'Verdict.'
Instantly, a translucent screen shimmered into view before Merek, displaying a miniature projection of Yuki clad in her weaved armor, executing a series of basic combat maneuvers with eerie precision.
Design Name: [None]
Compactability: [45%]
Rank: [D+]
Trait: [Blood Aura – Those who meet her gaze feel dread crawl into their bones, as though death has already laid claim to them. Her presence thickens the air with a metallic tang, like the scent that lingers on the eve of a massacre.]
Merek stared at the screen, his breath still.
"What kind of life did she live?" he murmured, shaken.
Final Verdict: [The design appears rushed, and the weaving lacks finesse. Yet, despite the hasty craftsmanship and the incomplete memory resonance, the end product surpassed initial expectations. The durability and weight are impressive, especially for a rookie attempt. Still, much remains untapped, hidden within the wraith's fragmented memories.]
A strange mixture of pride and uncertainty twisted in Merek's chest. A D+ rating wasn't extraordinary—but it wasn't a failure either. Given it was his first try, it could've been much worse.
But the compatibility score told him what he already suspected—45%. He hadn't dug deep enough. He'd only glimpsed a fleeting scene in a bamboo forest, Yuki's form darting too fast, her features unclear. There was more to her—much more—but it remained shrouded.
"Not bad," he muttered.
"What is not bad?" Yuki tilted her head slightly, now standing tall, her form encased in the gray steel of her new shell.
"Your armour," Merek said, still recovering from the fatigue clawing at his limbs. "Time's running short. We've got less than a day left, and… I'm not sure you'll survive if I die. So—we need essence cores. Fast."
With that, he turned and opened the door, the revolver clutched tightly in his right hand.
Five bullets remained.
Whenever he and his younger brother had left this building before, they avoided the main exits, which were the elevator and the stairs—climbing out through Uncle Jorik's window using the hiker's ropes.
But this time, Merek glanced around the hallway, then decided.
'The elevator.'
He was on the third floor. Apart from the old woman and her flesh-craving family, no other infected roamed here—yet. He didn't know what the lower floors would bring.
'Please… let there be more of those flesh-hungry monst—'
His thought caught itself mid-breath. His eyes widened. Had he really wished for that?
Neither he—nor the man that once owned this body—would have ever yearned for something this insane.
But of his circumstances.
Survival was no longer enough. He had to grow stronger.
Not for glory. Not to rule.
Just to live.
Because death—no matter how distant—was no longer an opinion. Not now. Not while his body was still whole and his organs healthy.
And yet despite his fear of death, beside him stood the dead, walking in dull armor.
He clicked his tongue and strode toward the elevator, Yuki trailing behind with soft clinks of steel against tile—her footsteps eerily rhythmic, like the tolling of a death bell.
She had to be a trained killer or maybe an honourable highly trained sword master who also… killed every often.
Come on… what was the sword for then?
He pressed the call button and immediately stepped back.
The doors groaned open.
A vile stench rolled out first—fetid, coppery, and cloying—like rotting meat soaked in stagnant blood. Then came the moans.
Four of them. Grotesque, slack-jawed remnants of humanity.
Tattered clothes clung to half-eaten torsos. Their skin sloughed off in places, exposing sinew and gnawed bone. Their eyes were fogged white, devoid of thought, driven only by hunger.
They charged.
Yuki surged forward, her movement like liquid steel. A horizontal slash carved the air—and two heads rolled clean off their shoulders, dark blood spurting against the walls.
The remaining two lunged—not at her, but at Merek.
They hungered for him.
Bam!
Yuki grabbed the head of the female zombie mid-leap and smashed it against the wall with bone-crunching force. Blood and gray matter splattered across the cracked plaster. She didn't pause—flinging the limp corpse at the last one like it weighed nothing.
The impact threw both to the ground in a snarled heap.
Yuki advanced, the thunderous clang of her boots ringing through the silence, then drove her blade down through both their skulls in a single, merciless stroke.
The hallway fell still. Only the faint dripping of gore remained.
Then came the glow—ghostly and white, rising from the corpses like mist from a battlefield. It drifted, ephemeral and silent, into the slits of Yuki's helm.
She tilted her head back, as if savoring the aftertaste of a hard-earned kill.
[Your first wraith has risen to Level 3]
Merek blinked as the notification scrolled before him.
Yuki lowered her head slowly, stepped forward, and wordlessly pried the cores from the corpses. She extended her hand—blood-slick gauntlet holding four glowing essence cores.
"Eat them," she said simply.
Merek glanced at the sharp, jagged tips of her fingers—his own handiwork. Despite himself, he allowed a moment of pride.
He accepted the cores. "I made your shell in debt," he murmured. "I have to pay."
Yuki's voice was quiet. "Only the strong pays debt."
He raised an eyebrow.
Who was she before this?
What kind of life teaches a girl to speak like that?
But… she wasn't wrong.
He couldn't stay at Level 1. Strength was the only currency left in this broken world. And stronger prey meant better loot.
Without hesitation, he tossed the cores into his mouth and swallowed them, one by one.
[You have consumed a Level 3 zombie essence core.]
[You have consumed a Level 3 zombie essence core.]
[You have consumed a Level 3 zombie essence core.]
[You have consumed a Level 3 zombie essence core.]
[You have risen to Level 3.]
A low burn spread through his veins, muscles flexing with renewed vigor. He could feel it—he was almost at Level 4. Just a little more.
But for Yuki, it would take more. She needed double.
"Let's go," he said, stepping into the elevator.
Yuki followed silently, sword tip dragging a thin groove across the metal floor as the doors shut with a groan.
Merek stared ahead, revolver heavy in his hand.
He had no idea what waited on the ground floor.
But he knew what he hoped for.
'Please… be zombies.'