, and every clash of metal on metal seemed amplified, as though the danger was right beside him. Shouts of anger, blame, prayers, and sobs blended into a cacophony of despair that burrowed deep into his mind.

It was painful to his body, mind, and soul.

The most soul-crushing moment came when he heard Mrs. Haram cry out in pain for the first time. It wasn’t just the sound; it was what it represented. She had been their beacon of strength, the one constant who held their fragile group together. Hearing her suffer fractured their morale. Yet, even then, she pressed on, comforting them, telling them to stay strong and not lose hope.

Mark couldn’t fathom her strength. She had a family—a husband and children—waiting for her, people who mattered infinitely more than a room full of scared teenagers. And yet, she stayed, putting herself between them and danger again and again. It made Mark feel small and selfish. He knew, deep down, that he could never do what she did.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

When thoughts of his own family crossed his mind, a pang of guilt and helplessness struck him. He wanted to rush to them, to protect them, but he knew how useless he would be. Blind and vulnerable, he would only slow everyone down. The realization burned, leaving him feeling hollow. Mark clenched his fists, vowing to find some way to make himself useful, even if it seemed impossible in the moment.

Survival was becoming a grim struggle for Mark and the others. Supplies were dwindling, and the monsters outside grew more fearsome with each passing day. The stronger creatures had started encroaching on their fragile sanctuary, and despair hung heavy in the air. Questions gnawed at Mark’s mind like the creatures waiting to devour them. Where were the heroes? Why did they have to suffer like this? Why did they have to be so weak?

Mark had always dreamed of being special, of being chosen by the [System]. He would daydream about the moment it would finally awaken in him, granting him powers that would let him rise above mediocrity. But deep down, he knew the truth. His grades were mediocre, his skills unremarkable, and his luck downright abysmal. He’d read the statistics—those with talent or academic excellence had a higher chance of awakening. Yet, despite knowing the odds, he’d clung to that faint hope.

And then it happened.

Salvation came when he least expected it.

A rush of warmth coursed through Mark’s body, a sensation so overwhelming it brought him to his knees. A notification blinked in his mind, clear as day:

Name: Markus Seeker

Class: Visionary

Level 2

Stats (10)—

Body: 7

Mind: 7

Soul: 7

Skill: Vision

Mark gasped as a sudden clarity overtook him. Though the blindfold still covered his eyes, he could see as though it weren’t there. No shadows, no blur—only perfect, unhindered sight. It felt unreal, like a dream he didn’t dare wake from. His trembling hands tore the blindfold from his face, and his feet carried him to a shard of broken glass lying forgotten in the corner of the room.

He crouched low, gripping the shard, and gazed at his reflection. Tears spilled down his cheeks as he took in the sight of his golden eyes, gleaming with a faint, otherworldly light. His fingers hovered over them, brushing his eyelids as though to confirm it was real.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I can see... I can see!”

Joy erupted within him, raw and overwhelming, as though the world had finally shifted in his favor. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, hope surged in his chest. This wasn’t just a second chance—it was the beginning of something new.

Mark stared at the shimmering screen in his mind, carefully analyzing his stats. As a ‘closet’ superhero geek, he’d always prided himself on understanding how these things worked, even if he’d only ever studied them in theory. He had read enough limited collegiate theses to know what he was talking about.

Teenagers, he remembered, usually had base stats somewhere between 10 to 40, though there was a sharp curve during adolescence, especially between the ages of 13 and 16. The system often deemed late bloomers to be those whose stats lagged behind in those critical years… like him.

He clenched his fists, excitement bubbling within him despite their dire circumstances. I’ve been chosen.

“Guys, I’ve been chosen!” Mark’s elation burst forth, but his voice faltered as he looked around the room.

The sight of his fellow survivors—only six of them now—struck him like a physical blow. They weren’t cheering as he had imagined. They were crying, clinging to one another, or simply sitting in dazed silence. Their joy, such as it was, came in small, broken pieces, muted by grief.

Mark’s heart sank as he realized what had changed. He scanned their faces, desperately searching for someone missing.

Thomas stood trembling, his face pale but his eyes wide with awe. “You got your eyes back... Mark,” he said, his voice shaky. “You’ve been chosen too!”

Mark barely registered the words before another voice chimed in.

“Me too,” said Greg, a boy with a round physique and an uncertain smile.

Others nodded and murmured in agreement, their voices quiet, as if afraid to disturb the fragile air of the room.

Mark's gaze swept over them again, counting heads and faces. And then the question tumbled from his lips before he could stop it.

“Where is Mrs. Haram?”

The room fell silent, the air heavy with unspoken grief.

Darlene, her blue hair disheveled and her face streaked with smeared makeup, looked up from where she sat. Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “She’s dead, Mark...”

Mark’s chest tightened, the weight of those words pressing down on him. His mouth felt dry, and for a moment, all he could do was nod. “Oh,” he managed, his voice hollow, devoid of the excitement it had held moments earlier. “I see…”

The reality of their loss crashed down on him like a tidal wave, drowning out the triumph of his awakening. Mrs. Haram, their beacon of strength, was gone. The fragile hope that had sparked in his heart dimmed, but somewhere deep inside, a resolve began to form.

Mark’s gaze lingered on Darlene. He barely recognized her anymore. The vibrant girl she once was had been replaced by someone gaunt and weary, her face streaked with grime. Her blue hair, a new addition, clung to her face in damp strands, a faint reminder of the carefree persona she used to have.

Nearby, Greg giggled to himself, his laughter sounding more like sobs as he stared into empty air. Tears ran freely down his cheeks, his emotions swinging wildly between joy and despair as he struggled to ground himself in reality.

The others weren’t much better.

Larry, his long black dreads disheveled and his light brown skin streaked with sweat and dirt, knelt on the floor, hands clasped as if in prayer. His sobs were unrestrained. “Oh man... I’m still alive… Thank you, thank you…” His words were desperate, half a plea and half a mantra. He gazed reverently at the system interface hovering before him as if it were some divine savior. “We should be able to survive now, right?” His voice cracked, trembling with fragile hope.

And then there was Sheila, her messy, blood-stained uniform barely hanging onto her shoulders. Her laughter was shrill, bordering on hysterical. “Fuck! Fuck!” she spat, her voice dripping with frustration. “Why did this fucking thing just arrive now? We could have saved Mrs. Haram! We could have saved the others!” She gripped her hair, her knuckles white as her emotions spilled out uncontrollably.

Mark took it all in, the disarray, the tears, the blood. The air was thick with the stench of sweat and iron, mingled with the acrid scent of despair. Their uniforms, once pristine symbols of a mundane life, were now tattered and smeared with the marks of survival: bloodstains, dirt, and torn fabric.

They were a mess.

Yet even in the chaos, Mark’s thoughts wandered. Something gnawed at the back of his mind, a sense of wrongness he couldn’t shake. He looked around at the small group of survivors, each with the telltale signs of awakening—the faint glow of their system interfaces reflected in their eyes, the energy coursing through their postures despite their exhaustion.

A mass awakening.

Mark swallowed hard. Never in his life had he heard of something like this. The system didn’t work that way—it didn’t hand out its blessings to a group all at once. Awakenings were rare, deeply personal events. For all of them to receive the system's recognition simultaneously…

It was unnatural.

His heart clenched as he thought about the implications. Whatever had triggered this wasn’t random. It wasn’t luck. Something big, something unprecedented, was happening.

And whatever it was, it didn’t feel like a gift. It felt like a warning.