Chapter 31: Chapter 31: Morning Before Hell
The first thing I saw when I woke up was the ceiling fan. Still crooked. Still making that little click every third turn. I stared at it long enough for my brain to remember what day it was, and immediately wished it hadn’t.
S-rank day.
Two weeks ago, I was a broke F-rank with a bad apartment, worse luck, and a dating record that looked like a deleted file.Now? The Guildmaster knew my name. Selene called me menace like it was a title. And apparently, I was on the guest list for an S-rank gate run.
Progress. Or a suicide note in installments.
I rolled out of bed, stepped on a knife sheath, and swore. The system blinked a cheery message across my vision like it didn’t understand tone:
[Daily Reminder: Mission Briefing — 08:00 | Guild HQ, East Hub]
[Note: Storyline Progression Event]
"Of course," I muttered. "Can’t miss story time. Wouldn’t want to break canon."
The system didn’t dignify me with a reply, just pinged once like it was proud of itself. I dragged a hand down my face and talked to the ceiling."Remember when I just killed slimes and tried not to die poor? That was nice. I had knees that didn’t hurt and a job that didn’t involve world-ending creatures."
No answer. Just the fan, clicking along, same as ever.
I showered, dressed, and tried to look like someone the Guild would trust to save the city instead of someone who accidentally made it onto the team because nobody else was available. The mirror didn’t buy it. My reflection still looked like a guy who’d misplaced his sanity and decided to bluff.
Coffee helped. A little.
Knife check—two.
Band pulse—steady.
Heart rate—lying.
[Quest Objective Updated: Attend Briefing.]
"Yeah, yeah," I said, grabbing my jacket. "Let’s go see what kind of nightmare tourism package they’re selling today."
The Guild HQ was quieter than usual that early. You could always tell when something big was brewing—the noise wasn’t gone, just hushed, like the building itself was holding its breath. I scanned my badge at the gate; the guards didn’t even bother pretending not to recognize me anymore. Fame’s a disease that spreads fast in closed circles.
Inside, the lobby screens were lit with news chatter.
BREAKING: S-RANK GATE IDENTIFIED IN EAST INDUSTRIAL. EVACUATION PLANS UNDER REVIEW.
Under it: blurry photos of swirling crimson fog and energy readings shaped like bad omens.
Under that: a line of text that made my stomach drop.
Projected Breach Window: 28 Hours.
So much for breakfast staying down.
Selene was waiting at the main stair, hands in her coat pockets, hair tied up tight today. She looked like she hadn’t slept—or maybe like she’d stopped needing to years ago.
"You’re early," she said.
"I’m trying this new thing where I don’t get yelled at before a mission."
"Bold strategy." She nodded toward the lift. "They’re waiting upstairs."
"Who’s they this time? Please say it’s not more paperwork."
"You’ll wish it was."
The briefing room looked like a war museum that had grown up and gotten promoted. A long oval table, wall screens humming with gate telemetry, coffee machine in the corner pretending not to listen.
The Guildmaster stood at the far end, same sweater, same quiet gravity. Around the table there stood three hunters.
You didn’t need scans to feel their rank. It was in the way the air tilted.
The first was a woman maybe late twenties, red hair braided tight, small flickers of heat licking off her shoulders even when she stood still. Her eyes were ember-bright, irises molten gold. She wore reinforced light armor tinted copper and a grin that said I burn things on purpose.
"Elise Renard," she said before I could guess. Her handshake was warm enough to make the air shimmer. "Phoenix, if you’re reading the reports."
"Ethan," I said. "Professional problem magnet."
"Good. We’ll get along."
Next: a tall man in white field robes cut like a surgeon’s coat, sleeves rolled up, wrists inked with moving sigils that pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat. Calm face, too calm—like a man who’d seen everything bleed once and decided not to flinch again.
"Lucien Vale," he said. "Healing Hands."
He didn’t shake hands. Just nodded like he already knew the shape of my pulse.
The third hunter didn’t bother standing. Broad frame, heavy armor carved with layered shields. Dark skin, short beard, expression like a wall that didn’t trust architects.
"Varga Keene," he said. "Tank."
"Pleasure," I said, even though I wasn’t sure pleasure was something he’d ever experienced.
He grunted. Which, for a man like him, was probably a heartfelt greeting.
Selene took a seat against the wall. I took one across from the Guildmaster, trying not to notice the digital map on the screen behind him. The gate pulsed like a heart having a bad day—deep crimson, veins of black energy branching outward in slow, ugly waves.
The Guildmaster clasped his hands. "You all know the stakes," he began. "The East Industrial Gate reached S-rank classification four days ago. Mana density continues to climb. Breach window: twenty-eight hours."
He pointed to the image. "Our probes confirm multiple zones within the gate’s interior. Atmospheric instability is near total—visual data unreliable. No confirmed boss identification. We’re treating it as a Class Omega until proven otherwise."
Elise leaned forward, eyes glinting. "You said it’s a Crimson Verge type?"
"Yes. Volcanic biome. Atmospheric toxicity within survivable range for short exposure. Expect extreme heat, acidic rain, and predatory fauna with fire affinity."
"So, home," she said, smiling like the word meant playground.
Lucien didn’t look up. "Casualties?"
"Three recon teams," the Guildmaster said evenly. "No survivors retrieved. Their last data burst indicated humanoid entities with coordinated movement."
Varga’s jaw flexed. "Intelligent hostiles. Great."
"Not full intelligence," the Guildmaster said. "But they have shown pattern recognition. They respond to team formations, flank attempts, even false retreats."
I raised a hand. "So... they’re learning."
He met my eyes. "Exactly. That’s why you’re here."
"Because I’m great with teaching moments?"
"Because your skills buys us time when others can’t afford mistakes," he said. "And because if the gate adapts, I want someone inside who’s good at doing the wrong thing the right way."
Selene smirked. "He’s your man, then."
"Fantastic," I said. "Nothing like a little existential pressure to start the day."
The Guildmaster zoomed in on the map. "Entry point: the outer ridge of the Verge. Lucien establishes stabilization zone. Varga holds the line. Elise and Cross spearhead advance and scout core direction. We expect at least two major entities before the main boss. Extraction team will monitor from outer layer. If comms fail, standard fallback applies."
"Meaning?" I asked.
"Meaning we close the gate manually," Elise said. "From the inside."
"Oh, great," I said. "Love a plan with no moral ambiguity."
The meeting stretched another hour—rune diagrams, mana readings, projected collapses. I caught maybe sixty percent of it. The rest of my brain was still stuck on S-rank, world inside a world, and the fact that my team all looked like they’d walked out of recruitment posters while I was still figuring out how to afford lunch.
When it finally wrapped, the Guildmaster dismissed everyone with a simple nod. The others filed out, already arguing over mana flux patterns. I stayed.
He looked at me like he’d been expecting that. "Questions?"
"Yeah," I said. "Do I get hazard pay this time?"
He smiled, just barely. "You’ll get something better. Perspective."
"Can’t pay rent with perspective."
"You’ll be alive to try," he said, and turned back to the map.
I took that as dismissal.
Outside, the corridor felt too bright. Selene fell into step beside me.
"You handled that well," she said.
"I sat there and didn’t faint. That’s handling?"
"For you? Yes."
We reached the elevator. The city stretched beneath us, morning sunlight turning the smog into gold. I watched it rise and wondered how many people down there knew the world could end before lunch.
"Still time to back out," she said.
"Still time to get breakfast," I said. "One of those things will happen."
"You sure you’re ready for an S-rank?" she asked.
"No," I said. "But I’m already on the list."
She gave a small, knowing smile. "That’s how all good stories start."
"Yeah," I said as the doors opened. "And most bad endings."
The elevator hummed, descending toward the street where the city’s noise waited. The world felt too alive for what we were about to do.
S-rank gate. Unknown world. Three hunters way above my pay grade. And me—the F-rank with an SSS secret and a talent for bad decisions.
[Quest Objective Updated: Enter the Crimson Verge.]
"Yeah," I said to the empty air. "What could possibly go wrong?"