Something dripped down his face. Sticky. The world was dark. Sound came filtered, underwater. Stephen pressed his palms against the floor. Cold, cracked. A sharp sting in his thumb. Glass. Blood. He kept feeling the floor in search of answers. A sign that he was alive. Anything.
Then, he touched something.
Chk—
Heat consumed his palm before he could understand.
—fss.
He really was alive.
Stephen's eyes snapped open mid-air. Gravity vanished, replaced by the violent shove of the combustion. The ceiling was gone. Just a crater of twisted, unrecognizable trash rushing up to meet him.
Krit-Krr.
Tiny sparks blinked at the edge of his vision. Pain was absent. Numbness swallowed him. It was as if he were made of the same material as the laboratory.
He tried to push himself up with his hands, but the stiffness in his fingers and the roughness of the cracked floor prevented the natural movement. He focused strength in his hips to sit up without arm support. He blinked, trying to process the apocalyptic scenery: piles upon piles of rubble and remains that had once been white.
Scorch marks blistered the walls, dripping yellow grease that pooled on the floor. Blue crystals erupted from the concrete cracks, weeping a vapor that blurred the air. And red. Everywhere. A thick, crimson grit splattered across the rubble. It looked wet, like fresh slaughter, but lay dry enough to choke the wind. The air sat heavy in his lungs, tasting of rotten eggs and wet iron. Stagnant. Underground.
He touched his left cheek and felt dried liquid. Blood. His blood. He searched for open cuts with fingers climbing like spiders. Nothing. No cuts. No sign of pain.
Stephen stretched out his left hand. The one that made him fly. Palm open.
A subtle silvery coloring covered it. A yellowish powder, fine and crystalline, like greasy droplets, in the mix. He remembered the lessons.
Sulfur looked like that after being used for combustion.
His chest tightened. The powder shimmered.
There it was.
His lifelong dream. A dream he ached and begged for as long as he remembered being alive. Being someone. Mattering.
Stephen stared at his hand. He made a fist, watching the sulfur dust compress. No pain. No burns. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, ignoring the carnage around him. He was finally a player. A Resonant. His life could be more than wiping floors and praying monsters would never reach his home.
Home.
Mom. Dad. Jenny.
The thought cut through everything else. He needed to get out of this place and find them.
Stephen started moving, urgency fusing with adrenaline. The piles seemed endless as he tried to squeeze through gaps. It was especially difficult because he had to avoid using his hands. The transmutation into a Resonant made him immune to the side effects of using Sulfur, but he had recognized at least four other alchemical ingredients scattered across the debris.
He recognized the dust. Mercury, Sulfur, Antimony. The same ingredients that had painted the sky for years were now scattered like common trash. One touch could kill him.
After squeezing between pieces of door and cement, he finally escaped the concentration of debris and spotted what remained of the exit. The wall was destroyed as if a rocket had missed its course and passed through. Mangled steel counters jutted from the walls like broken ribs. Above, live wires convulsed like dying snakes, dripping globs of molten rubber that hissed on the tiles. The bodies were contorted. Limbs bent at wrong angles.
"I need gloves," he murmured.
On the third body, he found a reusable pair. He crouched and pulled them free. As he slipped on the silvery synthetic mesh, he realized they weren't exactly gloves.
Not even close. The synthetic Conductors extended to his elbows. There was an opening in the palm for contact with the ingredients. The inner part of the left forearm housed a display panel with a touch interface. Matte black with metallic texture. Thin lines like veins ran through the material, converging toward the panel. No buttons.
He tapped the screen in search of some hidden command. Nothing.
"Turn on?" Stephen tried.
Nothing.
"Copy. I need help. Over."
Lifeless.
"Resonant. Instructions. Help."
A sound pulsed somewhere behind. Wet. Heavy. Almost missed it.
"Synthetic Conductor? Activate? Activate C—"
The panel lit up. He almost laughed.
The LED started with a burnt yellow that reminded him of gold. It darkened. Appeared again. Gray this time.
Resonant not found in database.
The somewhat feminine voice sounded like a radio transmission, occasional static punctuating the words.
Initiating manual configuration. Name?
"Stephen Marlowe."
Age?
"17 years old."
District and City?
"District 29. Bronze City of Prometheus Industries."
Affinities?
"Sulfur, I think."
Kill count?
"Huh?"
Zero. Initiating system configuration for new Resonant. In the meantime, I recommend you reach the table to your right. It contains Sulfur residue.
A pause.
My scanner detected a Brineshade. Rank C.
Stephen raised his eyes.
Something at the far end. Tall. A humanoid shape made of whitish sludge that crusted over as it touched the air. Salt trapped in a suspension of mist.
The Brineshade emitted a sound.
Krr-hhnn.
Stephen's vision swam. The air suddenly felt thick, like he was underwater. Sound muffled. The distance between him and the exit stretched into infinity.
Status: Hypersensory dampening detected. Antimony resonance active. Death probability: 84%.
He tried to run. His legs refused to lift. They felt like lead anchors.
Advisory: Synaptic override required. Induce immediate physical trauma.
"What?" Stephen slurred. His tongue felt numb.
Pain breaks the resonance. Punch yourself. Solar plexus. Now.
He didn't question it. With the last shred of motor control, he swung his right fist into his own gut.
WHAM.
Air left his lungs in a wheeze. The pain grounded him, forcing the world back into focus.
He clawed backward across the debris just as the Brineshade slammed a crystallized limb down, pulverizing the concrete inches from his nose.
Stephen rolled. His fingers closed around a thick, severed cable hanging from the junction box. Exposed copper dug into his palm.
Heat.
He channeled the Sulfur directly into the wire. The copper resisted for a fraction of a second before heating past red, straight to a liquid, blistering white. The rubber insulation boiled and dripped onto his wrist, searing the skin.
The Brineshade twitched its faceless head.
Stephen screamed and whipped the glowing slag like a lash.
The superheated metal sliced into the wet sludge of the monster's chest.
HISS-CRACK.
The moisture inside flashed to steam instantly. The salt shell failed to contain the pressure. The creature blew apart, spraying the room with shards of hot salt and solidified antimony.
He stood there. Breathing. Hands trembling. Residue on his skin. Glow fading.
He looked at the scattering salts. Remnants of a ribcage dissolved into white sludge. It used to be a person. Maybe a scientist he'd walked past yesterday. The nausea hit him hard. He gripped his knees, dry heaving until tears pricked his eyes. Then the notification chimed. [Rank Update available] The blue light reflected in his retinas. The nausea stood, but the numbers pushed it aside. Survival first. Morality later.
Kill count updated: Brineshade, rank C, one kill.
Stephen raised his eyebrows.
"Didn't know that was a thing."
Only 21% of the database registered a rank C monster as their first kill.
Stephen's eyes locked on the 'Kill Count: 1'. The number was pitifully low . "Hey, Milla. Does the system track experience points? Or efficiency ratings?" The question came out automatic. Old habits from competitive ladders kicking in before the dust even settled.
The first Resonant in the ranking is named Rina Mori. Female, 24 years old. Division: Master. A Heptabound. The kill count only becomes visible when you enter the Master Division.
"What's my division now?"
He looked past the lab perimeter. The blast hadn't respected property lines. Across the street, a sedan sat upside down, its left blinker still flashing—click, click, click—a rhythmic, mechanical heartbeat in a dead world. A rack of colorful chip bags lay scattered across the asphalt, bright and cheerful against the grey dust. A plastic patio chair sat perfectly upright in the middle of a crater, untouched, while the house behind it was missing its entire second floor. Pink fiberglass insulation drifted through the air like toxic cotton candy, catching on the jagged remains of a telephone pole.
Initiate Division.
"Of course," he grumbled. "Earlier, back there, what's the logic behind punching my stomach?"
The Ashveil effect creates a resonance between dispersed Antimony and the target's nervous system. Physical trauma abruptly interrupts this resonance. Pain breaks the veil.
"That was smart."
Naturally. I am an artificial intelligence.
Stephen was starting to find the lack of life strange. There should be at least some RCD members in the region.
"Can I call you Milla?"
Name registered. Milla.
"Okay, Milla. What's today's date?"
December 14th, 2083.
Stephen stopped walking.
He remembered the date of the explosion. June.
That meant he had been unconscious for over six months.