I jolted awake, heart hammering in my chest. Distant screams echoed through the broken window, followed by the sharp crash of shattering glass somewhere out on the street. My room, suffocating and still, felt even smaller than before—dark, the fan unmoving, not a hint of power humming back to life.
My phone was just a dead weight in my hand now. Black screen. Not even a flicker. Useless.
Out on the street, the world had changed overnight. People spilled into view—some in pajamas, clutching bags or children. Others just stared in numb confusion. Somewhere, a group recorded on their phones, as if capturing madness could somehow keep them safe.
I caught snippets of arguments, panic—the same word repeated over and over: "changing." Someone shouted about biters, about people going crazy, attacking others with bare hands and teeth.
My stomach twisted with hunger. Survival instinct cut through the chaos. The nearest grocery shop might still have something left. Maybe. I slipped through the clutch of confusion, ignoring the trembling in my hands.
The shop was a ruin. Shelves stripped bare, wrappers and cans on the ground. Blood smears—some half-dried, some terrifyingly fresh—marked the tiles leading to the backroom. The place stank of metal and fear.
I reached for a mostly-empty shelf, trying to focus, when I heard it—a low, guttural growl drifting from the back. Every muscle in my body went rigid.
From the darkness, a man stumbled out. At least, it had once been a man. His skin was chalk-white, twitching. Eyes wild, rimmed in red, staring right through me. Foam frothed at his lips.
I stumbled back, nearly slipping on the sticky floor. He shuddered, paused, then shrieked—a noise that stilled the world. He lunged.
I fought. Pure desperation. He clawed at my arm, rattling with unnatural strength, jaws snapping inches from my face. I reached behind blindly, hand closing around something cold and jagged—a snapped-off metal rod. As he slammed into me, I drove it forward with every ounce of terror in my bones.
The rod pierced his throat. Blood geysered over my skin; his body convulsed in my arms. I squeezed my eyes shut, shoving him away. He hit the ground and went still.
I stared at the crimson on my arms, my breath coming in broken, choking bursts.
For a moment, all sound disappeared. My ears rang. My heart pounded.
Then—like a ripple in my skull—a pulse. Reality stretched. Everything slowed, colors blurring at the edges.
A panel flashed before my eyes. Not written on paper, not real—impossible. But there it was, floating in the air or maybe just behind my eyelids, unavoidable:
🧬 Talent: Replication
Rarity: Divine-Level
Type: Passive
Effect: Allows user to copy and permanently retain any skill, ability, power, movement, object, or trait they witness or make contact with.
Limit: None
Status: Activated ✅
Special Note: Replicated powers can evolve and grow stronger with time and usage.
The words faded just as suddenly as they appeared.
My strength left me. I dropped the metal rod and stared at my bloodied hands, numb all over.
I thought—no, I knew—"I killed something… and now I have… this?"
Screeches tore through the street outside. Not just one—dozens.
I crept to the front of the shop, careful not to make a sound. Through a cracked window, I saw them—people running, tripping, screaming as others chased and bit, dragging victims to the ground. Blood sprayed. Some got up again, eyes vacant and hungry.
One of them—a woman with blood smeared across her cheek—stopped. She looked right up to the window, straight at me. Her stare pinned me in place.
Duck. Breathe. Hide. My heart thumped like a war drum in my chest.
This was just the start.
I survived once. But if this is the new world… I'll need more than luck.