They Called Me Trash? Now I'll Hack Their World

{Third Person POV}

---

The air tore open with a violent, high-pitched screech.

Rolf crashed out of the spatial portal, hitting the unforgiving stone floor of the eighth floor with bone-rattling force.

He tumbled aggressively through the dirt, his momentum finally stopping as he slammed into the base of a massive stalagmite.

"Gah!" he cried out, clutching his right shoulder. Fresh, hot blood poured through his fingers, staining his tattered leathers.

Edric’s blade had punched clean through the muscle and scraped the bone, a brutal reminder of the monster he had just narrowly escaped.

Immediately, three hooded figures broke from their stations and rushed toward him, their hands glowing with restorative mana.

"Zero-One! You’re injured, let us—"

"Get away!" Rolf snarled, his voice a vicious, guttural bark that completely shattered his usual meek persona.

He batted their hands away with his good arm, grinding his teeth as he forced himself up onto his knees, and then his feet.

He swayed for a second, his breath coming in sharp, ragged hisses, before he finally stabilized.

He looked out over the cavern. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

This was it. The true staging area. The chamber was impossibly vast, illuminated not by torches, but by the sickly, pulsating crimson light of a colossal, star-shaped transmutation circle carved directly into the bedrock.

The intricate runes forming the outer rings were filled with a bubbling, luminescent liquid that reeked of iron and ozone.

Dozens of cultists knelt along the outer edge of the massive formation, their heads bowed, swaying rhythmically as they chanted a low, dissonant harmonic that made the very air vibrate.

The ambient mana in the room was so thick it felt like breathing water.

Rolf watched the glowing runes slowly inching toward the center of the star.

Good, he thought, pressing a hand tightly against his bleeding shoulder. It’ll be done soon.

He turned his back to the ritual, limping over to a shadowed alcove away from the chanting.

With a trembling, bloodstained hand, he reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a jagged, perfectly clear communication crystal.

He squeezed it, channeling his mana. The crystal flared with an icy blue light.

"Report, Zero-One," a cold, mechanically distorted voice echoed from the gem.

"The sensors indicate your ambush team has been neutralized. The surface party is still advancing."

Rolf swallowed hard, leaning his back against the cool stone wall. "The plan was flawless," he hissed, his voice tight with pain and frustration.

"The ambush was perfectly timed. But there were two anomalies I couldn’t account for."

"Anomalies?"

"A kid," Rolf spat, the image of Jin’s terrifying, black-sparking blade flashing in his mind.

"A supposed D-Rank, but he possesses some kind of mutated, volatile dark lightning affinity. And the other... the swordsman, Edric."

Rolf’s voice dropped to a terrified whisper. "He’s a Demon Hunter."

Silence hung over the crystal for a long, agonizing moment. And the temperature around the gem seemed to plummet.

"A relic of the Purge," the superior finally replied, the distortion failing to hide a flicker of genuine venom.

"That complicates things. But the ritual is in its terminal phase. It cannot be interrupted. The vanguard is expendable. You are not. Hold the line, Zero-One. Eradicate the anomalies, or do not return."

The connection severed, the blue light dying instantly.

Rolf squeezed the dead crystal until its jagged edges cut into his palm. "Understood," he whispered to the empty air.

He shoved the crystal away, his chest heaving.

I won’t fail. I can’t.

He had played the trembling coward for entirely too long, had smiled and bowed and scraped, swallowing his pride every single day.

He wouldn’t let anyone get in his way now. After all the blood he had spilled, after all the agonizing sacrifices he had made, he absolutely refused to let it all go in vain.

He looked back at the kneeling cultists.

They weren’t mindless beasts. As he walked past them, he could hear the desperate, fractured whispers cutting through the overarching chant.

"For the ones left in the dirt," a woman in a ragged cloak murmured, tears cutting tracks through the grime on her face.

"We will balance the scales," an older man beside her rasped, his eyes completely hollow, staring into the crimson light as if searching for a ghost.

They were desperate. They were the broken remnants of a society that only cared for power and nobility.

Rolf closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the cavern wall.

Instantly, the darkness of his eyelids was replaced by a sunlit memory.

A beautiful face, framed by soft brown hair, looking down at him with an exasperated but incredibly warm smile.

"You worry too much, little brother. I’ll be fine. Just stay here and keep the fire going."

The memory violently violently warped. The sunlight bled out, replaced by the cold, unforgiving grey of the capital’s cobblestone streets.

The same beautiful face. But her eyes were glassy and vacant, staring sightlessly up at the rain.

Her throat was a ruined, bloody mess. And standing over her shattered body were three men draped in immaculate, pristine silk... high nobles, completely untouchable by the law.

One of them was laughing, casually wiping a speck of his sister’s blood off his expensive leather boot. He tossed a meager handful of silver coins onto her corpse.

"Clean this up," the noble had ordered the city guard, stepping over her like she was nothing but trash.

In the dark of the dungeon, Rolf’s eyes snapped open.

A single tear streaked down, mixed with the sweat on his cheek, but his expression was completely devoid of sorrow.

It was a mask of pure, apocalyptic hatred. He clenched his fists, completely ignoring the tearing agony in his stabbed shoulder.

"I’ll destroy you all," Rolf vowed, his voice a low, vibrating promise of death. "Every last one of you bastards."

He stepped out of the alcove, his posture straightening.

"Listen to me!" Rolf roared, his voice cutting cleanly over the chanting.

Dozens of hooded heads snapped up to look at him.

"The enemies are coming!" Rolf commanded, drawing his remaining poisoned dagger.

"Funnel them into the grand archway! I want suppression glyphs carved into the choke points, and the artillery mages positioned on the high ground! Flood the entrance with neurotoxin mist!"

The cultists moved with terrifying, fanatical synchronization.

Rolf walked to the center of the defensive line, staring down the long, dark corridor that led back to the upper floors.

He twirled the dagger in his hand, a cold, empty smile slowly stretching across his face.

Come on, then. Step into the slaughterhouse. I’ll finish you all, once and for all.