Isekai Murim In The Apocalypse

Aziel's eyes fluttered open, and he coughed, spitting out dust as his breath hitched. His vision swam, slowly adjusting to the dim light filtering through the air.

Above him, a jagged hole yawned wide, its edges crumbling slightly as moonlight poured in. That was where he had fallen from. And if the monster was still up there—

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself upright, his body protesting with sharp aches. He surveyed the chamber surrounding him, its vast emptiness stretching in every direction.

"Did I fall through the foundation?"

Despite the depth, the space wasn't as dark as expected. A strange red glow pulsed from an adjoining room, casting flickering shadows against the fractured walls.

"What the… there's light down here?"

A small voice in his head urged him to stay put, to wait for help. But this was District 8—where collapsed buildings were routine, and rescue efforts were rarely swift.

If anything, another monster was more likely to find him first.

He had no choice. The only path forward was the ominous crimson light beckoning him deeper.

Swallowing his fear, he took a tentative step, pain lancing through his limbs with every movement. His legs wobbled, but he pressed on, limping toward the glow. He passed beneath a crumbling archway and stepped into the source of the illumination.

His breath hitched.

The room was empty yet alive. Symbols—ancient, alien—crawled along the stone walls, pulsing with unnatural energy. They bathed the chamber in an eerie glow, shifting as if they were breathing.

Aziel's fingers twitched at his side. "They're not LEDs… not electrical..."

Cautiously, he extended a hand, brushing his fingertips against one of the markings.

A sharp hiss escaped his lips as he recoiled, cradling his hand. The symbol had burned him; the surface was scalding to the touch.

Whatever these runes were, they weren't ordinary.

He exhaled, steadying himself. He could puzzle it out later. Right now, he needed to find a way out.

Pushing forward, he limped into the next room.

Here, the glowing symbols stretched beyond the walls, covering the floor beneath him. But what drew his eye was the pedestal at the center—standing alone amidst the sea of pulsating runes.

Atop it rested a key.

Aziel furrowed his brow. A golden key glowed with a rhythmic pulse, like a heartbeat.

"A… key?"

His instincts screamed at him to leave it alone. Everything about this place felt deliberate, intentional. And yet, how could he ignore it? There were no doors, no passages leading anywhere else. If this place was underground, there should have been tunnels, exits—something.

But there was nothing. Just this chamber. And the key.

"There are so many things wrong with this…" he muttered, hesitating before reaching forward.

The moment his fingers closed around the key, a jolt rushed up his arm—a static hum, making his hair stand on end. His muscles tensed, heart hammering. He braced for a trap, an ambush—something.

But nothing happened.

His breath left him in a slow exhale. He turned the key over in his palm. "So… it's not a trap?"

With renewed determination, he began searching the chamber for a keyhole. He ran his hands along the walls, rapping his knuckles for any hollow sound, any hidden mechanism.

Nothing.

His frustration mounted. "Shit… am I really stuck down here?" He slumped against the wall, exhaustion pressing against his shoulders. "It's getting late…"

Minutes dragged into an hour. Despair crept into his thoughts, the fear of starving down here gnawing at him.

Then—

"Hello? Is anyone down there?"

The voice was distant but real. Aziel jolted upright, heart pounding. He scrambled toward the first room, peering up through the broken ceiling.

Silhouettes loomed against the dim moonlight.

"Hey, kid, you still breathing?"

The voice was rough, worn like old leather, but not unkind. It cut through the heavy silence, grounding him.

Aziel tried to respond, but his throat was parched. All he managed was a hoarse, "Yeah!"

More murmurs above. Boots scraped against concrete. Then—

"Hang tight. District 8's taken enough lives this week."

A rope unfurled from the opening, its sturdy braid glinting faintly. Aziel recognized the fibers instantly—reinforced monster-hide. Hunter's gear.

His fingers trembled as he grasped it. "I—" His voice cracked. "I can't climb. I'll loop it around my waist. Can you pull me up?"

A pause. Then: "Alright. Make sure it's tight—double knot."

Fumbling, Aziel secured the rope. "Ready."

"On three." Above, boots shifted. "One. Two. Pull!"

The ascent was brutal. The rope yanked at his ribs, every scrape against jagged debris sending fresh pain slicing through him. He bit down on a cry, forcing himself to endure. Every agonizing inch brought him closer to the surface.

At last, his fingers hooked over the ledge. Strong hands grabbed him, hauling him out into the open air.

Aziel collapsed onto solid ground, gulping in deep breaths of the cool night air—crisp and clean, free of dust and despair.

"I actually made it out…"

Four hunters stood before him, their gear bearing the wear of countless battles. The oldest, the one who had called to him, bore a network of scars that twisted his face into a permanent half-smile.

Beside him, a woman with cropped gray hair studied a glowing tablet, its screen flickering with heat signatures. Two younger hunters stood behind them, securing their equipment.

"Good thing we were running our sweep," the scarred man said, his sharp eyes assessing Aziel. "Saw the collapse. Figured there might be survivors."

The woman snorted. "Speaking of which—the Bloodhound's trail led here. You see anything, kid?"

Aziel hesitated. "Oh, about that…"

He recounted his fight—the desperate struggle, the way he had managed to kill the creature. It felt right to tell them, since they had saved his life.

But he kept the key—and the strange chamber—to himself.

As he spoke, the hunters exchanged glances. The woman arched a brow but remained silent.

"That's pretty much it. Thanks for the help, but I need to go."

He turned, but the scarred man—Mark—called after him.

"Hey, kid. How old are you?"

"Twelve," Aziel answered.

Mark and the woman, Tabitha, exchanged looks. Disbelief flickered in their eyes, but Aziel didn't wait to hear their thoughts. He had already lingered too long.

As he limped into the night, the wind carried their words behind him.

"Even if it's just an F-Rank beast, for a twelve-year-old to kill a Labyrinth Beast…"

Tabitha's voice faded as Aziel disappeared into the darkness.