In the dimly lit command center buried beneath Washington D.C.'s gleaming facade, Director Elena Hale paced before a wall of holographic displays. The room hummed with the quiet urgency of analysts tapping away at consoles, their faces illuminated by streams of data. At forty-five, Hale had risen through the ranks of the Global Awakened Oversight Agency (GAOA) on a blend of sharp intellect and unyielding resolve. But "Operation Buried Ice" was testing even her limits. Satellite feeds from Antarctica showed the anomaly: an underground monolith, pulsing with unstable energy, estimated at eight stars—80 meters if it were above ground. In two weeks, it would break, spewing horrors across the frozen continent. Carnage on a scale unseen since the early Awakened Era. Bloodshed that could spill beyond, if the winds carried spores or the monsters burrowed through ice.
"Where do we find more heavy hitters?" Hale muttered, rubbing her temples. Guilds were stretched thin, top Awakened committed to ongoing raids. Her deputy, a wiry man named Reyes, pulled up a feed from a routine surveillance drone over Central Park.
"Ma'am, check this. 1-star clear, but... anomalous." The footage played: a figure in a blood-soaked hoodie, face hidden by a crude paper grocery bag with eye holes, wading through yetis like a reaper in a blizzard. Limbs torn asunder, gore painting the snow in visceral arcs. The boss gorilla shattered, eviscerated with bare hands. No skills visible, just raw, overwhelming power.
Hale leaned in, eyes narrowing. "Who is that? Stats must be off the charts. And the mask... paper? Run facial rec—wait, no face. Voice? Nada. Tag him 'Paper Face' for now. Cross-reference with recent awakenings, guild rosters, school records. Covertly. We spook him, he vanishes. We need assets like that for Buried Ice."
Reyes nodded, initiating subtle queries through back channels. No alerts to the target. Just quiet digging. Hale stared at the frozen frame of the bag-masked enigma, a spark of hope amid the dread. If they could recruit him...
Back in New York, Max stared out his apartment window, the city a tapestry of lights against the encroaching dusk. Another day of feigned normalcy at school—dodging Jake's invites, mumbling through classes. Stats at 621 each now, after midnight's AP conversion and even distribution. Power simmered beneath his skin, a constant hum. But the loneliness gnawed deeper, Alex's betrayals a shadow that lengthened with each secret kept. Elena's return loomed; he'd have to act the unawakened brother, hide the artifact ring, the frost-kissed claws he practiced in seclusion.
A tremor shook the building, distant at first, then escalating. Alarms blared citywide—holo-sirens projecting warnings: "Dungeon break detected. 4-star monolith emergence in Queens. Evacuate perimeter. Awakened responders en route."
Max's pulse quickened. A 40-meter behemoth, spewing monsters into the streets. Civilians in peril. He could ignore it, stay hidden. But the itch returned—the need to act, to vent. And perhaps... assist. Anonymously. He slipped the ring on, retrieving a fresh paper bag. Eye holes punched. Hood up. Paper Face emerged from the shadows, leaping from his balcony with Agility-defying grace, bounding across rooftops toward the chaos.
The streets of Queens were a warzone. The monolith towered like a jagged obsidian spike, cracks webbing its surface as waves of monsters poured forth: serpentine humanoids with scaled hides, fangs dripping venom, claws rending pavement. Nagini spawn, from the looks—lesser versions of what lurked deeper. Cars overturned, screams piercing the air as people fled. Local Awakened—guildless freelancers and novices—formed hasty lines, skills flaring: fireballs scorching scales, barriers shimmering to hold the tide.
Among them, Lila Voss gritted her teeth, her low stats (all hovering at 15-20) no match for the onslaught, but her ingenuity compensating. Newly awakened, she'd dashed from her garage workshop at the first alarm, backpack stuffed with gizmos of her own design. "Wrench Strike" was her only skill, a basic melee boost from that goblin book, but she'd augmented it. A gauntlet hummed on her arm, jury-rigged with mana-conductive wires and a repurposed drone battery—delivering electric shocks on impact.
"Come on, you slimy bastards," she growled, swinging at a nagini that lunged for a cowering family. The wrench connected, crackling with voltage; the monster convulsed, scales charring as it dropped. But more came—three, four—claws slashing. Lila dodged, Agility her weakest stat, and fired a gadget from her belt: a sticky bomb that exploded in adhesive foam, trapping two. She bashed one's head in, gore splattering her overalls, but fatigue set in. Endurance low, mana draining. A claw raked her side, drawing blood. She stumbled, overwhelmed, the family screaming as the remaining nagini closed in.
A blur intervened. Paper Face landed like a meteor, fist pulverizing the nagini's skull in a spray of brains and ichor. He whirled, Frost Claw activating—ice shards extending from his fingers, slicing through the trapped pair with surgical precision. Guts spilled, steaming on the cold asphalt. The family bolted, safe.
Lila gasped, clutching her wound. "Thanks... wait, that haul at the exchange? The cores? It's you!" Coincidence struck like lightning: as he turned, the paper bag shifted, revealing a glimpse of black hair and a familiar jawline—the loner kid from school? Max Morgan? She'd seen him in passing, always alone. But here? The power? Her eyes widened, but before she could speak—
"Go," Max growled, voice muffled but unmistakable now that she connected the dots. He blurred away, leaving her stunned amid the receding monsters.
The battle raged on. Dozens of Awakened held the line—fire mages incinerating waves, tanks absorbing blows with enhanced Endurance. "Hold for the pros!" one shouted. "Vanguard's en route—five minutes!" But the spawn kept coming, buying time for the boss to consolidate power. Blood slicked the streets, limbs severed, cries of the wounded mixing with monstrous hisses.
Max pressed deeper, toward the monolith's maw. No time for games. The core chamber beckoned, a rift pulsing with dark energy. He entered, the world shifting to a cavernous lair of twisting vines and poisonous mist. At its heart: the boss. A 40-meter Naga, coils undulating like steel cables, scales gleaming impenetrable, wielding a massive scythe that hummed with necrotic power. It reared, eyes glowing venomous green, fangs bared in a hiss that shook the ground.
"You dare challenge me, insect?" it boomed, scythe swinging in a deadly arc.
Max stood, paper bag crinkling faintly, Frost Claw ready. Power surged within, but caution tempered it. This was no yeti. The blade whistled toward him—
And the chapter hung on the precipice, the clash imminent