The metallic floor was slick with black ichor, thick and viscous, shimmering faintly under the crimson light filtering from the warped exterior windows. Liam lay sprawled beside the headless, mangled corpse of the Stalker, gasping, body screaming in protest. Every muscle ached with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion that felt fundamentally different from human fatigue. It was the exhaustion of a power source depleted, a battery run down.
His shoulders burned, deep, tearing pain where the Stalker's claws had raked him. His chest felt raw, scraped and battered against the wall. But beneath the searing agony, he felt it: the familiar, disturbing itch under his skin, the sensation of torn flesh knitting itself back together. Slower than the minor cuts he'd sustained before, faster than a human could ever heal. `Limited Regeneration II` was active.
```
Body Function: Limited Regeneration II in effect. Moderate injuries detected. Healing efficiency at 35%. Moderate Demonic Energy required.
Demonic Energy: 8 / 50 - Regeneration/Skill Usage Noted. Passive Regeneration Active.
```
35% efficiency. An improvement on the 20% seen during the fight, perhaps because he wasn't actively using speed bursts or pushing suppression. But still agonizingly slow, a grinding, internal process that reminded him constantly of his violated state. His Demonic Energy pool was almost empty. He felt the drag, the weakness associated with it.
Yet, beneath that, a faint, almost imperceptible thrumming vibrated in his core. The saturated air of the precinct, thick with ambient Demonic Energy, was slowly, grudgingly, feeding him. Like a plant drawing sustenance from toxic soil. `Passive Regeneration Active`. It was sickening, this reliance on the very corruption that had ruined the world.
He pushed himself onto trembling hands and knees, head hanging, dark hair matted with sweat and grime. The smell of ichor was overwhelming – acrid, metallic, like spoiled iron. He knelt there for a long moment, the raw survival instinct that had driven him through the fight slowly receding, leaving behind the cold, crushing weight of what he had done, and what he now knew he was.
He looked at the Stalker. The head lay a few feet away, eyes dull, the chitinous skull cracked and broken where he had squeezed. The body was a ruined mess of twisted limbs and ruptured plating. He had killed it with his hands. With brute force fueled by an unnatural energy that coiled within him.
He had dismembered the Shambler in the apartment out of panicked, desperate necessity. This felt different. It was controlled, focused, brutal efficiency. There was a grim practicality to it now, an understanding of angles and force needed to break chitin and bone. He had hunted it in this small room, trapped it, broken it. And for a fleeting, horrifying second during the struggle, pushing his hands against its skull, he had felt a surge, not just of power, but of… *rightness*. A dark, twisted resonance with the act of destruction.
That brief, terrible feeling clung to him, a stain worse than the ichor on his hands. He wiped them on his ruined pants, the black goo smearing the dark fabric. He was becoming efficient at this. Too efficient.
Accomplishment? Yes, the cold, hard fact of surviving a 'High Threat' encounter delivered by the System confirmed a twisted form of success. But it was utterly poisoned by self-loathing. This wasn't survival of the fittest; it felt like the survival of the most monstrous.
He stumbled towards the pedestal, towards the obsidian crystal that pulsed gently, less intensely now. `[System Asset - Primary]` still glowed above it in his vision. The data it had poured into him… it wasn't just abstract information. It had felt like memory, like deep, foundational truth about his being.
He focused his mind, accessing the System interface, pulling up the recent information log. He needed to read it again, slowly, deliberately, separate it from the adrenaline and the horror of the fight.
```
[Information Unlocked]
Nature of Host: Confirmed Linkage to [Infernal Hierarchy - Minor Branch: Abyssal Scions]. Demonic Affinity is inherent.
Purpose of Transformation: Facilitated by System as response to Environmental Collapse Trigger Event. Host designation is [Scion of Ash].
System Mandate: Growth. Adaptation. Understanding.
Primary Directive Update: Identify and integrate with viable power structures. Secondary Objective: Eliminate competing entities where necessary.
New Questline Unlocked: [Seeds of Power] - Requires exploration and interaction with new elements in the world.
```
He read the lines over and over.
Nature of Host: Confirmed Linkage to [Infernal Hierarchy - Minor Branch: Abyssal Scions]. Demonic Affinity is inherent.
He wasn't just a random mutation. He was *linked*. To an `Infernal Hierarchy`. A chain of command? A bloodline? And a 'Minor Branch': `Abyssal Scions`. What was an Abyss? Was it where the demons came from? And `Scion`? A descendant. A child. The data confirmed what the System had hinted at, what his transforming body had screamed: he was tied to the invaders. His nature was inherently demonic. It wasn't an infection; it was lineage.
The realization was a physical blow, a sickening twist in his gut. His world wasn't just destroyed; he was part of the architecture of its destruction. A branch of the tree that bore the poisoned fruit of the apocalypse.
Purpose of Transformation: Facilitated by System as response to Environmental Collapse Trigger Event. Host designation is [Scion of Ash].
The System hadn't just *found* him. It had `Facilitated` his transformation. It had *made* him this way. As a `response`? To the apocalypse itself? Was he a necessary evil? A countermeasure? Or part of the planned outcome? And his designation: `Scion of Ash`. Ash. The residue of burning. Of destruction. It fit.
System Mandate: Growth. Adaptation. Understanding.
Cold. Clinical. These were the System's objectives for him. Not survival, not morality, not rebuilding. Growth – in power, in ability. Adaptation – to this world, to his nature. Understanding – of what? The world? His place in it? The System itself? It felt less like guidance and more like programming.
Primary Directive Update: Identify and integrate with viable power structures. Secondary Objective: Eliminate competing entities where necessary.
This was new. A shift from mere survival. `Identify and integrate with viable power structures`. What power structures? The Infernal Hierarchy? The Non-demonic Entities? The System seemed to be pushing him towards engagement, towards taking a side, or perhaps building his *own* side. And `Eliminate competing entities`. The Stalker was a competing entity, in the immediate sense. But what about the things that felt like `Non-demonic Entities`? The ones who had been here, moving East? Were they 'viable power structures'? Or 'competing entities'? The System offered no clarification, just the chilling, detached instruction.
The contrast between the sterile, objective language of the System and the raw, screaming turmoil in his mind was jarring. The System presented these cosmic, terrifying truths like firmware updates. It didn't acknowledge the grief, the horror, the fundamental destruction of his identity. It just gave him data and directives based on the new reality it had facilitated.
New Questline Unlocked: [Seeds of Power] - Requires exploration and interaction with new elements in the world.
Seeds of Power. A questline. The crystal was an `Interaction with a new element`. Had it been the first 'Seed'? The phrase 'exploration and interaction with new elements' felt like a vague instruction to just… keep going. Keep finding things, keep changing. The System wasn't going to hold his hand. It was pointing him down a path and expecting him to figure it out.
He felt the passive regeneration working on his wounds, a dull throb mixed with the persistent itch. He needed to test the other new skills, understand what they were.
First, `Limited Regeneration II`. He ran a finger lightly over the deep gashes on his shoulder. The skin was still broken, bloody, but the edges looked cleaner, less ragged than they should. He focused on the sensation, trying to feel the process itself. It wasn't like skin closing. It felt like… material being woven back together, like pulling threads of dark, viscous liquid from deep within his body and using them to patch the damage. It was agonizingly slow for such wounds, but undeniably effective. And tied to his diminishing Demonic Energy. The pain was still intense, a constant reminder that enhanced healing didn't mean painless healing.
Next, the passive skill, `Demonic Energy Manipulation II (Passive)`. His current DE was 10 / 50. Low. He focused inward, trying to sense the pool. It felt like a deep well of cold, heavy liquid inside him. And he could feel the faint, external energy of the precinct location feeding into it, a slow, almost reluctant trickle adding to the total. This explained how he recharged, absorbing the very energy that saturated this hellscape. The higher the concentration of ambient DE, the faster he'd potentially recover. This precinct was a battery for him. Disturbing.
`Demonic Presence Suppression II`. He hadn't needed it actively during the fight, but maintaining it constantly had drained him earlier. He mentally pushed the ability, willing himself to be unseen, unheard, un-sensed. It felt slightly easier, the energy drain perhaps less severe (or maybe his capacity had increased enough at Level 2 that the drain felt less impactful relative to the total). It was still necessary, a second skin of concealment in a world that hunted what he was, and what hunted what he was.
Finally, the new active skill: `Demonic Sense I`. The System interface offered the option to activate it, showing the cost: `[Activate Demonic Sense I? Cost: 5 DE]`. He hesitated. What would it feel like? What would he see? Or sense? He needed to know. He needed every advantage he could get.
He focused, mentally selecting 'Yes'. A flicker, a strange, internal shift. His remaining Demonic Energy dipped: 3 / 50.
It wasn't like seeing with his eyes. It was a new layer of perception overlaid onto his vision and his other senses. The room didn't just look like a ruined metallic space; it pulsed with a dull, crimson light that only he could see, tracing the walls, pooling in the corners, emanating strongly from the crystal on the pedestal. The ambient Demonic Energy of the precinct was made visible, a shimmering, oppressive fog.
He looked at the dead Stalker. Its body glowed faintly with a dying, dark-red light, a residue of the energy that had animated it. It felt like a cold heat signature, something that would linger long after the physical form decayed.
He focused his new sense outwards, beyond the room, through the reinforced door, into the precinct corridors. The energy signature of the building itself was everywhere, stronger in some places than others. The corridor outside was thick with it. The records room was less intense.
He reached out further, trying to pierce the immediate vicinity around the building. And there, faint but distinct, he saw them. Not living beings, but trails, residues of the energy of the `Non-demonic Entities` who had passed through the precinct. They weren't demonic energy signatures, but something else, something that left a different kind of mark on the world, a faint, shimmering path like static electricity in dust, moving East, away from the precinct. His `Demonic Sense` could perceive *that* too, or perhaps it was just sensitive to *any* significant energy signatures, demonic or otherwise.
The sense was disorienting, adding a buzzing layer to his already heightened perception. It was a headache behind his eyes. But it worked. He could potentially track the 'others'. He could sense areas of high energy concentration – potential 'Seeds of Power'? Potential danger zones?
He deactivated the skill. The crimson glow faded, the buzzing subsided, leaving the familiar bleakness of the ruined room. `Demonic Sense I` consumed energy, but it provided vital information. A necessary tool.
He pushed himself fully to his feet, unsteady but able to stand. His wounds still ached, but the knitting sensation was undeniable, slow but steady progress. He needed to move, but first, survey the immediate area within this reinforced section. The System had directed him here for information, and while the crystal provided the core data, there might be physical information too.
He cautiously exited the small metallic room, knife gripped tightly in his hand, `Demonic Presence Suppression II` held high despite the energy drain. The corridor was dark and quiet, illuminated faintly by the distant crimson light. He used his enhanced human vision now, saving the `Demonic Sense` for when he suspected threats or needed to track something specific.
He moved through the reinforced section of the precinct. It seemed to be a secure wing – evidence storage, interrogation rooms, maybe an armory or detention cells. All were in disarray, but less utterly annihilated than the rest of the city. He found a small, battered first-aid kit in a locker – useless for his kind of injury, but maybe containing bandages or wipes that could be useful. He found a thermos of what smelled like stale, but still potable, water. He drank greedily, the cool liquid a small comfort in the oppressive heat.
He searched for more signs of the 'Non-demonic Entities'. In a room adjacent to the crystal chamber, which might have been a processing area, he found it. Not corpses, but evidence of their activity. A small, blackened scorch mark on the floor that didn't look like fire. A few discarded, small, metallic components that looked too intricate, too clean, to be standard human tech. And on a counter, beside what looked like dried blood, a faint trace of that metallic, ozone scent he'd associated with them. They had been here. Recently. They were skilled, clean, and left little trace.
He also found more surgical cuts on the remains of a few smaller demons scattered in the periphery of the reinforced area – scavenger types that had likely wandered in after the main conflict. Their organs were missing, removed with disturbing precision. They weren't just killing demons; they were harvesting them. For what? Study? Resources?
He returned to the crystal chamber, looking at the dead Stalker again, then back at the System data. `Identify and integrate with viable power structures. Eliminate competing entities`. And the `Non-demonic Entities` were here, harvesting, leaving strange tech, moving with purpose. Were they the 'viable power structure'? Or the 'competing entities'? The System offered no guidance. It just laid out the chessboard and told him the rules were about power and elimination.
And then there was `Seeds of Power`. `Requires exploration and interaction with new elements in the world`. The crystal was a 'new element', and interacting with it unlocked the quest. Were the 'Non-demonic Entities' also 'new elements'? Would interacting with *them* reveal more 'Seeds'? Or would they just see him as a competing entity to be eliminated?
The designation `Scion of Ash` echoed in his mind. It wasn't just a label; it felt like a key. A key to what? To understanding the Infernal Hierarchy he was linked to? To accessing more power? To finding these 'Seeds'?
He looked back at the entrance to the reinforced section, then further out into the ruined precinct, then East, the direction the Non-demonic Entities had gone, the direction his System's new Quest subtly seemed to point him.
He was Level 2. His body was healing, slowly, painfully, efficiently. He had new senses, new skills. He had a terrifying new understanding of his nature – a lineage tied to the apocalypse itself. And he had a System mandate that pushed him towards power, towards conflict, towards engaging with the unknown forces tearing the world apart. Survival alone was no longer sufficient.
The psychological cost was immense. He was no longer just a victim trying to hide. He was a designated entity, a `Scion`, being groomed by a cold, alien intelligence for a purpose he didn't yet fully grasp, but which hinted strongly at violence and a fundamental alignment with the demonic forces he had initially only sought to survive against.
He was still Liam, wasn't he? The scared kid from the apartment? Or was he becoming solely the `Scion of Ash`? The System didn't seem to care about Liam. It only cared about the `Host`, the `Scion`, and its `Mandate`.
He stood in the silent, gore-stained room, the pulsing crystal a chilling reminder of the data now embedded in his being. The immediate danger of the Stalker was past, but the true horror had just begun. He was part of the hell now, whether he liked it or not. And the System was waiting for him to take the next step. Towards the 'Seeds of Power'. Towards the 'viable power structures'. Towards the 'competing entities'.
The unknown waited. And it felt like his terrifying new nature was drawing him towards it, ready or not.