The sun burned bright in the sky, but beneath its warmth, the earth felt cold.
Bittu lay sprawled on the damp ground, still and pale, as if carved from silence. His breath was shallow. His condition—unknown.
Rustle.
Something stirred in the bushes.
A shadow slipped out from behind a tree. A zombie.
Its blood-caked face tilted towards Bittu, dead eyes fixed on him like a predator sizing up prey. Patches of flesh decayed, barely hanging attached to its skin. The stench rolled out in waves—rotting meat, wet earth and something worse.
If a man saw it awake, he'd vomit his soul out.
"...Gurrrr…"
The sound rasped through the zombie's broken throat.
Slow. Uneven. It dragged itself forward, one jerky step at a time. Closer. Closer to the sleeping man.
Then it crouched low. Claws flashed.
And tore into his chest.
Blood burst free like a dam breaking, spilling hot across his ribs. Agony ripped through Bittu's body, his brain lit up in fire, and—
He woke screaming.
"AAAHHHHHH!"
Pain.
Extreme pain.
His hands clawed at the ground, trying to push the monster away—but his strength was dust. His eyes widened as the creature feasted on his flesh, face drowned in red, teeth grinding bone.
"No… no… no… GO AWAY!"
His voice cracked, broken, useless.
He felt frightened, scared. He felt terror.
He felt helpless.
His arms flailed, but the wound had stolen his will. He couldn't fight. Couldn't even crawl. Just watched as death chewed his body, inch by inch.
Until there was nothing left.
...
AAAHHHHHH!
Bittu bolted upright, lungs on fire, sweat clinging to his skin. His eyes darted left, right, wild with terror. The forest—silent. No corpse. No claws. Just air and shadows.
A nightmare.
Only a nightmare.
He gulped down air, chest heaving, heart punching his ribs like a drum. His eyes swept the clearing again and again. Every branch, every leaf, every whisper of wind—suspect.
Then—came a sound.
Rustle. From the left.
Bittu froze.
"…It… it can't be…"
But it was. From behind the tree, something moved. Something wrong.
The zombie stepped into view.
His blood turned to ice. Every muscle screamed to run—but his legs locked, stiff with terror. The thing shuffled closer, dragging its broken frame with sick determination. That sound tore through the clearing again, low and rough:
"Guuurrrr…"
The noise crawled down his spine like a nest of centipedes.
"Stay… stay away…"
His voice cracked. His finger trembled toward the creature, but his body refused to follow orders. Legs dead. Breath shallow. Mouth freezing shut.
Help me. Someone… help me.
Please.
The words screamed in his mind, but his lips couldn't shape them. Fear didn't just sweep inside him—it consumed him.
At the edge of his collapse, something strange happened.
A cool wave swept through his mind—smooth, soothing, almost gentle. It pressed down on the chaos like a calming hand, numbing the panic that had gripped him whole.
What… is this?
What is this feeling?
Why do I feel… calm?
His breath slowed. The tremor in his limbs faded. His eyes—gradually cold now—locked on the corpse. The terror that had paralyzed him moments ago shattered into stillness.
I'm… not afraid anymore.
He rose to his feet. Straight. Unshaken. Not a trace of the quivering wreck he had been.
Let's think later. For now...
Kill it.
His gaze flicked to a broken branch near a tree. Sharp. Heavy enough. He snatched it, fingers curling tight around the wood, and dashed forward.
The zombie lunged, claws raking air where he had been. Bittu slipped aside, smooth as water, and drove the branch forward—aiming for the back of its head.
Crack.
The blow landed—but shallow. Not enough.
Tch. Head. Always the head. That's what is—
He stopped.
Wait.
What…
What... what was I about to say?
...can't remember.
Why can't I remember?
His grip faltered. The cold mask on his face cracked, and something darker clawed through.
What's happening to me?
His pulse spiked again, fear rising like floodwater—different this time. Not of death. Something worse.
Who… am I?
The question gutted him. He stumbled back, heart roaring, mind screaming.
What's my name?
What am I?
WHO AM I?!
He dropped to his knees, hands clutching his head as a sound ripped out of his throat—a sound of pure fracture.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Tears burned his eyes as laughter and sobs tangled together, raw and broken. His mind began to splinter, spiraling into the dark.
Then—the coolness returned.
Harder this time. Forceful. Crushing the storm in his skull until it bent, then broke, then stilled. His breath steadied. The sobs died in his throat.
A screen flickered before his eyes:
[Acquired a special trait from your class, Jocker. ]
[Trait: Cold (Passive)]
[Integration: 7%]
[Description: A forceful characteristic integrated into the wielder's mind to suppress emotions to a certain extent.]
He didn't read it.
Didn't care.
The zombie was already lunging.
Bittu rolled aside just as claws tore the air where his neck had been. He came up on his feet, the branch gripped like a spear, eyes glinting with steel.
No fear. No tremor. No hesitation.
The zombie struck again. Slow. Predictable. Bittu slid past its swipe, planted his foot, and thrust the branch forward—straight through its eye.
Squash.
The sound was vile. A mixx of black-red spurted, the eye popping free as the branch buried deep into brain. Bittu yanked it free and leapt back, avoiding the spatter that hissed on the grass.
Something told him that blood was worse than death.
The zombie twitched, let out one last guttural hiss—and fell.
Dead.
For real this time.
Bittu stood over the corpse, chest rising and falling, his shirt torn, streaked with blood and dirt. But his posture—straight as an iron rod. His eyes—cold, unyielding.
If someone had seen him now, they'd never believe this was the same man who, moments ago, could barely breathe from fear.
And yet… behind that calm, a whisper curled through his mind.
Who… was he?