"Any evolved or mutated organism—including humans—carries a special kind of energy within them. No one ever told you that?"
"I know that much," Albert said. "Hayes mentioned that mutated beings can sense fluctuations in each other's energy."
The voice let out a small laugh. "Correct. But what they don't know is that this energy can be taken. No—more precisely, only someone chosen by God, like you, can take it."
"Take… it?" Albert repeated, the word feeling foreign to his tongue.
"Or… call it recovery? In truth, the energy inside living creatures is far more abundant. But for now, you clearly don't have that ability. As for these ones that are already dead… tch."
"Think of it as waste-not-want-not. Individually they're not even enough to fill the gap between your teeth, but this many dead ants combined—it's enough for what you currently need."
The implication in its tone was hard not to overthink. Albert frowned in discomfort. "Living creatures? What do you mean?"
"Exactly what it sounds like. In a world where even a single mutated ant can eat you alive, you can't survive forever by feeding on dead ones. That does nothing for your evolution. You might scoff now, but once you reach a certain stage, you'll understand I was right."
"Or let me put it another way: one day, you'll encounter a lifeform far beyond anything you've imagined. When you're standing at the brink of death and even that snow leopard can't protect you—will you regret not choosing to grow stronger now?"
Albert went silent for a moment. Rationally speaking… it wasn't wrong.
He let out a dry, mocking laugh. "But you just said it yourself—right now, I can't even beat an ant."
How was he supposed to become strong?
"That's nothing to worry about. You are the vessel I chose. I will sculpt you into the most perfect evolutionary form."
"For now, this is only the beginning."
Albert never expected that the so-called "recovery" of energy would require him to crack open the skulls of Bloodscythe Ants one by one and consume their brain matter.
"Yes, ants have brains. Though for creatures like these, the brain is virtually useless—they rely mostly on their central nervous system to control movement. But perhaps that's exactly why their primary energy is stored in the brain."
The Bloodscythe Ant's brain was a pale yellow, cotton-like mush, soaked in a slightly viscous broth.
Staring at the creature's mouth—currently buried in brain fluid, noisily devouring—Albert's expression remained flat. "I don't understand why absorbing energy requires eating something this disgusting."
Shouldn't it work like in novels or TV shows, where you place your palm on something and simply pull out a glowing orb?
"Do you think you're in a drama? Energy always has a carrier. Even I can't extract it in pure form. Now hurry up and eat—you're ridiculously weak right now."
Albert moved among the heaps of Bloodscythe Ant corpses, consuming pile after pile of brain matter.
Eating until numb.
Eating until transcendent.
Eating until he no longer wished to speak.
The mouth—almost parasitic on his body—was ecstatic, gulping and slurping with unrestrained delight, grinding each wad of meat into an even softer paste with its sharp teeth.
After finishing the last ant brain, it let out a long, human-like sigh of satisfaction.
A strange sense of fullness bloomed in Albert's abdomen, as if… he had genuinely feasted.
Taking advantage of the last bit of night, he returned to Hayes' side and lay down. Touching his still-flat stomach, he felt a wave of bizarre disbelief.
Only the warm, solid body of the big cat beside him provided the slightest comfort.
Albert buried his head once more into Hayes' fluffy chest.
In the morning, people across the campus began waking up one after another.
Hayes shifted back into human form, got dressed, and brought Albert along to look for Miguel.
"Are you sure he'll actually come?" Hayes asked, referring to the still-unseen Jameson.
"He will." Miguel blew warm air into his hands, then pulled out a ballpoint pen that was almost out of ink and scribbled in his notebook without looking up.
"Everyone knows that unless we sort out the fallout shelter problem, none of us are getting out. When you two weren't here yet, Creek City was stuck in a stalemate. I kept opposing Jameson taking the supplies from the shelter, and our previous talks always ended badly. But now that you're here, Jameson is afraid you'll side with me. He'll definitely come find us. As for how the conversation goes, Commander Hayes—that depends on you."
Miguel wasn't wrong.
Soon, several unfamiliar men and women appeared at Creek City University's east gate. A closer look confirmed they were the same followers of Jameson they had seen yesterday.
"Miguel, and the officer—our boss wants to see you."
The woman leading them was cold-faced, her gaze sharp as she swept it across the group.
Jameson wasn't going to come into Creek University to talk. According to the woman, it wasn't that he was afraid—he simply found this refugee-packed place too shabby for his tastes. He couldn't stand it and wouldn't force himself to try.
They ended up agreeing on a compromise meeting point called "the Boundary Line."
Miguel explained that the Boundary Line was a main road separating gang territory from the refugee area. Inside the boundary was Jameson's territory—located in the innermost part of the city center, strictly off-limits to refugees.
When they arrived, they discovered it was the same spot where they had met Miguel the day before.
Jameson was already waiting for them by the roadside.
He looked to be a man around thirty, with neatly groomed hair and impeccably clean clothes—clearly someone who never lacked food, warmth, or comfort. His mental state was leagues better than Miguel's—
No, better than any of the refugees'.
After the apocalypse, most ordinary people had turned into ants crushed under fate's heel. But Jameson had risen above tens of thousands, living comfortably and indulgently, becoming Creek City's unofficial king.
Yet at this moment, even the "king" of Creek City wore a trace of solemn concern on his face.
"Miguel. We meet again." Jameson flicked away his cigarette and ground it beneath his heel. He offered a casual, impolite smile before turning his gaze to the other side.
"And you must be Commander Hayes. A pleasure. As for this one…"
Jameson looked toward Albert, who stood behind Hayes.
They had all brought escorts, but everyone else had been stationed more than ten meters away. The agreement was that only the three leaders would talk. Hayes bringing an extra person technically broke the rules.
Jameson clearly wasn't happy about it. He opened his mouth, about to comment—
—but suddenly paused.
He sniffed the air.
His brows rose in surprise.
"…What's that smell? It's so fragrant."
"…"
Albert froze for a moment before recalling something.
He had heard, apparently, that this guy's mutated beast form was a cougar.
A cougar… was still a damn feline.