Maybe not the first to be found.Not the first to scream.But definitely the first to die. On camera. In front of everyone.
Her name was Min-Ji, and she had been walking home from a part-time job when it happened.Now, she was stumbling through an alien village — her uniform torn, knuckles scraped, breath breaking like glass.
She didn't cry. She didn't have time to.
"This has to be a dream,"she whispered again and again, as if repeating it might make it true.But her legs burned. Her mouth was dry. Her ankle throbbed with every step.
The cobblestone beneath her feet was cracked and uneven. The buildings — wooden, crooked, strangely shaped — looked like they'd been lifted out of an old MMORPG.But the blood on the windows wasn't pixels.
"Hello?!" she called out. "Anyone?!"
Silence.
Then… a sound.A wet, dragging noise, like something pulling itself forward with too many limbs.
She turned.
Too fast.
One blink, and it was there — pale flesh, hollow eyes, a mouth too wide for its skull.It didn't roar. It didn't snarl.It just grabbed her. Claws — cold. Weight — crushing.She screamed, kicked, clawed at the ground.
And millions watched in silence.
Then she was gone.
Torn apart by the creature — her death watched by strangers across the world.Even by her family.
In a small apartment in Busan, a man and a woman sat frozen in front of the screen.Neither could speak.
The mother finally let out a broken sob.
"M-my… child…"
The girl died screaming.That much he heard.
Not the scream of surprise. Not fear.It was the scream that came when you knew no one was coming to save you.
Aslan stayed still as stone, crouched inside a rotting wooden shack near the edge of the village.The window was cracked. He hadn't dared peek through it yet.
His hands were shaking.Not from fear.From the suffocating silence.
Four hours earlier, he'd woken up in a field beneath a violet-orange sky.No signs. No explanation. Just one burning line carved across the horizon:
[Objective: Survive Until Midnight]
Then came the first scream.Then a second.Then growling. Running. Then silence.
He didn't hesitate. He ran to the first building he saw — this one.
The door was unlocked. The roof half-collapsed. Inside: broken shelves, dried herbs, shattered flasks.The air smelled faintly of smoke and old metal.
And someone was inside.
An older man — maybe late fifties — slumped against the far wall.He was pale, bleeding from the stomach. His robes were forest green, marked with alchemical symbols Aslan couldn't read.
They locked eyes. The man tried to speak, but only coughed.
"Shhh," Aslan whispered, crouching beside him.
Not to help. Not really.He had no idea what to do.
But it felt wrong to walk past a dying man.
"Just don't move. Don't talk."
The man didn't listen. He reached out with a shaking hand — holding a flask filled with dark red liquid.His lips moved, whispering something like "thera" or "terra."
Then he went limp. Still breathing. But unconscious.
Aslan pocketed the flask.
For hours, he didn't move.
The sky darkened. The wind grew heavy.Through a cracked mirror, he caught glimpses of the creatures.
They weren't just monsters.They were wrong.
Tall as humans, but twisted. Slouched, bone-sharp, sniffing the air with mouths too wide.A single look was enough to know: no unarmed person could win in a fight against that.
He stayed hidden.
The body beside him had started to go cold.It hadn't bled out completely — but something told him the man wouldn't wake again.
He didn't cry. He didn't panic.But the thoughts wouldn't stop.
"This is real.""I'm in another world.""Something wants us dead."
He could smell blood. Herbs. His own sweat.And worst of all… his cologne — light citrus, something he sprayed that morning out of habit.
He cursed himself under his breath.
"Why did I even—"
A sound.
Scratch. Drag. Sniff.
He froze. Slid under the table.Gripped a broken stool leg — his only weapon.
The sound grew closer.
Then it stopped.
For one minute — maybe more — he didn't breathe.
Then wood cracked.
Something was inside.
It smelled him.
A screech ripped through the shack.Something pale and eyeless lunged from the doorway.
Aslan rolled. Threw the stool. Crawled backward.
"Too fast—"
He darted out the door. The thing chased him, claws slamming into the ground.
The village was empty. Silent.He ran.
His brain fired off in every direction.
"I'm not stronger.""But I'm not dumber."
He turned into a narrow alley, grabbed a shard of glass, and slashed open a barrel of black liquid. Oil. Maybe something worse.
He yanked the old lighterfrom his pocket — lit the fire.
The monster turned the corner.
He threw the flame.
The barrel burst — not cinematic, but enough.
The creature shrieked. Fire clung to its arms. It rolled and howled.
Aslan grabbed a broken fence post and drove it down into its chest.
It stopped moving.
And Aslan collapsed beside it, breathing like he'd never catch air again.
[Notice]You have killed a native predator of Tier 1.You are the 4th among the 13 to kill.
[Ranking Unlocked]1st – Subject #02 – 7 kills2nd – Subject #09 – 3 kills3rd – Subject #06 – 2 kills4th – Subject #07 – 1 kill (You)
The message burned into the air — faint, gold-tinged.Like a hallucination. But real.
Aslan stared at it. Drenched in sweat and ash.
"Seven?""Who the hell killed seven of these things?"
He looked down at the monster he barely killed.The blood on his hands still felt hot.
"I almost died for one…"
****
Elsewhere, outside of the south of the same village, a man stood beneath a blank sky.
His coat was dark. His eyes sharper than knives.
He looked toward the horizon and murmured:
"Aslan…""You aren't suppose to survive this time."
His voice was calm. Almost distant.
"You are first to die for our, for my, better future"