Chapter 3 — From Silence to Rhythm
For a long time, there was nothing.
No sound.
No light.
No thought.
Then—
System rebooting…
Core unit online.
Reactivation timestamp: 537 years, 142 days, 11 hours since shutdown.
KrysKo's eyes snapped open.
The pod split apart with a hiss, steam curling out like ghosts across the cracked stone floor. He pulled himself free, pale synthetic skin gleaming faintly in the dim glow. His form was sculpted with unnerving precision, every muscle fiber taut and symmetrical, a body built not for vanity but for function.
The chamber was no longer the clean vault of scientists. Rusted steel beams jutted from stone walls, consoles long dead. Condensation dripped in rhythmic beats from pipes overhead. Shafts of pallid sunlight pierced cracks in the ceiling, turning the floating dust into glittering streams.
Bootsteps echoed.
Three raiders entered the ruined hall, their armor nothing but stitched leather scraps and scavenged plates from forgotten wars. Their weapons—a cracked rifle, a rusted axe, a jagged blade—seemed almost ceremonial in their primitiveness.
One sneered.
"Oi, check this out. Thought this place was stripped bare."
Another chuckled.
"Still shiny. Might fetch a good price if we pry out the parts."
Then they saw him.
KrysKo stood naked, rising from centuries of silence. Water dripped down his sculpted chest, his gaze sharp and alive.
One raider let out a low whistle as his eyes traveled lower.
"Damn. Even his—uh—parts look like they were carved by some fancy sculptor."
The others chuckled uneasily, weapons shifting. Their bravado cracked—their jokes now nervous, not confident. Whatever this was, it wasn't just a man.
KrysKo's voice broke the silence, rough and unused.
"Where are they? The scientists. What did you do to them?"
Confusion flickered across the raiders' faces.
"The hell you talkin' about?" one spat. "Ain't no scientists here. Just ruins."
Then a voice whispered inside his mind. Calm. Resonant. Like a patient teacher reading bedtime stories to a broken world.
Combat protocols initializing.
Recommended style: Capoeira.
Efficiency rating: adaptive, fluid, deceptive.
New quest: Defeat the intruders. Reward — surprise gift.
The first raider lunged with a crude axe.
KrysKo shifted into motion—feet sliding side to side in rhythm older than memory. The ginga. His body dipped low, pivoted, and swept a leg in a spinning arc. A perfect rasteira.
The raider's legs flew out from under him. He hit the ground hard, wheezing. KrysKo twisted, heel whipping across his chest in a meia lua de compasso. Bones cracked. Silence followed.
Movement detected: Capoeira. Efficiency: 39%. Maintain rhythm.
The second raider screamed, charging with his jagged blade. KrysKo flowed around him, circling like a predator in a dance. His foot lashed ribs, then a spinning kick shattered the raider's jaw. Blood sprayed across the floor as the body crumpled.
Efficiency increasing. 47%.
Gunfire erupted. The last raider's rifle spat sparks against stone.
KrysKo rolled low, spinning like a dancer. He came up inverted, balancing on his hands, legs snapping out in a twin kick that smashed the raider into the wall. The weapon clattered away.
KrysKo rose, seized him by the throat, and lifted him effortlessly.
"What did you do to them? The scientists—where are they?"
The raider clawed weakly at his grip, eyes wide with terror.
"I—I don't know what you're talking about!"
KrysKo's gaze sharpened. His grip tightened until the body went limp.
Silence again.
Hostiles eliminated. 75 EXP awarded.
Congratulations — Level 3.
Stat increases: Strength +2, Speed +2, Endurance +1, Intelligence +1.
Efficiency: 53%.
Progress: 0 / 400 EXP until Level 4.
A metallic shhkkt echoed as blades slid free from both his forearms, gleaming under the pale light. He turned them slowly, marveling at the perfect edges, before retracting them with a hiss.
From the raiders' corpses, he scavenged what he needed: cracked boots, dark trousers, a patchwork leather coat, and a scarf to hide the pale sheen of his synthetic skin.
Infinity Storage unlocked.
Acquired items: scavenged armor, crude blades, rusted key, fragmented ID card.
KrysKo's gaze lingered on shattered pods lining the walls. Bones lay inside, dust clinging to brittle forms. His system scanned automatically.
Knowledge unlocked: Anatomy — Basic.
He did not remember grief. But he knew these shapes once lived.
Deeper within, a faint glow drew his attention. He approached a cracked terminal. Fingers brushed dust from the glass, coaxing flickering text onto the screen.
PROJECT KRYSKO: PROTOTYPE UNIT
His lips moved slowly, carefully, as though the sound itself had weight.
"…KrysKo."
The name lingered, heavy and real.
The name echoed inside him.
His first word. His first anchor.
Then the chamber groaned. Pipes rattled. A low rumble spread from the shadows.
New enemy detected.
Quest: Defeat the mutated beast. Reward — hidden.
Warning: Threat level moderate.
From the dark, it crawled.
Once human. Now twisted. Flesh blistered. Eyes glowing yellow. Claws screeching steel. Its guttural growl was the echo of language long dead.
KrysKo's blades slid free with a hiss. His body dipped into ginga. Rhythm flowing.
The beast lunged.
Steel scraped stone. His timing faltered. One blade nearly stabbed the ground. The beast's claw tore sparks across his chest.
Warning: Efficiency drop. Blade synchronization: 23%.
Frustration boiled. Capoeira flowed with hands and feet, not steel. His rhythm clashed with the weapons.
The beast lunged again. KrysKo caught it mid-air—one arm blocking, one blade slashing shallow. Black ichor sprayed.
He twisted into a meia lua, but the blade dragged against stone, breaking rhythm. The strike landed weak.
The creature bit into his arm. Pain flared.
KrysKo roared, wrenching free. Both blades snapped in a cross slash. Steel carved deep. The beast shrieked, collapsed in a pool of corruption.
Quest complete. Target eliminated.
EXP gained: +150. Progress: 150 / 400 EXP.
A vial appeared in his palm, shimmering faintly.
Immediate consumption required. Damage detected. Efficiency at risk.
He drank. Warmth sealed wounds, dulled pain.
But then—
Warning: Combat efficiency with blades unacceptable. Immediate correction required.
Darkness swallowed the world.
Then—light bloomed.
A wide courtyard. Mountains veiled in mist. Sunlit stone beneath his feet. Ahead, a wiry old Brazilian mestre slid barefoot across the ground with practiced rhythm.
"You have rhythm in your body, boy. But your blades? They cut against your dance. Let us fix this."
What followed was not seconds but hours—time stretching differently inside the mindscape.
The mestre circled him, eyes sharp, feet moving in ginga.
"Capoeira is a song. Every step, every strike, a beat in rhythm. Your blades are not separate—they must join the music."
KrysKo mirrored him, awkward at first. His forearm blades dragged low, threatening to catch the ground. Each time he faltered, the mestre barked.
"Retract! Extend! Flow!"
They moved again. Sweeps. Flips. Inverted strikes. KrysKo planted a hand for a spinning kick—this time retracting the blade in time. His leg scythed clean.
The mestre nodded. "Better. Again."
Then came sparring. First against the mestre himself, whose movements were fluid and unpredictable. Then against visions of raiders. Then beasts. Each fight forced KrysKo to blend steel with rhythm, to retract when low, extend when striking, to let the blades become part of the dance.
Sweat—or the synthetic mimic of it—beaded his brow. Muscles burned. But slowly, the rhythm sharpened.
At last, he spun into a perfect meia lua de compasso. His hand grazed stone—blades retracted. His body rotated, leg scything high. Then, mid-spin, the blades extended, carving the air in perfect harmony with the kick.
Steel sang. Rhythm held.
The mestre smiled faintly.
"Now your blades dance with you. This is your rhythm. This is your weapon."
The courtyard dissolved.
Training complete. Blade synchronization achieved. Capoeira efficiency: 100%.
"You have climbed from silence to rhythm. From ruin to survival. You are ready."
The mestre's words lingered as KrysKo opened his eyes in the ruined stairwell. Blades retracted with a hiss. Ahead, broken steps wound upward into shadow.
New Quest: Ascend to the Surface. Objective: Reach the upper level. Reward: One free attribute point. Warning: Expect resistance.
The climb was a gauntlet.
Mutant Scavenger (+25 EXP, Level Up → Level 4: Str +2, Spd +1, End +1, Int +2)
Vermin Pack (+70 EXP)
Spitter Mutants (+105 EXP, Level Up)
Wallcrawler (+75 EXP)
Mutant Brute (+100 EXP, Level Up → Level 5 milestone: +12 evenly distributed)
Each fight honed him. Each kill his blades moved smoother, his rhythm sharper. The system's warm, steady voice narrated each level with patience, like scripture.
Finally—
Warning: Boss signature detected. Quest update: Defeat the Guardian Beast. Reward: Bronze-grade armor.
The chamber split open.
A massive brute, stitched with bone and metal shards, eyes burning yellow. It wielded a steel beam wrapped in barbed wire.
The fight shook stone. The beast swung with crushing force. KrysKo flowed like water—rolling, flipping, striking in rhythm. Blades carved deep, kicks shattered joints, but still it raged.
At last, he slid beneath its charge, both blades erupting upward. Steel punched through its chest.
The monster froze. Shuddered. Fell.
Quest complete. Guardian defeated. EXP +900.
Level 5 achieved. Efficiency 63%.
Stats increased evenly: +3 Str, +3 Spd, +3 End, +3 Int.
Quest complete: Ascend to the Surface. Reward: One free attribute point.
Two unspent points pulsed in his status. He left them untouched.
The ceiling split. Shafts of sunlight spilled through dust. KrysKo stepped onto the surface for the first time. The horizon stretched in ruin—broken highways, skeletal towers, a world gutted.
Then he froze.
Not far ahead, at the edge of cracked stone, three raiders pinned a girl against rubble. Their laughter echoed, sharp and cruel. One tore her blouse, baring pale flesh as she kicked and clawed in desperation.
Her eyes—wide, desperate, defiant—locked on his.
Hidden Quest Unlocked: Humanity's Choice. Objective: Save the girl… or walk away. Reward: Unknown. Warning: This choice may define your path forward.
KrysKo's blades slid free with a hiss. The rhythm returned.
But his gaze wavered—first to her, then to the road stretching beyond.
And for a long, heavy moment… it was unclear which path he would choose.