At Ethan's command, the panel reappeared, this time bathed in a soft, cerulean blue glow.
Its presence felt less alien now, but no less surreal.
[Name: Ethan Cross
Age: 21
Race: Human
Health: 10
Strength: 8
Agility: 7
Stamina: 9
Mana: 90
Points: 0
Ability: Air Manipulation
Shop: Automatically unlocks when the user accumulates 10 points.
Note: The normal human stat limit is 10.
Note: You are granted one opportunity to ask a question related to this status panel.
Any unrelated question will forfeit this chance]
Ethan stared at the glowing panel with a blank expression, eyes scanning the words in silence.
Then, slowly, a frown crept across his face.
He wasn't particularly concerned with his stats, his nature leaned heavily toward laziness, and as far as he was concerned, having numbers close to the human peak was more than enough.
As an author, he instinctively understood the significance of each stat, he didn't need a tutorial to grasp what Strength, Agility, or Stamina implied.
The mana reading practically confirmed what he had felt earlier, that strange sensation that had surged through his body just before he was pulled into that surreal, color-shifting space.
But something felt... off.
His eyes narrowed.
There was no mention of a 'level'.
No progression metric.
No indication of growth stages or benchmarks.
That absence bothered him.
Every apocalyptic scenario he'd ever read, whether in novels, games, or web serials, had one common thread when it involved a system: levels.
There was always a leveling mechanism, a tangible means of growth.
Yet here, there was nothing.
No experience bar.
No option to distribute stat or attribute points.
Not even a class progression tab.
'Strange'
His thoughts drifted back to the countless fantasies he had immersed himself in.
While those fictional worlds were often brimming with useful insight, Ethan reminded himself with quiet resolve:
'Fantasies may offer insights, but they're not reality. I can't afford to overlap the two'
With that, he pushed the uncertainty aside.
Worrying about what wasn't there wouldn't help, not now. Not when survival demanded clarity.
His eyes shifted once more, locking onto the final notification on the screen.
"I only have one chance to ask a question"
Ethan's mind repeated the thought like a quiet mantra.
He knew better than to waste it on something vague, asking about the Rebirth Phase, for example, would likely be met with silence, and that would be his only shot gone.
Systems always followed rules, and rarely offered second chances.
So, instead, he went with something direct.
Something important.
He took a breath and spoke clearly.
"Explain Air Manipulation"
While he already had a rough understanding from countless fantasy novels, he wasn't about to let assumptions guide his survival.
It was better to be sure, this wasn't fiction anymore.
A moment passed.
Then, the system responded.
Its voice was flat, mechanical, yet strangely resonant as it echoed directly within his mind:
[Air Manipulation allows the user to manipulate air to the limits of their imagination, provided there is sufficient mana]
Ethan's eyes flickered slightly as he processed the words.
Ethan's gaze shifted to the mana stat.
90.
He had no idea if that was considered low, average, or exceptional.
The system hadn't given any baseline for comparison.
But one thing was clear, his ability's potential hinged entirely on two things: his imagination and his mana pool.
"Not bad"
He muttered under his breath.
"That's actually a nice ability"
But the moment of intrigue was short-lived.
The screams from outside hadn't ceasedl, they rose and fell like waves of agony crashing against a shoreline of despair.
Distant explosions rumbled through the air, each one sharper and closer than the last.
On his floor, the chaos had reached a fever pitchlz people screaming, tossing furniture, slamming doors, shouting for help or for silence.
A cacophony of panic.
It was a brutal reminder: the world was ending outside his door.
Ethan forced himself to block out the screams echoing through the building.
He couldn't afford to get caught up in someone else's panicl, not when he could barely guarantee his own survival.
He couldn't save them.
He couldn't even save himself yet.
Instead, he turned inward, his thoughts sharpening like a blade on a whetstone as he considered his next move.
Wait for the government?
He almost scoffed aloud at the thought.
What a laughable idea.
People who clung to the hope of rescue, who sat idly by expecting salvation, were always the first to die in apocalyptic scenarios.
Even if they somehow survived the initial chaos, they were usually too powerless, too unprepared to ever hold any meaningful place in the new world that followed.
The truth was bitter but clear.
The government would prioritize its own, the powerful, the influential, the connected.
Ordinary citizens?
They'd be an afterthought, rescued only if the logistics were convenient.
And with all forms of communication down, who knew how long it would take before anything resembling order was restored?
'I have to act fast'
Ethan's conclusion was clear, solidified like steel in a forge.
No one was coming.
If he wanted to survive, he'd have to start moving, start preparing.
He rose from the ground, each step toward the kitchen filled with purpose.
Reaching into the drawer, he grabbed a kitchen knife, nothing fancy, but it was sharp and functional.
He eyed the blade for a moment, then muttered,
"Let's try something"
With the weapon in hand, he focused and tried to will it into the system, imagining it being swallowed by an invisible storage space.
Nothing happened.
No flash. No panel.
No indication the system had an inventory feature at all.
Ethan sighed.
"Figures. No inventory function"
He turned on his heel and returned to his room, picking up his school bag.
It wasn't built for survival, but it would have to do for now.
He tossed in a few bottles of water and whatever snacks he had lying around, some biscuits, half-empty chip bags, and a chocolate bar he didn't even remember buying.
Once packed, he checked the straps, zipped it tight, and slung it over his shoulders.
In one hand, he held the kitchen knife.
The second one, just in case, was buried inside the bag.
His eyes drifted toward the door.
Beyond it was chaos.
But behind it… was death.
As Ethan reached the door, the sound hit him first, relentless, guttural thudding, accompanied by low, inhuman snarls.
Something was out there.
Something impatient.
Something hungry.
He froze.
A cold wave of fear surged through him, pooling in his stomach.
His fingers clenched around the knife instinctively.
Each slam against the door echoed like a countdown in his mind.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
He swallowed hard, every logical part of him screaming to back away, to barricade the door again, to wait it out, maybe they'd move on.
But another voice, sharper, more resolute, sliced through the fear.
'No'
He grit his teeth and shook his head.
'No more hiding'
He reminded himself: one bite, one scratch, that's all it would take.
He was human. Fragile.
But so were the zombies, at least until proven otherwise.
'I just need to kill the first one. Once I do… the rest will get easier'
The logic was shaky.
The fear was real.
But hesitation wouldn't save him.
Ethan stepped forward, heart pounding as he reached for the makeshift barricade.
He grabbed the edge of the couch and began shifting it aside, inch by inch.
It groaned against the floor loudly.
And the creature on the other side responded.
The thuds grew stronger.
More desperate.
The metallic door trembled on its hinges as the zombie hurled itself with renewed ferocity.
Ethan's breathing quickened, but he didn't stop.
The couch slid aside, revealing the handle.
With the knife clenched tightly in his right hand,
Ethan unlocked the door, positioning himself just behind it.
His breath hitched as the lock clicked.
The door creaked open slightly, and within seconds, a figure staggered in.
The zombie's steps were erratic, uneven, its twisted form hunched, with long strands of saliva dangling from its bloodied mouth.
Its skin was pallid, peeling in places, and its clothes hung loosely, soaked in old blood.
It didn't see him.
Ethan didn't hesitate.
As soon as the creature fully entered, its back still turned, he lunged forward.
With both hands now on the hilt of the knife, he raised it high and brought it down with all the force his body could muster.
The blade sank into the zombie's skull with a wet, sickening crack.
A spray of greenish blood splattered across the floor and up Ethan's arms.
The creature twitched once, then collapsed in a heap, lifeless.
Ethan staggered backward, slamming the door shut behind him.
His back thudded against the metal as he slid down to the floor, knife still in hand.
His chest heaved in shallow, frantic breaths.
His hands trembled.
Sweat clung to his skin, trailing down his spine.
The weight of the act, the brutal reality of what he'd just done pressed down on him.
He hadn't run a marathon.
He hadn't lifted anything heavy.
But the mental weight… it was crushing.
The system's notification flashed before Ethan's eyes:
[You have killed a Normal Zombie. Stamina +1. Points +1]
A rush of relief and strange satisfaction washed over him.
He couldn't help the small, twisted smile that tugged at the corner of his lips.
'I can gain stats and points from killing monsters'
He let the thought settle for a moment.
He stepped towards the crumpled body of the zombie, his knife still held loosely in his hand.
Kneeling down, he inspected the corpse, eyes scanning for anything useful.
But the zombie was just that, a zombie.
Nothing. No loot. No shiny items.
'No drops'
He thought, a touch disappointed but unsurprised.
A quick mental calculation followed: 'If there were drops, I wouldn't even need the system shop. It'd be redundant'
With a final glance at the fallen creature, he turned toward the door.
His mind sharpened, focus pulling him back to the present.
'I can't waste any more time'
He reached for the door once again, turning the handle with steady hands.
It creaked open, and without a second thought, Ethan stepped out into the hallway, ready for whatever came next.