Chapter 25: Class One's Survivors

The Class One survivors were a reflection of how dire the situation in Obelisk City had become. Though they were alive, the marks of their harrowing journey were etched into their very beings, leaving no doubt that survival had come at a cost.

Each of them bore visible signs of hardship. Their clothes were tattered, stitched together with whatever scraps they could salvage. Bloodstains and grime painted their once pristine school uniforms, turning them into patchwork armor that spoke of desperate battles fought and won. Faces once filled with youthful energy now carried hollow eyes and sunken cheeks... they were proof of sleepless nights and an ever-present fear of death.

The emotional scars were just as vivid. Some survivors, like Sheila, had grown more cynical and combative, their frustration bubbling to the surface as they lashed out at perceived weakness. Others, like Larry, seemed almost childlike in their optimism, clinging to the hope that things could still turn around, even in the face of overwhelming despair. Their personalities, shaped by the crucible of their shared trauma, ranged from defiant to despairing.

Greg was a nervous wreck, often muttering to himself and laughing nervously as if trying to convince himself that things weren’t as bad as they seemed. His attempts at levity fell flat more often than not, serving as a reminder of the cracks in his psyche. Thomas, on the other hand, had stepped into a protective role, his towering frame and natural strength making him a de facto shield for the group. His determination to keep everyone safe had made him a stabilizing force, even if his stoicism sometimes felt cold.

Darlene carried herself with a quiet intensity. Though she was level-headed, her eyes betrayed a haunted look, as though the weight of what she had seen and done clung to her like a shadow. Her pragmatism often clashed with the more emotional reactions of the others, but it also gave her a unique perspective on their collective survival.

They were no longer just students; they had been remade into survivors, each one tempered or broken in their own way by the chaos that had overtaken their lives.

And yet, in their darkest moments, there was an unspoken agreement that they had to keep moving. No matter how battered or bruised they were, they were alive. For better or worse, that was the only thing they could hold onto as they stepped forward into an uncertain future.

Name: Markus Seeker

Class: Visionary

Level 2

Stats (0)—

Body: 7

Mind: 7

Soul: 17

Skill: Vision

Mark sat cross-legged on the dusty floor, his attention fixed on the glowing [System] interface hovering before him. He had made his choice, spending every available stat point on [Soul]. The value now stood at [17], a number that felt like both an accomplishment and a gamble.

Dumping stats would always be a risky affair.

He knew the intricacies of stats from the countless conversations he’d had with his older brother, a researcher at the prestigious SYNC Institute—or the Systemic Nexus and Codex Research Institute, as it was formally known. His brother’s lectures about how [Soul] influenced complex skills and abilities echoed in his mind. The downside, of course, was that intricate skills often demanded higher starting stats, making early growth less noticeable.

The problem was that some Gifted started with lower stats and some with higher. The consensus was the less complicated a skill was, the higher the starting stats were given as compensation.

Mark stared at his reflection in the faint light of his interface, his golden eyes glinting with determination. He pushed the memories of his shortcomings aside and turned to the group.

“Ever played games, everyone?” he asked, his voice light but with a tinge of purpose.

Sheila, who had been pacing in frustration, froze. Her sharp blue eyes snapped to Mark as her blonde hair swayed with the intensity of her movement. “How is that relevant?” she snapped, her tone biting. “Please don’t tell me you’re referring to your game knowledge and planning to act like the leader now. You’ve been a burden all this time, do you know that?”

Mark winced but didn’t look away. Sheila’s frustration wasn’t unwarranted—he had been a burden. His blindness, his fear, and his dependence on the others had weighed heavily on their small group. But things were different now.

“I get it, Sheila,” Mark said, his voice steady despite the pang in his chest. “I’ve been useless. Blind. Weak. But this—” He gestured at the glowing interface. “This changes everything. If you’d just listen—”

Sheila crossed her arms, her fury unabated. “Listen? To what? Some theory you cooked up from playing too many games? You think this is a simulation? People died, Mark! Mrs. Haram died!”

Mark clenched his fists. “And that’s why I’m trying to help us survive!”

The room fell silent, save for the faint hum of the [System] interfaces that hovered around each of them. Mark scanned the faces of his group—Greg, still lost in his own world; Larry, looking uncertain; and Sheila, staring daggers at him.

On second thoughts, Mark realized an anomaly… he could see their [System] interface. He gulped, aware of the implications. It was probably the work of his [Vision] skill… but it seemed his stats weren’t high enough to allow him to read the [System] of others entirely.

“Look,” Mark continued, softening his tone. “We need a plan. You don’t have to like me, Sheila. Hell, I don’t even care if you think I’m still a burden. But I have an ability now, and I’m not going to waste it. If we’re going to survive, we need to start acting like a team.”

Sheila’s glare didn’t soften, but she didn’t interrupt again.

Mark held his breath, trying to keep the tension in the room from boiling over. He didn’t want to push too hard, but teamwork was crucial. If they didn’t start working together, their chances of survival would only shrink. He knew where Sheila’s anger came from—it wasn’t entirely misplaced. After all, he’d been blaming himself for his uselessness, too.

Thomas, who had been sitting silently until now, finally intervened. His deep voice carried a weight that made everyone pause. “That isn’t nice,” he said, his emerald eyes locking onto Sheila. “Take it back.”

Sheila crossed her arms, her frustration unwavering. “Well, am I not wrong? It is a miracle he’s still alive now!”

Mark flinched at the words, his heart sinking. He knew Sheila wasn’t trying to be cruel, but it still hurt.

Thomas stepped forward, his broad frame cutting an intimidating figure. At sixteen, he was already taller and more muscular than most, his brown hair falling slightly over his piercing green eyes. He placed himself firmly between Mark and Sheila.

“It’s not a miracle he’s alive,” Thomas said firmly, his voice steady and resolute. “It’s because he had me.” He glanced back at Mark briefly, a protective glint in his eyes. “I’ve been like a brother to him. And I’ve already lost one brother. I’m not about to lose another.”

Larry, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, perked up at that. “Noah, is it?” he asked softly, his tone a mixture of curiosity and sympathy.

Thomas’s jaw tightened, and he nodded. “Yeah. Noah.”

The mention of Noah was like a knife to Mark’s heart. He missed his best friend every day, and the thought of him out there—or worse, gone—was unbearable.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Mark raised his hands in a calming gesture, trying to defuse the lingering tension. “I don’t want to fight, Sheila. I just want to talk.” His voice was steady, though a hint of nervousness lingered. “I have an older brother who worked for SYNC Institute, so I’ve learned a lot about the system from him. It’s not something I’m particularly proud of, but…” He glanced around the group, his lips twitching into a small, sheepish smile. “I can confidently call myself a superhero geek.”

Greg snorted. “Seriously?”

Mark gave him a quick, sharp look. “Shush, Greg. I’m trying to help.” He turned his focus back to the group. “I just want to offer some advice—take it or leave it. I’ve been thinking about how we can cover our weaknesses and amplify our strengths. If you started with low stats, don’t panic or feel like you’re going to be left behind. At this point, stats are mostly modifiers for skills.”

The group quieted down, some of them nodding hesitantly. Sheila crossed her arms but didn’t interrupt, which Mark took as a good sign.

Mark pressed on. “For context, teens like us usually have stats between 10 and 40, but late bloomers—like me—start lower. My skill is called [Vision]. It allows me to see your level, class, and skills. I’m Level 2, and my class is [Visionary].” He paused for a moment, giving them time to absorb the information. “I don’t plan on hiding anything from you all. My skill also grants me hyper-awareness, with my eyes as the main focus. I can see in 360 degrees like I’m looking at the world from a third-person perspective—or even a bird’s-eye view. My vision’s incredible, too. I can scout better than anyone here.”

Darlene raised an eyebrow, her blue hair shifting as she leaned forward. “Your skill sounds overly flexible and powerful.”

Mark sighed, shaking his head. “It’s a trade-off. The more complex a starting skill, the fewer stats you start with. My stats were seven points flat across the board: Body, Mind, and Soul. That’s very low compared to most of you, but the inverse is true, too—simpler skills mean higher starting stats.”

The group exchanged glances, some intrigued, others skeptical. Darlene tapped her chin thoughtfully, while Greg muttered something under his breath, looking unsure.

Mark straightened his posture, his confidence building as he saw their curiosity. “I’m not asking for leadership or anything like that. I just want to share what I know and help us survive. If we can use the system efficiently, it might just give us the edge we need to get through this.”

Thomas stepped forward, his towering frame commanding attention. “Okay, my turn,” he said. “I’m Level 5. I’ve got two skills: [Super Engine] and [Steam Jet]. But come to think of it...” He turned to Mark, frowning slightly. “How did you figure out the description of your skill? I don’t even know what mine can do yet.”

Mark shrugged with a small grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “I experimented with them. Since I got my skill, I’ve been testing it nonstop. You know me, Thomas—I’m obsessed with superheroes. I also secretly studied some of my big brother’s research stuff when I could sneak a peek. That gave me a solid foundation. Most of the time, skills don’t stray far from the dictionary meaning of the words in their name. Once I tried using [Vision] just now, I just… kind of figured it out.”

Darlene leaned against the wall, her eyebrows raised in surprise. “Holy crap, Mark. Aren’t you, like, super smart? Maybe if you’d put this much effort into studying our class lessons, you could’ve been an honor student.”

Mark rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, but before he could respond, Darlene added, “Anyway, Thomas, what’s your class?”

Thomas hesitated for a moment, then sighed. “My class is… Tank Engine.”

The room fell silent. Larry, his braided dreads shifting as he glanced up from his interface, blinked. Then, with a lopsided grin, he said, “Wait, seriously? So… you’re Thomas the Tank Engine now?”

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then it hit. Awkward chuckles broke the tension as the group exchanged glances. Greg tried to stifle a laugh but failed miserably, and even Mark cracked a grin despite himself.

Thomas groaned, but his lips twitched as if fighting a smile. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” He shortly added, “I have 40 unspent points, and my current stats are [32] in [Body], [19] in [Mind], and [18] in [Soul].”

Sheila crossed her arms, her expression tinged with reluctant amusement. “Since we’re all doing this now, I might as well play along.” She sighed dramatically before continuing. “I’m Level 3, and my class is… [Succubus].” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. My skill is called [Bewitchment]. Since my stats are on the lower side, my skill should be capable of a similar level of complexity as yours, Mark. Right?”

Mark nodded thoughtfully. “It depends on how you develop your skill. The potential is there, but you’ll need to work at it.”

Greg chimed in next, his tone slightly more eager. “I’ll go next, then. I’m Level 3, too. My class is [Golemancer], and my skill is [Create Golem]. My stats started on the lower side as well—[5] in [Body] and flat [9] for both [Mind] and [Soul].”

Darlene leaned against the wall, flicking a stray lock of blue-dyed hair out of her face. “Fine. I might as well be done with it. I’m Level 4, and my class is [Lightning]. My skill is [Electromorph]. My stats are flat [22] across the board.”

Larry was the last to speak. “Alright, my turn. I’m Level 3. My class is [Desperado]. I’ve got two skills: [Gunmanship] and [Bulletstorm]. My stats are [18], [19], and [24], respectively, for [Body], [Mind], and [Soul].” He tilted his head with a wry smile. “Guess that makes me the sharpshooter of the team.”

Mark mulled over the peculiar situation they found themselves in. It struck him as odd how everyone had already managed to level up despite only recently gaining the [System]. Perhaps their earlier kills of dungeon monsters, achieved without the [System], had still contributed to their growth in some unseen way.

Larry broke the silence first. “Any ideas on what we should do from now on?”

Sheila folded her arms, her expression sharp. “I suggest we escape this city and make a run for the nearest city-state. It’s strange how slowly the heroes are responding to this calamity. Something’s off.”

Mark shook his head. “I think we need to focus on getting used to our [System] first—learning how to apply our skills in combat. You’ve all seen how hard it’s been to survive these past few days. It’s not just the monsters we have to worry about now; humans might become an even bigger threat. Desperation makes people dangerous.”

The group was silent, considering his words. Mark pressed on. “Skills, by nature, are more intuitive than technical. You’ll get the hang of them as long as you take the time to understand what your [Class] represents. That’s our best chance at survival.”

Darlene nodded in agreement. “I think Mark’s got a point. If we don’t figure out what we’re capable of, we’re not going to last much longer. I say we at least experiment with our powers. Mark’s already the fastest to adapt, so we should listen to his advice.”

Greg grinned, lifting his hand. “Let’s settle it with a vote. Those in favor, raise your hands.”

Mark, Darlene, Greg, and Thomas raised their hands. Sheila sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Fine,” she muttered, “but I’m going to need a volunteer. I fell like… my skill requires a live, functioning, and thinking target.”

Mark hesitated, then spoke carefully. “I’d like to volunteer, but from what you’ve said, your skill sounds like it’s mental-based and reliant on the ‘perception’ of others. That makes it risky. If something goes wrong, healing the mind is going to be far more complicated than patching up a physical injury. Let’s avoid friendly fire as much as possible.”

Sheila scowled. “So what am I supposed to do? Watch?”

Larry shrugged. “Don’t worry. I’ll be watching too—for the simple reason that I don’t have any ‘guns,’ which is apparently a prerequisite for my skills. Guess I’m just here for moral support.” He grinned wryly, trying to lighten the mood.

They knew the path ahead wouldn’t be easy, but for now, at least, they had a plan.

Mark’s thoughts drifted to his elder brother, whose research focused on the psychological shifts that occurred before and after an individual’s awakening. The process of gaining the [System], he had once explained, wasn’t just physical—it rewired parts of the mind to adapt to new possibilities. Mark noted with a sense of relief that his classmates seemed to be adjusting to these changes relatively well, just as he had. The hardships of dealing with dungeon monsters—most of which lacked [Skills] or had stats comparable to theirs—had likely tempered them somewhat.

However, Mark was acutely aware of the danger in speaking too openly about the [System].

The Superhero Association guarded this information zealously, treating its unauthorized dissemination as a severe crime. His words needed to be chosen carefully bwetwwen what was publicly disseminated and the more guarded secrets. Though his knowledge didn’t match his brother’s expertise, he knew more than enough to give his classmates a solid foundation—comparable, at least, to what the average superhero would know.

Clearing his throat, Mark addressed the group. “Just a reminder… Stats are a limited resource. You can naturally boost them as you level up and grow into adulthood, but they don’t scale infinitely. Every time you level up, you’ll get ten unspent stat points to distribute. This lets you create a build tailored to your needs, but it comes with risks if you’re not careful.”

The group listened intently, sensing the seriousness in his tone.

Mark continued, “Which stats you prioritize can influence the kind of skills you naturally learn along the way. That said, there’s an important concept you need to remember: stat ratio. Dumping all your points into one stat isn’t advisable. For example, if you have [1] in [Body] but [100] in [Mind], you’ll create a sense of dissonance. Your body might not be able to handle the strain of using skills tied to your mindor body. It could slow you down, cause backlash, or even make skills unusable in high-stress situations.”

He paused, making sure the gravity of his words sank in. “Always pay attention to your stat ratios. Balance isn’t just about flexibility—it’s about survival.”

Greg gave a low whistle. “Man, that’s a lot to take in.”

Darlene nodded thoughtfully. “So it’s like fine-tuning a machine. If one part’s overworked, the whole thing can fall apart.”

Sheila, though still skeptical, didn’t dismiss his advice outright. “Fine, stat ratios, got it. Doesn’t mean I’m going to play it safe, though.”