Forsaken Hunter-Chapter 4: The Vanishing Gate and the Rising Star

Rain lashed the desolate street, each drop a cold sting against Beno Mark's skin as he stumbled forward.

The flickering streetlights cast weak amber pools across the cracked pavement, their hum a faint pulse beneath the storm's howl.

His silhouette wavered—hunched, broken—his hand pressed tight against his side where blood seeped, warm and sticky, soaking his tattered shirt a deep, wet crimson.

His face was a canvas of torment: sunken eyes glistening with unshed tears, lips trembling in a pained gasp, sweat and rain mingling as they dripped from his dark, matted bangs.

Beno (Inner Monologue): "One more step... come on, just one more... My body's screaming—every muscle, every bone—but it's nothing next to this ache. Renzo... where are you? Are you even alive out there?"

The wind roared, clawing at his clothes, the city's jagged skyline looming like a predator—cold, unyielding, watching him falter with silent disdain.

Each breath burned, a jagged shard slicing his lungs, but he pressed on, driven by a desperate thread of hope fraying at the edges.

Beyond the street, a desolate park stretched into the shadows—skeletal trees reached for the sky, their gnarled branches swaying like mourners in the wind.

A lone streetlamp buzzed, its sickly yellow glow spilling over a weathered bench where an old man sat, undisturbed.

His silver hair caught the light like spun starlight, a crumpled newspaper rustling in his steady hands, the sound a soft whisper against the storm.

Beno (Inner Monologue): "Rest... I need it. My legs are heavy as stone, my chest a furnace ready to collapse. Just... just a moment to breathe..."

His boots scraped the gravel, a rough, uneven rhythm, as he collapsed onto the bench.

The wood groaned beneath him, a tired echo of his own exhaustion.

His breaths came shallow, each one a fight, and he pressed his trembling hand harder against his wound, feeling the warmth pulse beneath his fingers.

The old man didn't stir—his deep-set eyes glinted with quiet wisdom, a calm anchor in the chaos.

Beno's gaze drifted, catching on the newspaper clutched in the man's hands.

The headline screamed in bold, jagged font: "March 20, 2025 - The Unknown Gate Emerges! Hunters Missing Without a Trace!" The ink smudged faintly, as if the words bled dread into the page.

His heart lurched, a frantic drumbeat drowning the storm's wail. Fear coiled in his gut, cold and tight, twisting as he forced the words out.

"Sir..." His voice rasped, raw and hesitant, barely above a whisper. "What... what exactly happened on March 20?"

The old man lowered the paper slowly, his face etched with sorrow and steel, lines carved by years of burdens.

His eyes cut through the dimness, heavy with memory, and his voice rolled out like distant thunder—low, steady, tinged with unease.

"It was a disaster..." He paused, letting the word hang. "A nightmare the world still hasn't shaken off."

He folded the paper with deliberate care, the crinkle sharp against the silence, his hands steady despite the weight in his tone.

"An unknown gate ripped open—nothing like we'd ever seen. Its aura... it wasn't just power. It was alive, suffocating. Even the weakest hunters felt it—ice in their veins, dread sinking into their souls. S-rank gates?" He scoffed softly, a bitter edge creeping in. "Child's play next to this... thing."

The air shifted as memory unfolded—a towering gate loomed in Beno's mind, its edges swirling with inky blackness, tendrils of shadow writhing like serpents hungry for life.

The ground trembled faintly beneath the boots of hunters who stood before it, the air shimmering with a malice that pressed down like a living weight.

Beno (Inner Monologue): "Beyond S-rank...? That's... impossible. Renzo—he always said in his interview that S-rank was the limit, the peak no one could climb past. What could scare him? What could take him from me?"

The old man's voice tugged him back, firm yet grim. "Libeus threw everything at it—117 elite hunters, a force that could shatter an S-rank calamity like glass. And leading them..." A pause, heavy with meaning. "Renzo Mark."

Beno's breath hitched, a sharp stab in his chest. His eyes widened, pupils shrinking to pinpricks, the name a blade twisting deep. His hands trembled, the world tilting as he fought to steady himself.

Beno (Inner Monologue): "Renzo... my brother... No... no, it can't be... Not him..."

"They stepped inside," the old man continued, voice dropping low, "and then... nothing. Vanished. Swallowed whole.

No screams, no blood, no trace—just silence, like the gate erased them from the world."

The flashback gate stood frozen in Beno's mind, its gaping maw an abyss of quiet horror.

The air thickened, oppressive, as if it held its breath, waiting for something—or nothing—to emerge.

"The world lost its mind."

New novel chapters are published on freewёbn૦νeɭ.com.

The old man's tone hardened. "Governments—USA, South Korea, India, Australia—they demanded answers, screaming for control. Scientists swarmed Libeus, poking, prodding... but that gate?" His lips curled faintly, a shadow of disdain.

"It just sat there—silent, mocking us. What was it? Where did it take them? No one knows... and maybe no one ever will."

Beno's fists clenched, knuckles whitening until they ached, the pain grounding him as tears welled, hot and stinging.

They hovered at the edge, threatening to spill, a dam straining under too much weight.

"It's been a week..." His whisper trembled, voice fragile as glass.

"I just... I hope they're okay... Please, let them be okay..."

The old man turned, his gaze softening—a flicker of compassion breaking through the storm in his eyes.

"You've got someone in there... don't you?"

Beno nodded, slow and shaky, his lips quivering. A tear broke free, tracing a glistening path down his dirt-streaked cheek, catching the lamplight like a shard of lost hope.

"My brother..." His voice cracked, barely holding. "He was on that mission."

The old man's face shifted—shock flared, then melted into a deep sadness, a quiet weight settling over him.

"I see..." He paused, voice low. "That's a burden no one should have to bear."

The words unraveled something in Beno. His control shattered—tears flooded his face as he gripped his hair, yanking hard, as if he could tear the pain out by the roots.

"I'm weak!" His shout broke, raw and jagged, echoing through the empty park.

"I'm nothing! I couldn't stop him—I couldn't protect him! And now he's gone!" He choked, sobs clawing free. "I'm not even awakened... how can I save him?

How can I do anything when I'm this... this useless?"

Each cry ripped open a wound, his chest caving under the weight of his own helplessness.

His hands shook, fingers tangled in his hair, breaths hitching as he drowned in despair.

The old man watched, silent but steady, a rock against the torrent.

Then, he leaned closer, his voice cutting through the chaos—low, resolute, a lifeline.

"Listen, young one..." He paused, letting the words sink in.

"Every mighty hunter started as a frail human—just like you."

Beno froze, his tear-streaked face lifting slowly, eyes wide, searching through the haze of grief.

"Strength isn't born."

The old man's tone grew firm, unyielding. "It's forged—in fire, in agony, in the will to keep moving.

Your brother walked his path. Now..." Another pause, sharp and deliberate.

"It's your turn. But tell me—do you have the fire to fight for it?"

Beno stared, the words seeping into his fractured soul. His tears slowed, a faint ember flickering in his gaze—small, fragile, but alive.

He hesitated, breath trembling as he wrestled with the weight.

Beno (Inner Monologue): "Fight... forge it... Can I? After all this—after failing him—can I really become something more? Or am I just... too broken?"

"Power isn't handed to you," the old man pressed, voice a quiet thunder.

"It's a prize you seize. If you want your brother back... stand up. Walk forward—no matter how much it bleeds you dry."

Beno rose, slow and unsteady, wiping his face with a trembling sleeve.

His voice wavered, but a thread of steel wove through it. "Thank you... sir."

He bowed, a shaky gesture, then turned into the shadowed park, steps faltering but deliberate. The old man's hand snapped out, gripping his wrist with surprising strength.

"Wait."

Golden light erupted from the man's fingertips—radiant, warm like a sunrise breaking the night. It washed over Beno, stitching his wounds shut, soothing the fire in his muscles.

His eyes widened, awe painting his face as the pain ebbed away.

"You..." He gasped, voice catching. "You're a hunter?!"

The old man chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that rolled through the stillness.

The glow faded as he leaned back, silver hair glinting faintly. "Long ago, yeah.

An S-rank from China." He shrugged, a wry twist to his lips. "Now? Just an old soul kicking back in the quiet."

Beno (Inner Monologue): "An S-rank... right here, healing me? Who is he? What kind of life leaves a legend on a park bench?"

"Titles are dust now," the old man said, voice softening. "But you... your road's just starting. Walk it with guts, kid."

Beno bowed low, heart pounding with a fragile, newborn resolve.

"Thank you, sir... I swear—I'll get stronger."

The old man's smile was faint, warm, etched with knowing. "I'll be watching. Go... your story's only just begun."

Beno vanished into the night, his figure swallowed by the dark.

A sleek black Rolls-Royce purred up to the curb, its polished surface gleaming like obsidian under the lamplight.

A sharply dressed man stepped out, bowing with crisp reverence.

"Master Wong," he said, voice smooth and deferential, "we've been searching for you."

Wong laughed—a hearty bellow that shook the air, his eyes still tracing Beno's fading trail.

"I was watching something worth seeing."

The man blinked, hesitant. "Sir?"

"A rising star," Wong said, grinning wide. "One that'll burn bright enough to shake this damn world."

Across the city, Luna prowled beneath a flickering neon sign, its harsh buzz clashing with the wind's mournful howl.

Her silver hair whipped wild, sharp eyes scanning the shadows—every alley, every corner. Her jaw was tight, worry etched deep, lines of tension framing her fierce gaze.

Beno (Inner Monologue): "Beno, you reckless idiot... where are you? Don't you dare get yourself killed—not after everything..."

Her phone buzzed, shrill and insistent, cutting through her spiraling thoughts. She yanked it up, voice sharp. "Mora?"

Mora's voice crackled through, tight with panic. "Luna... have you seen Beno Mark?"

"No—why?!" Luna snapped, dread clawing up her spine.

"An unregistered civilian slipped into an E-rank dungeon." Mora's words tumbled fast, breathless. "It's him, Luna. It's Beno."

Luna's world tilted. Her grip tightened, knuckles blanching, fear surging cold and sharp.

"What?!" Her shout cracked, raw with disbelief. "Why the hell didn't you stop him?!"

"That's not the issue!" Mora's voice pitched higher, urgent. "The dungeon—it's changed."

The flashback hit hard—the dungeon gate pulsed, its calm blue glow twisting into a sinister, stormy hue.

The air thickened, crackling with unseen power, a malevolent hum vibrating through the stone.

"It was E-rank when they went in," Mora said, breathless. "But the second they did... it turned dark blue."

Luna's teeth gritted, a growl rumbling low. "That means—"

"Yeah," Mora cut in, grim. "Whatever's inside... it's not E-rank anymore."

Inside the dungeon, a cavern of jagged stone stretched into shadow, its walls slick with moisture, dripping like slow tears.

The air hung heavy—rotting, thick with decay—clinging to Beno as he stood among three hunters.

Their faces were taut, etched with dread, eyes darting as hound-like beasts prowled the edges. Red eyes blazed like hellfire, saliva gleaming on razor fangs, their growls a low rumble that shook the cavern floor.

"This is an E-rank?!" Hunter One's yell broke the tension, voice sharp with panic. "You've gotta be kidding me!"

"No..." The female hunter's voice trembled, barely a whisper. "This... this isn't right..."

Beno's hands shook, sweat slicking his palms, the growls vibrating deep in his chest. His legs locked, rooted to the stone.

Beno (Inner Monologue): "I can't move... my body's begging me to run—screaming it—but I'm stuck. Weak... so damn weak... What am I even doing here?"

A bone-shaking howl ripped through the air, the sound a primal roar that rattled his skull.

From the shadows, a colossal three-headed hound emerged—each maw snarling, fur bristling like spiked midnight, eyes glowing with primal fury.

The ground quaked under its weight, cracks spiderwebbing the stone as it loomed closer.

Beno (Inner Monologue): "That... that's no E-rank... What the hell have I walked into?! I'm not ready—Renzo, I'm not him, I can't—"

The beast lunged—claws slashing, jaws gaping wide in a triple roar.

Time slowed, the world narrowing to the thunder of Beno's heart, his breath a frozen gasp as death barreled toward him.

His mind screamed, torn between flight and the weight of his own failure.

Beno (Inner Monologue): "Renzo... I'm sorry... I couldn't become strong enough—not yet—not ever—"

[TO BE CONTINUED]