Marco had seen thousands of survivors. Some whose breath contained potent poison and turned their lungs into filters, others could crystallize their very own bones into weapons at will.
But every single one of them carried some kind of mark. A scar or a distortion. A permanent reminder that they had already been tested by the invader, had managed to survive the encounter, and had thereby let it gift and rewrite them.
That was the same for everyone, well, except the boy.
A whole ten years.
Ten and a half, to be precise.
And still… nothing.
There was still none to be found. Neither the glowing veins, warped organs, twisted limbs, nor any form of mutated senses.
He had named the boy One, simply because he was the first to become a member of his little survivor group, not that he had any other choice to begin with. And the boy had, since then, grown used to the name. Marco couldn't even be bothered to change it anymore.
Having personally trained and guided him, Marco had made him stronger, faster, bigger, and harder to break.
His body showed only what any normal survivor would, muscle hardened by constant labor, skin toughened by the ever-present corrosive air, and bones reinforced by endless resistance to environmental distortion.
But, its just that he possessed no energy signature, nor visible pollution, which further differentiated him from either being an awakened individual, adding the absence of the mark, or an abomination, people distorted into becoming inhuman and unintelligent rotten creatures.
Marco had long since noticed the difference in his identity. Of course he had. He would notice any inconsistency at the mere blink of an eye. It was just that he didn't care.
In the current world, existence itself was already an anomaly.
Investigating such small mysteries was a luxury for people who had the time, which Marco, fortunately or unfortunately, did not.
Surviving the next day mattered to him more than understanding the previous one.
Marco's current group consisted of five.
They were not a family, nor a team, but just a cluster of outcasts orbiting the same moving fortress. Except One, of course, who simply followed Marco's lead.
Marco, the leader and the center of everything revolving around the survivor team.
His heart had been replaced during the pollution. He body now consisted of half flesh and half machinery. He had a blazing, furnace-like heart, constantly ticking and humming beneath his chest.
He could construct anything mechanical instinctively, without blueprints, without tools, and without limits. Machines were like his arms and legs, obeying without resistance.
Steven, the Dark Energy Channeler.
He was a tall man, standing at 1.82 meters, with a broad physique, dark eyes, and long black hair reaching his shoulders, with faint, pitch-black veins permanently visible beneath his white skin.
He channeled dark energy through his body, converting it into overwhelming strength, speed, and durability.
He currently had no known upper limit, as his own physique was what stopped him from reaching his full potential.
The more power he drew from his limitless dark energy reserves, the closer he came to burning himself out from the inside. He was also the team's vice leader.
Veronica, the team's Healer.
She was the only female in the survivor group. She was a mature-looking woman, standing around 1.72 meters tall, with a lean, slender physique, long black hair, dark-colored lips, light blue eyes, and a beautiful face, though it remained stoic and expressionless most of the time.
Her ability on the other hand was equally terrifying.
She could break down any form of matter she touched including solids, liquids, even organic, or inorganic ones, and convert it into life and healing energy.
Flesh, metal, bone, stone… all were ingredients to her.
Brant, the team's meat shield.
He stood at roughly 2.1 meters tall, with a bald head, thick lips, and dark, gloomy eyes. He had well-chiseled, knotted muscles and a robust physique.
He was a massive, dark-skinned man with a twisted scar running from his spine down to his tailbone, where the Ink had rewritten something fundamental. His ability lets him channel blood energy, his own or anyone else's into weapons, armor, or raw physical enhancement. As long as blood existed, he could keep fighting.
One, the team's errand boy.
He currently stood at 1.5 meters tall, with short black hair, a fairly handsome face, and calm black eyes. He had a lean but muscular physique, the result of Marco's well-structured, and careful training.
He didn't currently feel much, only some subtle emotions like curiosity, fleeting joy, and calmness, but he also possessed a kind of terrifying indifference, maybe due to his limited understanding or something else....
He helped the group with all the grunt work, including cleaning, repairing the damaged bus systems, and sometimes collecting monster corpses for personal study.
He showed no outward sign of the corruption that had rewritten everyone else. His body somehow resisted it, which would have been shocking if discovered, but given the kind of people he had around him, who didn't care as much about such details, it was hardly surprising that it hadn't been.
Currently, ten and a half years after the pollution began, the boy now stood inside Marco's workshop, covered in grime and oil, tightening the final bolts on a two-meter-tall exoskeleton suit.
The machine looked fairly ugly, with rough metal plates, exposed pistons, and a manually mounted shoulder cannon.
Its oversized gun-arms were welded on without proper calibration or measurement.
It looked like something built by a genius who didn't care about aesthetics, but only function.
One's hands moved with unnatural precision as he adjusted the joints; every screw, nut, and hydraulic connection clicked perfectly into place under his fingers.
The smell of scorched oil mixed with Ink particles in the air, clinging to his skin. The suit's weight pressed down on him, but he felt nothing, as if his muscles had learned to carry far heavier burdens, and wouldn't strain under the mere weight of an armor suit.
His eyes were calm and serious as he focused on his work.
Then, out of nowhere....
BANG!
The entire structure shook violently.
It was not a small tremor, nor environmental distortion, but an impact.
The workshop lights flickered.
The metal groaned as the mechanical house's defense systems whirred to life, seismic sensors triggering across the frame.
One looked up instantly, then heard another impact.
BANG!
BANG!
Something was slamming into the transport vehicle, very loudly.
One dropped his tools and ran out to see what was happening.
Outside, the sky was grey and broken as always, shrouded in terrifying silence. But now something else had shattered that grim silence and stood in front of their travel route
An inhuman monster.
Looking at its shape and figure, one could tell it had once been human. Now it was bloated, grotesque, and distorted beyond recognition.
Its arms were as large as sandbags, with thick veins pulsing like cables beneath its skin, its fingers fused into blunt, crushing masses built for pure destruction.
Its raw strength was enough to bend metal and crush boulders.
Marco's voice cut through the chaos, cold and absolute.
"Brant. Deal with it, and make it quick."
The air shifted as soon as Marco gave the command.
Brant, the burly bald-headed giant of a man, who had also been observing the situation stepped forward after hearing Marco's command. He made his way out of the bus as he located the monster, the mechanical bus vibrating faintly with each of his step.
His blood armor formed instantly as he moved forward, jagged blades sprouting along his arms.
The scar along his spine glowed faintly as he channeled his blood energy into raw power. His strength drastically increasing, his reflexes growing more terrifying, and his strikes dealing more damage.
Brant had already mastered his ability to its fullest capacity. To control his own blood energy, the thought alone was enough.
Next, he did something very brutal.
He used his left arm to tear open a deep wound on his right, the pain making his muscles tremble and scream.
Blood gushed out, then was controlled, flowing outward like a living creature, twisting into a massive crimson weapon that hovered just above the skin around his body.
Layered plates formed over his chest, and jagged blades along his forearms. Each pulse of pain drove the blood to glow and move harder, faster, and stronger.
The monster, though it had no eyes, seemed to sense Brant's approaching figure. It charged forward, while shrieking loudly.
Brant, not fazed by its terrifying, abominable appearance, met it head-on.
Bones shattered on impact as the monster's sandbag-sized arm landed cleanly on Brant's blood-colored armor, the force of the collision deforming the creature's arm entirely.
Its bones cracked, popping audibly.
The monster's shrieking grew even more pronounced and terrifying.
It raised its one remaining good arm, bringing it down toward Brant with even greater force.
Brant caught the massive arm mid-swing, applying pressure like a hydraulic press, and crushing it. He then drove his massive, jagged-toothed blade straight through the monster's neck, decapitating it in an instant.
A brutal and efficient display.
The creature's body fell, convulsed once, then went still.
Silence finally returned, with only the faint sound of corrupted blood dripping onto the ground.
One stood at a distance, watching the battle with faint curiosity and a hint of joy clearly visible on his face.
Although he had watched more than one such brutal battle over the years, he never seemed to grow tired of them, because the more monsters that ended up dead, the more he could continue his research.
He felt no disgust toward the corrupted blood and rotten flesh of these monsters.
He simply liked observing and researching, and such rotten flesh and blood were very useful resources for his research.
One's mind noted and observed the features of this creature, its shape, size, and body structure in amazement.
He then began devising how he could take the corpse from Brant once the time came.
Marco and the others had already taken notice of One's strange habits from the beginning, but were too lazy to care or bother themselves with something so trivial. After all, what normal person, in the current era, didn't have some weird habit?
Everyone did, so it wasn't really surprising.
One stepped out of the bus and moved closer to the fallen monster.
Though to others its body offered nothing worth harvesting, to him its entire body was an enticing treasure.
Yet as his fingers brushed past the corrupted, rotted flesh, a faint vibration ran through his body, a pulse, subtle but undeniable. He didn't think much of it, because it occasionally happened whenever he came into contact with the bodies of corrupted abominations, so it wasn't anything new.
Before he could continue his excited investigation, Marco's hurried voice rang out.
"Get back inside, now. Something more dangerous is approaching."
One obeyed instantly, not even asking a question, as he ran back into the mechanical bus. Because anything that could make someone like Marco sound hurried was not something a weakling like him could hope to even glimpse.