Emotion Hunter: System Awakening.

The apartment felt different when Riven pushed open the door.

Not safer. Not warmer. Just… quieter.

Marcus's voice still echoed in his ears...nagging him to rest, to take his meds, to call if anything felt worse.

His friend's concern had been so suffocatingly genuine that it left Riven's chest tight with guilt. Marcus didn't know. Couldn't know. Not yet.

And now, with the door clicking shut behind him, that mask he'd been holding up finally crumbled.

He sagged against the door, head thumping against the cheap wood, breath leaking out in a long sigh. His body ached like he'd been dragged across broken glass....Veil wounds weren't the kind that a doctor could stitch up.

But under the fatigue was something else....like something else was in him.

Like his bones were tuning forks, vibrating on a frequency only he could hear.

"Alright," he muttered into the empty room. "Let's see what surviving hell actually gets me."

And right on cue, his vision exploded.

Panels of emerald light cascaded across his sight, flickering like waterfalls of code that only he could touch.

-----

[Welcome back, Host]

[Unclaimed Rewards Detected]

[Processing Veil Completion Bonus...]

------

Riven's heartbeat picked up. The text rolled past like it had been waiting for him to come home.

------

[QUEST COMPLETE: Survive the First Night]

Objectives Met: Survive 8+ hours in Gray Veil ✓

Bonus Objectives: Eliminate multiple hostiles ✓

Hidden Objective: Demonstrate system mastery under pressure ✓

[Experience Gained: 2,847 XP]

[Level Up! Level 1 → Level 3]

[All Stats Increased]

[New Ability Threshold Reached]

-------

The rush didn't wait.

It slammed into him like lightning in reverse...heat blooming from the center of his chest, racing through his blood, burning in his lungs, searing across his skin until every inch of him buzzed alive.

He staggered forward, caught himself on the peeling wall, and sucked in a sharp breath.

His vision cleared so sharply he could see individual dust motes twirling in the sunlight.

From outside, he could distinguish the low purr of a sedan from the rough rattle of a delivery truck.

His bathroom mirror confirmed what his nerves already knew.

The reflection wasn't a stranger...but it wasn't just him anymore either. His eyes looked the same, but something new smoldered behind them.

His shoulders squared unconsciously. His arms, when he flexed, weren't bulkier...but tighter. Condensed. Like steel cables under skin.

And gods, the way his hands moved...smooth, effortless, like the air itself had turned to water around his fingers.

-----

[Status Update]

Name: Riven Duke

Race: Human

Level: 3

Vitality: 100/100

Strength: 15 (+10)

Agility: 18 (+12)

Intelligence: 12 (+7)

Endurance: 16 (+11)

Titles: "The Rageful Butcher [Novice]" (Equipped)

Ability: Emotion Looting

Sub-Ability: Emotion Manipulation, Spatial Displacement

Survival Points: 15

--------

"H–holy shit…" He turned his palms up, flexing his fingers. The motion was so liquid, so unnervingly precise. "So this is what leveling up feels like?"

Another panel blinked to life.

------

[Basic Veil Crate Available]

[Claim Reward?]

------

His lips curled into a grin. "Yes. Definitely yes."

The room's air warped.

Light gathered in the middle of his one-room apartment, spinning tighter and tighter until it snapped into shape: a small wooden crate, maybe the size of a shoebox.

Old. Carved with intricate markings that refused to stay still when his eyes traced them.

Silver clasps locked it tight, and the whole thing hummed faintly, like it was alive.

"Okay…" Riven crouched, hand hovering over it. "If you sprout teeth and bite me, I'm gonna tweak."

Nothing. Just the low hum.

So he unclasped it.

The lid hissed open...and his breath caught.

Nestled in black velvet was not junk, not potions, not random junk loot.

A weapon.

At first, it looked underwhelming: just a plain metal rod, maybe two feet long. But when his fingers closed around it...

The surface shifted. Flowed.

Like liquid mercury answering his pulse.

The weight was perfect. Too perfect. Not heavy, not light, just right...like it had been forged for his grip alone.

------

[Weapon Acquired: Resonance Blade]

Rarity: Unique

Type: Emotion-Responsive Adaptive Weapon

Durability: Self-Repairing

Base Attack: Variable

Forms Available:

*

Fear Form – "Whisper Twins": Twin daggers. +Speed. +Evasion. Silent strikes.

*

Rage Form – "Devastator": Battle axe. +Raw Power. +Armor Penetration. Area damage.

*

Determination Form – "Piercer": Spear. +Reach. +Precision. Thrust attacks.

*

Current Emotional Resonance: Neutral (Rod Form)

-------

Riven nearly dropped it. "You respond… to emotions?"

The rod pulsed faintly. Waiting.

He bit his lip, heart racing. "Alright. Let's test this theory."

He closed his eyes, dredging up a memory.

The goblins. Their claws. The stink of damp stone and the choking fear that had nearly frozen his lungs.

Fear slithered up his spine...

And the rod split in two.

Metal stretched, curved, sharpened.

Twin daggers gleamed in his hands, sleek and cruel, edges drinking in the light like shadows...if it were given a form.

He gave one a twirl and gasped.

They were weightless. Balanced. Perfect for slipping between ribs in the dark....he thought....but could he do it...that's the question...

He exhaled, letting the memory fade.

Another surfaced...the pain. The fury. The thought of his family lost, trapped in a place he couldn't reach. Rage boiled.

The daggers liquefied, flowing together, expanding outward until he nearly stumbled from the weight.

A battle axe.

The Devastator.

Its edge was wide enough to fell trees, its heft radiating raw, animalistic power.

His muscles thrummed, begging him to swing, to break, to cleave.

Just holding it made his teeth grit with primal violence.

His chest heaved.But....He had to push the fury down. Replaced it with something quieter.

Resolve.

The determination that had kept him breathing through two years of grief.

The vow he'd whispered to the dark nights when no one could hear: I will get them back.

The axe compressed. Elongated.

Seven feet of spear.

A blade that gleamed with almost holy sharpness, the point humming as if reality itself bent away from its edge.

This was precision made manifest. Not speed. Not brutality. But Pure, unshakable intent.

Riven stared, breathless. "Incredible…"

The spear folded back, shrinking down until the neutral rod pulsed once more in his grip. Silent. Patient.

He tore his gaze back to the crate. More loot waited inside:

------

[Minor Health Potion x3] – Restores 50 Vitality instantly

[Ration Pack x2] – High-energy food for Veil exploration

[Veil Compass] – Points toward nearest dimensional rifts within 5km

[System Manual Fragment] – Basic info on Emotion Looting mechanics

-------

The potions were sealed in glass vials, glowing faintly like ruby syrup....at least it looked better than the Minor elixir he had...right?..

The rations looked standard military issue....compressed, calorie-dense, probably tasted like chalk.

The compass was brass, its needle twitching wildly before settling northeast.

But the fragment…

Riven froze.

It wasn't digital. Not green text. Not synthetic paper.

It was a parchment.

Real parchment. Neat handwriting curling across faded ink.

"Emotion Looting is not theft...it is symbiosis. The wielder does not steal what others feel, but rather creates a temporary bridge of understanding.

Through this bridge, emotional energy can flow from target to host, providing power while offering the target relief from overwhelming feelings..."

Riven's brow furrowed. Relief? That wasn't what he'd seen.

The goblins hadn't looked "relieved." They'd looked gutted, weakened, confused....they even had terror written on their faces....And his own fear… it had vanished. Torn away. Not shared!!.

The fragment went on:

"Advanced practitioners learn that emotion looting can become emotion gifting. A master of this art can take on the fears of allies, the despair of the wounded, the rage of the innocent....transforming negative emotions into strength while granting peace to those who suffer..."

"What the hell…?"

This wasn't the same ability his system had described. Was this a different version? A lost version?

A warning blinked across his vision.

------

[System Alert]

[Manual Fragment Integration Available]

[Warning: Fragment contains unverified techniques]

[Integration may alter current ability parameters]

[Accept Integration? Y/N]

-------

Riven's pulse hammered. His own system was admitting that this could change him....fundamentally....

Before he could even process, another notification slammed down on him...

-------

[Confidant Protocol Update]

[Time Remaining: 48 hours, 17 minutes]

[Recommended Action: Locate trusted individual for system disclosure]

[Warning: Continued isolation may result in psychological fragmentation]

-------

His stomach dropped.

"Psychological fragmentation?!"

That sounded a hell of a lot worse than "take your vitamins."

As if mocking him, his phone buzzed.

Marcus.

How are you feeling? Any weird symptoms from the accident? (Marcus)...

Riven's throat tightened. Weird symptoms. If Marcus only knew....

If he knew that "weird" meant supernatural healing, emotion-theft, and weapons that bent to his moods.

He typed back with trembling thumbs: Feeling better. Resting like the doctor ordered.

The reply came instantly....:

Good. Something's been bothering me about your story though. Can we talk tomorrow? (Marcus).

Ice ran through his veins.

Marcus was suspicious.

His system was demanding disclosure.

And all the while, his family was still somewhere out there, swallowed by the Veil.

His eyes drifted to the Resonance Blade resting on his table, its surface calm, waiting for it's master's decision.

To the compass needle twitching northeast.....that's the direction of the nearest Veil....

To the fragment promising a power that felt more like salvation than theft.

Forty-eight hours.

Forty-eight hours to choose who to trust.

Forty-eight hours before isolation itself began to peel his mind apart.

The night outside stretched wide and endless, but the clock was already ticking.

And in that silence, Riven whispered to the weapon that pulsed faintly in response:

"…time's running out. So what the hell am I supposed to do?"