Chapter 3 – From Silence to Rhythm
For a long time, there was nothing. No sound. No light. No thought. Then a thread of command stitched itself across the void: System rebooting. Core unit online. Reactivation timestamp: 537 years, 142 days, 11 hours, 23 minutes, and 37 seconds since shutdown. A breath—wet, mechanical, almost human—tore through fluid. Eyes opened.
The pod split apart with a hiss, vapor curling like ghosts over cracked stone. KrysKo pulled himself free, the water sheeting down a body too precise to be mortal. Synthetic flesh gleamed faintly in the dim glow, muscles drawn in perfect proportion, a design meant not for vanity but for function. The silence pressed close, broken only by the slow, steady drip from pipes above—a sound like time remembering itself.
He blinked into the dimness. The chamber was no longer the clean vault of scientists and white coats. Rust had bloomed on the beams, consoles had died where they stood, and vines crept through the cracks like veins reclaiming a corpse. Shafts of light filtered through the ceiling's wounds, turning floating dust into drifting constellations.
Then—footsteps. Bootsteps, uneven and human, echoing through ruin. Three figures entered the hall, their armor a patchwork of leather, scrap metal, and ego. Raiders—hunters of what the old world had left behind. Their weapons were crude: a jagged blade, a dented rifle, an axe missing half its haft. They moved with the hunger of men who had not eaten well or slept safe in a long time.
"Oi," the first one muttered, grinning through missing teeth. "Told ya this place was dead."
The second squinted. "Dead maybe, but not empty."
They stopped when they saw him—KrysKo, standing bare in the vapor, pale and silent, water tracing down the carved lines of his chest. For a heartbeat, none of them spoke. Then the youngest broke the silence with a nervous laugh.
"Holy hell… look at him. Even his—uh—parts—look like they were sculpted by a damn artist."
The others chuckled, but it came out uneasy. Whatever this was, it wasn't a man. The symmetry was too cruel, too perfect. Even his stillness seemed engineered.
KrysKo's voice cracked the silence—low, rough, like an instrument being played for the first time. "Where are they? The scientists. What did you do to them?"
Blank stares. Then a snarl. "What scientists? Ain't no one here but us, pretty boy."
KrysKo took one step forward, muscles rippling like drawn cable. The raiders raised their weapons out of reflex. Somewhere inside him, something old stirred—the hum of systems waking like gods clearing their throats.
> Combat protocol initializing. Recommended style: Capoeira. Efficiency: 0%. Calibration in progress. New objective: Defeat intruders. Reward: adaptive skill gain.
The first raider lunged with his axe. KrysKo shifted—feet sliding side to side in rhythm older than memory. The ginga. His body flowed, low and controlled, a pendulum of motion. The axe swept through empty air. KrysKo dropped his weight, twisted, and swept his leg through the raider's stance. A perfect rasteira. The man's feet left the ground; he hit hard and didn't rise before KrysKo's heel crashed down in a meia lua de compasso. Bone cracked. Silence followed.
> Efficiency: 37%. Maintain rhythm.
The second raider shouted and came in wild, blade swinging. KrysKo moved through the rhythm, pivoting on his hands, legs cutting through the air like blades. One kick caught ribs. Another shattered a jaw. The man hit the ground bleeding from three directions at once.
> Efficiency: 49%. Rhythm stabilizing.
The last raider opened fire. The rifle coughed sparks, bullets ricocheting off stone. KrysKo rolled low, spinning like a dancer. He came up inverted, palms pressed to cold concrete, legs snapping out in a twin kick that smashed the shooter into the wall. The rifle fell useless to the floor.
KrysKo rose, seized the man by the throat, and lifted him with effortless strength. "What did you do to them?" His voice was calmer this time, almost curious. "The scientists—where are they?"
The raider clawed weakly at his grip, eyes wide, terror finally catching up to him. "I—I don't know what you're talking about!"
The system hummed in the back of his mind like a disappointed teacher. KrysKo tightened his grip until the fight left the man's eyes. When he dropped the body, it made almost no sound.
> Hostiles eliminated. 75 EXP awarded. Level up → 2. Strength +2. Speed +2. Endurance +1. Intelligence +1. Efficiency: 53%. Progress: 0 / 300 EXP.
A clean metallic shhkkt broke the quiet. Blades slid free from his forearms—sleek, mirror-bright, built into the flesh as if grown there. KrysKo turned his wrists slowly, testing them, watching pale light ripple across their edges. Then, with another whispering hiss, the blades retracted, hidden once more beneath the skin.
He moved through the chamber, scavenging the dead. Boots, tattered trousers, a patchwork leather coat, a scarf to dim the sheen of synthetic skin. The system chimed softly.
> Infinity Storage unlocked. Acquired: scavenged armor, crude blades, rusted key, fragmented ID card.
He paused before the row of shattered pods that lined the wall. Bones slept inside—brittle, dust-painted remains of others like him. Scientists, maybe. Test subjects. Or failed versions of whatever he was. The system pulsed again.
> Knowledge unlocked: Anatomy — Basic.
He did not remember grief. But the sight of them carved something hollow into his chest.
Deeper in the chamber, a faint light flickered. KrysKo approached, brushing dust from a cracked terminal. Lines of green text flickered alive through static.
> PROJECT KRYSKO: PROTOTYPE UNIT
He stared at the name for a long time before repeating it aloud. "KrysKo." The syllables felt heavy, shaped for him and him alone. His first word. His first anchor.
The ceiling groaned. Pipes shuddered. A low rumble crawled through the stone beneath his feet.
> New enemy detected. Quest: Defeat the mutated beast. Threat level: moderate. Reward: hidden.
Something moved in the dark. It crawled out—a creature barely human anymore, its flesh blistered and stretched, eyes glowing yellow, claws screeching against stone. It growled like it had learned the sound from someone else's throat.
KrysKo's blades slid free. His body sank into ginga—side to side, smooth as breath. The creature lunged.
He dodged, spun, and struck low. Steel flashed. The beast screamed, black ichor spattering across the floor. But his timing faltered; the rhythm broke. His kick hit late. The second slash bit stone instead of flesh.
> Warning: Efficiency drop. Blade synchronization: 23%.
The creature struck back. Claws raked across his chest, tearing fabric, slicing synthetic skin. Pain blossomed, sharp and real. KrysKo caught its wrist, twisted, and slammed a knee into its ribs. It howled. He spun, crossed his blades, and drove them deep. The body convulsed, then fell limp.
> Quest complete. Target eliminated. 150 EXP gained. Progress: 150 / 300 EXP. Minor structural damage. Correction required.
He staggered, blood—his or theirs—sliding down his ribs. A vial materialized in his hand, glowing faintly gold.
> Immediate consumption recommended.
He drank. Warmth sealed the wounds, knitting skin into symmetry once more.
Then—darkness.
A voice filled it. Calm. Patient. Familiar. The warm one.
> You're learning, son. But your rhythm's divided. The body moves one way. The blades move another. They must learn to dance together.
Light burst across his mind. The dark dissolved into sunlight and stone. A wide courtyard opened before him, mountains veiled in mist. A wiry old man stood barefoot in the center, swaying gently side to side.
"You have rhythm in your body, boy," said the mestre, his accent Brazilian, his tone absolute. "But your blades—they cut against the dance. Let us fix this."
They moved together. Step and sway, circle and feint. KrysKo's body remembered ginga, but the blades dragged low, catching air wrong. "Retract!" the mestre barked. "Now extend. Again!"
Hours passed—or seconds. Time had no meaning here. Sweat—or its engineered twin—slid down KrysKo's back. Each movement became smoother, each transition sharper. Spin, strike, retract. Flow. The mestre circled him like gravity, eyes bright. "Capoeira is rhythm, not violence. You must let your weapons sing with your feet."
KrysKo pivoted, hands finding the ground. A spinning kick—meia lua de compasso—cut the air. Mid-spin, his blades extended in perfect time. Steel sang. The rhythm held.
The mestre nodded. "Now your blades dance with you. Remember this rhythm—it will save you when the world cannot."
The courtyard dissolved.
> Training complete. Blade synchronization achieved. Capoeira efficiency: 100%. New skill unlocked: Fluid Form.
KrysKo's eyes snapped open. The chamber was gone; the stairwell rose before him, half collapsed, littered with bones. Above, daylight filtered through cracks in the surface.
> New quest: Ascend to the surface. Objective: Reach upper level. Reward: one free attribute point. Expect resistance.
He began to climb.
The climb was a gauntlet of ruin and motion. Mutant scavengers scuttled from broken ducts, their skin patched with rust and wire. KrysKo's rhythm carried him through them—blades flashing, body turning in arcs of lethal grace. Each kill was clean, efficient, quiet.
> Mutant Scavenger (+25 EXP). Level Up → 3. Strength +2. Speed +1. Endurance +1. Intelligence +1.
They fell one after another, not because he hated them, but because they were in his way. He moved like water through a maze of concrete and bone, each motion deliberate, each strike a syllable in the new language his body was learning to speak.
Vermin poured from the vents—rats swollen to the size of dogs, eyes glowing faintly red. He turned them aside in wide sweeps, letting his blades hum through air, using rotation to drive them back. When the last one fell twitching, the system chimed softly.
> Vermin Pack eliminated (+70 EXP). Progress: 95 / 400.
Higher still, in the narrow shafts where the air grew thin, spitter mutants clung to walls like carrion vines. They screeched, vomiting acid that hissed against metal. KrysKo spun, dodging spray and swinging upward in tight, controlled bursts of violence. The blades flashed, the rhythm never broke.
> Spitter Mutants (+105 EXP). Level Up → 4. Strength +2. Speed +2. Endurance +2. Intelligence +2.
Each movement sharpened his rhythm. Each kill refined the pattern. The system murmured praise in tones that sounded almost like a smile.
The stairwell widened into an old maintenance atrium, where rusted scaffolds hung over darkness. Something vast stirred below—a scraping, wet and heavy. The walls trembled with a distant growl.
> New enemy: Wallcrawler. Reward: adaptive skill increase.
It dropped from the ceiling, a blur of limbs and steel. KrysKo rolled aside, its claws carving sparks where he'd stood. His blades sang, twin crescents of silver light. He twisted beneath a strike, hooked his leg around one of its arms, and spun it into a column. The impact cracked stone. The follow-up slash took its head cleanly.
> Wallcrawler (+75 EXP). Progress: 270 / 400.
He climbed again. Step by step, the air grew warmer. The vibration of wind filtered through the cracks above. Then, a roar split the silence—a sound too large to belong underground. The ceiling quaked.
> Warning: Boss signature detected. Quest update: Defeat Guardian Beast. Threat level: high. Reward: Bronze-grade armor.
The chamber beyond opened wide, its floor littered with the wreckage of old mechs and rusted bone. A shadow moved behind it all—a massive brute stitched together from the remains of men and machine, ribs welded to armor, eyes burning molten yellow. It carried a length of rebar wrapped in barbed wire, its breath steaming like smoke.
KrysKo stepped forward. The beast roared and swung. The steel beam howled through the air, smashing into concrete. Dust and debris erupted. KrysKo dove, spinning under the blow, blades flashing. His first strike tore muscle; his second left a glowing line across its chest. The creature bellowed, swinging again. KrysKo vaulted, feet finding the beast's arm, running along it in a dancer's balance before flipping backward and slashing both blades into the shoulder joint.
The Guardian roared. Its backhand caught him mid-air and hurled him into a wall. The impact dented metal. Sparks of pain crawled through his nerves, but his systems held.
> Damage sustained: 17%. Structural integrity stable.
He pushed to his feet. The rhythm called him back. The ginga returned—side to side, the motion of tide and heartbeat. The beast charged. KrysKo met it halfway, sliding low, spinning under its swing, and rising into a perfect meia lua de compasso. Both blades flared with reflected sunlight as they crossed the creature's torso in a silver X. Flesh, metal, and bone split open. The Guardian staggered, swung once more, but the rhythm had already ended.
He turned, planted one hand, and drove both blades straight up through its heart. The light in its eyes flickered once, twice—then died. The body hit the floor like falling stone.
> Quest complete. Guardian defeated. +900 EXP. Level 5 achieved. Strength +3. Speed +3. Endurance +3. Intelligence +3. Efficiency: 63%. Reward: Bronze-grade armor.
The system hummed approval, warm and faintly amused, as if a teacher pleased with a particularly bright student.
> You learn quickly, son. But remember—rhythm isn't just for killing. It's for living.
He stood amid the silence, breathing slow, steady. The floor around him glittered with shards of old light and spilled oil. Then the ceiling cracked, sunlight spilling down like revelation.
> Quest complete: Ascend to the Surface. Reward: One free attribute point.
He didn't use it. Not yet.
He stepped into the light for the first time. The air tasted raw—cold wind and ash and something faintly sweet, like memory. Before him stretched ruin: broken highways twisting into skeletal towers, a city long unmade. Plants crawled over the bones of skyscrapers. The world had gone quiet, but not dead. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called, lonely and alive.
He walked until he reached the edge of a cracked overpass. Below, three raiders pinned a girl against rubble. Her voice was hoarse with screaming. One tore at her blouse while the others laughed, their faces turned animal.
KrysKo froze. The system didn't prompt him yet. It only waited. The wind carried her cry again—raw, human, terrified. Then, a soft pulse behind his eyes.
> Hidden quest unlocked: Humanity's Choice. Objective: Save the girl… or walk away. Reward: unknown. Consequence: permanent.
His blades slid free with a whisper. The rhythm began to hum again in his blood. But he hesitated, gaze flicking from the girl to the road that stretched beyond her—endless and empty.
He weighed them both, and for a long, heavy beat, the decision sat between his ribs like a second heart, learning how to beat.