The Gangway Tyrant
Zeon stared at the hourglass cradled in his palm.
“What the hell is this?”
He hadn't picked it out of spite or chance.
From the moment he'd stepped into that cluttered room, a strange pull had tugged at him.
And at the heart of it was this hourglass.
Smaller than his hand, it was etched with delicate patterns.
In a world that hadn't gone to shit, collectors would've fought over it.
Zeon flipped the hourglass. Fine sand trickled down smoothly.
“About ten minutes?”
That was how long it took for all the sand to drain.
One flip equaled ten minutes of flow.
A subtle surge of vitality coursed through his body.
“Seriously, what is it? Something tied to my awakening?”
Zeon flipped it again.
The sand particles fell once more.
Come to think of it, they were unusually fine.
Finer and redder than the endless crimson desert sands outside.
He'd never seen sand like this.
Just in case, Zeon tested his ability on the hourglass.
If it was really connected to him, maybe it'd react.
Move.
He commanded the red sand inside. But it just fell indifferently.
Zeon focused harder, trying again. Same result.
“Fuck! Was I imagining it?”
He shoved the hourglass into his pocket irritably.
It was traded for a precious magic stone, after all.
Couldn't toss it just because it didn't obey.
Zeon figured the day had started off shitty enough. But the real hell was just beginning.
Back at his lodging, a man was waiting for him.
Huge build, vicious face.
Scars covered his face and bare upper body, proof of a brutal life.
Their eyes met, and the man spoke.
“You the greenhorn who showed up yesterday?”
“Yeah! Who the hell are you?”
“You little shit! Why the fuck weren't you at the mine this morning?”
“What're you—”
“You come to work, you haul ass to the mine! You think I, Park Man-ho, gotta drag my ass here to fetch you? You bastard!”
The man's name was Park Man-ho.
An E-rank Awakener, overseer of the mine.
The magic stone mine city ran on two pillars: the core mine itself, and the guards handling city ops and defense.
Park Man-ho ran the mine—deploying miners into the shafts, managing every stone they dug.
He was one of the top five powers in the mine city.
Zeon tried to explain.
“No one called me or anything...”
“Hilarious little fuck. Who needs to call you? You show up to work, you figure it out yourself.”
“But still—”
“Shut it and follow me, punk! Don't make me think twice...”
Park Man-ho was a mine city veteran.
He'd seen it all, knew exactly how to break people efficiently.
Handling rookies like Zeon was child's play.
Not just him—everyone here was the same.
Piranhas circling drowned prey.
Easy meat? They'd swarm, gnaw to the bone.
To them, Zeon was prime bait.
Zeon got it now.
From Clexy the old fart to Park Man-ho, they were all soaked in greed.
Problem was, no way out of their grip yet.
Couldn't reveal his awakening publicly, couldn't defy Park Man-ho outright.
And no time to scheme.
They weren't giving him a second to breathe.
Zeon cursed his luck.
He wanted to hole up, skip the mine—but knew it was impossible.
Once in the mine city, defying Park Man-ho wasn't an option.
Plus, the guy was an E-rank Awakener.
His wrist rank badge screamed it: martial type.
Common as dirt, but not to be fucked with.
They countered raw power best.
Way beyond what Zeon could handle now.
Goddamn! The overseer himself hunting me down.
If the bus had made it intact yesterday, no issue.
Plenty of recruits; one missing wouldn't ping.
But they all died to the sandworm. Just Zeon left.
Standing out was inevitable.
Zeon hesitated, and Park Man-ho's eyes darkened.
“This little shit!”
Crack!
Park Man-ho backhanded him.
“Gah!”
Zeon flew back with a cry.
Park stomped him mercilessly.
“Told you not to think, you bastard! Huh?!”
Thud! Thump!
Zeon couldn't even scream, just took it.
Awakening dulled the pain more than expected.
Could've fought back, maybe.
But he endured.
Not the time to rebel.
Time to bide, build strength.
Revenge could wait.
Zeon curled like a shrimp, absorbing every blow.
Once sated, Park stopped.
“Think or talk back once more, you're dead for real. Got it?”
“Yes!”
“Then move.”
Park strode off without waiting.
Zeon staggered up, followed silently.
Grind!
He gnashed his teeth.
Face a wreck, body bruised bloody.
Awakening kept him upright; pre-awakening, he'd be bedridden days.
Staring at Park's back, Zeon thought:
Everyone else, maybe. But you? You're dead by my hand.
Park ignored the wounds.
Miners were consumables here.
Use 'em up, toss when worn or broken.
No need to baby them.
He dragged Zeon to the shaft entrance.
A miner waited there.
Park barked:
“Gear him up.”
“Got it.”
The miner hurriedly handed Zeon a pickaxe, helmet with lamp, backpack of rations for days.
Park said:
“Pick and food come outta your daily pay. Stuff stones in the pack when you dig.”
“That's it? No how-to on mining?”
“Fuck! Gotta learn pickaxe? Just swing down hard.”
Park's voice rose again.
The miner who'd geared Zeon backed off, spooked.
Park's nickname: Gangway Tyrant.
Step wrong? Violence.
All miners feared him.
Zeon was dumbfounded.
Shoving him in blind was bad enough—no basics?
This was a death sentence.
Park to miner:
“Throw this punk in 972.”
“972? That's the...”
“No backtalk. Do it.”
“Yes sir!”
Miner grabbed Zeon's hand.
“C'mon.”
“Huh? Yeah!”
Thus, utterly unprepared, Zeon entered the shaft.
Park yelled from behind:
“You! Don't think of coming out till you mine stones. Remember that.”
Something boiled in Zeon's chest.
That fucking bastard...
He swore: power gained, Park dies.
Zeon now grasped the mine's rules.
No allies here.
Weak or easy? Devoured.
Trust no one, guard everyone.
He blamed his brief complacency post-arrival.
Steeling himself, Zeon trudged the tunnel.
Even at the start, it was cramped.
Man-powered digging, no machines—had to be tight.
The miner spoke:
“Blame bad luck. Boss in a shit mood when you crossed him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Lost his ass at the casino.”
“Casino here?”
“Not just that—whores, booze, drugs. Everything. Friendly heads-up: stay clear. Hard work just fattens others.”
Miner'd been here five years.
All his crew broken or dead.
Strong will? Atmosphere crushes quick.
“Wanna save and leave? Stay sharp.”
“What's 972 like?”
“You'll see.”
Miner dodged.
Zeon sensed instinctively: bad place.
Shit!
Flee now? Tempting, but no.
Endless desert outside.
Bail rash? Bake alive.
First, grow power.
Events too fast—no self-test yet.
Alone, check ability. Then plan.
Endless forks ahead.
Miner taught:
“Look close: arrows carved. Red down, blue up. Exit? Blue only. Got it?”
“Yes!”
Felt hundreds meters deep.
Miner halted.
“972.”
Zeon eyed the indicated tunnel.
Thick darkness inside rippled, beckoning.
“Work in there.”
“Feels off.”
“Four already died inside. Careful.”
“Died how?”
“Dead. That's it.”
“What?”
“No one knows why. All assigned die. Nobody volunteers for 972. Boss dumped newbie you.”
“Fuck!”
Zeon gaped. Miner looked sympathetic.
He felt guilty shoving young Zeon in. But powerless.
Just a grunt following orders.
“Hope you come out alive.”
With that, miner left for his shaft.
Alone, Zeon faced 972.
“All died coming out? Stuck me here just 'cause he's pissed? Park Man-ho, you will die by my hand.”