Chapter 3

THE ORIGIN OF THE AWAKENED

Long before the first stars tore through the black veil of the cosmos, the gods shaped existence according to their whims.

Beings of unimaginable power. Indifferent to the fate of their creations.

To them, humans were nothing.

Fragile. Ephemeral. Destined for eternal servitude.

But Freya, the goddess of human creation, disagreed.

Defying her own divine siblings, she infused her vital essence into the world's soil and raised colossal beings from the purest clay.

Humans molded them with devotion. And when they finally breathed life into them…

They rose.

Giants.

Titans.

They were meant to be humanity's salvation.

If only there hadn't been a price.

Under the sunlight, their bodies petrified. They became mere statues of marble.

It was a curse.

And a weapon.

Thus, the rebellion began. Humans struck under the cover of night. The sky burned. Mountains crumbled. Divine and mortal blood mingled in the soil.

But in the end…

The Titans were eradicated.

Freya, punished. Her power, stripped away. Her name, cursed.

And humanity? Condemned to eternal suffering.

Across various regions of the world, the decayed corpses of the Titans lay as eternal reminders of the war.

Their bones had rotted. Their bodies had turned to ash.

But humanity did not vanish.

It endured.

Years passed. Humanity carried on, haunted by divine retribution.

Until a fearless young man emerged.

Yeonryu.

His village suffered under the gods' rule. He swore to find a way to free them.

And so, his journey began.

His destination? The Misty Mountains.

An ancient battleground where Titans and Gods once clashed. A place forgotten, consumed by the forest and time itself. But something unexpected awaited him among the ruins and twisted trees.

Zephyros.

A fallen god.

Wounded. Abandoned. Lost in a world that no longer recognized him.

His body emitted a faint glow. Ten feet tall, imposing like a slumbering titan—yet his presence was fragile.

Exhausted.

A crown of withered laurels adorned his war-marked brow. His face, aged by suffering, bore deep scars. But nothing stood out more than the gaping wound in his abdomen.

A massive hole, oozing thick, shimmering blood.

Zephyros pressed a hand against it.

In vain.

Yeonryu watched. Hidden among the trees, he waited. When night fell and the weakened god succumbed to sleep…

He moved.

Blade in hand, he climbed the rocky outcrop where the deity rested. His heart pounded in his chest.

Now.

From his pouch, he retrieved a small vial.

Salamora Essence.

A rare plant, blooming only where Titans had fallen. Its black petals exuded a funereal scent. Its sap—a lethal poison. Even immortals could not withstand its corruption.

Yeonryu let a few drops trickle into the god's slightly parted lips.

For a moment, absolute silence.

Then—

Zephyros awoke.

His eyes widened. He choked, gasping against the venom. His glow faded. His divine radiance dimmed. His muscles weakened.

His body convulsed. Writhing in agony.

With one last effort, he reached for his assassin.

But Yeonryu had already disappeared into the shadows.

Minutes passed. Perhaps hours.

Then, it was over.

Zephyros lay dead.

Yeonryu fell to his knees. His body trembled. He had never taken a life before. The weight of his actions crushed him.

But his mission was clear.

He swallowed his grief. Wiped away his tears. Regained his resolve.

Moving to the god's corpse, he struggled to reach the marrow.

He extracted a viscous, golden liquid. Sealed it in a crystal vial.

Returned to the village.

He distributed the liquid—one man per family.

By morning, they all fell ill.

No known cure could ease their symptoms.

Yeonryu blamed himself. He returned to the god's body and tore off a piece of flesh. He hesitated.

Then, he bit into the bitter tissue.

Within moments, his sickness vanished.

He brought the flesh to the men of the village. Ordered them to eat it. Raw. Untouched by flame. Untainted by spice.

They recovered.

And nothing happened.

Until—

Months later, something changed.

The children born of those men began to manifest superhuman abilities.

Each possessed unique gifts.

They were the first Awakened.

THE COMING OF DARKNESS

Thalerius fell.

But his death did not bring peace.

From the god's broken bones, a black smoke emerged. It danced through the skies. It whispered horrors.

And then… the monsters came.

Goblins. Sorcerers. Lycans.

Once again, humanity was pushed to the brink of extinction.

The Awakened became their last hope.

But the gods tried to prevent the inevitable.

Tesseron, the god of fate, had already written the prophecy in the Archbook.

The story could not be erased.

Only distorted.

With each new generation, the Awakened grew weaker.

But the strongest survived.

And so, three great factions were born:

Phanteons (Reconnaissance & Exploration)

Titans (Offensive Force)

Vanguard (Support & Defense)

The world changed.

The remains of defeated monsters became precious materials.

The trade of spoils began.

The war was not over.

It had only evolved.

PRESENT TIMES

Lee Ji-Ho was seventeen. Maybe eighteen.

But life had made him far too old.

His dark brown hair fell messily over his forehead. His amber eyes glowed with constant vigilance.

He feigned indifference.

But he never truly relaxed.

Orphaned from his father. The man of the house. A relentless worker.

His world was built on fear and survival.

Then, that night, everything changed.

Explosions ripped through the sky. Distant lights pulsed on the horizon. The East burned in flames.

The nearby penitentiary had turned into a battlefield.

The next day, the summons arrived.

All miners were to report to the extraction site. Even prisoners would be used as labor.

The reinforced bus drove through the city.

Stopped at the prison.

Armed guards entered first. Scanned every corner.

And then…

Three men boarded.

The first—tall and thin—oozed arrogance. His crooked smile dripped with venom.

The second—a blond with a mohawk—his eyes filled with defiance.

The third—the most intimidating of them all.

Unkempt green hair. A mask over his face. A cold, lethal gaze.

The orange jumpsuits and heavy chains marked them as criminals.

But they were no ordinary prisoners.

They were Awakened.

The bus continued toward the mountain base.

There, the Awakened hunters were already waiting.

The slain creature's body was colossal. Half-man, half-bull. Even in death, it clutched its axe as if refusing to accept defeat.

The order was given.

The miners began their work.

Pickaxes raised. Bones cut. Spoils extracted.

The prisoners were freed from their shackles.

Time passed.

Silence.

Then…

A rumble.

The ground trembled.

An explosion.

Chaos began.