The next morning, Soren was up first. He ate multiple oversized portions and ascended the staircases to the surface.

 The smell of decay tirelessly assaulted his nostrils and muddled his mind. Like a rock amidst the frothing sea, he bore the vile stench crashing against him without yielding to its might. If he proved half as enduring as the tireless stone, he might some day be able to withstand the might of the great ocean. But today was not that day. Today, he allowed the waves to carve the stone, in hopes that, one day, he would become the sculpture.

 Thunder rumbled, and the rain began to fall. “I’ll never get used to the smell. When it’s really bad it feels like I can’t think,” Peter complained as the rain exacerbated the stink.

 Soren gazed past the grumbling young man at Lee. Steady and calm, the man stood just a bit further away from him than usual.

 The wind picked up. A storm was approaching. Only time would tell whether the rock would weather the storm or be swept by the crashing waves.

…

 “Level 4. Finally,” Peter celebrated, despite the tense atmosphere. “We’ve almost reached the police department. By next week we’ll have purged the city of monsters. I hope the radio works so we can call for help.”

 While the zombies’ power seemed to have plateaued, theirs’ was rising like the tide. They were growing faster, stronger, and more coordinated, their teamwork polished by the crumbling bones of their enemies. A once meager punch now shattered bone and extinguished unlife. The power was exhilarating.

 From an outsider’s perspective, the past few days had gone splendidly. Their growth exceeded their wildest expectations. Yet, Peter felt something was wrong. Despite their massive improvement, Soren fought alone—more than usual. He still gave them the crystals—reluctantly—but he avoided cooperation like it was the plague, preferring to take on half of the enemies by himself.

 Lee had told him that there’d been a disagreement, but he didn’t buy it—not this time. Their hunts were wordless, their cooperation nonexistent. The argument that the silence made it easier to concentrate failed to explain the distance, the avoidance of eye contact, and the rigid conversations back in the shelter. And he couldn’t think of a solution without knowing the source of the problem.

 He kept trying to break the ice since nobody else volunteered. “You all are a bunch of party poopers,” he grumbled. “Cheer up, we have exceeded the schedule. We’ll be bathing with hot water in a week.”

 “He’s right,” Lee forced himself to smile. “We have to celebrate. Dinner’s on me.”

 That got a chuckle out of Leia. “Thank god you’ll be taking the blame. I’ve been dreading Sarah lately.” Eric agreed. 

 “I’ve been thinking that the hunger might got something to do with our enhanced bodies. It would make sense that a stronger creature needs more food,” he shared.

 “That’s a very good hypothesis actually,” said Leia, proceeding to ask his opinion on other topics.

 While Peter’s words had sparked the first conversation in many days, the man himself was unsatisfied.

 “What’re you thinking, Soren? Something wrong?” he addressed Soren, hoping to include him in the discussion. Peter estimated that the man hadn’t parted his lips—outside of eating—for four days.

 The abrupt silence that descended caught him off guard. All eyes focused on Soren.

 “Tomorrow we clear the police department once and for all,” were the first words he uttered.

 His declaration confounded Peter. “What? So soon? Wait, come back,” he shouted fruitlessly at the departing man’s back.

 “What’s wrong with him?” he asked the others.

 “He’s probably nervous about tomorrow,” Lee said.

 “He isn’t exactly a master of communication even under normal circumstances,” Eric added.

 “Unlike you,” Leia joked, running before the words had left her mouth.

 “Since when did those two get so close?” Peter asked, perplexed, as he watched Eric chasing Leia around. Had he hit his head and gotten amnesia the last couple of days?

 “They’ve been talking at night,” Lee said tersely. “Now come on, let’s get some food. Tomorrow’s our toughest fight.”

 His tone, Peter noted, was nonchalant as he spoke of them reclaiming the police department. It was as if the zombies didn’t scare him. Confused and baffled, he followed the party back to the shelter.

 “Lee, you smelly old shit, we in the apocalypse,” Sarah yelled as she hit Lee in the face with the stainless ladle.

 “Didn’t we bring back supplies from that supermarket two days ago? That should be more than enough to cover our portions.” To Sarah’s disgruntlement, her weak strikes did little more than coat Lee in chicken soup and splatter it on the table. Unbothered, Lee used his spoon to pour more food for himself. Their superhuman durability was getting on Sarah’s nerves.

 She sighed. “That’ll take forever, let me do it for you,” she capitulated.

 “Thank you very much.” Lee accepted the cold bowl and gave her a big soup-smearing smooch on the cheek.

 “You better bring more food if you keep eating like that,” she shouted as she cleaned her cheek on her apron.

 The hunting team ate in silence, far from the middle of the shelter, where it was most packed. Ignoring the survivors’ covetous and hostile gazes, Lee made his way through the crowd. His gait was slow as he observed the snake among them. Soren was meditating in a lotus position, deathly motionless, imitating either a corpse or a boulder.

 The air seemed to congeal as Lee sat down next to him. It pressed against his cheeks and clogged his airways, almost compelling him to frown. Lee spent a sizable amount of effort to keep his expression impassive. Tensed forearms carried the soup to his mouth. The spoon felt heavy as if it was made out of tungsten, yet the surface of the soup remained calm like the ocean on a windless night.

 “I understand that we’re all nervous, but this is ridiculous.” Peter was the first to break from the stress. “This isn’t the last stand. Worst case scenario, Soren throws a few fireballs at the zombies and we retreat. Simple as that.” he said, turning to Soren, who was too immersed in whatever he was doing to respond. Peter was about to address his rudeness when Lee interrupted.

 “Don’t disturb him. Better sleep and save your energy.” Lee’s voice was soothing but undeniable, like a strict father’s advice.

 Peter remembered that tone. When they first met, they had talked about the future of this world, their role in the grand scheme of things. That conversation was etched in his memory. He remembered every word they had spoken, the anxiety and the uncertainty, the feeling of doom and the death; the shelter’s coldness and the sound of the generator activating as the lights lit up. He remembered Lee’s voice; the graveness of his tone, the doubt hiding beneath the hope and conviction.

 At this moment, the man’s tone was the exact same as that day, so Peter chose to act the exact same way he did back then: he sealed his lips and listened, placed his trust in Lee, and his back on the thin mat. Amidst the silence, he fell asleep.

 He was alone when he woke up. The nervousness curbed his hunger so he trudged along the gloomy tunnel without eating breakfast. The gate creaked open and the first rays of dawn peeked in, blinding him. When his vision returned, he was taken aback—not by the smell or the number of human remains—but by the chilling amount of fallen zombies. Hundreds of them were strewn across the city. A vicious internal war had decimated their numbers. That, or something had hunted them.

 Lee motioned to advance. The older man spearheaded the rhombus formation as they wove through the narrowing streets. Soren protected the rear.

 Flanked by rank skeletons and uninspired buildings, the team navigated through the lifeless city until they reached a sharp right turn. The clatter of bones reverberated off the walls. Enemies lurked around the corner.

 Peter glanced at Soren. The zealous glint in the blood pools compelled him forward. Trepidation gripped him as he dragged his feet one after the other through a thick, unseen mire of dread.

 A spike of heat warmed his back. Knees trembling and muscles coiled tight, Peter rounded the corner, coming face to face with a hulking skeleton.

 Unlike the routine of recent days, the zombie stood its ground, baring its decomposing, flesh-encrusted teeth. His tendons strained under the effort of holding the monster in place. This was strongest zombie he’d ever faced.

 The monster stuck him in the shoulder. Peter slipped and, for a moment, he could have sworn he glimpsed the light. His heart thundered as he found his footing himself. The monster’s breath caused his eyes to water. Yeah, that was the reason–nothing else.

 Eric cracked the zombie’s skull with a spinning elbow. Seizing the brief opportunity, Lee reached through the fractured bone structure and extracted its essence. Eric wasted no time waiting for the monster to fall. As soon as the frail scales of battle shifted, he moved to stall the nearest enemy, Leia right behind him. Peter was left to defend the right flank from three zombies. It felt like his teammates want to kill him.

 “Me first,” echoed a voice unfaltering, the order irrefutable. Flames blazed a baneful dance, yet as the heat caressed Peter’s nape, he felt reassured.

 The zombie swung futilely. Its attacks missed Soren’s lithe, ruby-hued silhouette. His calloused hands grabbed the creature’s spine, and pulled apart. A mighty roar sounded and the repugnant invader was bisected. Its upper halve writhed on the soil, crawled towards the nearest source of life, even when separated from its lower body.

 Peter squashed the monster’s head with his foot. Grabbing the lower half from the ankles, he brandished it like a makeshift club swishing through the air in a figure-eight motion.

 The technique distracted half a dozen zombies, dealing major damage and gaining the party time to diminish the army’s numbers. When the last zombie collapsed, the adrenaline in Peter’s veins dried up.

 “Be careful. No mother ever wished for her child to become a hero,” admonished Lee. The grey bearded man sat down next to Peter and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “Well done. You’ve become strong.”

 “Strong enough to survive on this planet?” Peter scoffed.

 “Who knows,” Lee laughed, his belly spasming. He turned to Peter and the young man found himself lost in an emerald vastness. “Worry more about today. We’ll talk of dawn when the dusk has passed.”

 “More coming.” Leia’s voice sounded grave.

 Peter didn’t feel rested at all as Lee’s arm left his back, taking the warmth along with it. Peter whined, he just wanted to sleep. He placed his hand onto the ground and forced himself to his feet. Never before had he fought with such intensity. His stamina couldn’t sustain him for much longer.

“What is that?” Leia screamed, urgent and fearful. Peter looked up and his throat dried up.

 In the distance, in front of police station, a platoon of zombies—about fifty skeletons—was arranged in rank and file, similar to a military force. Behind the platoon, a wide marble staircase lead to a broken gate. Massive fissures snaked along two wooden doors bound to the wall by twisted, groaning hinges. A thin abyssal film, covered the entrance.

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 Two corrupted green candleflames, penetrated the veil. Soundlessly, the creature stepped on the crumbled debris adorning the entrance until the sun uncovered its ghastly form. A zombie, much like the rest, it loomed over the chaos, its candlelit eyes flickering intelligently over the battlefield, and locking onto Soren.

 The magical blaze burned hotter and brighter, bathing the alley a soft tangerine. Hundreds of meters apart, man and beast faced each other, neither shrinking away.

 Peter’s throat constricted, a desperate attempt to coax even the faintest trace of moisture, but nothing but dust slid down his parched esophagus. His heart labored to circulate blood. It felt like his veins were filled with sludge.

 He closed his eyes. The end was nigh. It was foolish of them to oppose the new order; some things were simply inevitable—undeniable. No man could swim against the River. No man could defeat the System.

 A heavy thud. Peter’s eyelids snapped open. The green-eyed zombie had sat upon the marble. Cracks fissured down the polished staircase. The monster’s weight too heavy for the mortal material.

 The platoon marched, an inescapable stampede. Peter’s knees buckled. Any men that fought against fate were fools. The couldn’t win against this.

 A deafening explosion. A cloud of dust and smoke mushroomed into the sky. A humanoid cannonball, encased in orange ribbons, collided with the phalanx. Every bone in its path melted under the energy and pressure.

 The zombies decelerated, halting an arm’s length away from Peter, enshadowing him. He paid them no heed. Transfixed, he peered down a path paved in charcoal—a path splitting the enemy lines in two. He was wrong; they were men no longer.

 In the backline of the undead ranks, Soren was smiling. The small fries were distracted and he could concern himself with their leader. The moment he fell, the command chain would collapse. All those days of slaughter and preparation had culminated in this opportunity to face the area’s lord. Pride oozed from his being as he lifted his head, only to be met with an amused, scornful gaze. He couldn’t remember the last time he had looked down upon him.

 You’ll live to regret it.

 Suddenly, something latched onto his ankle, and the world spun as he was hoisted into the air. Then, the ground rushed up to meet his face with alarming speed. Over and over, he was slammed into the rough concrete like a ragdoll.

 It was very irritating.

 “Durability : 5.5

 The ground would probably give in before he did.

 “Strength : 5.9”

 Soren tried to steady himself by flexing his hamstrings, but the sudden changes in direction made it near impossible. He had to reduce the lever arm.

 Curling up into a ball, he secured a firm grip on the zombie’s arm. Now, in a much more stable position, he could concentrate and ‘push’ Mana into the yellow flames. The undead’s wrist succumbed to the heat and the momentum sent Soren flying away.

 “Agility : 3.4”

  The zombie was on his tail. He contorted himself in maid-air so that he always faced the threat. His knees bent to absorb the force as he impacted the condo’s exterior.

 A lightning quick slap veered the incoming handless bones from his neck. The ulna and the radius embedded themselves deep into the brick wall. The zombie stood there, confused.

 In that split second of inactivity, Soren examined his adversary. Taller and much thicker than a normal variant, it towered over him. Its bones were compact without gaps like a suit of armor. It was faster, stronger and more durable than its kin, but it remained prey nonetheless.

 Soren pushed off the wall, a chop to each shoulder severing the zombies’ arms. A vile odor diffused into the air as the zombie growled, powerless to retaliate. If the undead had any regrets, it was too late to voice them.

 Save for the occasional slap to divert the serrated teeth, Soren disregarded the snarling maw as he rained blows upon its armoured torso. This wasn’t a fight or an extermination, it was punishment for daring to oppose him.

 Soren unleashed his frustration upon the sturdy breastplate until it shattered. Through the falling fragments, he captured its spine. His free hand, subduing the snarling head, and sent Mana into its skull. White flames flashed and the zombie crumbled, crushed by its own gravity.

“You have absorbed the essence of a level 9 Zombie-[Common]. +0.1 Strength”

 Amidst the throng of zombies, half of the entire phalanx, Soren cracked his neck to alleviate the tightness. The leader, atop its marbled throne, observed the unfolding carnage, amused. Bloody pools boiled. Soren suppressed a flare of rage, seeking solace in the rhythm of his breath.

 In. Out.

 Having discharged part of his pent-up emotional energy, he refocused on the battlefield. The humans, battered and bleeding, fought on with valiant determination, but their efforts were faltering, their coordination waning. Soren hoped they could last a bit longer. They were useful distractions. While he could handle the common zombies if he fought unrestrained, he couldn't say the same for the entity basking in the sunlight, casually scratching its cheek as if bored by the spectacle.

 {Belligerent} activated as Soren attacked the closest zombie. A strike to the ribs sent it hurling meters away, where the skeletal creature crashed into the ranks of the army like a bowling ball, causing soldiers to topple by the dozen.

 Soren raised his left arm to shield himself, then slid it along the bone, seizing another zombie’s wrist. Stepping to the side, he pulled it towards him, swapping their positions as an armored behemoth charged forward, crashing through the zombie like brittle glass. Soren met it with a spinning back kick. Their opposing momentums negated each other. Serpentine fissures across the creature’s breastplate were the sole evidence of the powerful collision.

 On one leg, Soren lifted his foot in an axe kick, poised to deliver a decisive blow to the skeletal goliath when three normal variants tackled him and pinned his limbs to the ground. Two armored zombies were about to stomp down on his body when he poured Mana to his right arm. Fire erupted downward, rotating his body to escape fatal injury and slamming the zombies clinging to his wrists together. The skeletons burst into flaming shards that ricocheted off the armoured variant’s breastplates. Unfortunately for Soren, he was a being of flesh and sinew. Chips and splinters embedded themselves inside his skin, inflicting numerous superficial wounds.

 Ignoring the bleeding, Soren propelled his legs upward and executed a backflip, landing firmly on his feet. Mana surged within him. Ethereal strands converged into a white orb above his palm. Once, it pulsed, and the surrounding zombies halted. Twice, the pressure climbed higher, enveloping the entire battlefield. For the humans, this brief respite was lifesaving. Thrice, the mana density peaked, and a torrent purifying flames was released.

 Bone dissolved and liquefied as the spell cut effortlessly through the pack of monsters and penetrated the walls of buildings beyond the bounds of the battlefield. Witnessing Soren’s magic, the commander sprang into action with unnatural speed. Like rotting wood, the marbled staircase shattered beneath its feet. It was upon Soren in a heartbeat.

 Broken ribs punctured his lungs as his smaller body was flung violently, crashing through a house’s walls in a shower of brick and mortar. The zombie closed in before his feet had even touched the plush carpet. Coughing blood, Soren ran from the barreling beast. His chest throbbed as he willed himself forward, darting through the house’s sharp twists and turns.

 Walls crumbled as the leader chased him. Its rancid breath tickled his neck. Centimeters separated life and death. The song of battle thundered inside his head, loud and distinct.

 Shit.

 The back door was shut; he had no choice but to go through it. The door exploded in a rain of splinters, his own thorax burrowing deeper into his lungs. Blood filled his airways, choking his breath. He had to act fast.

 Fire-draped hands tore open his own flesh, revealing the shattered remnants beneath. Soren grasped the most damaging ribs and pulled. The jagged bones gouged part of his lungs. Blood sprayed. Pain—Focus. Here. Now.

 Flesh dangled over the severed ribs as he switched to a reverse grip. Leaning forward, his weight shifted to his right knee, and he launched himself forward. Skeletal hands made for his waist as the zombie rushed to capture him.

 Naive. A rib between his teeth, Soren expelled a surge of Mana from his now free hand, warping his trajectory. The zombie missed.

 Using its knee as leverage, Soren climbed onto its shoulders, blazing daggers descending on the backside of its skull, where the bone was most malleable. Flame-wreathed blades penetrated inside, propelling fire out of hollow eye sockets.

 Game over, Soren thought, pleased with his victory, but his triumph was short-lived. His footing gave way beneath him and his body launched through the air.

 Ichor leaked from his mouth and chest. A stabbing pain assaulted his back. Teeth shattered upon impact as he impacted the concrete face first. He swallowed the pieces and pushed off the ground with his hand, converting his slide to a frenzied run back into the house.

 Blood cascaded from his wounds, staining the furniture red as dizziness crept in. He traced his exposed flesh with fire, cauterizing it to minimize the blood loss and wake himself. Rolling aside, he evaded the enraged beast that smashed through one of the few remaining supporting pillars.

 With its structural foundation destroyed, the quaked. Soren cast a fireball at the beast, hindering it long enough to jump through the nearest window.

 The ensuing explosion was the last straw. The house collapsed, brick and mortar entombing the undead beast.

 For an instant, all ceased. Absolute stillness enveloped the battlefield. A pause in the relentless whirlwind of disorder. Zombies and men alike, suspended in time, awaited the reprieving call of the System—a call that never echoed.

 The wreckage shifted. The zombie didn’t rush. Didn’t hurl any rubble. Didn’t snarl in fury. It simply rose, the debris yielding to its presence.

 Meanwhile, the army had encircled Soren’s party members. Their bodies, mere husks of their former selves, bore the gruesome scars of battle—rent flesh, twisted limbs, and spilled blood, a macabre symphony of agony. An armored zombie, poised to bite Lee, hesitated as it sensed a spike of essence. The entire army bowed to their commander. The order conveyed by the green candlelights was unmistakable; death. The army obeyed. A bulwark of death, they spared those barely clinging to life to dispose the greater threat.

 Caught between Scylla and Charybdis, Soren turned his back to the encroaching swarm to face the anomaly. He spat the pooled slobber in his mouth on the zombie’s face. Crimson phlegm dripped down its temple to its candlelit eyes, where it vaporized into iron-tinged smoke.

 A maniacal grin: broken, jagged teeth, lips twisted by anguish and bathed in blood. Now this, was a proper fight.

 Soren darted beneath the leader’s wide swipe as decaying nails dug into his back. He accepted the punishment. Not for a second did he waver from the enemy before him.

 Against the onslaught of attacks his smaller size became an advantage. The wounds accumulated slowly. From his nape to his lumbar spine, his flesh was mangled and torn, barely clinging to his faltering frame. Beating lungs, peeked behind soaked bones, pushing away the thin flaps of his skin with each shuddering breath.

 Whenever an opportunity presented itself, Soren retaliated backwards blindly, reducing the burden. But no matter how many foes he felled, the torture didn’t stop.

 Grey crystals adorned the battlefield, their luster dizzying, as his injuries ravaged his senses. His vision blurred, his reactions slowed. Errors became more frequent. It was unfortunate, but the time to escape had come. Soren ignited his Mana Pool, planning to create a distraction to facilitate his retreat to the shelter.

 The surge in Mana density alarmed the enemy ranks. The commander roared in fury and the barrage assaulting Soren amplified. Hell rained down upon him as the zombies sacrificed control for ferocity—a novice's mistake. In these crucial moments, hyperfocus was imperative. When the blood run hot and chaos consumed the battlefield, one had to be cold and empty like the barren tundra. To balance on the thin edge of life and death, one had to find order in the chaos; a feat impossible, made possible by the forge of a thousand battles, and the fortune necessary to survive as a fledging.

 One may wish to soar to the skies like an eagle, but first, he had to jump off the cliff, and into the abyss.

 Darkness enveloped Soren. And as it embraced him everything faded— everything, but the awareness of a demon.

 Soren's feet shuffled. One arm rose instinctively to fend off an incoming blow. Battered and bruised, his pliant flesh barely held firm, deflecting the frontal assault while enduring the rear one. Soren moved with a fluid, graceful precision— swaying underneath, leaping above, shifting right and left— parrying and accepting each attack with a relentless rhythm.

 When his arm was too far away to block, he shrugged his shoulder to shield his head. When evasion was not an option, he stepped forward to mitigate the damage. His feet were in constant motion. His hands never stilled. Every attack was foreseen, every move considered, every counter meticulously planned to transition into the next. But the fog was spreading. Time was running out.

 A thrust to his eyes sought to end his life yet again. His left foot slid aside as his right traced a quarter-circle pivot. Sharp nails grazed his nose. Seizing the extended arm, Soren was about to pull the commander towards the swarm, leveraging the reaction force to propel himself away from the fray when a lightning-fast silhouette kicked his calf. His leg buckled, transforming horizontal momentum into a jolting vertical force.

 He crashed into the ground, laying there on one knee before the towering monster. In the corner of his vision, he caught a glimpse of cascading raven hair.

 Soren crossed his arms to shield his head from the skeleton’s wrath. His forearms crumbled to dust upon impact, the force threatening to pry loose his grip on the Mana. Blood stained the ground red as his arms launched back, shattered limbs bending in unnatural ways, boneless flesh twisting like a wrung towel. Agony coursed through him.

 Pain.

 Pain was an illusion of the senses. One that could be ignored through rigorous training and sheer mental fortitude. It couldn’t hinder his thoughts. Not anymore. He was calloused by death and washed by the blood.

 Calmness suffused him—a demon’s baneful determination. There was enough Mana left for a single spell. He placed every single unspent attribute point into intelligence.

 “Intelligence : 5.6 → 10.6”

Clarity.

 Like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. As if he had broken the surface of the water and could breathe again.

 In. Out.

 The drums of war set the rhythm and the world around him slowed down, becoming sluggish, as if time itself had come to a standstill. Mana inflated his pathways, stretching the boundaries of his vessel, causing pain that was multiplied by his newly heightened sensitivity.

 Even he couldn’t ignore this level of agony. It threatened to consume him—tether his sanity.

 His connection to the abyss was on the verge of being severed when a pulse from beyond nudged him. The vibrant thrum of mana reached out from beyond the mind-addling fog. Any remnants of veins and sinews burst apart as his reserves plummeted to zero.

 A barely defined ray of plasma. A ray of pure heat and energy, it sublimated solids to gas.

 Soldiers tried to protect their leader only to be atomized by the searing beam. The commander attempted to run away, but it couldn’t escape.

 Even as the torrent of Mana disintegrated his very arm, the spell clung to the commander’s writhing form with unwavering precision. Until the emerald candleflames were extinguished.

 “Congratulations. You have accomplished an [Uncommon]-Feat. Your Status will be reevaluated”