System Error: The Wrong Survivor

I dragged the heavy crate of enchanted ammunition across the dusty staging yard, my shoulders burning under the straps. The metal edges dug into my palms, already raw from hours of hauling gear for people who barely glanced my way.

"Move it faster, porter!" a voice barked from somewhere behind me. I didn't even turn to see who it was, just kept dragging.

A group of elite hunters clustered near the gate's massive arch, their armor gleaming under the harsh floodlights. They laughed loud, voices carrying easy over the chaos.

"Did you hear? Once we clear this Abyss Gate, the rewards alone will set us up for life," one said, a tall woman with a scar across her cheek. "Headlines in every guild feed. 'Veridian Team Conquers the Unconquerable.'"

Her buddy, a burly guy loading his own pack, snorted. "Forget the money. The Association will throw S-Rank promotions at us. Imagine the contracts rolling in after this. No more scraping by on C-Rank trash."

"Yeah, and the girls," another chimed in, grinning wide. "They'll be lining up. 'Oh Kain, tell us how you did it.'"

I kept my head down, muscles screaming as I dropped the crate beside their pile of supplies. My back ached like fire, blisters popping open on my hands again. Twenty-two years old and this was it. Hauling shit so real hunters could chase glory.

The woman wiped sweat from her brow. "This gate's been killing teams for years. But us? We'll be the ones who make it. The Abyss won't know what hit it."

"Damn right," the burly one said, slapping his chest. "Our systems are maxed. Gravity manipulation, fire storms, you name it. That dungeon's just another notch."

I straightened up slow, wiping my bloody palms on my worn porter vest. No one looked at me. Not once. I was furniture. A pack mule with a pulse. The yard buzzed with prep, hunters shouting orders, gates humming with that weird energy, but I moved through it like a ghost.

My chest tightened. This was the big one. The Abyss Gate. Rank-S forbidden. Everyone who went in before never came out. And here I was, volunteering to carry their crap straight into it. Because what else was there? Another year of this? Invisible. Disposable. Nothing.

I grabbed the next crate, smaller but heavier with mana crystals, and started dragging it toward the team lead's spot. My legs shook a bit. The air felt thicker near the gate, like it pressed down on my ribs, whispering something I couldn't quite hear.

One of the hunters near me muttered to his friend, "Porter's actually coming along? Bold. Most smart ones bail on suicide runs."

"Eh, cheap labor," the friend replied with a shrug. "He'll carry the extras till he drops. Saves us stamina."

I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood. They talked like I wasn't two feet away. My name? Elias Verne. But to them, I was just "porter." No system screen. No stats. No skills. Just a normal guy in a world full of Awakened gods.

The realization hit me then, sharp as a blade in the gut. If I died in there, and I probably would, no one would remember my name. No headlines. No mourning. Just another faceless body the guild would shrug off. "Lost a porter. Next."

My hands trembled on the crate handles. I kept moving anyway. What choice did I have? Live like this forever, or die trying for something bigger. Even if it was stupid. Even if it hurt.

"Hey, you. Porter kid."

The voice cut through the noise. Deep, confident. I looked up.

Team Leader Kain Veridian stood there, arms crossed over his broad chest. He was everything I wasn't, tall, built like he owned the world, with sharp eyes that had seen too many gates. His gravity manipulation made him an S-Rank legend at just twenty-six. Silver streaks in his dark hair from some old fight. He looked at me like I was an afterthought, but at least he was looking.

I straightened, heart pounding. "Yes, sir?"

Kain tilted his head, sizing me up. The other hunters went quiet, watching with half-smiles. "Why the hell did you volunteer for this? Most porters hear 'suicide mission' and run the other way. You got a death wish or something?"

The words stuck in my throat at first. The crate felt heavier than ever. I swallowed, meeting his eyes even though my stomach twisted. Around us, the staging yard kept moving, shouts for more ammo, someone cursing a jammed strap, but it all faded a bit.

"Because..." My voice came out rough, honest in a way that surprised even me. "Dying trying to do something impossible feels better than living as nothing."

Kain stared for a second. Then he laughed. Not mean, exactly. Not warm either. Just this low, dismissive chuckle that rolled out like I’d told a mildly funny joke at the wrong party.

The sound hit me hard. My fists clenched at my sides, nails digging into the fresh blisters. Something inside my chest twisted tight, like a wire snapping under too much pull. Heat rushed to my face. The other hunters snickered along, one muttering, "Kid's got jokes."

Kain shook his head, still grinning that easy grin. "Try not to slow us down, alright? Stay out of the way, carry the shit, and maybe you'll make it far enough to see us win."

He turned back to his team without another word, barking orders about formation. "Alright, people. Gate opens in ten. Let's make history."

I stood there, the crate forgotten at my feet. My breath came short. That laugh echoed in my head, mixing with all the years of being stepped over, ignored, treated like I didn't exist. The humiliation burned low in my gut, sharp and alive. No one saw it. No one cared.

But I felt it. That snap. Like whatever tiny hope I'd been holding onto finally broke clean in two.

The gate started humming louder, energy crackling along its edges. Hunters moved into position, laughing and slapping backs. I picked up the crate again, muscles protesting, but my mind raced somewhere darker.

We were going in. And for the first time, part of me wondered if dying really would feel better... or if this nothing inside me would just follow me all the way to the end.