Not throughout the room. Not in some dramatic explosion of force.
Just in the exact spot where the creature stood. A crushing, impossible weight imploded on that single point in space.
The air itself bent and warped around the focal point. Light distorting as spacetime curved beyond its breaking point.
The thing outside didn't scream.
It didn't have time to.
One second, it existed. The next, it was flattened into something that barely resembled matter. A singularity of force, compressing bone and tissue and corrupted lunar energy into a space smaller than should have been physically possible.
A wet, sickening crunch echoed through the basement.
The metal door shuddered violently one final time before falling still. Permanently dented inward where the force had warped the steel.
A small trickle of phosphorescent fluid oozed beneath the doorframe. Glowing faintly before fading.
Silence descended. Heavy and absolute.
I stared, unable to process what I'd just done. The laws of physics themselves had bent to my will. Responding to commands I'd written into the fabric of reality with a pen made of starlight.
The quill pulsed once, twice, then vanished from my fingers like morning mist.
The runes in the air faded. Melting back into the invisible fabric of reality. The Astral Ink dissolved into nothingness, leaving no trace save for the afterimage burned into my retinas.
I swallowed hard. My breath shaking, legs trembling beneath me.
A strange emptiness filled me. As if I'd used up something vital inside myself.
The mana cost, I realized. Fifty points, according to the skill description.
Aurora slowly lowered her sword. The luminous light dimming as her grip loosened.
"Holy shit," she whispered, eyes wide. "I thought my Lunar Blade was something, but that..."
She gestured at the crushed door. Words failing her.
I lifted my hand, staring at my own fingers as if they belonged to someone else. I could still feel the phantom pressure of the quill. The lingering pulse of energy that had surged through me like an electric current.
I had just rewritten gravity.
And it had killed something.
"You okay?" Aurora asked quietly, stepping closer.
Her sword dissolved into metallic mist. Leaving her empty-handed as she reached for my shoulder.
I nodded numbly. "Yeah. Just... processing."
"That was..." She searched for words, eyes fixed on the warped door. "What exactly did you do to it?"
"Gravity manipulation," I said, voice steadier than I expected. "I increased the gravitational force in that exact spot by about... a thousand times? Maybe more."
I paused. The image of what remained of the creature flashing behind my eyes.
"Enough to..."
I trailed off.
Aurora nodded slowly. Understanding dawning in her eyes.
"So you're not a fighter in the traditional sense. You're more like..."
"A reality hacker," I finished for her. "I don't create or destroy. I edit what's already there."
"Makes sense," she said, examining her own empty hand where the sword had been. "My Lunar Blade skill is straightforward by comparison. I call the weapon, it comes."
She paused, considering.
"It draws power from lunar energy to cut through almost anything, but it's just a weapon. What you did..."
She shook her head in amazement.
"Your sword was incredible too," I assured her. "The way you carved through those things upstairs..."
"It felt natural," she admitted. "Like I'd been wielding it my whole life. The skill description just says 'Summon a blade of condensed lunar energy attuned to the wielder's combat style.' Since I've done kendo for years, it took that form."
A soft notification chimed, drawing our attention.
A small window appeared before me:
Experience gained: 75 Level up! You are now level 2. Stat points available: 5
Aurora glanced at it, then back at me with a grim smile.
"Welcome to the game, Nate."
I stared at the notification. The reality of our situation sinking in deeper.
This wasn't just some bizarre phenomenon or temporary glitch in reality. This was a system—structured, intentional, with rules and progression and rewards.
Like a game, but with our lives as the stakes.
"Do you think there are others out there?" I asked quietly. "Other people who got classes instead of... turning?"
Aurora's expression hardened. "There must be. And we need to find them."
She glanced at the warped door.
"But first, we need to get stronger. A lot stronger."
I nodded, still feeling the phantom weight of the quill between my fingers. If this was our new reality—a world governed by lunar magic and system mechanics—then understanding my abilities wasn't just an academic exercise.
It was survival.
"So," I said, bringing up my stat screen to allocate my newly earned points, "I guess this is what they mean by 'learning on the job.'"
Aurora's laugh was short and sharp, but genuine.
In this nightmare, even that small sound felt like victory.
"I think I get my class now," I said quietly. The words hanging in the stale basement air like dust motes caught in weak light.
The Astral Equationist. One who balanced cosmic equations. Who could read and rewrite the very code of reality itself.
In a world suddenly governed by Luna's system, I had somehow been granted the ability to manipulate its fundamental rules. The implication was both terrifying and exhilarating.
Like being handed the admin password to the universe.
The basement fell into uneasy quiet after the chaos above. Aurora and I sat on cold concrete floor, backs against the wall. Letting the adrenaline slowly drain from our systems.
My limbs felt impossibly heavy. Like gravity itself—the very force I'd just manipulated—was exacting revenge by weighing me down.
Each breath felt like it required conscious effort. My chest rising and falling with deliberate slowness.
The quill was gone, but I could still feel phantom tingles in my fingertips. Echoes of power that had rewritten reality itself just minutes ago.
The sensation was similar to pins-and-needles of a limb falling asleep. But with an electric, almost metallic quality.
Aurora's head tilted back against the wall. Eyes closed, sword long since dissolved back into moonlight.
A thin sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead despite the basement's chill. The metallic glow that had emanated from her during the fight had faded.
Leaving her looking almost normal—if exhaustion could ever look normal on someone usually so composed.
The contrast was striking. Like seeing a hurricane reduced to a gentle breeze, knowing the destruction it had wrought moments before.
"Do you think—" I started to ask.
Not even sure what question I wanted to form. About the System? About what was happening upstairs? About what would happen next?
The words died in my throat. Half-formed and uncertain.
A shrill, piercing sound cut through the silence.
Then another, overlapping the first. Creating a dissonant electronic wail that bounced off concrete walls. Amplified by the enclosed space into something almost physical in its intensity.
Our phones. Both simultaneously erupting into the unmistakable blare of an emergency alert.
The sound engineered to trigger primal instincts of danger and urgency.
Aurora's eyes snapped open. Pupils contracting in the sudden blue light of her screen.
We locked gazes for a split second—a wordless exchange of dread—before fumbling for our devices. Movements clumsy with fatigue and fear.
My fingers, still tingling with cosmic aftereffects, felt thick and uncoordinated as I pulled my phone from my pocket.
My phone vibrated violently in my hand as I stared at the screen. An insect buzzing against my palm.
Bold red text pulsed across the display. The harsh light illuminating my face in crimson, painting the nearby concrete wall with a bloody glow that flickered in rhythm with the alert.
EMERGENCY ALERT: NATIONAL SECURITY THREAT TAKE SHELTER IMMEDIATELY THIS IS NOT A DRILL REMAIN INDOORS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE DO NOT APPROACH INFECTED INDIVIDUALS
Below it, a scrolling ticker: "DEFCON 1 DECLARED – MAXIMUM READINESS – STAY TUNED FOR PRESIDENTIAL ADDRESS"
"DEFCON 1," I whispered.
The words sounding hollow in the basement's stale air. Like speaking in a tomb.
"That's..."
"Nuclear war readiness," Aurora finished.
Her voice unnaturally flat as she stared at her own screen. The red glow casting harsh shadows across her face, accentuating the hollows beneath her cheekbones.
"They're treating this like a nuclear attack."
The realization crashed over me in waves. Each one stronger than the last.
This wasn't just happening here. Not just our university, not just New York.
This was everywhere.
The entire country. Perhaps the world.