His lungs burned from the inside. Every gulp of air felt like swallowing fire. He ran, ignoring the throbbing pain in his left leg. He glanced down mid-stride—a cut stretched along his calf, bleeding lightly. Luckily, it was shallow. It didn't slow him down, but each step sent a jolt of pain through his body.
Behind him—he'd lost count of how many—ran the creatures that, just a minute ago, had looked like people. Their screams and guttural howls were a mix of pain and hunger. Every footstep on the concrete, every dragging shuffle of a leg, pierced his spine like another blade.
To his left loomed the silhouette of an overturned delivery truck, its cargo spilling from the open back—crushed packages of pasta, plastic bottles of drinks, one still rolling slowly across the ground. Blood trails stretched from the hood to the driver's cabin, but no one was inside. To his right—a burning newsstand, pouring smoke and strange, animalistic shrieks into the air.
Ahead, he spotted something that looked like an unremarkable, shadowed entrance—the outline of an open door in a slightly damaged facade. A shop, likely a grocery store. The glass was cracked but intact. Plastic bags fluttered lazily in the wind, as if nothing had happened. Next to the door lay a toppled metal trash bin, spilling its contents, and above the entrance hung a fragment of a torn sign.
Behind him came a growl—wet and deep, like it was right at his neck. He turned his head and saw more figures emerging from around the building's corner—staggering, twisted. Their numbers grew with every second.
His heart slammed in his chest. No time to think. He lunged forward, reaching the shop entrance. He jumped over the threshold and slammed the door shut behind him, pressing his body against it like he could hold it closed himself.
He glanced around frantically and spotted a shelf of canned goods. He grabbed the side, pulled with all his strength, and toppled it in front of the door, barricading the entrance. For a moment, silence. As if the world was holding its breath with him.
Then—impact. Loud and dull, like a fist hitting sheet metal. Another followed, stronger.
In the darkness between the shelves, a familiar, gentle scent lingered. Vegetables—onion, potato, carrot—mingled with the aroma of bread and spices. Everything smelled surprisingly normal, like this place was still following its old rhythm, completely unaware of the apocalypse outside.
Adam drew a deep breath through his nose, trying to steady his breathing. His heart still pounded, but he was slowly regaining control. He looked at the door, then the window—the makeshift barricade of canned goods looked laughably flimsy against the force those things had shown. If they figured out they could just break the glass, he was done for.
He walked a few steps deeper into the store, breathing more steadily now. Only then, as the adrenaline started to fade, did his eyes register more. Stains.
On the floor. On the shelves. On the walls. Fresh, wet marks. Blood—smeared, dripping in places, as if left just moments ago.
Some were shaped like handprints, others like blast splatters. Near the counter—footprints leading nowhere. As if someone had just... vanished.
He held his breath. A few steps farther, behind one of the shelves, something caught his eye. It was lying there... something. A piece of a body—a severed arm, fingers splayed, a wristwatch still blinking. Right beside it, a child's shoe, with the foot still inside. The blood was fresh, slick, still warm.
His stomach twisted into a knot. His body reacted before his mind could—he bent over and vomited, unable to bear the image burned behind his eyes.
He stayed there for a few seconds, leaning on his knees, trembling, eyes locked on the remains.
"Fuck..." he whispered. "They were people."
Just like those on the bus. They simply... exploded.
He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and slowly stood, bracing himself on a shelf. The taste of bile still lingered in his mouth. The image of the severed arm and the child's shoe refused to leave his mind. He tried to push it away, to cast it out, but it kept coming back—like guilt, like a sign that something deeply human had just shattered.
They were people. Maybe buying bread. Maybe planning dinner. Maybe the kid with the shoe was heading to school.
Thoughts swirled, and he teetered on the edge of something cold and empty. Close to breaking. He wanted to sit down and stay there—just not move, not look, not feel.
But then... another strike sounded from outside. This time louder. Stronger. Then another—faster, as if the attackers had realized it would only take a moment to break through a weak point.
Adam gritted his teeth. Raised his head.
Not now.
This wasn't the time to break down. Not to analyze. Not to ask why people were exploding, why the world was falling apart.
He had one task: survive.
"I have to live... I have to get back..." he whispered to himself, trying to convince himself this wasn't a dream.
Behind him came a soft, irregular scraping. Like something brushing against the shelves, moving through the store slowly, but deliberately. A moment later, the air was pierced by a sound—high-pitched and vibrating. Something between the buzz of an insect and ragged breathing. It sounded like old, rusty shears being forced open. Adam froze. Didn't dare move. Just listened. Something was coming—and it wasn't another street ghoul.
The tension peaked as his gaze followed the ominous buzzing upward. From the ceiling, just above the spice shelf, something moved. First a shadow, then a blurry shape. Hairy legs pushed off the ceiling with a dull thud. Before he could react, a black, greasy something dropped on him from above.
It was huge. Too huge for what it should've been. It looked like a fly—the same kind everyone had seen on a kitchen counter—only magnified tenfold. Its wings were translucent, twitching erratically. Eyes like two red blisters, the size of fists. Its body was fat, black, covered in something that could've been slime—or blood.
It was a fly. But not the kind you could swat with a newspaper. This was a monster wearing an insect's skin. Adam stared as its mouthparts twitched violently, antennae waving in the air, sensing the scent of his sweat and blood. The fly's body pulsed slightly, coiled like a spring, and in its eyes, he saw his own reflection—frozen, endangered.
Adam stepped back slowly, inch by inch, not breaking eye contact with the creature. He hoped that if he didn't make any sudden movements, it wouldn't react. But soon he saw the antennae twitching faster, the wings starting to lift. The monster's eyes followed his every step.
Then it lunged.
With a shriek, it tore from the ceiling, its wings screaming like a chainsaw. Adam leapt aside, feeling a blast of air and the whistle of movement just above his head. He landed on his knees, slid across the floor, and frantically looked around for something—anything—to fight with.
The fly smashed into a shelf, scattering jars and packages that crashed and splattered across the floor. Adam scrambled behind the dairy counter, desperately scanning the store. His eyes darted over instant noodles, plastic forks, cornflakes—until they landed on something specific: a toolbox, likely for store maintenance.
He didn't hesitate. He dove for it, yanked out a heavy, rusted pipe wrench. He hadn't even gripped the handle properly when the monster turned and charged again.
Adam dodged, the wrench hissing through the air in his hand. At the last second, he threw himself to the ground, rolled under a pasta shelf, and popped out beside the freezer section.
The creature slipped on spilled milk and canned goods, losing traction—this was his chance.
Adam burst from the shadows, slamming the wrench into the side of the creature's head. The joint in its exoskeleton cracked with a dull snap, and the fly recoiled in surprise.
He didn't wait. Blow after blow rained down like a hailstorm. He fought like a madman. Like someone who realized it was either him or the monster.
The creature let out an inhuman shriek, its body convulsing in spasms. Adam didn't stop. The wrench crushed more of the exoskeleton until, with a final snap, the thorax split open. Its wings still flailed, twitching as if trying to fly one last time.
The black mass turned to pulp, and with each strike, foul-smelling ichor splattered outward. Its chitinous legs twitched spasmodically, like they'd been electrocuted. One strike tore through its mouthparts, releasing a thin stream of milky-brown fluid.
Adam hit it again—too hard, too desperately. Then he froze, breathing heavily, hand still gripping the wrench. His reflection in the pool of venom beneath the monster was blurred but real enough to remind him he had just killed... whatever this thing was.
He dropped the wrench and collapsed to his knees. His hands shook. His eyes burned. He felt nothing but a wave of nausea rising from his gut, forcing him to vomit on the floor.
But then—a glow appeared above his chest. Flickering, pulsing in an irregular rhythm. A point of light materialized, trembling as if alive, testing the air around it. After a few seconds, it flared and condensed into a small, spinning orb of energy.
Before Adam could react, the orb shot toward him and pierced into his chest. He felt his heart stop for a beat—then slam back with double the force.
A translucent window appeared before his eyes:
[Essence Record — Kill Confirmed] [Target: Mutated Fly (LVL 3)] [Reward: +1 AGI | +2 VIT] [Level Up: LVL 1 → LVL 2] [Stat Points Gained: +4]
Before he could process what it all meant, something else caught his eye—movement near the dead monster's chest. A dark scroll floated above the carcass, covered in mysterious symbols etched in fire and shadow. Beside it hovered a square, gray box—small, barely larger than a fist, with smooth matte surfaces. Both items hovered gently in the air, faintly glowing, as if waiting for him.
They pulsed softly, beckoning him.
Adam stepped closer, like approaching explosives. He reached out. First for the gray box. It was light, fitting perfectly in his hand. Nothing happened—until the box silently opened, responding to his touch. A faint flash emerged from within, and then—it vanished, as if it had never been there.
Where the box had been, a pair of gloves remained. Black, thin, form-fitting, with a strange sheen to the material. As Adam looked at them, another system window appeared:
[Scout's Gloves (Normal Grade): Comfortable, lightweight gloves made from moisture-resistant material. Enhance grip sensitivity and provide basic hand protection. When equipped: Agility +2]
Adam lifted one glove and slid his hand inside. The material felt cool and flexible, but the moment he pulled it over his fingers, something shifted. The glove began to pulse with gentle warmth, molding itself perfectly to his hand—as if it had been made for him. The seams tightened, then disappeared into a seamless surface. The second glove did the same the moment he put it on.
He flexed his hands, rolled his wrists, clenched his fists. The gloves felt like a second skin—light but firm, like they amplified every movement. Only then did his eyes fall on the hovering scroll.
He approached carefully and reached out. The scroll settled easily into his palm.
Another window appeared:
[Void Manipulation — Phase I (Tier: Novice)] [Type: Active Skill] [Description: You can manipulate the basic form of the void—an energy acting beyond physical boundaries. Allows basic attraction or repulsion of low-mass objects. Effectiveness scales with Intelligence, Mana, and user imagination.]
Adam furrowed his brow, reading the text multiple times. "Manipulate... the void? Attraction? Repulsion?" he muttered. It sounded powerful. Like magic? Or some kind of special ability? "Maybe it's like telekinesis..."
He waved his hand in front of him, half expecting a surge of energy, a flash, any kind of reaction. Nothing.
He clenched his teeth. "Come on... how do I use you?" he growled at the void, but only silence and the muffled pounding outside answered.
He held the scroll for a while longer, turning it in his hand and studying its surface. The symbols shimmered, shifting as if dancing to a rhythm of their own. Adam scowled, rereading the display softly, almost whispering. Still nothing.
For a moment, he had no idea what to do. Something should have activated, exploded, flashed—but nothing happened.
Frustrated, he slumped against one of the shelves. Outside, the sounds of pounding and savage howls continued. He leaned his head back against the rack and closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing and gather his thoughts. He needed a moment to breathe. To think about what to do next.
And then—the scroll vanished. Dissolved into the air, as if it had never existed.
Adam's eyes snapped open. And then he felt it.
Something struck his spine. Not physically. A wave of energy. Pressure. As if his body suddenly had to make space for something foreign.
Adam dropped to his knees. Clutched his head. He felt... space. The weight of the air. As if the world around him had gravity he could now touch.
He didn't understand it. But he knew—something had changed.
Before he could fully grasp what had just happened, the sharp crack of breaking glass rang out. Adam jumped and looked toward the store's window.