Dark. Empty. Silent.
Those are the first three things dominating this existence. There are no eyes to see, no ears to hear the roaring wind, let alone a mouth to lament. There is only a tiny spark of life trapped within the crush of cold concrete. It is merely a seed, a fragile shell holding potential life, sleeping soundly for an immeasurable duration of time.
The world around it feels dead, yet full of constant vibrations. Through its thin seed coat, it senses the chaotic rhythm of the ground surface. The sound of heavy dragging feet, staggering steps, and the soft thuds of falling objects. The vibrations come and go alternately. The soil where it resides is no longer warm. There is a piercing chill, seeping surely through the rock crevices. The water dripping down brings no freshness, but the stench of pungent rust and decaying flesh.
Time continues to crawl forward. The spark of life inside the seed should have surrendered long ago, rotting along with the buried remains of civilization. However, there is a strange spark within its core. An ancient instinct refusing to be extinguished. It waits patiently, waiting for a trigger to detonate its potential.
One day, the vibrations above feel different. No dragging steps pass by and fade away. This time, the vibration settles, followed by the impact of a falling object that makes the small surrounding rocks tremble. Something heavy has collapsed right over the asphalt crack that protects it.
Then, the liquid seeps in.
The first drop touches the seed coat with an odd warmth. The liquid is viscous and thick, carrying a pungent aroma of rusted metal and rot. It is human blood tainted by a plague. The black liquid seeps down, penetrating the dust layers, soaking the thirsty seed shell.
For ordinary plants, this toxic liquid is a death sentence. The acid within would destroy its cellular structure in seconds. Yet, as the black liquid seeps into its core, a defensive reaction occurs. Instead of breaking down, the seed's core boils. An agonizing, stinging pain tears through its unconsciousness.
It struggles wildly in silence. The energy from the mutant blood collides with its natural life energy. In a pure instinct to survive, the seed forces its cells to adapt. It breaks down the deadly energy into nutrients it can absorb. A process that should be impossible for any ordinary plant.
Its seed shell splits with a soft cracking sound. From the crevice, a pale white root protrudes into the darkness. Driven by a new hunger and the energy from the tainted blood, the root shoots straight upwards, searching for its food source. Through its new instinct, it senses something behind the rotting flesh on the surface. There is a point of energy far denser and purer than the blood surrounding it.
Above the surface, a zombie with a torn body lies flailing. Black liquid spills from the wound in its chest. Without warning, the tip of the pale root emerges from behind the asphalt crack. The root hardens and tapers sharply, resembling a spearhead.
With one precise thrust, the root pierces the zombie's wound, penetrating the fragile flesh and ribs, until it hits a dense energy source near the heart that has long stopped beating. It is a clump of dirty gray crystal, the core of the mutation driving the corpse.
As soon as the root tip touches it, a massive energy pull occurs. The underground seed sucks the entire content of the crystal. Gray energy floods the root vessels, sliding down into the seed's core. The crystal in the zombie's chest shatters into dust, and the rest of its body dries up and shrinks.
Underground, along with the flow of pure energy from the crystal, foreign memories from the previous host enter. Random, confusing images: flashes of giant fire, collapsing buildings, and searing fear. It does not yet understand the details—it does not know what buildings or fire are. But its intuition absorbs the fundamental concepts: there are predators, there is prey, and the world above is no longer safe.
Its consciousness blossoms as sharply as a young root splitting rock.
It now realizes its own existence. It understands up and down, light and dark, life and death. It feels its form branching; part of it penetrates downward to absorb water, part of it lunges upward to seek light. This existence feels alien yet completely natural. It cannot run. It is rooted firmly to the earth. A tree.
The abundant residual energy from the crystal stimulates its growth. Its main root grows thicker, spreading to find pure water. Meanwhile, a green sprout emerges bravely, following the path opened by its root. The fragile sprout pierces the asphalt crack and greets the outside air. Two tiny leaves open wide. Through these leaves, it sees the world not with optical eyes, but through a reach of energy perception.
The world appears in its mind as a sea of dim aura emanations. The expanse of asphalt and concrete feels silent, lifeless, and cold. In the distance, thousands of creatures staggering about appear as gray embers moving slowly. Creatures of the same kind as its first prey. Its primitive understanding forms. If it wants to grow and survive the threat of storms or the stomping feet of other predators, it needs more of those energy cores.
It has no legs to run and hunt them. So, it will stay rooted in this place, waiting for prey to come. Anyone who dares to step on its domain will end up as its fertilizer.
From the sea of fragmented voices and foreign memories flowing through it, only one sound persists, resonating with the beat of its core, refusing to fade. Oros. It does not know the grammar behind the word, but it carries the impression of something grand and sturdy. From this moment on, it claims this identity.
Instantly, an emotionless voice echoes within the silence of its consciousness, followed by glowing blue text.
Natural Evolution System Activated. Scanning Host. Complete. Name: Oros Species: Ancient Mutant Sprout Level: 1 Survival Time: 0 Years, 0 Days, 0 Hours, 5 Minutes Evolution Biomass: 10/100 Core Integrity: 100/100 Root Canopy Range: 10 Meters
Passive Skills: Tainted Blood Phytoremediation Level 1: Converts toxic liquid into basic nutrients. Underground Perception Level 1: Detects movement and energy within the root range.
Active Skills: Piercing Root Level 1: A single physical attack with high penetrating power.
Oros observes this information in silence. These numbers and lines of text act as a direct translation of its biological instincts. The timer in the corner of its vision continues to tick forward, changing the seconds.
The wind blows, carrying dust, caressing the two tiny leaves that now emit a faint cyan glow. A silent declaration that life has not entirely bowed down to the god of death.