Smoke curled through the ruined street, thick and acrid, stinging Liam's lungs as he crouched low behind the shattered wall of a collapsed building. His heartbeat pounded like a war drum, yet his hands remained steady. The system's cold, emotionless voice still echoed in his mind:
"Recommendation: Basic Mana Potion. Cost: 10 Soul Points."
He clenched his teeth. Fifty soul points left. If he hesitated, if he gambled, he might not survive what came next.
Without wasting another second, Liam confirmed the purchase. A swirl of green light shimmered in the palm of his hand, coalescing into a small vial filled with thick, emerald liquid. He uncorked it, the sharp herbal scent rushing into his nose, and downed it in one gulp.
Warmth spread through his veins like wildfire. His depleted mana core, once hollow and aching, surged with vitality. For the first time in hours, he felt whole again.
He quickly pulled up his status screen, scanning the glowing numbers with sharp eyes.
[host attributes]
[name: Liam balsan]
[age : 15 ]
[ bloodline: human ( adjustable)]
[ mana: 100/100]
[ Level 3: 20/400]
[ Strength: 10]
[ Agility: 12]
[ defense:10]
[perception: 11]
[ Stamina: 11]
[Soul Point: 40]
[attributes point: 20]
The numbers weren't impressive, not yet, but they were something. And in this nightmare world, something could mean the difference between life and death.
"First, weapons," Liam whispered to himself, eyes narrowing.
Luck, or perhaps fate, answered him. Not far ahead, through the haze, the limp form of a fallen soldier sprawled across the rubble. The man's gear glinted faintly under the dim light of flickering street lamps.
"Bingo," Liam muttered. "My lucky day."
He sprinted forward, keeping low, and reached the corpse. With quick, practiced motions, he stripped off the man's tattered combat vest and slid it on, tightening the straps across his chest. The weight was reassuring. Searching the body, he found a knife, still sharp, and a half-loaded handgun. The soldier's rifle, however, was twisted beyond repair, its barrel cracked and warped.
"Better than nothing."
With the gear secured, Liam refocused on his stats. He funneled eight of his twenty unused points into agility—his strongest attribute, the one thing he could rely on. The rest he divided between strength and defense.
The result was immediate. His muscles tightened, fibers reinforcing themselves with new energy. His heartbeat steadied, his breathing deepened, and a surge of vitality coursed through his entire being. Every nerve felt sharp, alive.
Then he heard it.
Footsteps.
Slow at first, then growing louder, heavier, a chorus of boots crunching across broken concrete. Voices followed, carried by the smoke.
"Fuck this shit," one man muttered, his voice strained but laced with forced humor. "This mutant's one of the best I've ever seen. Remember that guy with super strength? Could only last a minute before he burned out."
Another snapped back, his tone harsh. "What the fuck are you saying, Tom? He massacred half our team and you're joking?"
A third voice joined, tight with fear. "Keep it together. He's not just going to appear out of nowhere and—"
The sentence cut off in a strangled scream. Tom was yanked violently into the shadows of an alley. His cry split the night like glass shattering, then silence swallowed it whole.
The remaining soldiers spun in panic, guns raised, firing wildly into the smoke. Muzzle flashes lit their terrified faces, sweat dripping from their brows.
"Vice captain! Please—please help us!" one shouted desperately into his walkie-talkie. "He's killed half of us already, and we're next! Please co—"
Gunfire erupted, drowning out his words. The line went dead.
Silence.
Only the crackle of flames and the faint hiss of settling rubble remained.
Far off, the roar of an engine broke the stillness. A black armored vehicle skidded to a halt, its door slamming open. Out stepped a tall man, broad-shouldered, his expression grim. The Vice Captain.
His boots pounded against the ground as he strode toward the carnage, eyes sweeping over the mutilated bodies of his team. Blood smeared across the cracked pavement, limbs twisted unnaturally. His jaw tightened, rage seething in his chest.
"Enough games," he growled. "Things are going to get bloody."
From his coat pocket, he withdrew a small glass tube. Inside swirled a liquid so unnaturally blue it seemed alive, glowing faintly against the night. The sight of it made his own hands tremble.
He knew what it was. He knew the cost.
This wasn't a potion—it was death in a bottle.
The liquid could force a human body beyond its natural limits, unlocking monstrous strength and speed. But the price was inevitable: torn muscles, ruptured organs, a body cannibalizing itself for energy. Fifteen minutes of power, followed by certain death.
The Vice Captain stared at it for a long moment, his reflection rippling in the tube. Then his lips curled into a grim smile.
"If that's the price to kill you…" He popped the seal. "Then so be it."
The fluid burned like molten fire as it slid down his throat. His veins bulged instantly, black against his skin. Steam hissed from his pores, his flesh tearing as muscle fibers exploded with violent growth. His body swelled, shredding his uniform to tatters.
His eyes blazed red, pupils shrinking to pinpricks. His breath came in ragged snarls, animalistic, and his grip tightened around the hilt of his sword.
The ground cracked beneath his boots as he took a step forward.
In that moment, he was no longer a man. He was a monster given flesh, a storm of rage and bloodlust contained within human form