The Extinct Class.

  The ballroom was a wreck. Expensive tables were smashed into firewood.

  The air smelled of sulfur and expensive perfume.

  Amara was a blur of crimson motion.

  Duck. Roll. Slash.

  Her obsidian daggers were extensions of her will. She moved faster than the human eye could track, carving deep trenches into the Demon's ashen flesh.

  Black viscous blood sprayed the pristine walls.

  "Hungry..." the Anay-Demon gurgled.

  The massive wound on its chest bubbled and knitted back together in seconds.

  The sound was wet and sickening, like raw meat being stirred in a bowl. Steam rose from his grey skin as the heat of his metabolism scorched the air.

  "So... hungry!"

  It swung a massive arm. Amara backflipped, but the wind pressure alone sent her skidding across the polished floor.

  He's regenerating too fast, she thought, her eyes narrowing. Consuming his fat reserves to heal.

  "Captain Amara!" her earpiece crackled. "Sensors flag Anay as High Gold Rank! Do we signal the Monarch?"

  "Negative," Amara said, her voice steady. "If the Monarch handles every pest, what are we paid for? Evacuate the civilians."

  She reactivated her daggers.

  [Initiating Termination Protocol.]

  [Three-Blow Sequence Engaged.]

  Amara launched a deceptive punch at the Demon's stomach. The creature, lost to hunger, shifted to defend its gut.

  Too easy.

  She activated Shadow Step.

  One moment she was in front of him; the next, she materialized behind him, driving her blade into his back.

  [Strike One: Successful.]

  Aryan, slumped against the shattered stage, watched in fascination. Pain radiated from his chest like a hot iron rod jammed between his ribs, making every breath a struggle, but he couldn't look away.

  To him, the battle looked like a video game. Translucent blue boxes flickered above the Demon.

  [Enemy HP: 50%]

  [Regeneration Source: Stomach Fat Reserves.]

  [Weakness: Core Stone located behind Navel.]

  "Look at the Energy flow," Sam whispered in his ear, sounding impressed.

  "See how the purple light gathers at her ankles? That's not magic, kid. That's physics manipulation. She's bending light to fold space.

  Watch closely. You might need to learn that if you survive the next five minutes."

  "He's healing through his stomach!" Aryan screamed, coughing as the shout rattled his broken ribs. "Target the navel! Not the chest! He has a Core Stone there!"

  "Shut up!" Amara snapped without looking back. "You've interfered enough. Stay down if you don't want to die."

  Aryan clenched his fists. Why won't she listen?

  "Interesting," Sam chuckled in his head. "Do as she says, kid. She aimed for the stomach first to bait him. Now watch."

  Amara's eyes narrowed. Core Stone behind the navel? The kid has good eyes.

  She took a deep breath.

  [Shadow Step: Limit Break.]

  She vanished.

  It wasn't a fade; it was an instantaneous deletion from reality. The Demon swiped at empty air, instinctively covering his heart.

  Amara reappeared directly under the Demon's massive gut.

  She reversed her grip on her daggers, drove both blades upward into the thick grey flab, and twisted.

  CRUNCH.

  The sound of shattering crystal echoed through the silent room.

  The Demon froze. Its crimson eyes widened in disbelief. The black smoke pouring from its mouth dissipated instantly.

  [HP: 0%]

  [Target Eliminated.]

  The massive bulk collapsed backward, shaking the floor like an earthquake. The body dissolved into black ash, leaving behind nothing but a pile of shredded suit fabric and a glowing green orb.

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  "Ooh, shiny," Sam drawled. "That's an unknown rank Skill Orb. Probably 'Gluttony' or 'Iron Stomach.' Useless for a skinny twig like you, but it would sell for a few million on the dark web. Too bad she's going to take it. Finder's keepers, killer's reapers."

  Amara stood up, wiping black blood from her cheek. She picked up the orb.

  [Skill Stone Acquired.]

  Aryan stared at the glowing stone. Even from here, he could feel the energy radiating from it. On the black market, that marble alone was worth more than his mother's entire life of wages.

  He swallowed hard, the instinct of a starving man fighting against the awe of the moment.

  She pocketed it into her System Space—a personal dimensional pocket that every Hunter possessed.

  Then, she turned her cold gaze toward Aryan.

  "You shouldn't be here," she said, stalking toward him. Her daggers were still unsheathed, glistening with demon blood.

  Aryan swallowed hard. "Oh, Sis... I... I just got it today."

  At the word "Sis," Amara's expression softened for a fraction of a second before the mask slid back into place.

  "You awakened today?" She stopped two feet from him. "What Class? Mage? Scout?"

  Aryan hesitated. Sis? Why did I call her that?

  It wasn't a slip of the tongue.

  It felt like a word that had been sleeping in his throat for years, waiting for this specific face to wake it up.

  A strange, ghostly déjà vu washed over him, making his head spin almost as much as the pain in his ribs.

  "I don't know," he lied, looking at the ground. He couldn't tell her about the text boxes yet. "It just... tells me things."

  Amara stared at him, her eyes calculating.

  Wail...

  The piercing sound of sirens cut through the air. The Hunter Association Enforcement Unit was arriving.

  Blue and red lights began to flash against the high windows, casting erratic shadows across the wreckage of the ballroom.

  "Listen to me," Amara said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "The Association will be here in two minutes. They will take credit for the kill. That doesn't matter. What matters is what that woman in the crowd called you."

  Aryan looked up. "What?"

  "She called you a Seer," Amara hissed. "Seers haven't existed for ten years. If the Association finds out you have those eyes, they won't arrest you."

  She leaned in closer, her amber eyes burning with intensity.

  "The last Seer they found wasn't executed. He was kept in a basement lab for three years while they tried to figure out how his brain worked.

  They peeled him apart layer by layer, looking for the 'Third Eye.' They don't want justice, kid. They want specimens to replicate. They want to turn people like you into radar equipment."

  "They will dissect you."

  Aryan's blood ran cold. "I'd die?"

  "Worse. You'd wish you were dead," Amara said. "Come with me. Now."

  She grabbed his arm and hauled him up. Aryan groaned, his legs feeling like jelly, but Amara's grip was iron-clad.

  She didn't wait for him to find his balance; she dragged him like a sack of flour. Without another word, they bolted toward the back kitchen exit, leaving the sirens behind.

  They burst through the swinging doors into the kitchen. Stainless steel counters blurred past them. Startled chefs dropped pans and scrambled out of the way as the woman in the blood-soaked dress and the battered waiter sprinted past the stoves.

  "Why would you help me?" Aryan panted, limping as they ran down the service corridor.

  [Target: Amara]

  [Lie Detection: Negative.]

  [Truth: She is protecting you.]

  "Go with her," Sam advised, sounding amused. [Mission Update: Survive the Night.]

  [Reward: System Upgrade.]

  [Failure Penalty: Death.]

  Amara glanced back at him, pushing open the heavy metal door into the cool night air.

  "You'll know soon enough," she said cryptically. "Just keep running."

  The Ticking Clock.

  The back alley reeked of garbage and rancid grease.

  Amara kicked open the heavy steel door, dragging Aryan into the cool night air.

  "Get in," she commanded, shoving him toward a matte-black SUV parked illegally beside a dumpster.

  Aryan scrambled into the passenger seat. His heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

  Just ten minutes ago, he was a waiter, worried about spilling a drink. Now, he was fleeing a crime scene with a woman who had just decapitated a CEO.

  Amara slid into the driver's seat. The door thudded shut, sealing them inside a bubble of silence. The interior smelled of new leather and ozone, a sharp contrast to the sulfur and sweat clinging to Aryan's clothes. He sank into the plush bucket seat, feeling out of place, like a stain on a pristine painting.

  The engine roared to life with a predator's growl. She peeled out of the alley, merging into traffic just as the wail of sirens pierced the night.

  "Phone," Amara demanded, hand extended. "GPS. Where do you live?"

  Aryan handed it over, trembling. "Don't people say awakening only happens during teenage years? I'm twenty-one."

  "The rules bend for Seers," Amara said, her eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. She offered a tight, joyless smile. "Welcome to the underworld."

  She took a sharp turn, tires squealing. The city lights blurred into streaks of neon. Aryan grabbed the dashboard handle, his knuckles turning white.

  She drove with a terrifying, calculated aggression, weaving through gaps in traffic that shouldn't have existed.

  "Check your System," she ordered. "You leveled up. I need to know your stats to see if you'll survive the next twenty minutes."

  Aryan closed his eyes and focused on the chime in his head.

  [System Open]

  Name: Aryan

  Class: Seer (Unique)

  Level: 1 (Iron Rank)

  [Stats]

  Strength: 8 (Below Average)

  Agility: 9 (Average)

  Intelligence: 18 (High)

  Perception: 25 (Awakened - Rank 9 Potential)

  [Assets]

  Truth Points: 500

  Cash Balance: $5,000,000

  [Skills]

  Seer Eye (Passive): View Truth Percentage and Hidden Identity.

  Voice of Judgment (Active - Lvl 1): When stating a proven Truth, the target suffers "Mental Break." (Cooldown: 1 hour).

  [Condition]

  Status: Adrenaline Crash.

  "Well?" Amara asked.

  "Perception is twenty-five," Aryan replied. "But Strength is eight. It says 'Below Average.' That's insulting. I haul crates for twelve hours a day."

  Amara whistled low. "Twenty-five at Iron Rank? That's freakish.

  Most Scouts start at ten. You really can see everything. And don't worry about the Strength stat. You're a Seer, not a tank. If you're getting hit, you've already failed."

  "Forget the numbers," Aryan said, gripping the dashboard as she ran a red light. "What is this world? You just killed a man."

  "I killed a Demon," Amara corrected. "And don't look at me like I'm the monster. The war has been raging since the dawn of history. Demons against Hunters. Hunters against Hunters. Demons against Demons."

  "Hunters fight each other?"

  "Everyone fights everyone," Amara said coldly. "Some Demons want chaos.

  Some want peace. Most just want to eat. It's messy.

  The government pretends they have it under control, but they just manage the PR.

  Every night, in every city, there is a war happening in the shadows. That's why Seers are critical. You are the only ones who can tell the difference."

  "So I need to rank up," Aryan said. "How does it work?"

  "Simple," Amara said. "There are Nine Ranks."

  "Iron (Rank 1): You can destroy a wall."

  "Bronze (Rank 2): You can destroy a street."

  "Silver (Rank 3): You can wipe out a village."

  "Gold (Rank 4): I can destroy a city block."

  "And the Monarch?" Aryan asked. "The guy who saved us?"

  "Platinum (Rank 5)," Amara said, her voice dropping. "He could erase this entire state if he sneezed. People like him don't fight battles, Aryan.

  They are walking natural disasters. That's why you don't mess with the Monarchs."

  Aryan swallowed hard. "Sam? You there?"

  "Always," the AI voice drawled in his head.

  "Why does my mission failure penalty say 'Death'?" Aryan whispered.

  "Amara says Seers are valuable. Why would the System want to kill me?"

  Amara slammed on the brakes, the car skidding to a halt in front of Aryan's crumbling apartment complex.

  The sudden stop threw Aryan forward against the seatbelt. He looked out the window. The peeling paint of his building and the flickering streetlight looked even more pathetic next to the glossy finish of the SUV.

  She turned to face him, her expression sharp.

  "Your System says what?"

  "Failure Penalty: Death by Demon Consumption," Aryan repeated.

  Amara frowned. It was the first time she looked genuinely disturbed.

  "That shouldn't happen. Seers are support units. They don't get 'Death Penalties.' Your System is... aggressive. Usually, Systems coddle Seers. Yours sounds like it wants to throw you into a meat grinder."

  "She's right," Sam chimed in. "But hey, diamonds are made under pressure, right kid?"

  "Shut up, Sam," Aryan muttered.

  Amara tapped the steering wheel, thinking. "Listen to me, Aryan. The Demon I killed tonight... Anay. He wasn't working alone. Gluttony Demons pack together. He has brothers, partners, investors."

  Aryan felt the cold reality settle in. "They'll come after me?"

  "They'll come after us," Amara corrected. "You exposed him. I killed him. We're marked."

  She leaned in closer, her amber eyes intense.

  "I have the combat skills to kill them, but I can't find them.

  They hide in the government, the police, the hospitals. You have the eyes to see them."

  "So, what? We just keep doing this?" Aryan asked. "Hunting them?"

  "We don't just hunt," Amara said. "We farm them. You need money. I need Rank. The city is full of monsters wearing Gucci suits. We're going to strip them and take everything they have."

  Aryan looked at her. It sounded insane. It sounded suicidal.

  But then he remembered the Five Million Dollars in his account. He remembered his mother's medical bills.

  He remembered the notices under his door. For the first time in his life, he wasn't the prey. He had a chance to be the predator.

  "Can I trust you?" he asked.

  "You'll know soon enough," she replied with a shrug. She unlocked the doors. "Go home. Pay your bills. Buy a better suit. Meet me at the 'Red Door' café in Bandra tomorrow at noon. And Aryan?"

  He paused with his hand on the door handle.

  "Don't look at anyone's secrets on the way up," she warned. "Ignorance is bliss, and you look like you need a good night's sleep."

  Aryan nodded, stepping out into the humid night.

  As the matte-black SUV drove away, fading into the darkness, Aryan couldn't help himself.

  He looked at the retreating taillights and activated his Seer Eye one last time.

  [Target: Amara]

  [Class: Hunter (Rank Gold)]

  [Hidden Truth: She is Infected.]

  [Curse: Demon Rot (Stage 3)]

  [Estimated Time until Death: 89 Days.]

  Aryan stood frozen in the empty lot.

  She hadn't told him that.

  She wasn't hunting for rank. She wasn't hunting for money.

  She was hunting for a cure.