The Brutal Shock
The sky over São Paulo at 4:08 PM, October 11, 2025, burned with an apocalyptic red — as if the blood of the fallen had already stained the clouds.
Klaus gripped the iron bar with trembling hands, sweat dripping down his face as the sound of cracking bones and guttural screams filled the air.
Rifts tore open along Avenida Paulista, vomiting an infernal horde into reality: zombies with sagging flesh and hollow eyes, snarling goblins wielding bloodstained clubs, and skeletons whose rattling skulls gleamed with murderous intent.
The stench of rot and iron seared his nostrils, and the ground shook beneath the unsteady march of the monsters.
"I won't die here!" Klaus roared, heart pounding as he activated Player Appraisal.
A Level 2 Zombie stumbled toward him, its jaw hanging open to reveal rotting teeth.
He swung the iron bar with brute force — the impact thundered through the street as the creature's skull exploded, splattering blood and brain matter across the asphalt.
"10 XP, 12 Vital Essence," the System announced as the warm energy of Essence Devourer flowed through his body, sealing a shallow cut on his arm.
The respite didn't last.
A Level 3 Goblin lunged from the shadows, its claws slicing the air inches from his face. Klaus barely dodged, the rush of wind brushing his skin, then countered — striking the monster's leg. The goblin screamed and fell, but a Level 4 Skeleton emerged behind it, swinging a jagged bone sword. The blade cut through the air, and Klaus barely managed to block it. The impact vibrated through his bones.
With a primal cry, he forced the bar downward, crushing the skeleton's ribs and skull in a burst of shards.
"20 XP, 15 Essence," echoed the System as the horde drew closer — dozens of hollow eyes locked on him like a pack of hungry predators.
The noose tightened.
Three Level 2 Zombies advanced in unison, their decaying hands clawing at the air.
Klaus swung the bar wildly, smashing one's arm and caving in another's head — black blood splattered across his face.
The third bit into his shoulder, ripping a scream from his throat. The bar slipped from his grasp for an instant — just long enough for the wounded goblin to rise and smash its club into his thigh.
Klaus dropped to his knees, the world spinning, but rage kept him conscious.
With superhuman effort, he snatched the bar and crushed the goblin's skull beneath it.
"15 XP, 12 Essence."
He dragged himself backward, blood pouring from his leg, as the last skeleton advanced. Appraisal revealed its weakness — blunt impact.
With a final shout, Klaus hurled the bar like a spear, impaling the monster's skull and shattering it.
"20 XP, 15 Essence."
His XP now stood at 65, combined with the earlier fights. His inner core stored 54 units of Pure Essence, and he converted 100 of them into 1 Evolution Point, a surge of raw power flooding through his veins.
But the horde wasn't done.
A Level 3 Zombie tackled him to the ground, claws tearing into his abdomen—
[Daily Mission Activated: Survival Under Pressure]
Description: Defeat 8 monsters of Level 1–4 within 1 hour.
Reward: 80 XP, 1x Endurance Potion (Rank E)
Failure Penalty: –15% to all attributes for 24 hours.
Klaus clenched his teeth, adrenaline burning in his veins.
He had already defeated five — three more to go.
With a roar, he faced two zombies and a goblin head-on, each swing more savage than the last. His movements grew sharper, more focused — driven by pure instinct and desperation.
His XP climbed to 115, and the System flared before his eyes:
[Congratulations! You have leveled up to Level 4!]
[Attributes Increased: +1 to all (Strength: 13, Agility: 13, Vitality: 13, Intelligence: 13, Dexterity: 13, Luck: 13)]
[Free Point Gained: +1 (Distribute as desired)]
[XP to Next Level: 5/120]
The surge of the level-up healed his wounds and filled him with renewed strength.
A faint glimmer appeared in his inventory — the promised Endurance Potion.
"I will survive…" he growled, gripping the bloodstained bar tighter. "And I'll conquer this hell!"
Around him, the monsters kept spawning from the rifts — each one a new test, a new step on his brutal ascent through the apocalypse.