The halved body of the cockroach landed on the cement with a wet thud, its numerous legs still twitching in a mindless, rhythmic reflex.
As if sensing it was now the last of its kind, the final healthy cockroach didn't retaliate. Instead, it scrambled up the wall near the entrance, its claws clicking frantically against the surface. It reached the door frame and tried to squeeze its bulk through the tiny gap at the top, desperate to escape. But its mutation—the very thing that made it a threat—now betrayed it. It was simply too large to fit through the space it once would have slipped through with ease.
"Oh no, you don't!" Wyn roared.
He sprang up from his crouch and, with the practiced aim of a basketball player used to shooting a ball under pressure, he hurled the hand-cleaver. The blade spun through the air in a tight silver blur, thunking heavily into the wall. It didn't just hit; it pinned the cockroach by its thorax against the door frame.
Wyn stepped forward, retrieved his axe from the floor, and used the blunt side of the head to crush the insect's skull against the wall. The buzzing stopped instantly.
Across the room, Primo approached the desk where the first cockroach was still struggling against the knife. With a cold, efficient motion, he gripped the handle and twisted, slicing through the neck and taking the head off entirely.
The room finally went silent.
Both boys stood there for a moment, chests heaving as they looked at the mess of yellow ichor and insect limbs.
"The knives," Wyn panted, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. "Good call on those, Primo. Without them, we would've been swinging at air all day."
Primo nodded, already kneeling to collect the loot. He extracted three gene cores—each a deep, vibrant red, identical to the one they had taken from the lizard earlier. He also checked his makeshift spear. The steel tip was noticeably chipped from the impact with the cement floor, but the shaft was solid and the edge was still sharp enough to kill.
While Wyn cleaned his axe, Primo began rummaging through a tall storage cabinet in the corner of the office. He pulled out a roll of heavy-duty black garbage bags.
"What are those for?" Wyn asked.
"Cleanup," Primo said, tossing a bag to him. "The lizard's corpse attracted these things. If we leave the cockroaches rotting here, we're basically just setting out a dinner bell for whatever else is living in this school. We need to dispose of them."
They worked quickly and grimly, bagging the remains of the lizard and the three cockroaches. They moved the heavy bags to a corner of the room and locked the door behind them. They would dispose of the waste outside once they were certain the rest of the building was clear.
By the time they finished, the sun was high in the sky. They retreated to their base—the first faculty room—to rest. The smell of the cockroaches clung to them, a sickly-sweet, musky odor that made their skin crawl. Though they desperately wanted to wash the insect fluids off their skin and clothes, they looked at their limited supply of bottled water and shook their heads. In this new world, hygiene was a luxury; survival was the priority.
They changed into fresh shirts from their bags and sat down for a simple lunch of dry biscuits and water, eating in a silence that was far more alert than it had been that morning.
After finishing their simple meal, Primo laid out the morning's haul on a desk. The four small, deep-red crystals caught the light, looking like dark rubies.
"Wyn, take these two," Primo said, handing over two of the mutated cockroach cores.
Wyn looked surprised. "I thought we were going to consume them tonight?"
"I think it's better to do it now," Primo explained. "If we get stronger before we hit the second floor, the hunt will be faster and safer. Plus, I need to know how these affect someone without my specific skill. I want to see what you gain."
Wyn nodded, understanding the logic. He trusted Primo's instincts.
Primo sat on the floor, crossing his legs in a meditative posture. He wanted to be ready for the inevitable surge of power. He planned to consume the lizard core first, followed by the remaining cockroach core. He was certain that, thanks to his S-Rank skill, these would grant him entirely new abilities.
As Wyn prepared his own cores, Primo swallowed the lizard core. He braced himself, gritting his teeth in anticipation of the world-ending agony he had felt during his evolution. However, as the energy began to circulate, the sensation was different.
Instead of the feeling of his bones being crushed, a milder, localized heat radiated through his muscles. It still stung—like a fever burning through his veins—but it was manageable. It was clear that since he had evolved to Level 2, his body could handle Low-Grade cores with much less strain.
In his mind, the system interface flickered to life.
[Assimilation in progress...]
[Target: Feral Small-Gecko Core (Low-Grade)]
[Status: 55%... 93%... ]
[Assimilation Complete]
[Feral Small-Gecko Core (Low-Grade) Absorbed]
[Gained:
+1 Agility
+1 Evolution Point
Skill:
Primo smiled at the results. Even though the skills were low-ranked, the addition of a healing factor like Regeneration was a massive win for his survivability. He felt his body hum with a new, subtle layer of energy.
He turned his head and saw Wyn sitting beside him, bracing himself. Wyn looked at the small, red cockroach core in his palm, took a deep breath, and swallowed it.
Seconds later, the change hit.
Wyn's eyes went wide as he began to writhe. A sudden, violent warmth erupted from his stomach, surging through his limbs like liquid fire. It wasn't the manageable sting Primo had just felt; for Wyn, it was an intense, crushing heat that mirrored the agony of the initial fever that had changed the world. He gripped his knees, his knuckles turning white as he fought to keep from screaming.
Primo watched his friend struggle, resisting the urge to reach out. He knew this was a threshold Wyn had to cross on his own. He trusted in the varsity player's physical and mental toughness to see it through.
After a few grueling minutes, Wyn's breathing finally slowed. The tension left his shoulders, and the frantic heat in his skin began to cool. He opened his eyes, blinking through the thick layers of sweat dripping down his face, and broke into a wide, triumphant grin. He was exhausted, but there was a new light in his eyes.