The world once knew peace and that peace ended in an instant.
It wasn't war. It wasn't famine. It wasn't anything humans were prepared for.
The sky split open.
There was no warning nor a signs. Just a deafening crack, like the earth itself was being torn apart. Then came the light—blinding, otherworldly—and from it, chaos.
They called them Gates. Massive rifts in space that ripped open across the globe, their swirling cores bleeding impossible energy into our reality. From the Gates poured monsters—towering things of bone, steel, and nightmare. They moved with purpose. They came to destroy.
The first Gate opened above a major city. Within minutes, the streets were a warzone. Creatures unlike anything ever seen descended—hulking beasts with obsidian plates for skin, glowing sigils etched into their limbs, eyes like furnaces. They tore through buildings. Crushed tanks like toys. Screams drowned under the roar of collapsing skyscrapers.
The sky turned black with smoke. The air reeked of ash and something older—like burnt ozone and rotting stone. The ground trembled with every step the monsters took.
Survivors didn't fight back. They ran. Or they died.
In days, governments crumbled. Cities fell. Satellites went dark. Communication stopped. The world as it was, ended.
And then... something even stranger happened.
In the ruins, people began to change.
It started small. A flicker of light only some could see. Visions in dreams—symbols, patterns, voices whispering in forgotten languages. Some felt energy in the air like static. Some saw threads of light stretching between objects, people, even the monsters themselves.
This force—this impossible energy—was named Nexis. It flowed from the Gates like invisible radiation, saturating everything it touched. Unlike radiation, it didn't kill. It rewrote.
Those who could perceive it were called Sensers. But a rare few could do more than perceive. They could control it.
They were called Manipulators.
And they changed everything.
Manipulators were humanity's unexpected counterattack. Their powers weren't uniform—Nexis didn't obey logic. But eventually, they were classified:
Physical Enhancers: Humans whose bodies adapted to Nexis on a cellular level. They could leap across city blocks, shatter walls with their fists, sprint faster than bullets. Every limb became a weapon.
Energy Conjurors: These people bent Nexis into tangible force—flame, ice, lightning, gravity. They were walking disasters. The first known Conjuror accidentally leveled a building with a snap of her fingers.
Specializers: The wild cards. One could step through shadows and reappear miles away. Another could read thoughts with eye contact. Some could stop time—for a heartbeat. Or tear holes in space. Their abilities were rare, strange, and dangerous—even to allies.
But Nexis came with a cost. Not everyone who touched it survived. Not everyone who changed stayed human. Power had a price.
And in some, it awakened something far worse.
In a shattered district once known as West End, smoke curled through what was left of the streets. Fires still burned in the shells of buildings. Sirens had stopped days ago. All that remained was the quiet sound of wind—and death.
A boy stood frozen in the middle of it.
Ash drifted down like snow. Around him lay the wreckage of his life: crushed pavement, broken glass, and the twisted corpses of his parents.
He didn't move.
He couldn't.
The monster that killed them stood just yards away. Its frame was massive—twice the height of a man, armored in jagged black plates. Blood, thick and steaming, clung to its claws. Its eyes glowed faintly red, locked onto the boy with cruel curiosity.
"Mom! Dad!" the boy screamed, the words tearing from his throat, sharp and raw.
The beast tilted its head, as if studying him.
He tried to back away, but his legs betrayed him. They shook beneath him, buckled and collapsed. He hit the ground hard with the breath knocked out of him. Pain flared in his ribs, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered.
He was alone.
He was next.
The creature stepped forward, claws dragging against the pavement with a slow, deliberate screech.
His chest tightened. His arms felt like lead. His breath came in sharp gasps, panic rising with each second.
Run. Fight. Move.
His mind screamed it over and over. But his body was locked in place. Frozen in grief, in terror, in the knowledge that nothing he could do would stop what was coming.
The monster took another step.
A growl rumbled from its throat—a sound like grinding stone and distant thunder.
The boy clenched his fists. Not out of strength. Out of instinct. Rage. Despair. Some small, primal refusal to die quietly.
And then—
Something shifted.
He didn't see it. Didn't understand it.
But for one brief second, the air around him shimmered. Faint lines of light, like threads, danced at the edge of his vision. His skin prickled. The ground beneath his fingers pulsed—like a heartbeat.
The creature paused.
It sniffed the air. Its eyes narrowed.
And then—a blast. Light and sound collided as a spear of energy tore through the monster's chest. It staggered, gave a final wheeze, and collapsed.
The boy didn't see who saved him. Didn't remember being carried out.
When he woke, his world had already changed.
Two Years Later
They called him a Null.
In a world rebuilt around those who could wield Nexis, that word meant one thing: useless.
No one cared that he'd lost his parents. No one cared that he'd survived a monster attack as a kid. All that mattered was what he couldn't do.
He'd taken the tests—dozens. Bloodwork, dreamscans, aura measurements. Nothing. Not a flicker.
Now he worked junker jobs, cleaning up after real warriors—Manipulators who walked past him like gods. And every credit he scraped together went to meds for his sister.
She hadn't awakened either. But worse—she was sick. Mana-sick. Her body rejected the very air they breathed.
Some called it blue rot, others mana fever. It didn't matter. The hospitals wouldn't take her. Not without serious money. Not without power.
And he had neither.