I Siphon the Dead to Become the Strongest

The world evolved. So did we. And by “evolved,” I don’t mean we grew a third eye or learned to communicate through interpretive dance (though, honestly, that would’ve been preferable). No, we got the full comic-book-ripped-off-the-shelves deal: supernatural powers, freak weather that makes a hurricane look like a gentle breeze, and, of course, the pièce de résistance—giant, glowy fucking gates that puke out monsters like a toddler with a bag of glitter.

My name is Ethan. I was there. Front row seat. VIP pass to the apocalypse. How could I forget? It was my goddamn eighteenth birthday. Talk about a memorable party favor. One second, I’m blowing out candles on a sad, store-bought cake, the next—BAM!—flashbang of light so intense I saw my own skeleton, then total darkness. When the lights came back on? Chaos. Gates. Monsters. Sometimes, just for a change of pace, big-ass stone Towers would pop into existence like giant, deadly mushrooms. Fun times.

Now, we have a new social ladder. Forget doctors, lawyers, or influencers. It’s all about the Rank. From E, the glorified janitors of the new world, all the way up to S, the rock-star demigods who get their faces on billboards and their own branded energy drinks. Guess which rank I am? If you guessed anything above E, you’re a hopeless optimist and you should probably leave. I’m an E-Ranker. A proud, card-carrying member of the “Least Likely to Die a Horrible Death (But Still Totally Could)” club.

And before you ask the obvious, dumb question—“Why are you only E Rank with a power that sounds busted?”—let me explain it to you with the patience of a saint who hasn’t had his coffee yet.

My power is… problematic. I can steal souls. Well, “souls” is a bit dramatic. It’s more like I absorb the essential… monster-ness of a beast I defeat. And then, bingo, I get to borrow one of its abilities. Cool, right? Wrong. It’s the kind of power you give to the brooding, black-clad antagonist who monologues about the futility of life before trying to end it. No shit, Sherlock. I read the same NovelPhoenixs you do. I know the trope. The guy with the soul-stealing power is either A) the final boss, or B) the tragic anti-hero who dies alone under a raining sky after a morally ambiguous sacrifice.

I want neither of those things. I want a cozy life. I want a studio apartment that doesn’t smell of damp and regret. I want to binge-watch terrible dramas and eat instant noodles without a Horned Lupine crashing through my ceiling. Is that too much to ask?

So, I made a rule. A very smart, very sensible rule. I only mess with E-Rank monsters. The small-time stuff. The Gutter Slimes with their Passive: Slightly Enhanced Stickiness. The Mossback Rats with their Passive: Double Jump (Once). The Pebble Crabs with their Passive: Three Times Grip Strength of a Normal Human. That’s my sweet spot. I don’t need to breathe fire or teleport. I just want to open pickle jars with ease and maybe never get tired while running for the bus. A man needs realistic goals.

It’s a good system. E-Rank Gates are relatively harmless (emphasis on relatively), the pay is decent for the low risk, and most importantly, it keeps me the hell away from trouble, attention, and anyone with an S-Rank badge and a savior complex.

Which brings me to now.

Seoul. Or what’s left of it. They rebuilt, of course. Humans are stubborn like that. My particular slice of stubbornness is a gosiwon—a study officetel—in the Mapo district. It’s a room so small that if I stretch my arms, I can touch both walls. It’s perfect.

I was lying in my bed, a thin mattress on a raised platform, staring at the gray morning light bleeding through my single window. Outside, snow was falling. Not a dramatic blizzard, just a lazy, silent drift of fat flakes that coated the grimy city in a temporary, clean blanket. It was peaceful. It was normal. It was the kind of morning that made you forget, for a second, that there was a D-Rank Gate simmering two neighborhoods over and the occasional shriek of something unnatural cutting through the dawn.

My phone buzzed on the floor. I didn’t move. It was probably the Guild dispatch bot. Another day, another E-Rank gate clearance. “Team required for low-threat incursion. Slime-type entities confirmed. Reward: 85,000 KRW. Accept? (Y/N)” My rent was due tomorrow. With a sigh that came from the very depths of my soul—a soul that was, thankfully, still entirely my own—I grunted and rolled over.

The ceiling stared back, a plain white expanse. I’d stolen the Passive Low-Light Vision from a Gloom Bat last month. It made the pre-dawn gloom in my room as clear as day. A useful power for reading in bed without turning on the light. A profoundly useless power for any self-respecting protagonist. I loved it.

“Just a few more hours of quiet,” I mumbled to myself, pulling the scratchy blanket over my head. “No gates, no monsters, no ranking evaluations. Just me, the falling snow, and the sweet, sweet promise of a day spent doing absolutely nothing of consequence.”

The universe, being the colossal dick that it is, heard me. And it, presumably, laughed.

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Hi. It’s me. Your friendly neighborhood gremlin.

First off, thank you for reading. Seriously. You’re the real ones for sticking with this. Comments and feedback are the lifeblood that keeps this corpse moving. Tell me your theories, your rage, your favorite brand of instant noodles—I read it all.

Let’s be real: I’m aiming for two chapters a week. Some weeks I win. Some weeks the void wins. I’m not a machine; I’m a person with a keyboard and a questionable sleep schedule. Patience is a virtue, and I am testing yours.

A Quick Warning:

Ethan is a coward. He’s pragmatic. He will not suddenly become a badass because it’s cool. He will hoard mediocre powers and complain about rent. This is not a power fantasy... it’s a survival simulation with extra sarcasm.

Okay. That’s enough out of me. Back to the words.

Stay safe out there. May your Gates be low-rank and your coffee strong.