Atlas clawed at the floor, his fingernails scraping furrows into the blood soaked tile. He tried to scream, but his jaw snapped shut as his mandible was reshaped, his teeth realigning into a perfect predator's bite.
He felt heavy. Incredibly heavy.
It was the phenomenon of Condensation. The System was taking the raw biomass of a zombie and compressing it. The higher the tier, the denser the body. An incredible amount of strength was being packed into his human-sized frame.
Sizzzle…
Smoke began to rise from his skin. The grey, rotting epidermis was sloughing off, replaced by a tougher, leathery hide that—while still pale and death-like—looked armored.
And then, the energy reached his weapons.
SNIKT!
His claws extended involuntarily, ripping through his knuckles.
Atlas watched through tear-filled eyes as the bone blades changed. The dull, ivory white was being infused with metallic minerals. They turned a faint, shimmering silver. They were becoming denser.
'Endure...'
The word was a mantra in his shattering mind.
'Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure.'
If he passed out, he feared the process would stop. He had to witness it. He had to own it.
'Endure. Endure. Endure.'
The words became a mantra, echoing through his mind as the pain threatened to drown him.
It felt as if molten fire had been poured directly into his marrow, scorching him from the inside out.
This wasn't just physical pain.
It was existential.
His bones grew denser, layered with microscopic lattice structures that reinforced them beyond human limits. Muscles tightened, fibers compressing and multiplying, gaining elasticity and explosive power. Tendons thickened. Ligaments hardened.
Cells condensing and dividing at a rapid pace. The energy from his Soul flooded into his physical form, guiding the transformation.
His very form began collapsing inward—becoming more compact, more efficient, more lethal.
The energy sustaining his undeath surged violently, flooding into his flesh, guiding the transformation with ruthless precision.
Strength gathered.
Potential increased.
The higher his evolution tier climbed, the more apparent it became—his body was no longer merely undead.
It was being forged into something superior.
For ten minutes, the hallway echoed with the sounds of a body breaking and reforming. It was the music of evolution—terrifying and beautiful.
And then... silence.
The fire in his veins cooled to a simmering hum.
Huff... Huff…
Atlas lay face down in a pool of black sweat and old blood. He twitched once, then twice.
Slowly, painfully, he placed his hands on the floor and pushed.
He stood up.
And he kept standing up.
Gone was the hunch. Gone was the limp. Atlas stood at his full height, his posture perfect, his shoulders broad and squared. He felt... solid. Like a statue made of iron.
He took a deep breath—not because he needed air, but because he could feel the sensory data flooding his brain. He could smell the ozone from the lights. The air carried more information now. He could smell the coppery tang of blood from meters away. Hear the faint hum of distant machinery through layer of concrete and steel. He could see the dust motes dancing in the air with high-definition clarity.
He walked to a reflective pane of glass on a laboratory door.
The monster staring back was terrifying. He was taller. His skin was tight and thick. His eyes burned with a cold, blue intelligence. And his claws... they shimmered with that lethal silver hue.
[Evolution Complete.]
[You may now check your status, Atlas.]
A blue window popped up, crisp and victorious.
"Phew…" Atlas muttered softly. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that."
Pleione's voice responded—not cold this time, but strangely… reassuring.
[It is alright, Atlas. You are doing great.]
[The pain you are enduring is the pain of fundamental change. It is the friction of shedding a lower existence for a higher one. It is essentially the greatest pain in existence—the Pain of Evolution.]
[But know this: It is also the most coveted pain among all races in the multiverse. From the lowest slime to the highest dragon, all beings share a singular goal: To evolve oneself to perfection. You have taken the first true step.]
The System AI's voice echoed in his mind, carrying a tone of rare solemnity.
Atlas chuckled, a low, resonant sound that vibrated in his newly reinforced chest.
'Heh. Well, thank you, Pleione, for the philosophy lesson and the encouragement.'
He retracted his silver claws with a metallic snikt sound.
'But I still don't want to be a masochist. So, I will try to raise my Pain Resistance with all my effort. I'd prefer to enjoy my godhood without screaming, if you don't mind.'
I owe my survival to the mental seal. Had my psyche been left unguarded, my previous mortal body would have simply flatlined from the agony—or left me a gibbering wreck in the aftermath.
Shaking his head to shake off those ridiculous thoughts he turned away from the bad reflection, his movements sharp and explosive. He was no longer just a zombie.
He was a weapon. And the Hive was his testing ground.
The agonizing symphony of his bones breaking and reforming had ceased, replaced by a subtle, humming vibration deep within his cells. It was a sensation of life—or something dangerously close to it—sparking in a vessel meant for death.
A blue window materialized, hovering before his eyes with the weight of a divine decree.
[New Ability Gained]
[Constant Regeneration (Passive)]
[A passive Ability commonly found among high-tier Life-Aspected beings and entities with exceptionally stable life forces. Constant Regeneration draws a minute amount of energy from the fundamental laws of the universe to sustain a continuous, low-output regenerative process. Rather than providing rapid or reactive healing, this ability operates at the cellular and tissue level, steadily improving cell growth, cell regeneration, and cell division over time. It enhances cellular repair accuracy, significantly reducing scar tissue formation and correcting flawed regeneration as injuries heal.
Baseline cell turnover is stabilized, preventing premature cell death while maintaining healthy division rhythms without triggering abnormal growth. Nutrient absorption and oxygen utilization are marginally improved, supporting efficient tissue reconstruction. The regeneration proceeds at a fixed, slow rate and does not respond to danger, pain, emotion, or conscious intent; damaged or dead cells are always replaced with healthy equivalents through gradual differentiation and structural rebuilding.
Over time, this process restores tissue integrity in muscles, skin, nerves, and minor organs while reducing long-term damage accumulation. Constant Regeneration is always active, continuously attempting to maintain the host in an optimal biological state peak health forever. As long as the host remains alive, even severe injuries will eventually heal, including lost limbs or heavily damaged organs, extreme damage, though such regeneration requires extreme time investment and prolonged stability. The ability draws only a minimal, sustained amount of energy from the soul, making it inefficient for emergency survival but invaluable for long-term bodily preservation.]
Atlas read the text twice, savoring every word. A slow, genuine smile spread across his face—a smile that no longer tore his skin as it stretched.
This wasn't emergency healing.
This wasn't some cheap "recover instantly" power.
No—
This was something far more terrifying.
Atlas's eyes narrowed.
"Always on," he muttered mentally. "No trigger. No condition."
That last line made him smile.
A slow, dangerous smile.
'Great...' he thought, the relief washing over him. 'Finally. Something that can fix this hideous, rotting shell. Power is meaningless if I look like a walking compost heap. Aesthetics matter.'
"I don't want to be loved by grandpa Nurgle!"
He flexed his hand. The movement was silent. The grinding of bone-on-bone was gone. His joints felt lubricated, smooth, hydraulic.
'Now jokes aside, enough talk. Pleione, show me the results. I want to see what my suffering bought me.'
[Affirmative.]
The status screen flickered into existence.
\\
[ STATUS WINDOW ]
Name: Atlas Cruor
Race: Infected Evolved Zombie – Undead Variant (Tier 1)
Level: 3 (150/400 EXP)
Evolution Stage: Active Mutation
[Core Attributes]
Strength: 17
Agility: 17
Stamina: ∞
Mind: 25
Status Point: 6
[Derived Stats]
Reaction Speed: 17
Regeneration: Low
Combat Instinct: 3
Mental Stability: Near Perfect
[Condition]
Hunger: Moderate
Infection Stability: Stable.
Sanity: LOCKED
[Skills]
Neural Control (Passive), Retractable Claws (Active), Constant Regeneration (Passive)
[Evolution Traits]
Undead Zombie:
[Resources]
Evolution Points: 30
V-Gold: 1000
\\
Atlas analyzed the numbers with the cold precision of a gamer min-maxing his build.
'Tier 1... I've officially ascended from the trash mob category,' he noted. 'Strength and Agility at 17. That's nearly double the average human baseline. I can punch through a wood wall or outrun an Olympic sprinter without breaking a sweat.'
He clenched his fist, feeling the density of his new muscles.
'Just as expected. The stats didn't jump by fifty points instantly. Real evolution isn't magic; it's biology. But I do love those Free Stats.'
He paused, his mind drifting to the mechanics of the system.
'The pain I endured... it felt disproportionate to a mere +3 stat gain. But the System mentioned "Potential." That's the hidden variable.
'And more importantly—this evolution wasn't about numbers.'
He tapped a finger against his forearm thoughtfully.
'The system clearly stated it—my potential improved. That won't show up here.'
A dangerous thought formed.
'If my growth ceiling increased… then training should matter again.'
Not just leveling.
Not just points.
'I the old-school way.'
A low chuckle escaped him.
"Interesting. Very interesting."
It was a crucial realization. He wasn't just a vessel for numbers; he was a cultivator of his own flesh.
Atlas closed the window with a thought. He felt the power flowing through his dead, undead body. There was no heartbeat thumping in his chest, yet he could feel the blood—thick, cold, and potent—running through his veins like liquid mercury. He didn't need oxygen, but the air tasted sweet.
Yet blood moved through his veins anyway—circulating without oxygen, driven by something far more primal than biology.
He glanced around the corridor. The massacre he had left behind was still there, but something caught his eye.
The bodies.
The corpse of the security guard he had kicked earlier was... shriveled. The skin was tight against the bone, leathery and dry. It looked like it had been rotting in a desert for a decade, not five minutes in a sterile lab.
'Now that I think about it...' Atlas frowned. 'I noticed this peripherally before, but I was too distracted by the freedom and blood. Why do the bodies get mummified after I kill them? I haven't eaten them.'
'Pleione?'
The AI's voice was prompt and educational.
[It is the mechanism of the System, Host. When you extinguish a target, the System does not just award you arbitrary points. It actively extracts the target's "Essential Essence"—their residual life force and a fragment of their Soul Matrix entropy.]
[This Essence is converted into Evolution Points (EP) and Experience (EXP). Without that vital energy and the Soul Metrix sustaining the cellular structure, the organic matter and soul collapses rapidly, resulting in the desiccation you observe.]
'Hmm...' Atlas nodded slowly. 'So, I am essentially a soul vampire. I drink their existence to fuel my own. Brutal. I like it.'
He stepped over the dried husk of the guard and continued down the hall. As he passed a shattered observation window, a flash of movement caught his peripheral vision.
He stopped. He turned.
Reflected in the jagged shard of glass hanging from the frame was a stranger.
'What... happened to my body?'
Atlas stepped closer, inspecting his reflection.
Gone was the greenish, gangrenous hue of the walking dead. Gone were the open, weeping sores on his cheeks, neck, hands, and stomach.
The figure in the glass was... striking.
His skin was still pale—deathly pale, like polished marble or alabaster—but it was smooth. The rotting wounds had sealed up, leaving behind faint, silvery lines that were rapidly fading thanks to his Constant Regeneration.
He didn't look like a zombie anymore; he looked like someone who hadn't seen the sun in years.
He looked like a vampire from a gothic novel. Noble. Like that of Twilight just without the glowing effect.
His hair, previously matted with gore and grease, was now cleaner. It had shifted from a dull black to a deep, lustrous charcoal grey, hanging over his forehead with a slight shine.
But it was the eyes that captivated him.
The cloudy, milky film of the T-Virus was gone.
His eyes were clear, sharp, and focused. The irises were a piercing, ghostly grey, surrounded by sclera that were no longer bloodshot, but a stark, clean white.
He looked younger. Sharper. Dangerous.
'I feel the changes,' Atlas thought, running a hand over his smooth cheek. 'My skin is tight. My hair isn't greasy. Even my eyes... they don't look dead. They look... hungry.'