I didn’t wake up the normal way—not to the shrill nagging of an alarm, not to the dread of being late for something I don’t even care about. No, I woke up to screaming. And not the kind you hear from some drunk guy outside a bar. This was different. This was panic.

"WAAAAAAH!"

"AGGHHHHH!!"

I stood frozen by the door, heart hammering against my ribs. The kind of wake-up call that makes you question if you’re still dreaming. What the hell is going on?

Then—creak.

A sickening smell slammed into me before I even saw it—smoke. Thick, acrid, clawing down my throat, making me cough so hard my chest burned. My eyes stung, my vision blurred, but when I finally forced them open—

Chaos.

People ran past, wild-eyed and frantic, their screams blending into one long, horrifying wail. Arms flailed, legs stumbled, bodies crashed into each other, shoving, pushing, trying to escape—from what?

Something was seriously, seriously wrong. And I was standing in the middle of it, half-awake, barefoot, and absolutely unprepared.

Escaping from what, exactly?

I took a step forward, closer to the madness. Probably a dumb move, but curiosity has always been a ruthless executioner, and if I didn’t get answers, it’d kill me in its own special way.

From where I stood, I watched the chaos unfold—people running, colliding, scrambling like insects in the wake of an invisible boot. But then I saw it. The part that made my stomach drop.

Lightning.

Not from the sky. Not in the way nature intended. It surged through them—white-hot veins of energy crackling across their bodies. They seized, convulsed mid-sprint, their screams warping into something guttural and raw. Some hit the ground, twitching. Others kept running like they were being chased by something I couldn’t see.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t. Just stood there, wide-eyed, mouth half-open, the world tilting sideways around me.

And then I saw her.

A woman. Slumped near the front of my building, motionless. Unconscious? Dead? My brain jumped to the worst—because, of course, it did. Maybe this was some kind of plague. A freak electrical storm. Hell, a zombie apocalypse?

Great. That’d be just my luck.

My hands shook as I forced myself to move toward her. Every instinct screamed at me to not do this. To turn the hell around and pretend none of this was happening. But I crouched beside her anyway, swallowing down the taste of iron and smoke in the air.

“Hey. Hey,” I said, shaking her lightly, tapping her arms and shoulders.

Nothing.

“Wake up,” I tried again. Still nothing.

I exhaled through my nose, staring down at her.

“What the hell is happening?” I muttered.

I knelt beside her, pressing two fingers to her neck. Pulse. Barely, but it was there. Breathing, too. Damn. So what the hell was wrong with her? And more importantly—was she about to start convulsing with that freaky-ass lightning like the others?

"What a way to wake u—"

I didn’t even get to finish the sentence.

A sound. Low, electric, wrong. Then—light. Not just light. That light. The one I’d seen before, crawling through people’s skin like living electricity.

And it was right in front of me.

My brain short-circuited. Instinct took over. I dropped, hit the ground so hard my skull bounced off the pavement. Pain. Sharp, immediate.

"Ahhhg!" I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut. Fantastic. If the weird, floating whatever-the-fuck-this-was didn’t kill me, the concussion probably would.

I forced myself to breathe, slow and shallow, pretending—hoping—I was invisible. That if I didn’t move, it would just… go away.

Beside me, the light hovered. It didn’t have eyes. Didn’t have a face. But somehow, I felt it staring at me. Studying me. Deciding something.

I kept my lids half-closed, barely daring to peek.

It was still there. Watching me.

Or at least, that’s what it felt like. The thing didn’t have eyes—hell, it barely had a shape—but I could feel it staring, hovering inches away like it was waiting for me to screw up.

So I didn’t move. Not a single twitch. I just laid there, next to the still-unconscious woman, hoping if I played dead, it would lose interest and float off to zap someone else.

And for a second, I thought it might work.

Then—because the universe is a cruel, twisted joke—a goddamn bee landed on my face.

Yeah. A bee. Of all things.

I tried to blow it off, subtle, just a quick puff of air through my lips. Nope. The little bastard stayed put, like I was prime real estate. I clenched my teeth, resisting the urge to swat at it.

Then—sting.

A sharp, burning jab right on my cheek.

Pain flared through my face, and I did what any normal, sane person would do when getting stabbed by an angry insect—I flinched.

And that? That tiny, involuntary movement?

That was enough.

The light surged forward. Straight for me.

It didn’t hesitate.

No warning. No dramatic pause. Just straight for my mouth.

I barely had time to process it—one second, I was lying there, wide-eyed and frozen, and the next? The light shoved itself down my throat.

Cold. Ice-cold. But somehow, also burning. Like a thousand tiny needles pressing into every nerve at once. It spread fast—down my throat, into my chest, curling around my heart, my lungs, my muscles. Every inch of me locked up, screaming in a pain so unnatural, so wrong, I thought I might actually rip apart from the inside out.

"AAAAAAHH!!"

The scream tore out of me—raw, broken—except... I knew that sound.

It was the same scream.

The one that had woken me up.

And then—blackness.

The pain dulled. My body stopped fighting. The world blurred at the edges, slipping, fading, pulling me under.

And for a split second—right before everything disappeared—I was almost relieved.

A screen flickered into existence in front of my fading vision.

[SYSTEM MESSAGE: YOU HAVE AWAKENED AS A SUMMONER.]

image [https://static.vecteezy.com/system/resources/thumbnails/034/487/737/small_2x/gold-frame-page-divider-free-png.png]

A Year Later.

I didn’t die.

Honestly, I expected that light to fry me from the inside out, but nope. Still breathing. Still me. And the weirdest part? Everyone else hit by that freakish lightning? They survived, too. Hell, some of them even acted like this was the best thing to ever happen to them. Like their old lives weren’t worth a damn compared to… this.

Whatever this was.

At first, I was terrified. Who wouldn’t be? One minute, you’re normal—well, as normal as life gets—and the next, you’ve got an ethereal thing forcing itself into your body while people around you scream like they’re dying. If that’s not nightmare fuel, I don’t know what is.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

But fear doesn’t last forever. Confusion? That sticks around. Because as the days crawled by, shit started changing.

Because I wasn’t the only one who got a message. A lot of people saw that same glowing notification right before blacking out. And when they woke up, they were different.

They called it Awakening.

And people like me? The ones marked by the light? We became Awakeners.

We weren’t all the same, though. The system—whatever the hell it was—didn’t just hand out power randomly. We got slotted into categories, whether we liked it or not.

Some Awakeners became Hunters. Fast, brutal, made for killing.

Others were Mages. The flashy ones, throwing fire and bending the elements like something out of a fantasy novel.

Then there were the Warborn. The walking tanks, muscle and raw destruction given human form.

And then? There was us.

The Summoners.

The bottom of the barrel. The class nobody wanted. The ones stuck summoning creatures to fight for them because they sure as hell couldn’t do it themselves.

And lucky me—I’d landed right in that category.

Summoners.

Most of them were already dead.

Turns out, when the world decides to go off the rails and start spawning dungeons filled with actual monsters, people like me—the so-called “Awakeners”—are supposed to clean up the mess. Because if we don’t? Those things break loose. They invade. They kill. And then it’s game over for the rest of humanity.

Sounds fun, right?

Yeah, not if you’re a Summoner.

We got the short end of the stick. The weakest class. The ones with the lowest survival rate—which is a nice way of saying we die the fastest. No one respected us. Hell, they barely even acknowledged us. Because what’s the point? Summoners weren’t warriors. We weren’t tanks. We weren’t spell-slinging powerhouses.

We were expendable.

And guess what? Every Summoner before me? Gone. Slaughtered. Erased from existence before they even had a chance to prove otherwise.

Which meant that, for all intents and purposes, my kind was extinct.

Except for me.

People who knew my rank thought it was hilarious.

"Dead man walking."

"Useless bastard."

"Good as dead."

And a dozen other charming nicknames, all tailor-made for the weakest class—me.

So I did what any self-respecting loser would do. I ignored it. Lived my life like nothing had changed. Like I wasn’t marked by some cosmic joke of a system. I didn’t get involved, didn’t train, didn’t throw myself at dungeons like some idiot trying to prove a point.

And for a while, it worked.

Until someone knocked on my door.

I opened it to find a tall man standing there. Black hat, black coat, thick beard. He looked like the kind of guy who had "bad news" written all over him. Meanwhile, I was standing there, short, tired, and already regretting answering.

He glanced at the clipboard in his hands. "Ethan Kael?"

For a few seconds, my brain spiraled into overdrive. Maybe this was something normal—mail delivery, wrong address, scam artist. But no. Deep down, I already knew.

This had to do with being an Awakener.

And I was right.

By the time I blinked, he was already inside, plopped down on my sofa like he lived here. What the hell was with this guy’s energy? Intense. Unbothered. Almost intimidating.

“You’re aware that you’ve awakened, right?” he asked, flipping through his notes like he was reading my obituary.

I sighed. No use denying it.

“Yeah. Five months ago. I’m one of those... Awakeners.”

He barely nodded, like he already knew.

“Then for the record,” he said, tone clipped, all business, “what’s your class?”

The room suddenly felt smaller. I could feel the weight of stares pressing down on me, waiting. Expecting. Like a crowd watching a condemned man at the gallows.

I could lie. Could bluff my way out of this. But would that even work? They probably had ways of checking, and if they caught me—

No. Own it.

I forced the word out through gritted teeth. “Summoner.”

Silence. Heavy. Thick.

Then came the stare.

Not the kind that questioned, or even judged. The kind that had already decided. His eyes drilled into me, like he was peeling back skin and searching for something broken inside.

I met his gaze. Held it. Didn’t flinch.

But the moment stretched too long, and something ugly curled in my stomach.

Why does he care this much?

Then, without a word, he stood. Just got up and walked toward the door.

And that’s when I knew.

This wasn’t just some casual evaluation. This was something deeper. Something worse.

Not that I was complaining. If he wanted to walk out and forget this conversation ever happened, fine by me.

But just as he reached the exit, he stopped. Turned his head slightly.

And then—the catch.

“You are required to report to the Hunter’s Headquarters to register yourself and get official identification.” His voice was calm, matter-of-fact. Too sure.

Then came the kicker.

“If you don’t… we will force you to.”

Just like that, the air in the room shifted. My pulse kicked up, my hands went clammy. I wasn’t an idiot—I knew what he meant. This wasn’t a request. It was a warning.

And suddenly, the whole “ignoring the system” thing didn’t seem like an option anymore.

~

By the end of the week, I found myself standing in front of the Awakener Guild.

A newly founded organization for Awakeners. Which, in theory, meant it should’ve been a chaotic, underfunded mess. But it wasn’t. The place was massive—towering glass, sleek metal, a design that screamed “we have more money than sense.”

I walked inside, straight to the registration desk, where a woman sat, all business, no nonsense.

She barely glanced at me before asking, “Name?”

“Ethan Kael.”

“Age?”

“Twenty.”

“Height?”

“162 cm.”

She kept firing off the usual questions—basic details, nothing complicated. At some point, they took my picture, probably for some official ‘Congratulations, you’re an Awakener’ badge.

I answered everything mechanically, my mind already on the exit. The sooner I was done, the sooner I could leave.

The last step was class identification.

Apparently, this whole Awakener ranking thing wasn’t just guesswork. They had a special material—something looted from a dungeon—that could officially determine your class. Science? Magic? Some weird fusion of both? No one really knew. But it worked.

A woman stood beside the thing, guiding Awakeners one by one as they registered for their ID cards. And yeah, judging by the long line of unenthusiastic faces, I wasn’t the only one here under duress.

“Put your hand close to the circle,” she instructed when it was my turn.

I sighed and did as I was told, pressing my palm against the cold, pulsing surface.

The moment I touched it, a chill ran up my arm. Familiar. Too familiar. But before I could put a name to the feeling—

Text appeared.

I stared. Couldn’t read a damn thing.

But she could. And unfortunately, so could everyone else.

“Summoner, F-Rank.”

She said it loud. Loud enough for the crowd behind me to hear.

And just like that, the murmurs started. Snickers. Scoffs. A few outright laughs.

I felt her eyes on me—brief, surprised—but she didn’t press. Didn’t need to. I already knew what everyone was thinking.

A Summoner. Weakest class. Lowest rank. Dead on arrival.

I swallowed down whatever annoyance, embarrassment, and general urge to punch something was bubbling up and reminded myself that this was expected.

Fine. Whatever.

I just needed to grab my damn card and get the hell out.

After hours of waiting—because of course it had to take forever—I finally got my ID card. Officially branded an F-Rank Summoner.

Lucky me.

But as I turned to leave, something felt... off.

The weight of stares. More than before. Eyes from every corner of the guild locked onto me, the kind of attention that wasn’t curiosity—it was dismissal. Like I was some defective product that shouldn’t have made it past quality control.

I ignored it. Kept walking. Almost made it to the exit.

Until they blocked my way.

Guards. Arms raised, bodies positioned like I was some kind of security threat.

What now?

Then—a voice from behind.

“An awakened Summoner, I see.”

I turned.

Tall. White hair. Smirking. I recognized that expression. Mockery.

I’d seen it a million times before. Could spot it a mile away.

Two women flanked him—assistants, maybe. And judging by the way he carried himself, the expensive outfit, and the air of absolute smugness, he was someone important. A guild officer. Maybe even one of the higher-ups.

He looked me over, like I was some kind of rare, pitiful specimen. Then—he laughed.

“You actually survived as a Summoner?”

If I could’ve kicked his teeth in, I would’ve.

But I didn’t. Couldn’t. Because fear was still very much a thing, and even without seeing his status, I could feel the difference between us.

Massive gap. Like comparing a house cat to a lion.

So I said nothing. Just stood there, silent.

He chuckled again, walking past me toward the exit, but just as he passed—

He leaned in.

And whispered, voice low, deliberate—

“You’re done for. That’s for sure.”

Then he was gone.

And I was left standing there, fists clenched, trying to decide whether to be more angry, afraid, or just exhausted.

What?

I blinked, then tried again.

“Can I leave now?” I asked, looking at the guards still blocking my way.

No response. Not even a glance. They stood like statues, unreadable.

My gut twisted. Something felt off.

Then—a voice.

“The Guild has summoned you.” A woman. Cold, impassive. “You must respond before you leave.”

Summoned? The word tasted wrong in my mouth. What was I, a pet? A prisoner?

I opened my mouth to snap something back—

CRACK.

The floor beneath me disappeared.

Not gradually. Not with warning. Just gone.

My stomach lurched, my breath ripped from my throat as I plummeted into the abyss. No time to grab anything. No time to scream. Just the gut-wrenching realization that I was falling, and I had no idea how far down this went.

Darkness swallowed me whole.

THUD!

I hit the ground hard.

Pain exploded through my lower back, shooting up my spine like a firework gone wrong. I barely stopped myself from screaming, biting down on my lip so hard I tasted blood.

What the hell was that?!

I groaned, rolling onto my side. Where the hell was I now?

A test? An initiation? Some kind of hazing ritual?

Or was this about my class?

My gut twisted. It had to be.

Forcing myself upright, I turned my head—and that’s when I saw them.

Through the dim light, just barely visible, six individuals sat across a massive table.

They weren’t talking. Weren’t moving.

But they were watching me.

“Hey. Come here.”

A man’s voice. Firm. Commanding. He gestured for me to approach, like I was some lost dog waiting to be leashed.

For a moment, I just stood there. Small. That’s how I felt. Small, uncertain, scared.

Because I had no idea what was waiting for me on the other side of that room.

Would they test me? Judge me? Kill me?

Hell if I knew. But standing there like an idiot wasn’t an option. So I moved. Limping. My waist? Probably dislocated. Legs? Not feeling great either. But I walked anyway.

The man who called me over didn’t waste time. “For the sake of your curiosity, I’ll be direct—you’re the first Summoner to ever get a license.”

I clenched my jaw. He was probably right. Most Summoners were dead. That’s why.

Another voice joined in—a woman’s this time. Low, steady. Unimpressed.

“It’s been a while since we’ve seen a Summoner.”

There was something in her tone. Not excitement. Not relief. Something else.

Then the man spoke again. “Do you know how to summon?”

The question hit harder than I expected.

I felt my fingers curl into a fist, shaking slightly from the sheer weight of the moment. The way they were looking at me. The air in the room felt heavier, pressing down like an invisible hand at my throat.

Did I know how to summon?

Absolutely not.

I hadn’t even tried. Never bothered. Never cared. I had spent five months doing everything I could to not be part of this new world.

I didn’t answer. Just shook my head. Barely.  

A few of them laughed. Others murmured, voices low, saying things I couldn’t quite catch—but I knew damn well they were talking about me.  

“You didn’t even learn how to summon?” Another man spoke, his tone unreadable.  

I still couldn’t see their faces. The room was too dark,the only light flickering weakly from the center. But I could hear them. Clearly.

“I didn’t.”  

Silence. Then, from somewhere in the group—a snicker.

“What a useless bastard.” 

This time, it was a woman. But her voice? Young. Too young.

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry.  

The room got quieter. Sure, there were still whispers, but the weight in the silence was different now. Heavier. Tense. Like they were reaching some kind of unspoken agreement.  

Then the first man spoke again.  

“We want you out of this world.”  

…What?  

Something cold slid down my spine. My skin prickled like a swarm of invisible insects had just crawled over me. The air in my lungs felt too thick, too sharp—like I was suffocating on implications.  

He said it so casually. Like it wasn’t a death sentence. Like it was just a fact.

“…Me?” My voice felt distant, detached, like I wasn’t the one speaking. I pointed at myself, needing to be sure. 

The same woman from before—the one with the disturbingly young voice—answered.  

“Summoners like you shouldn’t even exist.” 

Fuck. 

I was dead.  

I knew it before they even said anything else. I was already dead.

But then, the deeper voice—the woman with the lower tone—spoke next.  

“We’re not animals, though. We won’t kill you here.” A pause. Then, with a dry chuckle, “We don’t want a bastard like you dirtying the floor with your blood.”  

Gee, thanks for the courtesy. Really thoughtful.

My hands started shaking. My whole body, actually. My mouth felt like sandpaper, my pulse too loud in my ears. This was it. 

“Lucky for you,” the first man continued, “we’ve decided to send you somewhere instead. Somewhere you can… test your skills.”  

Somewhere? 

I felt the tiniest shred of relief. It didn’t mean I was safe. But at least it wasn’t a knife to the throat right here, right now.  

Then he stood up.  

Walked toward me.  

And whatever tiny relief I had? Gone. 

I felt sick. Actually sick. My stomach twisted, bile rising, my body screaming at me to run—but my legs wouldn’t move.  

He stopped just in front of me, looking down like I was something pathetic.

“But you really are unlucky to be a Summoner.”

I barely had time to process it before his fist caved into my face.

THWACK.

Pain. Deep, raw, instant. A brutal explosion behind my cheekbone, rattling my skull.

My body swayed. Legs buckled. My vision splintered, everything turning dark at the edges.

But for one second—just one—I stayed conscious. Just enough to taste blood, to feel my lip split, to hear his amused exhale like this was some kind of goddamn joke.

And something inside me snapped.

Not rage. Not fear. Something colder. Heavier. A feeling that lodged itself deep in my ribs, whispering—remember this.

Then—blackness.

image [https://static.vecteezy.com/system/resources/thumbnails/034/487/737/small_2x/gold-frame-page-divider-free-png.png]

The smell was off.

Damp. Earthy. Not familiar in the slightest.

The ground beneath me? Hard. Cold. Like stone. Or worse—dirt that’s been undisturbed for a long, long time.

I didn’t expect to wake up. But I did.

And the second my brain caught up with my body, panic slammed into me.

Where the hell was I?

I pushed myself up, eyes adjusting to text the darkness. My breathing was too loud in the silence, my pulse hammering behind my ears. A cave? A dungeon? Some pit they threw me into to rot?

I had no answers. Just the memory of those bastards saying they’d “send me somewhere.”

So this was it, huh?

A place to test my skills. Or—more realistically—a place for me to die.

It felt like something straight out of a bad fantasy novel. A dungeon. The kind I’d seen on TV, where monsters lurked in the shadows, waiting. The air was thick, suffocating, like the place itself was alive. I could hear the faint skittering of insects, the distant drip of water.

And me?

I couldn’t move. Fucking frozen.

Then—a notification.

The same glowing message I saw when I first awakened.

[YOU ARE ENTERING A DUNGEON.]

[WARNING: YOUR SUMMONS WILL TRY TO KILL YOU.]

…What.

What the actual fuck?