Darkness.
Then… pain.
It felt as though every muscle in Brice’s body had been ripped apart, sent out for dry cleaning, and stitched back together incorrectly by an amateur tailor.
He groaned. The cold concrete beneath him slowly came into focus.
“…Please tell me I’m not dead. Heaven wouldn’t smell like mildew and rat guts.”
Silence answered him. He forced his eyes open. Broken skylights. Rusted pallet racks. The dead rat lying exactly where he’d left it.
For a long moment, he simply stared at the ceiling, feeling the cold seep into his bones. Then he remembered. The blue core.
He shot upright. The strange stone was gone.
Brice looked around frantically. The bloody knife still lay beside the rat. His backpack sat where he’d dropped it. His wedding ring was still gone. But the core… had vanished.
“…Great. So now glowing rocks disappear too. Excellent.”
He slowly climbed to his feet. Every muscle expected to scream in agony. Instead… he felt… lighter. He stretched his shoulders, rolling his neck. The soreness was fading rapidly. The deep scratch on his arm had already begun closing, leaving a faint pink line.
Brice frowned. He touched the wound. “That’s… not normal.”
He picked up the tire iron. It felt significantly easier to lift. He gave it an experimental swing. The air whistled loudly. He stopped, staring at his own hands.
“…Either I’m stronger… or adrenaline is one hell of a drug.”
A faint chime echoed through the empty warehouse.
Ding.
Blue letters slowly formed in the air before him, hovering like a digital ghost.
[AWAKENING COMPLETE]
Brice blinked. “…No.”
He rubbed his eyes. The words remained.
“I’ve officially lost it. It’s the fumes. The asbestos finally got me.”
More blue text appeared.
[Host successfully synchronized with ambient mana.]
[Physical enhancement complete.]
Brice stared. “Host? I’m standing right here. You can address me directly.”
The words vanished. Another line appeared.
[Scanning for Innate Ability…]
[No active ability detected.]
Brice frowned. “…Excuse me?”
Another line.
[Innate ability: None.]
He read it again. Then again. He looked around the empty warehouse, throwing his hands up in disbelief.
“So… the world ends, everybody else turns into a monster or gets superpowers… and I get absolutely nothing? I’m the generic NPC of the apocalypse?”
Silence. The blue text disappeared. No explanation. No apology. Nothing.
Brice folded his arms. “I want to speak to the manager of the apocalypse. That’s just incredibly rude.”
His stomach growled so loudly it echoed through the warehouse. He sighed, feeling a profound sense of exhaustion settle over him.
“Of course. I survive the end of the world, get magical zero-calorie steroids, and my reward is being hungry.”
He slung his backpack over one shoulder and picked up the tire iron. Before leaving, he looked once more at the dead rat. Whatever had happened… it had started with that core. He didn’t understand it. Not yet. But one thing was certain. The world had changed. And somehow… so had he.
He walked toward the warehouse doors, adjusting the weight of the steel bar in his grip. He thought of Angel. She was out there. He didn’t know how, and he didn’t know where, but he had to find a way to get to her.
He pushed the heavy metal door open, stepping out into the harsh, bruised sunlight. He looked at the smoking, ruined skyline of the city in the distance, a bloody, tired smile crossing his face.
“Well,” Brice whispered, making a highly dangerous decision. “Let’s go to LA.”