CHAPTER 5: THE GRIND

Michael woke with a gasp, a full-body flinch that rattled the metal chair he was strapped to.

Reboot complete.

System online.

His head was pounding, a dull, rhythmic echo of the soul-tearing agony he’d just endured.

Lag spikes are a killer, he thought, his vision swimming back into focus.

He was still in the Alchemist’s chaotic shop, a place that smelled of ozone, burnt sugar, and bad decisions.

The little spider-drone skittered silently across the ceiling, its single blue lens fixed on him like an unblinking achievement tracker.

The Alchemist was wiping down his chrome hand with a greasy rag, his scarred face as impassive as a block of concrete.

"Congratulations, kid," he grunted, the words grinding out like stones.

"You survived your first dose.

Most people scream for a solid hour."

You only managed twenty minutes.

Consider me unimpressed."

Michael pushed himself up, his muscles screaming in silent protest.

He felt... hollowed out, but strangely, unnervingly clean.

He pulled up his Status screen.

Okay, let’s check the patch notes.

The angry red warnings were gone.

HP and VE were full, buzzing with a nervous energy.

But the new line item was a permanent fixture, a constant, chilling reminder of the cage built around his soul.

[BLOODLINE SEAL (DIVINE-TIER): 99.7% INTEGRITY (DAMAGED)]

The number had dropped.

By a minuscule, almost insulting fraction, but it had dropped.

The acid was working.

"It worked," Michael whispered, his voice hoarse.

"Of course, it worked," the Alchemist scoffed, tossing the rag onto his cluttered counter.

"I’m not a peddler of snake oil.

I am a purveyor of solutions.

Painful, expensive solutions."

He gestured around the chaotic shop with his polished metal hand.

"This fine establishment doesn’t run on good intentions.

That serum?

That beautiful, agonizing poison you just enjoyed?

It isn’t free."

Michael’s stomach clenched.

Great.

The free trial is over, and now comes the subscription fee.

He was a broke student with maybe forty-three dollars to his name.

What could he possibly offer this cyberpunk grim reaper?

"What do you want?" Michael asked, forcing his voice to remain steady.

The Alchemist’s red, cybernetic eye whirred softly.

WHIRRR-CLICK.

"You’re a Hunter now, kid.

Whether the DGC knows it or not.

And Hunters," he said, a cruel smile touching his lips, "they hunt."

He tapped a chrome finger on an empty, glowing containment unit on the counter.

"I want monster cores.

The purer, the better.

Anything that crawls, slithers, or flies out of a Gate and bleeds Raw Mana.

My... projects... require a steady supply."

So it’s a fetch quest, Michael thought with a grim sense of familiarity.

A repeatable daily.

Wonderful.

"How many?"

The Alchemist let out a dry, humorless chuckle.

"Simple economics, kid.

One dose of my Void Integration Serum is worth ten F-Rank cores.

Or two D-Rank cores, if you can find a Gate that won’t swallow you whole.

Bring me the cores, and I’ll give you another taste of that sweet, soul-rending agony."

It was a hamster wheel from hell.

To get stronger, he needed the serum.

To get the serum, he needed to hunt.

To hunt, he needed to be stronger.

The devs really want you to grind in this game, huh?

"It’s a trap," Michael said flatly.

"It’s a business model," the Alchemist corrected him, his grin all steel and bone.

"Now get out.

You’re bringing too much heat with you."

Michael pushed the heavy steel door open and stepped back into the Undercroft’s neon-lit gloom.

The walk home was a blur of shadowy streets and distant sirens.

When he slipped through the door of their apartment, the silence was heavy and suffocating.

His father was asleep on the couch, the Hunter News Network flickering over his weary face.

A grim-faced reporter stood in front of a quarantined zone in the Bronx.

Marcus looked old.

So much older than his years.

The weight of his grief was a physical presence in the room.

The witty, sarcastic gamer mask Michael wore for the world dissolved.

Here, in the presence of his father’s quiet suffering, it felt cheap and useless.

Guilt, sharp and bitter, twisted in his gut.

He was walking the exact path his father had tried so desperately to wall off.

He was becoming the ghost his father feared.

He slipped into his room, closing the door as quietly as he could.

He couldn’t afford to worry his father.

He couldn’t afford to fail the Alchemist.

He couldn’t afford to be weak.

"Warden," he whispered to the empty room.

The ancient, weary voice echoed in his mind, laced with its usual tired amusement.

"Well now.

Look what the cat dragged in.

You smell of ozone, desperation, and poor life choices."

"The Alchemist’s serum," Michael thought.

"It works."

"It does," the Warden conceded.

"In a brutish, unsophisticated way.

A war of attrition against your own soul.

A slow, painful corrosion."

"I need to be ready to hunt for real," Michael stated, the words a mantra.

"The Simulation Chamber awaits," the Warden hummed.

"Your... awakening... has unlocked new combat protocols.

The System is eager to see what its new toy can do."

Time for the tutorial zone.

[ENTER?]

YES.

His bedroom dissolved into the infinite white grid.

But this time, it felt different.

The air itself seemed to thrum with a dark energy.

He was no longer a baseline human flailing with a virtual sword.

He was a predator in his own hunting ground.

[ENTERING SIMULATION 2-1: VOID REAPER COMBAT ASSESSMENT]

[ENEMY: LV. 5 SIM-BEAR]

The same pixelated beast that had humiliated him before coalesced in front of him.

ROOOAAARRR!

Michael didn’t charge.

He stood his ground, the Reaper’s Fang materializing in his hand.

Let’s see about this new build.

The bear lunged.

SWOOOSH!

Michael didn’t dodge.

He ceased to exist.

[SHADOW STEP (LV. 1) ACTIVATED]

ZIP!

He reappeared behind the bear, the world shifting with a silent, instantaneous tear in space.

Zero lag.

Nice.

The beast turned, confused.

Too slow.

[VOID SLASH (LV. 1) ACTIVATED]

He drove the purple-glowing dagger deep into the back of the bear’s leg.

SHLIIICK!

No resistance.

The Void Energy bypassed the coded defenses entirely.

He was a phantom, a flicker in the code, bleeding the beast dry with a thousand tiny, perfect cuts.

It was a dance of death, and he was leading.

Finally, the great beast fell, dissolving into a shower of light.

[SIM-BEAR DEFEATED. 15 EXP GAINED.]

[LEVEL UP! YOU ARE NOW LEVEL 2.]

The feeling was intoxicating.

For what felt like days, he trained.

He fought hordes of monsters, his level climbing steadily.

Level 2.

Level 3.

Level 4.

He hit a progression wall at a Level 10 Hydra.

It was too fast, its regeneration too strong.

It was a classic DPS check, and he was failing it.

"You have reached another Synchronization Threshold," the Warden’s voice echoed, almost sympathetic.

"You have mastered the theory.

But your skills lack the necessary... weight.

To truly grow, your Void Energy needs to taste real mana.

It needs to devour the soul-echo of a creature slain in the real world."

So I need real-world EXP.

Figures.

He exited the simulation, his body humming with restless energy.

He was stuck.

He had to hunt.

As if on cue, a new notification pinged on his HUD, its border glowing with faint, urgent red.

[URGENT QUEST: LOW-RANK GATE MANIFESTED]

[THREAT LEVEL: E]

[LOCATION: BROOKLYN NAVY YARD, ABANDONED WAREHOUSE 7.]

[TIME UNTIL COLLAPSE: 1:29:45]

The Alchemist wanted ten F-Rank cores.

The System wanted him to get his hands dirty.

The quest log was waiting.