Chapter 1

All good things eventually come to an end...

At least, that was roughly the thought Avan had as he sat late at night in the office, which already smelled of slightly stale air. A day that was supposed to proceed just like any other: harmless, quick, and without any issues.

Avan was someone who never held back from telling others directly what he expected from himself as an IT specialist: an efficient laziness.

In IT, if you wanted to be lazy at the end of the day, you first had to put in the effort. Automate whatever could be automated. Implement AI wherever possible, in the sense that “the work does itself.” Only when all colleagues could work seamlessly and efficiently without having to bother IT could you really kick back and relax every now and then.

And today was precisely the kind of day where absolutely NOTHING was going right. First, some of the email programs crashed on other employees' computers, then someone reported that their laptop was too slow, and now, due to yet ANOTHER air conditioning failure in the server room, something had burnt out.

Avan sighed and turned his gaze away from the window to refocus on the server interface in front of him on the laptop. Some configurations had been corrupted, and now he had to figure out which ones and whether he could reconstruct them.

“This is definitely not the same as sitting comfortably in my home office or, even better, already having called it a day,” he muttered, typing away. Under normal circumstances, Avan would have stayed home and worked from there, relaxed and at ease. But one single issue had forced him to check in at the office, and from there, it only went from bad to worse, from one problem to an even bigger one. Literally, if you listened to the autumn rain outside.

Another sigh.

I do sound a bit like I’m already sixty years old with all my sighing and grumbling, instead of just thirty-three. If I had told my younger self that, I never would have believed it. Back then, those ‘old guys’ always walked around sighing, acting like life was exhausting. And now I’m doing the exact same thing!

Avan chuckled and laughed at the thought. How times change, and you suddenly find yourself in the very position you once couldn’t understand.

“Damn config file...” he grumbled the next moment, “This one’s broken too!”

With yet another sigh, aware of the irony, Avan leaned back in his office chair, crossing his arms behind his head. A sidelong glance outside revealed the same sight as before: the wind fluctuating in strength, alternating between drizzle and a torrential downpour, as if the heavens had flung open their gates and someone up there was dumping water over this spot on earth.

A sudden loud bang jolted Avan from his daydream, and he almost fell off the wobbly office chair, somehow tipping it over.

“WHAT the HELL...?!” he swore, flailing his arms and straightening up in his chair. The sound was almost as if a lightning bolt had just struck right next to him, blowing off a steel door and hurling it a kilometer into the middle of nowhere.

With wide, alarmed eyes, Avan looked around nervously, just to make sure that the supposed lightning bolt hadn’t hit the building wall directly in front of him. His heart pounding and a bead of sweat forming on his forehead, he only noticed that it had suddenly become significantly darker outside. “But in just an instant?” he whispered, perplexed.

But where there would have been a relatively normal dark shade of gray in a storm front, an ominous, eerie glow shimmered down from the clouds above in front of the office building.

Feeling a bit uneasy, Avan stood up and pressed his face closer to the glass window to get a better view upward.

The clouds themselves still looked normal. But what Avan saw above them made him freeze.

Cracks in the sky, emitting a supernatural, purple glow, tore out from reality. It almost looked like a stunning aurora borealis, if not for the literal CRACKS spread across the sky, stretching as far as the eye could see, across the entire horizon.

https://i.ibb.co/hxtLcmZ1/Purple-Sky.jpg [https://i.ibb.co/hxtLcmZ1/Purple-Sky.jpg]

Avan’s breathing grew faster. “Breathe, Avan! Take deep breaths...” he whispered as he stared out the window, likely witnessing the apocalypse of human history firsthand.

He let his gaze roam across the entire scene, just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Or that he hadn’t dozed off in frustration over the IT problem.

But a heavy gulp brought him back to the here and now, as all the accumulated spit from stress seemed to leave him once more.

On the horizon of Frankfurt am Main, usually barely visible from his office, but highlighted by the apocalyptic scene before him, machines began to emerge from the clouds. Airplanes, some just taking off, others still waiting for landing clearance, and yet others already on final approach – all of them without exception were hurtling toward the ground.

While some were visibly trying to glide, others spiraled uncontrollably toward the earth. One plane, probably one waiting for landing clearance in the sky, plummeted straight down, where even from this distance, a small fireball was visible upon impact.

Avan took a shocked step backward, as if the mere act of stepping back could undo everything he had just witnessed with his own eyes. As if the simple distance of one more step would be enough to escape the sight in front of him.

And indeed, something happened. But it wasn’t the kind of distance Avan had hoped for. Instead, the ground gave way beneath his feet, and the ceiling crashed down on him with a force that seemed to obliterate any hope for tomorrow.

The last thing Avan saw as the darkness of unconsciousness took hold was a series of intricate golden symbols, flickering for a fraction of a second before his inner eye, spiraling and unfolding in a whirlwind of gold and silver.

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Avan’s POV

The darkness didn’t last. Avan came to with a groan, his head throbbing like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. Dust clogged his throat, and the air tasted of ash and metal. He coughed, blinking against the grit in his eyes, and slowly registered the weight pressing down on his chest—a slab of concrete, jagged and cold, pinning him to the floor.

“Great,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “Just what I needed to cap off this disaster of a day.”

He shifted, testing his body. Pain lanced through his right leg, sharp and insistent, but his arms seemed functional. With a grimace, he braced his hands against the debris and pushed. It didn’t budge. He tried again, harder, ignoring the way his muscles screamed in protest. Nothing.

“Come on, you bastard,” he growled, slamming his palm against the concrete in frustration. As his hand made contact, a faint warmth pulsed through his fingers—unfamiliar, tingling, like static crawling under his skin. He froze, staring at his hand. A dim golden glow flickered around it, then faded.

“What the hell…?” He squinted, half-expecting it to happen again, but the glow didn’t return. Still, that sensation lingered, stirring something instinctive in him. He focused on it, willing it to do something, anything. The warmth surged again, stronger this time, and the concrete shifted—just an inch, but enough for him to wriggle his torso free.

Panting, he dragged himself out from under the slab, collapsing onto his back amidst the rubble. His leg throbbed, bruised and possibly fractured, but he could move it. That was enough for now. He lay there a moment, staring up at the jagged hole where the ceiling used to be. Beyond it, the sky still shimmered with those unnatural purple cracks, though the glow had dimmed slightly, as if the world were settling into its new, broken state.

The memory of the golden symbols flashed in his mind—spiraling, intricate, almost alive. And that message: “Seed of Origin Protocol” initiated… Please wait… It had felt personal, directed at him alone, unlike a generic system announcement. He didn’t know what it meant, but it nagged at him, a puzzle he couldn’t ignore.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“Status,” he said aloud, testing the word from the system message. Nothing appeared—no glowing screen, no robotic voice. He frowned, then closed his eyes and focused inward, like he had with the concrete. This time, it worked. A vague impression flooded his mind, not a neat display but a raw, instinctive understanding:

Name: Avan

Level: 1

Class: None

Skills: Identification (Lv. 1), Origin Energy Manipulation (Lv. 1)

Stats: Strength average, agility decent, intelligence above average, vitality stubborn, luck questionable

He snorted. “Questionable luck? Yeah, that tracks.” It wasn’t a precise readout like in a game, more a gut feeling about himself. Still, it was something. And those skills—Identification and Origin Energy Manipulation—must’ve been what let him move the debris. He filed that away, pragmatic as ever. If this was the new reality, he’d use whatever tools he had.

The distant sound of screams snapped him out of his thoughts. Pushing himself up, he limped toward the shattered window, leaning heavily on a tilted desk for support. Outside, chaos reigned. Fires burned in the distance where planes had crashed, their smoke curling into the fractured sky. Closer, figures staggered through the streets—some human, some… not. He squinted, a chill running down his spine as he spotted a black, dog-like shape prowling near the office parking lot. His head throbbed faintly as Identification kicked in instinctively. He didn’t see words, but he felt it: the thing was stronger than him, faster, and ravenous—an emaciated hound, tall as a shepherd dog, its oily black hide gleaming under the purple cracks, red eyes glowing like embers, sickle-like claws scraping the asphalt, jagged teeth peeking from a twisted maw.

“Fantastic,” he muttered. “And here I am, half-crippled with no weapons.” He scanned the room for anything useful—a chair leg, a shard of glass, anything—but the office was a mess of broken tech and paper. His gaze landed on his laptop, miraculously intact on the floor. He hobbled over, grabbed it, and tucked it under his arm. If nothing else, he could chuck it at something’s head.

The building groaned, a low rumble that vibrated through the floor. “Time to go,” he decided, limping toward the stairwell. The elevators were out—power was long gone—and the hallway was a maze of debris, but he picked his way through, cursing every step as his leg protested.

Halfway down the stairs, that same pressure hit him again, sharper this time. He froze, gripping the railing. Something was close. He strained his ears and caught it—a low growl, echoing up from below. Peering over the edge, he saw it: one of those black dogs, sniffing the air at the bottom of the stairwell. Its head snapped up, red eyes meeting his, and Identification flared again, confirming what he already knew: stronger, faster, starving—a skeletal beast with an oily sheen, its crimson gaze promising death.

https://i.ibb.co/5WtksJV2/image-1.jpg [https://i.ibb.co/5WtksJV2/image-1.jpg]

“Shit.” Avan backed up a step, heart pounding. Running wasn’t an option—not with his leg. Fighting didn’t thrill him either, but he wasn’t about to roll over and die. He focused on that warm sensation again, the Origin Energy Manipulation, and willed it into his hands. The glow returned, faint and unsteady, shaping into a crude, shimmering spike about the length of his forearm.

The monster charged up the stairs, claws scrabbling on concrete. Avan braced himself, adrenaline drowning out the pain in his leg. As it leaped, he swung the energy spike with all he had. It struck the creature’s shoulder, piercing through with a wet crunch. The dog yelped, black ichor splattering the wall, but it didn’t stop. Its claws raked across his chest, tearing through his shirt and drawing blood.

Avan stumbled back, pain flaring, but he tightened his grip on the spike and stabbed again, aiming for its neck. This time, the glow pulsed brighter, and the weapon sank deep. The monster thrashed, then went limp, collapsing at his feet.

He stood there, chest heaving, staring at the corpse. The energy spike flickered out, leaving his hands empty. A faint warmth spread through him—not just from the blood trickling down his shirt, but something deeper, like a spark igniting in his core. He didn’t know what it was, but it felt… good. Stronger.

“Okay,” he panted, wiping sweat from his brow. “One down. Probably a million to go.” He glanced at his torn shirt and the shallow gashes beneath. They stung, but he’d live. His leg was the bigger problem—he needed to find somewhere safe to rest, figure out what was happening, and maybe patch himself up.

The stairwell exit loomed ahead, a cracked glass door leading outside. Beyond it, the world was a nightmare of fire, screams, and those damn purple cracks. Avan took a deep breath, steeling himself. He wasn’t a hero, never had been. But he was stubborn, and he’d be damned if he let this new hell take him out on day one.

With a final glance at the dead monster, he limped through the door, stepping into the chaos. The air hit him like a slap—sharp with smoke and the metallic tang of blood. The office building sat on the edge of an industrial district, and the parking lot stretched out before him, littered with abandoned cars and flickering flames. A few bodies lay sprawled near a overturned van, their limbs bent at wrong angles. Avan grimaced but didn’t linger. Dead people weren’t his problem.

He hobbled toward the nearest car—a dented sedan with its driver’s door ajar—and peeked inside. Empty. No keys either. “Figures,” he muttered. He wasn’t naïve enough to think he could drive out of this mess anyway; the streets were clogged with wrecks and worse. Still, he rummaged through the glove compartment, hoping for something useful. A half-empty pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and a cheap penknife. He pocketed them all. Not much, but better than nothing.

A shriek pierced the air, close enough to make him flinch. He ducked behind the car, peering over the hood. Across the lot, a woman sprinted toward a cluster of shipping containers, her coat flapping behind her. Two of those black dogs pursued her, their claws sparking on the asphalt. Avan’s jaw tightened. He could intervene—maybe—but why risk it? She wasn’t his family, not his responsibility. He had enough problems keeping himself alive.

Still, curiosity—or maybe stupidity—kept him watching. The woman reached the containers and scrambled up a rusted ladder, barely pulling herself onto the roof as the dogs leaped after her. One missed, crashing into the metal with a clang, but the other caught the edge, hauling itself up. She screamed again, kicking at its snout, and for a moment, Avan thought she might make it.

Then a new shadow loomed. Something bigger emerged from between the containers—a hulking, humanoid figure, its skin gray and cracked like old stone, red eyes glowing in the dim light. Avan’s head pulsed as Identification flared: this thing was far stronger than the dogs, slower but relentless, its jagged limbs built to crush rather than chase—a lumbering brute, eight feet tall, with fissures in its flesh leaking a faint purple mist.

The woman didn’t stand a chance. The brute swung an arm like a battering ram, catching her mid-scream. She flew off the container, hitting the ground with a sickening crunch. The dogs pounced, tearing into her before she could even twitch. Avan looked away, stomach turning. “Not my fight,” he told himself, though the words felt hollow.

He needed to move. The parking lot was a death trap, and that brute might spot him next. Clutching his laptop tighter, he scanned for an escape route. To his left, a narrow alley led toward the warehouse district—dark, cluttered, but maybe defensible. To his right, the main road stretched into the city, alive with distant gunfire and roars. Neither option screamed “safe,” but the alley felt less suicidal.

He limped toward it, sticking to the shadows of the parked cars. Every step sent a jolt of pain up his leg, and the gashes on his chest burned with every breath. He gritted his teeth, pushing through. Pain was just noise—he’d dealt with worse migraines debugging code at 3 a.m.

The alley swallowed him in gloom, its walls lined with rusted dumpsters and broken crates. The air was thick with the stench of rot and damp metal, but it was quiet—too quiet, maybe. Avan paused, leaning against a dumpster to catch his breath. His hand brushed the lighter in his pocket, and an idea sparked. Fire might work against those things. He wasn’t sure how much juice his Origin Energy Manipulation had left, but mundane tools could stretch it further.

A skittering sound snapped him alert. He tensed, peering into the shadows ahead. Something moved—small, fast, low to the ground. His vision blurred briefly as Identification kicked in: weaker than the dogs, quick and skittish—a rat-like creature, no bigger than a housecat, its fur matted with black slime, eyes glinting yellow, tiny claws clicking like needles on the concrete.

“Oh, come on,” Avan muttered. It darted toward him, chittering, and he didn’t hesitate. He flicked the lighter on and tossed it, aiming for a puddle of oil-slick runoff nearby. The flame caught with a whoosh, flaring up just as the rat-thing leaped. It screeched, engulfed in fire, and landed in a writhing heap at his feet. The stench of burnt hair and flesh made him gag, but he stomped it for good measure, wincing as his leg protested.

“Three for three,” he said dryly, though his hands shook. He retrieved the lighter—still flickering weakly—and pocketed it again. The alley stretched deeper, and he limped onward, wary of every shadow. If rats were popping up now, what else was lurking?

Halfway through, he spotted a side door on the warehouse wall—cracked open, rusted, but promising shelter. He hobbled over and slipped inside, pulling the door shut behind him. The interior was vast and dim, filled with towering shelves and scattered crates. A faint hum vibrated through the floor, unnatural, like the building itself was alive.

Avan slumped against a crate, breathing hard. His leg screamed for rest, and his chest felt like it was on fire. He tore a strip from his already-ruined shirt, wrapping it around the gashes as a makeshift bandage. It wasn’t pretty, but it’d hold. For now, he was alive, and that was more than he could say for most people out there.

He pulled out his laptop, flipping it open. The battery glowed at 87%—a small miracle. No Wi-Fi, no network, but the local files were intact. He opened a blank document and started typing: Day 1. World’s gone to shit. Monsters everywhere. Some weird energy in me. Need to figure this out. Writing it down grounded him, gave him something to focus on besides the chaos.

A low rumble shook the warehouse, dust trickling from the ceiling. Avan snapped the laptop shut, eyes darting around. The hum grew louder, and a faint purple glow seeped from a gap in the shelves ahead. His gut twisted—whatever that was, it wasn’t good. But he was too tired to run, too stubborn to die.

“Alright,” he muttered, gripping the penknife. “Let’s see what’s next.”