Pain throbbed in Stephen’s ribs with every shallow breath.
Purple bruises painted his torso, hidden beneath a cheap, oversized graduation gown.
Nobody in the crowded high school gymnasium cared about his injuries.
Every student in the room was too busy staring at the stage, their faces flushed with excitement and terror.
Stephen sat near the back, his jaw locked tight as he tried to ignore the throbbing in his side.
Erie, Pennsylvania, was a dying city, and today was the day that would decide who got to leave it.
Graduation from high school was no longer about diplomas or college applications; it was about the Awakening Ceremony.
Tyler and his crew of jocks had cornered Stephen in the locker room hours earlier, making sure he knew his place before the ceremony.
Those blows had been precise, aimed at his stomach and ribs where the marks wouldn't show under his gown.
Today, Stephen turned eighteen, which meant his time in the state foster care system was officially over.
Standing on his own two feet was his only option now, and he had no intention of failing.
Whispers drifted through the rows of folding chairs, sharp and venomous.
He kept his gaze fixed ahead, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing him flinch.
Let them whisper; they had families to fall back on, while he had nothing but his own grit.
When the world fell apart ten years ago and the Rifts opened, humanity had to adapt or die.
Survivors needed classes—warriors, mages, healers—to fight back against the monsters pouring from the tears in reality.
Without a class, a person was just breeding stock or fodder for the front lines.
"Next," a booming voice echoed over the PA system, cutting through Stephen's thoughts.
Stepping out of his seat, he walked toward the stage, his boots heavy against the polished wooden floor.
His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.
Cold sweat slicked his palms, but he kept his expression perfectly blank.
Before him stood the Awakening Stone, a massive slab of dark obsidian humming with a low, ancient vibration.
"Touch the stone," the proctor commanded, not even looking up from his tablet.
Reaching out with a trembling hand, Stephen pressed his palm flat against the cold, smooth surface.
Electricity shot up his arm, blinding and white-hot.
A violent surge of energy tore through his veins, rewriting his DNA in a matter of seconds.
Bones popped and realigned as his frame expanded, the cheap fabric of his gown tearing at the shoulders.
His chest widened, muscles knitting together into dense, powerful lines under his skin.
Golden light seeped through his pores, illuminating the dark stage with a brilliant, pearlescent glow.
Heightened senses flooded his mind, allowing him to hear the panicked murmurs of the crowd and the frantic typing of the proctor.
"What is this?" the proctor stammered, his eyes wide as he stared at the readout. "This energy signature... it's off the charts!"
Before the man could finish his sentence, a deafening siren wailed across the city.
Deafening alarms blared from the street corners, their high-pitched wails signaling the worst possible scenario.
Red emergency lights flashed overhead as the ceiling began to groan.
Screams erupted instantly.
Panic swept through the gymnasium as students trampled one another, rushing for the exits.
Cracks spiderwebbed across the concrete walls of the gymnasium.
Above them, the massive steel girders supporting the roof twisted like wet paper.
Stephen tried to move, but the sudden physical transformation had left his equilibrium completely shattered.
Gravity seemed to tilt.
Down came a massive section of the concrete ceiling, crashing directly onto the stage.
Darkness swallowed him as a heavy slab pinned his lower body to the wooden floor.
Dust choked his lungs, making him cough violently as he tried to assess the damage.
Coughing up a mixture of blood and gray powder, he blinked through the haze of debris.
Trying to push the concrete slab off his legs proved useless; even with his newly enhanced strength, the sheer weight was crushing.
Blood trickled down his forehead, warmth dripping into his left eye.
---
Heavy, wet footsteps echoed through the ruined hall.
Wet, guttural clicking sounds made the hairs on the back of Stephen's neck stand on end.
Through the haze of dust and smoke, a monstrous silhouette emerged from a jagged tear in reality.
A Grimgore.
Six muscular, chitinous limbs ended in razor-sharp talons that scraped against the concrete.
Its face was a nightmare of dripping mandibles and multiple lidless, yellow eyes that scanned the wreckage.
Thick, black ichor dripped from its jaws, sizzling as it touched the shattered floor.
Hunger drove the beast forward, its eyes locking onto Stephen's trapped form.
Death was staring him right in the face.
Terrified but refusing to die like a cornered animal, Stephen felt a sudden surge of cold, calculating rage.
He had survived eighteen years of neglect, hunger, and abuse.
Giving up now was out of the question.
Deep within his chest, a dormant power sparked, responding to his desperate will to live.
A glowing blue interface suddenly snapped into view, defying the darkness of the ruined gymnasium.
System notifications flashed rapidly before his eyes: *[Awakening complete. SSS-Rank Class unlocked: Holy Summoner.]*
Unlocking this class felt like opening a floodgate of raw, celestial energy.
How he was going to use it, he didn't know, but he willed his mana to flow.
"Help me," Stephen gasped, his voice barely a whisper.
Clutching his chest, he willed his mana to flow, channeling the golden warmth that still radiated within his newly rebuilt muscles.
"Summon!" he roared.
Instantly, a blinding burst of white light erupted from his outstretched hand.
Three glowing magic circles, etched with complex celestial runes, materialized in the air before him.
Wind whipped through the ruined building, clearing the dust in a violent spiral.
Out of the first two circles stepped two armored figures, their faces obscured by silver helms, carrying glowing broadswords.
But it was the third circle that commanded the entire room.
Rising from the center circle, a towering figure clad in intricate golden armor emerged.
Six massive, pure white wings unfurled from his back, casting a brilliant light that banished every shadow.
This was Michael, the Archangel General.
Golden light radiated from his armor, illuminating the entire ruined stage.
His eyes burned like miniature suns, and in his right hand, he held a massive sword forged of pure, crackling celestial energy.
Shock paralyzed Stephen as he stared at the sheer, overwhelming majesty of the three beings he had just called forth.
Shrill shrieks tore from the Grimgore as it lunged forward, sensing the threat.
Michael did not flinch.
Stepping forward with effortless grace, the Archangel swung his golden blade in a swift, devastating arc.
A wave of pure energy sliced through the air, instantly vaporizing the Grimgore's front limbs.
Roaring in agony, the beast collapsed forward, black ichor spraying across the rubble.
Without a shred of mercy, Michael brought his sword down, impaling the monster directly through its thick, armored skull.
Celestial fire erupted from the wound, consuming the Grimgore from the inside out until nothing but ash remained.
Stephen lay trapped beneath the rubble, his mind spinning at the incredible, terrifying display of power.
As the dust settled, Michael turned his gaze to Stephen, not with reverence, but with an intensity that screamed, 'The true battle has only just begun. What will you do, Summoner?'