The interface didn't vanish when he blinked his eyes.
It hovered at the edge of his vision, steady and indifferent, like it had always been there and he was the one who'd only just learned how to look.
Dante swallowed.
Nothing happened to the display.
"Okay," he said quietly. His voice sounded wrong to his own ears, clearer, steadier than it had any right to be after dying twice.
He focused.
The interface sharpened instantly.
[ SYSTEM INTERFACE ]
Subject: Dante
Evolution Rank: Awakened
Attribute: DIVERGENT
Infection Status: INFECTED
His breath hitched.
"Infected," he muttered. "Right. Of course I am."
No denial came with it. No panic spike. Just a cold confirmation of what he already knew. He could still feel the hunger curled somewhere deep inside him, quiet now, but not gone.
His eyes dropped to the next line.
[ SOUL CORES]
Core I (Necrotic): The Viral Instinct
Core II (Human): The Willpower
He stared at that for a long moment.
"Two," he said. "I have… two." he knew the standard cores for normal awakened was just one and yet here he was with 2 cores.
He pressed a hand to his chest without thinking, as if he might feel them fighting under his ribs. There was no pain and no heat. Just a strange sense of tension held perfectly in check, like two forces locked in a grip neither could afford to loosen.
That thought sent a shiver through him that had nothing to do with cold.
"Is that it, then?" he asked the empty alley. "That's the line I'm standing on?"
The system didn't answer.
It never would.
His gaze drifted lower.
[ ABILITIES ]
Neuro Weave
Harmonic Resonance
He frowned. "That's… vague."
A beat passed, then he noticed a section for description which he willed open instantly.
[ ABILITIES ]
[Neuro Weave]
Description: Extrude mono-molecular viral threads from any point on the body (dermis/pores). Threads are hardened extensions of the nervous system.Threads are nearly invisible and harder than steel.
[Harmonic Resonance]
Description: The host can detect and manipulate the natural resonant frequency of any object or medium (air, stone, flesh).
Then, without warning, something answered.
Not words but a sudden sensation.
A thin, electric awareness spread across his skin, like static building just beneath the surface. Every pore felt… ready. As if something could push through if he let it.
Dante jerked his hand back instinctively. "No. Nope. Not doing that yet."
His heart rate ticked up despite himself. Whatever Neuro Weave was, his body already knew how to use it. That scared him more than the name ever could.
He exhaled slowly and kept reading.
[ PASSIVE SKILLS ]
[Sensory Domain]: Omnidirectional spatial awareness
[Pain Suppression]: Nerves ignore non-lethal damage.
"That explains… a lot," he murmured.
The clarity. The balance. The fact that his body felt like it was already braced for violence even while standing still. He rolled his shoulder experimentally. The movement was smooth, precise. No lingering damage. No ache where there absolutely should have been one.
Pain suppression.
The words didn't comfort him. They unsettled him.
Pain existed for a reason.
He scrolled again, slower now and reluctant. Since he new all awakened had anomalies from their genetic mutation. "somehow i am not looking forward to finding out my own" he murmured
He still scrolled down anyway.
[ ANOMALY ]
Sympathetic Agony
The name alone made his stomach tighten.
His instincts screamed at him not to open it.
He did anyway.
The text unfolded.
And as he read, something cold slid down his spine, slow and deliberate.
"To kill is to die."
He stopped breathing.
His eyes moved line by line, and with each one, the weight settled deeper.
[Sympathetic Agony]
Description: To kill is to die
Neuro Weave threads transmit tactile feedback to the host with 100% fidelity since they are an extension of host's nervous system.
The Neuro Weave threads remain biologically connected to the host's pain receptors.
Consequence: Inflicting damage via threads transmits phantom pain to the host. The threads act as a conduit for absolute sensory feedback.
Severing an enemy's limb inflicts the mirrored pain of amputation. A killing blow forces the host to endure the victim's final moments, suffering both their physical agony and psychological terror of death.
"No," he said quietly.
He shook his head once. Then again. "That's— that's not normal. That's a punishment."
His fingers curled into fists before he noticed. Images rose in his mind, severed limbs and final heartbeats, raw terror flooding his mind.
He swallowed hard and forced the thought away.
"So if I fight," he said, voice low, tight, "I suffer."
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
Every kill carved into him. Every victory paid for in agony.
A laugh escaped him before he could stop it. Short and sharp. Almost hysterical.
"Of course," he said. "Of course that's the catch."
"This anomaly is a sentence" he sobbed in raw indignation. "I guess that's the drawback of having two powerful soul cores and abilities"
He leaned back against the alley wall, staring at nothing.
This wasn't a hero's awakening. There was no gift here. No clean power fantasy. Just a blade that cut both ways, and made sure he felt every inch of it.
His eyes dropped down to the final lines.
[ Thralls ]
None
Description:
Thralls are subordinate entities bound to the host. A thrall operates as an external extension of the host's will, sharing sensory data and obeying command priority without hesitation.
[ RELICS ]
None
Description:
Relics are pre-Collapse artifacts engineered or altered to interface with awakened biology and soul structures granted by the system. Only awakened entities can activate relic functions.
Relic Classification:
[ Weapon Relic ]
Artifacts designed to channel or enhance offensive capability. May synchronize with abilities, anomalies, or soul cores. Improper compatibility can result in neurological damage or systemic overload.
[ Armor Relic ]
Defensive constructs that reinforce physical integrity, regenerate damage, or redirect force. Armor relics may interfere with anomalies that rely on direct sensory feedback.
[ Charm Relic ]
Compact artifacts that modify perception, resistance, or resource flow. Often passive. Often deceptive. Multiple charms increase cognitive strain.
[ Auxiliary Relic ]
Non-combat artifacts that affect mobility, storage, communication, or environmental interaction. Rare. Highly specialized.
Silence settled again.
The system waited, patient and merciless.
Dante closed his eyes.
"…I'm in trouble," he whispered.
The blue light flickered once, then dissolved into mist as Dante willed the interface away.
The alley returned to its natural state of grime and shadow, but the silence didn't return.
Dante tilted his head. It wasn't that he heard more volume, he heard more and felt more. The chaotic noise of Sector 4 usually blurred into a single hum of misery, but now, the hum had separated into distinct threads.
He could hear the drip of a leaking pipe three stories up. He could feel the scuttling of rats inside the brickwork. And further out, past the mouth of the alley, he could hear the wet, shuffling gait of things that weren't human.
[Sensory Domain], he thought. It's not just a map. It's a radar.
He pushed himself off the wall. His body felt light, dangerously so. It was the feeling of an engine revving in neutral, too much power, with nowhere to go.
"Maya," he whispered his sister's name. The name grounded him. "Find Maya. Figure out the rest later."
He took a step toward the mouth of the alley, where the mid-morning light was cutting through the smog in jagged beams. He paused at the edge of the shadow, a lingering human instinct making him hesitate.
In every moviebox he had watched, the infected burned in the sun.
He held his breath and thrust his left hand into the light.
Nothing happened.
No smoke. No blistering skin. No agony.
He didn't even feel the warmth. The sun hit his pale grey skin and the light just… sat there. He felt like a stone left in the garden. Physically illuminated, but internally cold.
"Okay," he breathed out, stepping fully onto the cracked sidewalk. "At least the universe gave me that."
He looked at the fire escape ladder hanging ten feet above him. Before, that would have been a struggle. Now?
Dante crouched. He didn't tense his muscles; he just willed them to move.
He launched himself upward.
It wasn't a jump. It was a launch. He cleared the ten feet effortlessly, his hand snapping out to grab the rusted metal rung.
CLANG.
The metal groaned under his grip. He didn't just hold it; he crushed it slightly.
He pulled himself up onto the metal platform, crouching low to stay in the shadow of the overhang. From here, he could see the street below.
It was a war zone.
Cars were overturned. Smoke rose in black pillars from the downtown district. And shuffling through the streets, dragging limbs or sprinting on all fours, were the infected.
Dante watched them.
He didn't feel fear. He felt… kinship. A dark, biological recognition.
They are fuel, his instinct whispered.
Dante shook his head, fighting the urge. "They're people," he corrected himself.
They were people, the instinct argued. Now, they are food.
He gripped the railing, the metal bending under his fingers. The sun was rising higher. He had to move. He had to find a path through the shadows to Maya's last known location.
A groan drifted from behind a crushed sedan.
Dante turned.
A man, or what used to be a man, shuffled out. He was wearing a tattered delivery uniform. Half his face was missing, chewed away to reveal the white gleam of a cheekbone.
The zombie froze. Its milky eyes locked onto Dante.
Dante tensed, his hands coming up, ready to fight. He waited for the snarl, the sprint, the hunger.
But the delivery man just stood there. It tilted its head, sniffing the air. It didn't look at Dante like prey. It looked at him like… a confusing reflection. It let out a low, disinterested gurgle and turned away, shuffling toward a pile of trash.
"It doesn't smell me," Dante realized, his voice hollow. "It smells the virus."
He lowered his hands. He was safe. He could walk right through them.
No.
The thought came from the Necrotic Core, pulsing like a second heartbeat.
Not safe. Hungry.
Dante stared at the zombie's back. He wasn't hungry for meat. He was hungry for Essence. The System had said he needed to evolve. It said he was "Awakened."
"I need to test it," Dante murmured.
He looked at his own hand. He focused on the Neuro Weave. He didn't know how to do it, but his biology did. It was like flexing a muscle he'd never used before.
Extrude.
A sharp tingle ran through his fingertips.
Suddenly, five translucent threads shot out from his fingertips. They were impossibly thin, gleaming faintly like spider silk, but when they hit the asphalt, they chipped the stone.
"Whoa."
He twitched his index finger. The corresponding thread whipped through the air with a hum. It was fast. Faster than his eyes could track.
He looked at the zombie, twenty feet away.
"I need to know," Dante whispered. "I need to know what the price is."
He raised his hand. He aimed at the zombie's trailing leg.
Cut.
He flicked his wrist.
The thread lashed out, extending twenty feet in a blink. It passed through the zombie's calf like a laser through butter. There was no resistance. The leg simply detached, sliding off the bone.
The zombie hit the ground with a wet thud, confused and thrashing aimlessly.
SNAP.
Dante screamed.
He fell to his knees, clutching his own calf.
"AGHHH!"
It wasn't a phantom tickle. It was agony. He felt the skin part. He felt the muscle sever. He felt the saw-blade friction of the bone being sliced through. He gasped for air, his eyes watering, checking his own leg frantically.
It was whole. There was no blood. No wound.
But his brain was screaming that his leg was gone.
"Jesus..." Dante wheezed, spit dripping from his mouth. "It... it feels real."
The zombie was crawling now, dragging itself by its arms, moaning in confusion.
Dante looked at it, sweat breaking out on his grey forehead. He was shaking. The pain was fading, leaving a dull, throbbing echo in his shin, but the lesson was burned into his mind.
He had cut a leg. He felt a leg cut.
What would happen if he killed it?
The anomaly's description flashed in his mind: A killing blow forces the host to endure the victim's final moments.
Dante looked at the miserable creature dragging itself through the glass. This was his reality now. If he wanted to get stronger, if he wanted to find Maya, he had to kill. And if he killed, he had to die with them.
He stood up. His legs were shaking, but he forced them to lock.
"I'm sorry," he whispered to the delivery man.
He raised his hand again. All five threads hovered in the air, humming with tension.
He didn't flick his wrist this time. He clenched his fist.
The threads shot forward, wrapping around the zombie's neck.
Sever.
He pulled and the head rolled free.
Dante's world went black.
Darkness.
Cold.
Where is the light? Why can't I breathe?
Mom? Is that you?
I'm scared. I'm so cold. Please, make it stop. It hurts. The hunger hurts.
It's fading. The noise is fading.
I don't want to go.
I don't want to—
Dante gasped, slamming back into his own body.
He was on his hands and knees on the pavement, dry heaving. Tears, real tears were streaming down his face.
He hadn't just felt the neck snap. He had felt the fear. For a split second, he had been a delivery man named Thomas who missed his mother and was terrified of the dark. He had felt the absolute, crushing loneliness of the void opening up to swallow him.
He coughed, spitting bile onto the road.
He looked up. The zombie was dead.
Deep in his chest, the Necrotic Core gave a low, satisfied thrum. The gnawing emptiness that had been clawing at his insides receded, replaced by a microscopic sliver of stability.
The kill had fed him. The mere act of extinguishing a life had saturated his core, tightening the leash on his hunger.
Then, the System spoke.
The runes wove themselves into existence at the edge of his vision, shimmering with a pale, ghostly light.
[ You have slain a Festering Wretch. ]
[ Your core grows stronger. ]
Dante wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, trembling. He looked up at the corpse.
The body was rapidly losing its cohesion, the virus dying along with the host. The flesh turned to gray dust, collapsing in on itself. But amidst the pile of ash and bone, something glimmered.
It sat there in the grit, heavy and physical.
A small, pale orb, roughly the size of a marble. It pulsed with a soft, milky light, stark against the filth of the alley.
Dante reached out, his fingers brushing against it. It felt dense, like holding a condensed magnet.
[ Soul Orb (Wretch) ]
Description: A crystallized fragment of a soul that has succumbed to the Infection. Contains pure Essence.
Dante stared at it.
He had already fed on the kill automatically. That was the invisible tax his attribute: Divergent levied on the dead. But this... this was another form of evolution.
He picked up the orb. He could feel the energy trapped inside it, the raw potential.
He squeezed his fist.
Crush.
The orb didn't break like glass; it dissolved into motes of white light that swirled up his arm and sank directly into his chest.
The reaction was instant.
A rush of heat flooded his veins, banishing the cold that had settled in his bones since his resurrection. His core flared, spinning faster, processing the influx of power.
[ Essence Acquired. ]
It was a reward but it felt like a curse.
Dante gasped, looking at his hands.
The change was visceral. The dead, slate-grey pallor of his skin began to ripple. Color flushed back into his fingertips, a faint, healthy pink fighting back the necrotic grey. The black veins that had been bulging under his wrist receded, burying themselves deeper into his flesh, hiding his monstrous nature.
Dante wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was trembling violently, but he forced himself to stand.
He flexed his fingers. The stiffness was gone. His thoughts, which had been fighting through a fog of hunger and instinct, sharpened into crystal clarity.
He wasn't just fed. He was becoming.
The more he killed, the more he saturated his cores, the more "human" he would look. The monster was burying itself under a mask of perfection.
Dante stood up. His legs were no longer shaking. He felt lighter, faster, lethal.
He looked at his hand, now almost indistinguishable from a living human's.
"To kill is to die," he repeated the anomaly's warning.
He gritted his teeth, his expression hardening. The tears were still there, but his eyes were cold, black pits.
"Fine. I'll die a million times if that's what it takes."
He turned his back on the pile of ash and started walking. He had a sister to find.
And God help anyone, living or dead, who tried to stop him.