The climb back to his room felt different. The weight in his limbs wasn't fatigue; it was the heavy residue of the night's violence and the boy's terrified eyes. He slipped through his door as the first true light of dawn painted the sky a dull grey, the squalor of his room a stark contrast to the pristine, bloody horror of the butcher's chamber.
Silence. Glorious, overwhelming silence. He leaned against the sealed door, finally alone with the storm in his head and the electric blue text still burning in his vision.
[Level Up!] [You have reached Level 3.] [+5 Attribute Points to allocate.]
He focused on the prompt. A list of his Core Attributes appeared. The numbers were a lifeline to sanity, something logical in a world gone mad.
Strength: 12 Agility: 15 Vitality: 14 Intelligence: 10 Perception: 18
Five points. Where to put them? The fight had been too close, too chaotic. He'd been fast, but the butcher had still managed to swing a knife. He'd been strong, but what if there had been two of them?
Survival was the only rule. He poured three points into Vitality, feeling a immediate, soothing wave of resilience wash through him, knitting together the last of his aches and deepening his reserves. The number ticked up to 17.
The remaining two points he dropped into Strength, the muscle in his arms and shoulders thickening almost imperceptibly, the power humming a little louder beneath his skin. Strength: 14.
The changes were subtle but profound. He felt… denser. More solid. Less like a victim.
A new screen automatically unfolded, pulling his attention away from the raw power.
[New Title Available: 'Butcher of GenTech'] [Effect: +2 Intimidation against corporate enforcers and low-level criminals.]
Fexl stared at it. Butcher. The word made his skin crawl. He hadn't slaughtered the man. He'd… neutralized him. Defended. The title felt like a brand, marking him as the very thing he was trying to survive. He focused on it, and a new option appeared.
[Reject Title? Y/N]
Without hesitation, he selected Y. The title dissolved into pixels. He would not be defined by their crimes. His path was his own.
The final notification awaited, its simple message containing a universe of implication.
[Reputation Milestone Reached.] [Leo: Loyalty Gained. Status: Companion - Unlocked.] [The Foundation of a Pack has been laid.] [Path to Alpha: 0.1%]
Path to Alpha. The System was already pushing him, guiding him toward a destiny he hadn't asked for. He wasn't just an Omega surviving. He was being groomed for something more. The thought was as terrifying as it was intoxicating.
A low, guttural growl from his stomach cut through his contemplation. The hunger was returning, sharper now, a demanding void. He pulled the remaining pack of raw meat from the sack and tore into it, the rich, iron-rich flavor a balm to his raging metabolism. As he ate, he focused on the new ability he'd unlocked.
[Keen Smell: Active Tracking Lv. 1] [Focus on a specific scent signature to isolate and follow its trail. Effectiveness diminishes over time and distance.]
He could use this. He needed to understand the new rules of his world. He needed information.
He focused his mind, pushing past the myriad smells of the room—dust, mold, his own scent—and honed in on one specific, lingering odor. The synth-serum. The cheap, chemical stink that had clung to the addicts in the alley and the enforcers he'd fought.
The ability activated. The world of sight and sound faded into the background. His reality became a complex, layered map of scent. The synth-serum smell was a thin, fading thread, but it was there. It led out of his room, down the stairs, and out into the sector. It was a trail. A trail that would lead him to others like them. To the source.
A plan began to form, cold and precise. He couldn't just react. He needed to act. He needed to map the threats in his territory. These serum-junkies, these gangs… they were a chaos he could not afford. They had almost killed him. They preyed on people like Leo.
He was an Omega. The bottom of the new hierarchy the System had shown him. But here, in these streets, he was something else. He was the apex predator.
A new quest window materialized, the System seemingly reading his intent.
[New Quest Received: Territory Scan.] Objective: Map the gang activity in your designated sector. Identify key threats and resources. (0/3 Locations Scouted) Reward: 150 XP. Unlock: Sector 7-G Map Fragment.]
Designated sector. The System was assigning him territory. It was making this official.
He finished the meat, licking the last traces of blood from his claws—a motion that was becoming disturbingly natural. He moved to the small, cracked mirror above the sink.
The face that stared back was still his, but the changes were undeniable. The silver streaks in his black hair were more prominent. The scar was an angry, proud slash across his skin. But it was the eyes that held him. Those burning amber-gold eyes. They didn't look scared anymore. They looked… hungry. Calculating. They were the eyes of the wolf studying its domain.
He was Fexl Hoshkent. He was the Prime Werewolf. He had a Companion. He had a Path.
He turned from the mirror. The dawn had fully broken, but for him, the night's work was just beginning.
He had a sector to scan.