Damien was just another university student when the world ended.He had been alone in his dorm room, scrolling mindlessly on his phone, when the screams began. At first, he thought it was some kind of network issue, but when he looked outside his window, he froze.
People were tearing each other apart.
He watched in horror as students he saw every day turned on their friends—biting, clawing, ripping into flesh like rabid animals. The hallway outside soon echoed with frantic footsteps, desperate cries, and the sickening crunch of teeth sinking into flesh.
Damien's first instinct was survival. He slammed his door shut, turned the lock, and pressed his back against it, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. But no matter how much he tried to block it out, the sounds seeped in—the dying screams, the wet tearing of flesh, the guttural moans of the infected.
The peaceful campus he once knew had become hell on earth.
Through his window, chaos stretched across the courtyard. Some students tried to fight back with whatever they could grab—baseball bats, chairs, kitchen knives. Others simply ran, only to be dragged down and devoured. It was a massacre.
And then… the lights came.
From the sky, countless orbs descended, each glowing like miniature stars, no larger than a tennis ball. They shot through the air like meteors, but instead of burning, they sought out the living. One of them—unlike the rest, which shone in dazzling golds and silvers—was pitch black.
It headed straight for him.
Before Damien could react, it pierced through his chest. He staggered, gasping, expecting pain—but instead, warmth surged through his veins, followed by a voice echoing inside his mind:
[Necromancer Profession Inheritance Acquired]
Knowledge that was never his own crashed into his brain. Incantations, symbols, rituals—dark arts whispered into his very soul. How to call the dead from their graves, how to forge weapons of bone and blood. A power both terrifying and intoxicating.
His body changed with it. When he stumbled to the mirror, a stranger stared back. His once-average frame had hardened into lean muscle, his jaw sharper, his features refined. Strands of white streaked through his dark hair, not of age, but of power. His eyes seemed deeper, carrying a glint of something otherworldly.
Damien touched his reflection and muttered, "Looks like… to survive this world, I'll have to adapt."
He quickly geared up. His roommate's old cosplay katana—sharp enough to cut—would have to do as a weapon. He layered himself with bulky clothes and long sleeves, hoping to soften any bite that got too close.
When he finally cracked his dorm door open, the stench hit him first. Blood. Rot. Death.At the end of the hallway, a zombie hunched over a corpse, chewing noisily.
Damien's grip tightened on the katana. He forced himself forward, step by step, until he was in range. One swift motion—and the blade carved through flesh and bone, the zombie's head tumbling to the ground.
But this time, Damien didn't stop there.
He raised his hand, channeling the dark energy whispering in his veins. Strange words spilled from his lips like instinct. The corpse beneath him shuddered, rotted flesh peeling away until only a skeleton remained. With a sickening snap, it stood, clutching a bone knife fashioned from its own remains. The skull rolled across the floor, only for the skeleton to pick it up and fix it back in place.
Damien's lips curled into a grin.
He repeated the process with the student's corpse. This one rose bearing a shield and sword of bone, standing taller, sturdier. The sight sent a chill through him. This wasn't just power—this was control.
"Scout ahead," Damien ordered. His voice shook, but the skeletons obeyed.
They led him down the hallway, where the sound of pounding fists echoed from a dorm door. A group of zombies smashed against it, and with a final crash, the door splintered. From inside, terrified voices screamed for help.
For a moment, Damien froze. He wanted to save them. He really did. But the screams grew louder—louder than the banging, louder than reason. And in this new world, sound was death.
More moans answered from deeper in the building.
Cursing under his breath, Damien retreated. He sprinted back, skeletons in tow, slamming his dorm door shut behind him. His chest heaved as he slid to the floor, clutching his katana.
The screams outside continued for a while. Then they faded. Then… silence.
Damien sat in the dark, his two skeletal warriors standing guard, and realized the truth:The world he once knew was gone.
The world had changed.Now it was like the jungle—only the strong would survive, while the weak had to depend on the strong to live.
After resting for a while, Damien stepped out of his room again. The hallway was much quieter. There were fewer zombies than before. But instead of fighting himself, Damien pointed forward.
"Go."
His skeletons rushed ahead.
The zombies turned and attacked them, but the skeletons did not stop. Their bone knives were not sharp, but they were strong. Every strike was heavy, and soon zombie skulls cracked and bodies fell.
Some zombies tried to bite the skeletons, to pull them down—but the skeletons did not feel pain. They were already dead. They kept fighting without fear until all the zombies were killed.
Damien nodded as he watched.
"They don't feel pain… and they never stop…it was a very helpful helper in the apocalypse."
He raised his hand again and used his new power. The dead zombies shook, their flesh breaking away, until three more skeletons stood up. Each carried a bone knife, waiting for his command.
Now, Damien had five skeletons.
He looked at the one with the shield and sword. It was stronger than the others.
"You will lead the group," Damien said. "You are a little stronger than the rest."
Then Damien felt something new. A pressure inside his mind. He realized he could control only five skeletons for now. Any more would be too much.
But he also felt something else. From the zombie corpses around him came a strange dark energy. It pulled at him, calling to him.
"Death energy…" the words came into his mind.
He reached out, and black smoke rose from the bodies, flowing into him. His body grew colder, but at the same time, he felt stronger. This was the power he needed to grow. This was the sorucre of power of a necromancer.