Lyra ran across the cracked rooftop, lungs burning, heart hammering in her chest like a drum of war. Below, the city lay in ruin: twisted metal, collapsed buildings, and the stench of decay curling through the air. Zombies swarmed the streets, their glowing eyes fixed on her, their moans a chorus of death. She had survived five years of the apocalypse — hunger, betrayal, blood, and terror — yet nothing had prepared her for this.
A mutated zombie leapt at her from the side. Lyra barely had time to kick it back, her boots scraping against rusted metal.
"Not today," she hissed through clenched teeth, adrenaline burning her veins.
The rooftop trembled beneath the approaching horde. Hundreds of them, a writhing tide of hunger and decay. She could feel the vibrations beneath her feet, smell the rot that clung to their skin. She turned, fists raised, ready to fight — but her body faltered.
A sharp pain exploded in her shoulder. She staggered forward, a scream caught in her throat. Warm blood poured through her fingers as she fell to her knees.
"Seriously… after everything…" she whispered, choking on the words. Her vision blurred; the city, the zombies, even the pain, all dissolved into gray nothingness. Her strength slipped away. Her heart slowed. For the first time in years, Lyra felt tired. Too tired to fight, too tired to live.
Her eyes closed.
And she died.
---
A warmth unlike anything she had ever known spread through her consciousness. Soft. Gentle. Alive. Her chest rose with a deep, steady breath, and when her eyes snapped open, the world was… different.
No city. No zombies. Only sunlight filtering through dense green leaves. The air smelled clean, almost sweet. Birds chirped, and the gentle rustle of the wind through the trees felt like a caress.
Lyra tried to sit up, but something was… wrong. Her body felt heavy, unbalanced, awkward. Her hands pressed to her sides, and she froze.
Her arms were thick. Her belly soft. Her fingers chubby. Long, tangled fur-like hair brushed against her shoulders.
And then she saw the horns.
Two small, dull horns poked through her hair, just above her forehead.
"No… this isn't real," she whispered. "It can't be real."
She scrambled to her feet and stumbled. Every movement felt alien, clumsy. Her legs wobbled. Her balance betrayed her. Desperation curled in her chest.
A puddle nearby reflected her image.
A fat, dirt-smeared beast girl stared back. Puffy cheeks, wild hair, thick limbs — a parody of the warrior she had once been. Her lips parted in disbelief.
"This is a nightmare," she muttered. "It's… it's a nightmare."
Then a mechanical chime echoed in her mind, soft but unmistakable.
[Reincarnation Successful]
[Welcome, Host]
Lyra froze, her eyes widening.
"A system…" she muttered. "Of course."
The voice continued:
[You have been reborn into the Beastman Continent — Lowest Rank Female]
[Current Body Rating: 2/100]
[Status: Weak, disliked, untalented, unhealthy]
[Your mission: Survive, evolve, conquer]
Lyra blinked, the absurdity of it sinking in.
"Two out of a hundred? That's… insulting," she muttered.
The system continued without pause.
[Failure to improve will result in rejection from your tribe]
[Success will reward: Beauty, Strength, Skills, and Bonding Rights]
Lyra's eyebrow twitched. "Bonding… what now?"
Before she could process it, a shrill voice cut through the forest.
"LYRA! WHERE ARE YOU, YOU USELESS GIRL?!"
She flinched. Another voice joined in, dripping with disgust.
"Probably rolled in mud again. Can't do anything right."
Her chest tightened. She glanced around. This body… this tribe… everyone hated her already.
Her mind flashed with memories of her old life: running, hiding, dying in the apocalypse. Her eyes stung with unshed tears.
And then, the system spoke again, softer this time:
[But the old Lyra is gone. You are the new one. And you will rise.]
Her chest warmed for the first time since waking. Not helpless. Not this time.
Lyra clenched her fists. "Fine. If I'm stuck like this… I'll transform it. I'll get stronger. I'll make them regret ever calling me useless."
A pleasant chime echoed.
[First Task Unlocked: Clean Yourself and Report to the Tribe Square]
[Reward: Beauty +3, Agility +1]
Lyra groaned. "Clean myself? Really? After all this?"
Her bare feet sank into the soft dirt as she walked toward the village. Every step was clumsy, awkward, ye
t purposeful. The whispers and mocking glances followed her — but they would learn soon enough.