Ethan opened his eyes slowly. The bright fluorescent lights overhead made him squint, and the antiseptic smell in the air tickled his nose. The room was spotless—clean white walls, polished tiled floor, and a gentle hum from the overhead AC. The kind of hospital that didn't feel like it belonged to a public ward. It looked expensive, too polished, too pristine.
He groaned, trying to sit up, but his body protested immediately. His chest was tightly wrapped in white bandages, and every muscle ached like he'd gone through a meat grinder. His head felt heavy—like someone had stuffed it with wet sand.
The door opened, and two men in black suits walked in. They looked serious, like they belonged more in a crime drama than a hospital room. One of them stepped forward.
"Ethan Cross?" the man asked in a gravelly voice. He had the look of someone who'd been in the force for decades—rough around the edges, but sharp behind the eyes. "I'm Marcus. Apologies for the timing. I know you just woke up, but I need to ask you a few questions. Standard procedure after a dungeon incident, especially one like yours."
Ethan blinked slowly. "Sure," he mumbled, voice raspy. "I'll try to answer."
Marcus nodded, flipping open a small notebook. "What happened in there?"
Ethan swallowed. The memory felt distant, like a dream clawing at his mind. "There was... a city. Inside the dungeon. Not ruins. A whole city. And a monster—a humanoid beast. It talked. In our language."
Marcus raised an eyebrow.
"I was sure I died," Ethan muttered. "That thing... it killed everyone. I don't even remember how I made it out. One second I was bleeding out, the next... I was here."
Marcus closed his notebook with a soft snap. "We don't have all the details yet, but based on your condition and the scan records, it's a miracle you survived. You should visit the evaluation building once you're discharged. With what you've been through, you might qualify for a contract."
The two men turned and left, leaving Ethan blinking after them.
A soft chime echoed in his head.
[System Message: You have successfully evolved into: Lesser Undead.]
[Welcome back, Hunter. This marks the beginning of your new path.]
[Please input a username to complete system synchronization.]
Ethan stared at the message. No voice, just clean, robotic text floating in the air before his eyes.
Undead? What the hell? he thought. Am I... actually dead? Is this some kind of afterlife software?
Before he could think further, the door burst open and a familiar voice shouted, "ETHAN!"
His aunt rushed in and pulled him into a tight hug. Her voice cracked with relief. "Oh my God, I thought you were gone! What happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Are you in pain? What were you even thinking going into a dungeon like that?!"
Ethan chuckled weakly. "Geez, one question at a time, Auntie. I've been dead for like, two weeks. Cut me some slack."
She smacked his shoulder—hard.
"AAH!" Ethan winced, pain shooting through him. "Ow, okay! I felt that! Guess I'm alive."
"You've been asleep for two weeks," she said, sitting on the edge of the bed, her eyes still glassy with worry. "They tried everything, Ethan. Morphine, sedatives, nerve blockers—you name it. Nothing worked. You didn't respond to a single drug during the surgery. It was like your body... rejected everything."
Ethan's smile faltered as something pinged in his mind again.
[System Message: Skill unlocked – Intoxication Resistance: Level 3.]
So that's why... Ethan thought, staring into the air. They pumped me full of every drug they had and it did nothing. And now I've got resistance to it? That's... insane.
His aunt noticed he was drifting again and tapped him on the forehead. "Hey! Earth to Ethan! What's got you spacing out already?"
"Just... weird dreams. Or maybe I'm still dreaming."
Her phone buzzed. She glanced at it, sighed, and hit decline. "It's from work. I'll call them back later."
She hugged him again, gently this time. "I'm glad you're okay. But I can't keep skipping work. I'm heading back. You rest, alright?"
"I will."
She walked to the door, her shoulders a little hunched. As she reached the elevator, she stopped and looked down. I should've stopped him, she thought. I let him go into that dungeon... I knew it felt off.
Guilt clung to her like fog as she stepped into the elevator, the doors sliding shut with a soft ding.
Back in the room, Ethan stared at the floating system message.
[System Message: Please input a username.]
His fingers twitched. The word "Undead" echoed in his thoughts again. If I'm really dead... what comes next?
Verusa Island – Tupaya Police Post – Briefing Room – 3:12 p.m.
The storm hadn't let up. Thunder rolled in the distance like a drumbeat signaling war. The tin roof shook beneath the rain, and inside the police post, the air was thick with silence and disbelief.
Detective Agung Siregar stood still, a red marker in his hand, the jungle map behind him. The officers sat quietly now—no more scoffing. No more tired glances.
Agung tapped the whiteboard beside him. It was no longer just photos of children.
"Look again," he said, tone even. "You were right to assume it started with kids. But it didn't stop there."
He flipped open a folder—dozens of cases, dates scribbled in the top-right corners.
"Fishermen. Hikers. Postal workers. A traveling nurse. No clear connection. Different social groups, different professions, different times of day."
He paused. The red marker squeaked as he drew a slow, tight spiral across the center of the island.
"They all vanished within this radius. No signs of struggle. Phones found outside the forest. Shoes abandoned near the brush. That's not nature. That's planning. And planning is psychological."
Kato's face darkened. "So we were looking at this all wrong... It's not a child predator. It's a patterned hunter."
Agung nodded. "Exactly. We assumed children because they're the easiest to track emotionally. The most noticeable. But when I cross-referenced all missing persons over the last four years, the numbers tripled."
He circled the name on the file: Desra Jamil, 34, nurse.
"She was last seen delivering meds to the other side of the island. Never made it back. You know what else? Her route passed directly through Bukit Lengu."
Someone cursed under their breath. One of the younger officers stood and looked at the whiteboard—his cousin's face was up there. He hadn't realized.
Agung didn't blink. "This isn't myth. It's math. And psychology. Someone up there has built a blind spot in our logic—using our own fear of the unknown against us."
He looked at Inspector Damar. "It's time we stop calling it haunted. And start calling it what it is."
Damar leaned forward, voice quiet. "What do you call it, then?"
Agung didn't hesitate.
"A hunting ground."