«DING…»
«LEVEL UP…»
«LEVEL UP…»
«LEVEL UP…»
Collins' vision flickered with cascading blue light. He had leveled up three times in one go. Despite the fact that the monsters weren't numerous, every single one of them had been stronger than him in raw stats. His body still ached from each strike exchanged, but he had endured, survived and now grown.
He opened his status window, and the glowing words etched themselves into reality.
STATUS WINDOW
NAME: Adam Collins
LEVEL: 4
ATTRIBUTE: Book of Origin
TITLE: King of Books
SAGA: ——
WEAPON: Machete
HP: 350/350
MP: 100/100
STRENGTH: 25
AGILITY: 27
SENSE: 16
HEALTH: 30
INTELLIGENCE: 16
AVAILABLE POINTS: 12
SKILL: Information Manipulation
Collins' lips curved in the faintest smile. A tiny ripple of satisfaction washed through him. The jump in stats wasn't overwhelming, but it was proof of growth, proof that he was no longer the helpless human from before. Still, he didn't use his points. Not yet. He would keep them as cards up his sleeve for when survival demanded it.
Beside him, James groaned and wiped his forehead with his forearm. "Only one level… You gotta be kidding me. I almost died like ten times."
Collins leapt down from the roof, machete glinting red in the dusk light. James followed, clutching two bloodied kitchen knives. They cleaned up the last of the remaining monsters, clumsy swings, hurried dodges, but effective. James panted hard, his chest heaving as he stared at the corpses littering the street.
"Bro…" James muttered, disbelief clouding his voice. "We… actually did it."
The air smelled of iron and smoke. All around them, houses sat in silence, windows barred, doors locked. Somewhere in the distance, a faint scream echoed, cut short, leaving only the growl of another beast behind. James shuddered and gripped his knives tighter.
"People are in there," Collins said quietly, nodding toward the houses.
"Yeah. Hiding. Can't blame them," James muttered.
Collins walked up to the nearest door and knocked firmly. "We're here to help."
No answer.
He knocked again, harder. Still nothing. Silence pressed heavy. He could almost feel the eyes watching from behind curtains, full of fear, unwilling to risk a single word.
James sighed. "They won't open."
"Then we move."
Without another glance, they left the house behind.
The streets narrowed, fewer monsters roamed here, and the air felt less suffocating. Collins drew his machete again, every step deliberate. James followed, daggers raised. Their movements were clumsy compared to trained fighters, but survival had sharpened them in its own way. Fear was a teacher too.
Each kill came with blood, sweat, and mistakes but also growth. And each time the blue glow of experience brushed across their vision, James's awe grew deeper.
Eventually, they stumbled across a car parked awkwardly at the roadside. James's eyes lit up. "Finally. Wheels."
He forced the door open with effort and slid behind the wheel. Collins moved to the passenger seat, resting his machete across his knees.
The engine roared to life a sound that immediately drew the attention of nearby beasts. Their growls rose, shadows shifting in the distance.
"Go!" Collins barked.
A hulking figure burst from the corner a monstrous thing, towering with jagged bone protrusions along its arms. It charged.
James slammed the accelerator. The car screeched, metal against asphalt, before slamming into the monster. The impact shook their bones as the creature was flung over the hood, denting it. The car wobbled but held. James cursed and forced it into higher gear.
The chase began.
Dozens of monsters spilled from the alleys, their bodies thundering against the street. The car blazed forward, but the sound of pursuit lingered a reminder that no corner of the city was safe.
Only when the beasts faded into the distance did James finally breathe. "That… was… close."
Collins grunted.
James glanced sideways. "So… where to next, Commander Grimface?"
Collins closed his eyes briefly, reaching inward. Orúla's map bloomed within his mind: Akure city, sketched in pale light. And this time, he noticed something he hadn't before. A ring circled the entire city like a cage. At the very center, where the Oba's palace should be, a heavy mist had gathered, swirling unnaturally.
"What the hell is this?" Collins muttered. "Orúla, explain."
«ANSWERING HOST'S QUESTION. THE RING AROUND AKURE MEANS NO ONE CAN ENTER OR LEAVE. AS FOR THE MIST COVERING THE OBA'S PALACE THE OPERATING MANAGEMENT ARE PREPARING THE FIRST QUEST. UNTIL THEN, ENTRY IS FORBIDDEN.»
Collins's hand tightened on his machete. "So we're trapped in a cage."
«IF HOST THINKS SO.»
His jaw clenched. "Stop the car."
James glanced at him, confused, but obeyed, parking on the roadside. "Why stop now?"
"We're not going anywhere. The city is sealed."
"What?"
"All exits. Blocked. The Oba's palace will be the center of the first quest."
James stared blankly, letting the words sink in. Then his knuckles whitened on the wheel. "You're telling me we're rats in a bloody maze?"
"Not rats." Collins's voice was low. "Performers."
Before James could respond, Orúla cut in.
«YOU CANNOT HIDE IN SAFER AREAS.»
Collins blinked. Orúla had never contradicted him so sharply before. "Why not?"
«BECAUSE THE DJINNS MANAGING AKURE WILL RELEASE A STRONGER WAVE OF MONSTERS IN THE COMING DAYS. IF HOST DOES NOT GROW STRONGER NOW, SURVIVAL WILL BECOME IMPOSSIBLE.»
Collins froze. "Djinns?"
A shiver rippled down his spine. He knew that word. He had read about them in countless mythological texts, creatures of flame and smoke, older than nations, feared and revered across cultures. Some benevolent, others malicious, but all dangerous.
"Djinns are… real?" he whispered.
«AFFIRMATIVE. THEY ARE THE ONES GUIDING THIS CITY'S STORY.»
Collins's thoughts raced. Stories. Entertainment. Just like the gods Orúla hinted at before. The Djinns weren't just watching. They were directing.
And then Orúla's voice sank deeper, colder.
«THE ANGELS YOU SAW BEFORE THE CHANGE WERE NOT TRUE ANGELS. THEY WERE DJINNS WHO CHOSE THAT FORM TO DECEIVE.»
The memory of radiant wings flashed in Collins's mind wings he had once mistaken as salvation. Now, bile rose in his throat. Hatred burned in his chest. His first impression of "angels" had been cruelty, arrogance, and disdain. And to know they were Djinns in disguise only deepened his loathing.
James waved a hand in front of his face. "Hey! Earth to Collins! You've been staring like a statue."
Collins blinked and refocused. "…Sorry."
"Good. 'Cause you're starting to creep me out." James leaned back, knives still in his lap. "So what now?"
Collins exhaled slowly. "We can't run to the easy areas. Orúla says the Djinns will release stronger monsters soon. If we don't grow now, we'll die later."
James's face twisted. "You're telling me the things we just fought, those freaks that almost ripped us apart, are the weak ones?"
"Yes."
"Bloody hell…" James ran both hands over his face, groaning.
"It's a game to them," Collins said, his tone flat. "A story. Our pain is their entertainment. And the Djinns are the storytellers."
The car grew quiet. Only the faint growls of distant beasts echoed in the night air.
Finally, James muttered, "I hate this world already."
Collins didn't disagree. He only tightened his grip on his machete, eyes fixed ahead. Hatred was good. Hatred meant he was still alive.