Awakening Ceremony.

"Alright, monkeys! Enough with your chit-chat! Settle down! Your Awakening Ceremony is about to begin!"

A stern bald man with a deep scar slashed across his cheek barked at the gathered teens like a drill sergeant.

The kids flinched at his booming voice, but it only made them more restless. Whispered murmurs and excited chatter spread through the group.

"Wait… is that Ironclad?" asked a girl with bright pink hair, her face caked with so much makeup it looked like she had extra defense layers. She wore a provocative outfit and blinked dramatically, her voice filled with both awe and hunger.

"No way that's him. What would someone like him be doing here?" said her blonde friend, who was dressed more modestly, her eyes wide with shock.

A boy with short stubbly hair, clearly part of their group, leaned in with a grin. "Saw it on Neo-Net last week," he said, clearly enjoying the attention. "He stopped a Flux Break in Xylos-Prime solo. Wiped the whole zone clean."

"No freaking way!" the girls gasped, fully hooked now.

"Yup. Heard he leveled a whole block fighting a mutated Chronophage," the boy added, puffing out his chest like he had done it himself.

Nearby, someone snorted quietly.

It came from a lean young man with messy hair and sharp green eyes that looked both tired and alert—Alistair Blackthorn.

Or rather, the soul now inside him—Michael, who had arrived in this world two days ago, waking up in this frail body that had died from overwork in the Flux mines of Xylos-Prime.

Michael had already figured out the truth.

This city, Xylos-Prime, was basically a mining colony, a place where children inherited their parents' graves. His new parents had died in those very mines—victims of a system that created fake accidents and staged disasters for profit.

The so-called Flux Breaks was Just murders dressed up to look like accidents.

The Xylos family let Flux Seeds reach critical corruption just to harvest the valuable cores inside—at the cost of countless innocent lives. The last incident Ironclad had "heroically" stopped was actually one of their own doing.

The group nearby kept chatting clearly unaware of this.

"Ironclad is so hot," the pink-haired girl whispered, her eyes dreamy. "Imagine ending up with someone like that."

Her friend chuckled and shook her head. "Keep dreaming. This is probably your third and final Awakening attempt. Chances are, you won't awaken today either."

"But there's still a chance," the pink-haired girl insisted. "I haven't failed until I actually fail, right?" Her eyes sparkled with hope—or more like delusion so strong it could rival supernatural power.

Michael—no, Alistair now—scoffed under his breath. False hope was more dangerous than despair.

The Awakening Ceremony reminded him of the fantasy novels he used to read on Earth, where people would unlock their hidden powers and become superhuman.

In this world, everyone had three chances to awaken their latent abilities between the ages of 16 and 18 to become what they called an Origin Warrior.

But reality wasn't kind.

The Awakening success rate was already low from the start—and dropped drastically after each failure. By the time you were 18, your chances were no longer low. They were practically nonexistent. Less than one percent. A final, desperate gamble that only a lucky few could win.

And yet, becoming an Origin Warrior meant everything.

Those who awakened could enter a mysterious realm called the Land of Origin—more commonly known as the Primordial Island.

It was said to be the birthplace of all life. A world filled with deadly beasts, ancient ruins, and endless opportunities.

And humans weren't alone there.

The Primordial Island wasn't just full of monsters. It was also connected to thousands of other worlds just like this one.

Origin from the world of Azraxis, like Ironclad, weren't the only ones there. People from many different worlds—and even countless non-human races—all gathered in that place.

A massive stage where many powerful beings competed, clashed, and rose to greatness. The humans of Azraxis were still newcomers, having only stepped into the Primordial Island for less than eighty years.

Michael had learned all of this by skimming through Alistair's memories and digging into every scrap of information he could find.

From what he gathered, this world had been similar to Earth about a hundred years ago.

Well, at least in terms of science and technological progress.

Then, everything changed when they discovered the Flux Veins—vast energy networks buried deep beneath the planet's surface, filled with a powerful element called Fluxon.

This discovery led to the birth of Flux Tech—technology powered by Fluxon.

With this new energy source, cities grew rapidly, and science advanced at an incredible pace.

But with great power came great danger.

Ten years after the discovery of Flux Veins, the first Flux Break happened.

It wasn't a literal break, more like a rupture.

It occurred when a Flux Seed absorbed too much Fluxon and transformed into a gateway—one that opened into a darker realm, possibly a corrupted part of the Primordial Island… or maybe something even worse.

From that rift, monsters came through.

Humanity tried to fight back with their newly developed Flux Tech, but it wasn't enough.

In just ten years after the first break, more than half of the world's population had been wiped out.

Cities collapsed. Governments fell. Hope vanished.

But just when things seemed completely hopeless, a breakthrough came.

A group of scientists discovered something incredible.

They found that by using the core of a Flux Seed, a human could awaken hidden powers—powers that could transform them into something far beyond ordinary.

That was the birth of the Origin Warriors.

Humanity fought back with their help. Leading them was a man named David Windsor—humanity's greatest hero.

And ironically, the very same man Michael suspected he had been sent to kill by the goddess.

The first generation of Origin Warriors waged war against the twisted creatures.

It wasn't an easy fight. Many lives were lost.

But eventually, they succeeded.

They pushed the beasts back and reclaimed lost ground.

It marked the beginning of the Origin Era.

And now, today, a new generation was about to begin their journey.

Today, Alistair and the other teenagers would face their destiny.

Would they become heroes of tomorrow?

Or just be forgotten, another failed name in history?

"Settle down!" Ironclad bellowed, his eyes sharp as he scanned the restless crowd. His voice cut through the air like a whip. "Today decides whether you rise as apex predators or rot as human waste. And you're acting like feral dogs!"

The noise died instantly.

A heavy silence settled over the room.

For all his harsh words, Ironclad was right.

Those who awakened lived like kings.

As for the rest?

Calling them "waste" was being generous.

The unawakened were forced to live in fear, barely surviving in a world that had no place for powerless people.

A world where they prayed they wouldn't be the next victim of a random Flux Break or some unknown disaster.

A world where they could only watch others rise, while they remained behind—powerless, forgotten, and broken.

It was a cruel world.

But then again, reality had never been fair—even back on Earth.

Only here, everything was just… more intense.