Consciousness did not return gently.
It dragged him back like a hook through flesh.
Bran's eyes snapped open. A rough, uneven breath tore down his dust-choked throat. For a terrifying moment, nothing made sense — his vision fractured, edges of reality bending as if the world itself hadn't finished reassembling.
Then the pain hit.
Not sharp. Not sudden.
Deep. Crushing. A dull, bone-weary ache that radiated from every muscle and joint, as though something had hollowed him out from the inside and left only ruins behind.
"…What…?"
His voice came out hoarse, foreign to his own ears.
He didn't move at first.
Because something felt profoundly wrong.
Not just physically.
Mentally.
There was a gap — a black, gaping hole where memory should have been.
Bran frowned, forcing his thoughts backward. He remembered coming home. He remembered calling Lina's name. Then… nothing.
His chest tightened violently.
"…Why can't I remember…?"
Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself upright. His body resisted every inch, muscles stiff and trembling, joints screaming as if they had been pushed far beyond their limits. Every movement felt delayed, disconnected — like he was no longer fully in control of his own limbs.
When his vision finally cleared, the world stopped.
The apartment wasn't damaged.
It was destroyed.
Walls split open with jagged, violent cracks. One entire section had caved inward, debris scattered like shrapnel. Furniture lay in unrecognizable splinters. Dust hung thick in the pale beams of light filtering through the broken windows.
Bran froze.
"…What happened…?"
His mind struggled to reconcile the scene.
This wasn't a fight.
This was carnage.
Then he saw it.
The body.
It lay twisted among the wreckage a few feet away, unmoving.
Bran's breath seized in his throat.
"…What is that…?"
He didn't want to move.
Some part of him already knew.
But his feet dragged him forward anyway — slow, reluctant, heavy.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
As the body came into focus, horror clawed up his spine.
The form was barely human anymore. Clothes shredded, limbs bent at impossible angles, the damage savage and overwhelming. This wasn't a fight between equals.
This was absolute domination.
Bran staggered back, bile rising in his throat.
"…I didn't…"
His voice cracked.
"…Did I do this…?"
The question hung in the suffocating silence.
Unanswered.
Fragments flashed — a warning, a massive figure, blinding pain, then darkness.
But nothing after that.
His head throbbed as he pressed a trembling hand to his temple.
"…No… no…"
Then — Lina.
His eyes widened in raw panic.
"Lina!"
He spun, scanning the wreckage desperately.
"Lina?!"
No response.
"Lina?!"
Only silence answered — thick, suffocating, wrong.
"She's not here…"
The realization crashed over him like ice water.
"They came here…"
His breathing turned ragged.
"And she was here when they did."
His jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
"They took her."
The words landed like a death sentence.
For one frozen moment, he stood completely still.
Then something inside him shifted.
Not panic.
Not fear.
Cold, razor-sharp focus.
"…Think," he whispered, forcing his breath to steady. "You can't fall apart now."
His gaze returned to the broken body.
"If they came for me… then this is one of them."
This time there was no hesitation.
He crouched beside the corpse, ignoring the wave of nausea, and began searching with grim purpose — pockets, torn clothing, anything that might give him answers.
At first, nothing.
Then his fingers brushed against something solid and metallic.
He pulled it free.
A small, polished insignia.
Clean. Deliberate. Far too refined for the Bottom Tier.
Bran's eyes narrowed.
"…Not random…"
The crest was sharp, structured — a symbol of authority.
"…An organization."
His grip tightened until the edges bit into his palm.
"So you came prepared… and took her."
His jaw hardened, eyes burning with something dark and new.
"Then I'll find you."
The system pulsed — stronger, colder than before.
Combat Analysis Complete.
Automatic Status Review Initiated.
The interface bloomed in front of him.
[ STATUS UPDATE ]
Name: Bran
Tier: F-Tier
Level: 1
Health: 14/100 (Critical)
Stamina: 11/100
Mana: 21/50
Strength: 14 Speed: 16 Perception: 18
Endurance: 15 Intelligence: 15 Luck: 12
Runes Known: Ignis, Ventus
Abilities:
• Ember Strike
• Fire Cyclone
Runic Points Gained:
Previous Total: 70 RP
Bonus (2 higher-tier kills): +20 RP
Total Runic Points: 90 RP
Condition:
• Severe fatigue
• Memory fragmentation detected
• External override usage confirmed Warning: Repeated overrides will cause permanent mental degradation.
The display lingered, clinical and unforgiving.
Then —
Recommendation: Allocate points immediately or conserve for Tier Advancement.
Bran stared at the numbers, breath shallow.
"…My health… my stamina… barely functional."
"…Mana… not enough for another real fight."
He already knew what that meant.
If he fought like that again — uncontrolled, desperate — he wouldn't survive.
His gaze sharpened.
"…System."
For the first time, he spoke to it directly.
"…How do I fix this?"
Silence.
Then the system answered, voice flat and indifferent.
"Resource sustainability is determined by stat allocation.
Endurance expands Health and Stamina capacity.
Intelligence improves Mana control and regeneration.
Direct stat enhancement available: 10 RP per point."
It continued without emotion.
"Alternative: Save 100 RP for Tier Advancement.
Tier Advancement unlocks new runes, abilities, and exponential growth potential."
Bran exhaled slowly, the weight of the choice pressing down on him.
Now… or later.
His hand clenched around the insignia.
"…Lina…"
That answered everything.
"…I don't have time to wait."
Not while she was out there.
Not while he didn't even know if she was still alive.
He cut the thought off before it could break him.
"…I'll get stronger now."
Bran closed the interface, decision made.
But he didn't allocate the points yet.
First, he needed direction.
He stared at the polished insignia in his palm — the only lead he had.
"…I start here."
Bran stood slowly, ignoring the screaming pain, the crushing exhaustion, the blood on his hands.
None of it mattered anymore.
Only one thing did.
Finding her.
And whoever took her…
Would regret the day they ever laid eyes on Lina.