The fruit enhanced what was there, optimized the baseline. It couldn't create beauty from nothing.
Elric moved quickly down the stairwell, his boots echoing softly against the cracked concrete steps. Each footfall felt lighter now despite his increased mass—his enhanced muscles made movement effortless.
He'd just eaten the Energy Fruit, and though his strength had skyrocketed to inhuman levels, his mind kept racing with tactical concerns.
That thing outside—the giant cocoon pulsing with those horrific tendrils—was still raging across the campus, spreading its reach with every feeding.
Hudson State University had already turned into a graveyard of twisted metal and broken buildings. And tonight… the whole campus would likely become a dead zone.
It was going to be a dangerous night. Perhaps the most dangerous yet.
Elric tightened his grip on the steel pipe he carried—more for show than necessity now, but old habits died hard. He couldn't afford to lose anyone from his group, especially not Natasha or Jenna.
If something happened to them, not only would it hit him emotionally—and he was surprised to realize he would care—it would lock away his future System rewards permanently.
The Devil Fruit Tree required compatible survivors to grow. Dead women provided nothing.
He had to protect them. It was both pragmatic and, increasingly, personal.
When he pushed open the door to the activity lounge, the atmosphere hit him like a physical wave.
The air was thick with fear, tension so palpable you could taste it. A few battery lanterns dimly lit the room, their weak orange light casting faces in ghostly illumination that made everyone look half-dead already.
Natasha was there—calm and collected as always, her composure a stark contrast to the anxiety around her. She was talking quietly with Grace, the literature professor he'd saved earlier, and a few other surviving faculty members clustered nearby.
Elric stayed silent near the doorway, watching for a moment, observing the dynamics. Natasha's voice carried softly but firmly, each word carefully chosen.
"Grace, listen," she said, her tone reasonable, almost gentle. "You've seen what Elric can do. He's not just strong—he's smart, he has resources, he can protect people. If you stay with him, you'll be safe."
Grace blinked, confusion crossing her tear-stained face. Her husband's blood was still visible on her clothes. "Wait… are you saying—what I think you're saying?"
Natasha nodded slightly, no hesitation in the gesture. "I'm saying you should join us permanently. Be part of his group. Stay close to him."
Grace's expression twisted through several emotions—confusion, disbelief, dawning horror. "You mean—be his… woman?"
Her voice cracked with a mix of shock and grief that made several others turn to watch. "Are you insane, Natasha? My husband just died yesterday. Michael is barely cold."
The other teachers in the room shifted uncomfortably. A middle-aged woman with glasses—Professor Martinez from the science department—scoffed audibly.
"Natasha, that's way out of line. She's grieving! What's wrong with you?"
But Natasha didn't flinch. She'd clearly prepared for this resistance. She kept her eyes locked on Grace with unwavering intensity.
"I know how this sounds," she said quietly, her voice carrying absolute conviction. "But you've seen what's out there. The police are gone—they abandoned us or they're dead. The military's not coming—if they still exist, they're protecting government officials, not civilians. And there's no more functional government, no more emergency services, no more society."
Her tone hardened, became almost harsh.
"The world we knew—the one with laws and protection and fairness—it's over. Dead. Never coming back."
The room fell silent except for the distant sounds of things moving in the fog outside.
Natasha continued, her words cutting through objections before they could form.
"The weak don't survive out there, Grace. They starve in locked rooms. They get torn apart by those mutant things—or worse, by other people who've given up on humanity. You think rules or decency or moral standards still mean something? They don't. They're luxuries we can't afford anymore."
The room remained silent, everyone processing the brutal honesty.
Natasha's voice softened slightly, became almost persuasive rather than harsh.
"Elric's not just powerful—he's generous when you're loyal to him. He has clean water by the thousands of bottles. Food that's real, that hasn't been contaminated. He shared roasted lamb last night—real meat, perfectly cooked."
She pulled out her phone, screen cracked but functional, and showed a photo she'd taken earlier. The image displayed perfectly cooked lamb shanks, glistening with fat and seasoning in warm golden light.
Several people leaned closer involuntarily, mouths watering at the sight.
"Food like that doesn't exist anymore anywhere else," Natasha said softly, driving the point home. "And it's not poisoned, not rationed to starvation levels, not moldy or contaminated. If you join him, you'll never go hungry again. You'll be warm, safe, fed."
Grace stared at the picture, her mind going blank.
The image seemed almost obscene in its plenty, its normalcy, its promise of comfort in this nightmare world.
The others whispered among themselves, a susurrus of shocked conversation. The logical part of Grace's mind screamed that this was madness—that joining some man's harem barely a day after her husband died was insane, immoral, unthinkable.
But another part, the desperate animal part that hadn't eaten properly in days, that had watched people die horribly, that understood the world had fundamentally changed—that part couldn't ignore the truth.
The world outside had changed beyond recognition. There were no rules anymore, no promises of rescue, no law to protect the vulnerable.
Her husband Michael was dead. Gone. She'd watched him bleed out from internal injuries while that monster Henry laughed.
And beauty—once a blessing that had made her life easier, that had gotten her chosen for the literature position over more qualified candidates—had become a curse in this new, predatory world.
She'd seen what happened to attractive women who were left unprotected. That almost happed to her.
Maybe Natasha wasn't crazy. Maybe she was just realistic. Practical. Thinking about survival rather than clinging to a dead world's morality.
Grace lowered her head, her throat tight with emotion. Tears threatened but wouldn't fall—she'd cried too much already.
Maybe… survival means surrendering something else. Trading one thing for another. Pride for safety. Independence for protection. The memory of love for the certainty of food.
Maybe that was just how the new world worked.
From the doorway, Elric watched silently, his enhanced senses picking up every word, every nuance of emotion.
Natasha was proving more valuable than he'd anticipated. Not just as a resource, but as a recruiter. A bridge between his power and those who needed it.
There is 40 chapter Advance with 2 chapters every day, in my patreon. If you are interested can check it out.
patreon.com/B_A_3439