Prime Ascendant

Marcus stepped out of the bathroom, steam swirling behind him as he wiped the last droplets of water from his face. The grime and filth that had seeped from his body earlier were now washed away, leaving his skin feeling fresh and clean. The strange, almost euphoric high that had gripped him during the transformation had subsided, but the sense of renewal still lingered. His muscles, sore from the recent battle, now only ached faintly, as if the worst of the strain had been purged along with the dirt. He inhaled deeply, feeling the air fill his lungs more fully than before, as though his body had been reset. The infection that had threatened to overtake him was gone, but the changes it left behind were undeniable. He caught his reflection in the cracked mirror above the sink—a face he barely recognized anymore. His skin, once pale and sickly, now had a healthier glow, and his eyes, sharper and more alert, seemed to gleam with an intensity he hadn’t seen before.Then the screen popped

Marcus took a deep breath as he stepped outside, the chaos of the city now in full view. Smoke filled the air from burning cars, and the distant screams of panicked civilians echoed through the streets. It was a scene out of a nightmare—total anarchy. People were running, some trying to fight the infected, while others fled in desperation. The infected themselves were relentless, lunging at anyone in sight, their grotesque forms an all too horrifying reminder of what awaited anyone who failed to escape.Marcus’s eyes scanned his surroundings, his mind racing. He needed a plan. His first thought was simple: gather supplies. He couldn’t survive on just the clothes on his back, and the spatial pocket he had was a godsend in this situation. A quick inventory check showed he still had some basic items, but it wasn’t nearly enough. He needed food, water, and most importantly, a weapon, something reliable that didn’t drain his Aether. After his earlier fight, Marcus was acutely aware of his

As Marcus reached the makeshift barricade, the large bearded man stepped forward, his rifle still in hand but lowered now that Marcus posed no immediate threat. He was broad-shouldered, with sunken eyes that betrayed exhaustion and perhaps something more—wariness, or maybe even hopelessness. The man eyed Marcus from head to toe, sizing him up.“Introduce yourself,” the man barked, his voice deep and gruff.“Marcus,” he said simply, keeping his tone neutral but respectful. “like I said earlier, I'm just trying to find the best way out of the city."The bearded man grunted, seemingly satisfied with the brief response. “Name’s Briggs,” he said after a pause. “And since the world’s gone to shit, it’s hard to know who to trust. But I figure it’s better we have numbers. Safety in numbers, especially against those freaks.” He gestured vaguely behind Marcus, toward the direction where infected were still roaming in the distance.Marcus nodded. It made sense. Strength in numbers had always bee

As they stepped out of the pharmacy, the cool air hit Marcus's face, doing little to quell the simmering anger within him. He glanced at Ian, whose contemptuous glare felt like a physical weight. Marcus had to take deep breaths to resist the urge to punch the man.Briggs, leading the way down the deserted street, took the point once more. Erika fell back with Marcus, who was beginning to feel the pain from his injury subside. The throbbing in his shoulder was less pronounced than before, a testament to the resilience his body had gained. This was a positive development, as he couldn't afford to show weakness now. Not when a certain someone was likely plotting against him."Hey," Erika said softly, concern etched on her face. "You did great back there. I know it was tough.""Yeah, well, Ian doesn't think so," Marcus replied, struggling to maintain his composure. "What's his problem? Do I look like someone who killed his parents or something?""He wasn't always like this," Erika explain

The tension in the room thickened as Marcus and Briggs braced themselves against the oncoming horde. The moans of the infected echoed off the dilapidated walls, their ragged, shuffling movements closing in from every direction. The two of them slowly edged back toward the vent, each step measured and careful.But then, without warning, the zombies stopped.Their groans ceased, their decaying limbs freezing mid-step. An eerie silence fell over the room, broken only by the sound of Marcus’s own breath. He shot a confused glance at Briggs, who looked just as bewildered."What the hell?" Briggs muttered, his grip tightening on his weapon.Marcus’s instincts screamed at him that something was wrong. His eyes darted through the crowd of motionless infected as they suddenly parted, clearing a path down the center. From the darkened hallway beyond, a figure stepped into view—a zombie, but different from the rest. Its body was far less decayed, its flesh still intact and unnervingly toned. Blo