My half-melted face dripped onto the forest floor as the blue screen flickered back to life, buzzing like a sketchy motel sign while the digital wheel started spinning like a hamster on a massive caffeine bender.
The colors blurred into a nauseating smear before finally screeching to a halt on a glowing biohazard symbol with a thick red slash through it.
Was that supposed to be ominous or auspicious? I honestly had no idea.
[Buff 2 Acquired: Controlled Infection]
[Through absolute cellular quantum alignment, you have achieved a selective-gatekeeping membrane barrier over all biological excretions.
You now possess conscious, manual control over your viral load. You can choose whether your saliva, blood, or reproductive fluids infect a target.]
Hold on a fucking second—reproductive fluids?
I wondered if the System was actually serious, because I definitely did not look like some kind of biological Johnny Appleseed about to go around spraying radioactive zombie-nut all over the Arklay Forest.
Nobody was going to sign up for that, considering I was a walking biological hazard and definitely not some late-night adult channel star catering to highly specific monster-girl fetishes.
Maybe down the line, if I ever managed to grind enough points to buy my handsome face back, I could worry about that, but for now, I decided to just stick to the basic, non-lethal biting and call it a day.
Honestly, though, that first skill alone was an absolute cheat code, and the Umbrella Corporation would have gladly fed their entire board of directors to a pack of starving Hunters just to get their hands on a genetic shortcut like this.
I didn't even have to chew on people to progress, and there was absolutely zero mention of uncontrolled mutation from overfeeding like what happened to every other godforsaken creature in this horror franchise.
My survival strategy was incredibly simple, since I just needed to become the ultimate bottom-feeder.
Resident Evil protagonists always left a trail of giant, heavily mutated boss corpses in their wake, which meant all I had to do was lurk in the bushes like a dirty rat, wait for the rocket launcher smoke to clear, and feast on the all-you-can-eat biological buffet.
Even if I couldn't morph back into a normal guy, climbing the ladder to become a Tyrant was definitely on the table, because even though I would be a seven-foot-tall, hulking wall of grey meat with an exposed heart, nobody was going to ask about my skin routine when I could snap their spine like a twig.
And this second skill, weird wording aside, was an absolute lifesaver, especially since my biggest fear—right after getting my head popped by a shotgun-toting protagonist—was accidentally breathing on some poor survivor and starting a completely fresh outbreak.
Now, if I had to interact with actual people, I wouldn't be a walking, automatic biological hazard, and I wouldn't have to worry about accidentally wiping out humanity because I sneezed, giving me a tiny, microscopic sliver of control over my own disgusting existence.
Everything was going to be perfectly fine, or at least that was what I told myself before the friendly blue light died and a harsh, blaring crimson glare replaced it.
The light bathed the dark pine trees in an angry red that practically screamed imminent danger, though I couldn't even tell if these were actual light effects or just shit being beamed straight into my brain.
[Notice: The thermodynamic balance of evolutionary bullshit must be maintained. The System cannot generate high-tier evolutionary traits without a biological counterbalance.]
[Genesis requires Damnation.]
[Initiating Damnation Lottery.]
Oh, come on, a Damnation Lottery sounded like a fast track to getting my bone marrow turned into spicy mustard, and I was definitely not down for that.
I tried to force another wet, gargling protest out of my wrecked throat to tell the system I formally declined, because I was totally good with my two buffs and they were more than enough.
[Error: Host cannot decline the Damnation Lottery. Commencing spin.]
The wheel materialized again under a drenching of aggressive red light, and the symbols on it were a nightmare parade of skulls, shattered bones, and melting faces.
It spun fast enough to make my rotting eyes water before locking into place with a heavy thud, like a solid steel vault door slamming shut.
Instead of a spooky skull, the wheel landed on a glowing neon icon of a heavily veined dick and balls that looked like they were on the absolute verge of popping.
[Debuff Acquired: Apex Breeding Urge]
[Description: Due to your newly acquired pathogen regulation, your testicles have mistaken your survival instinct for an evolutionary grand opening. You suffer from constant, extreme sexual desire that scales exponentially with your evolution. Failure to regularly dominate viable female hosts will result in rapid mental degradation and uncontrollable, feral rampages.]
I read the red text once, then read it a second time, desperately hoping my decaying retinas were playing some kind of cruel joke, but unfortunately, they were fully functioning.
I had literally just joked about not spraying my zombie-juice around, and the universe took that personally by giving me the ultimate coomer debuff, causing my brain to completely stall out.
I looked down at my mottled, bruised hands, then at the exposed yellow fat and white bone sticking out of my left knee, wondering how an increased libido and extreme sexual desire made any biological sense when I was literally a walking corpse.
I smelled like an outhouse left in the desert sun, my vocal cords were soup, and my skin was actively sliding off in wet, grey clumps, so I had to wonder if this dead body even possessed a functional weapon.
A blinding rush of pure, unadulterated filth flooded my brain before I could even finish that thought, instantly hijacking my mind with a barrage of ultra-high-definition mental images that would make a seasoned adult film director throw up.
Vivid, unbidden fantasies exploded behind my eyes as I saw Jill Valentine in her tight blue tube top bent over a desk, Claire Redfield bound in writhing, slimy tentacles, and Ada Wong looking down at me with bedroom eyes while wearing absolutely nothing but that iconic red dress.
Would Claire Redfield prefer my hulking Tyrant form, or did those Raccoon City Drain Deimos ruin throat-stuff for her forever?
Bad brain, stop thinking about flea-monster anatomy, we are trying to survive here.
The sheer intensity of the lust was terrifying, because this was not some normal human itch that I could easily ignore.
It was a violent, primal need hardcoded straight into my decaying cells, aggressively rewiring my brain to do nothing but hunt, pin down, and breed.
I dragged my ruined hands down my face, trying to scrub the filthy thoughts out of my skull, but the raw sexual gravity just kept pulling me back in.
And then, the physical fallout manifested with absolute, zero-chill violence.
A heavy, throbbing pressure started building between my thighs, feeling exactly like someone hooked my groin up to a high-pressure hydraulic pump and cranked the dial until the knob broke off.
Wait, don't tell me—
My tattered, blood-stained lab pants bulged outward with alarming force, and the cheap fabric groaned loudly under the sudden strain until the inseam gave up completely, ripping open with a loud, pathetic tear.
My fingers shook as I slowly reach down and pulled the ruined cloth aside to investigate, and my jaw unhinged, dropping open with a soft, wet click.
Hanging there between my rotting thighs was an absolute weapon of mass destruction—we were talking about an easy eight inches of thick, concrete-hard meat. The shaft was completely hairless and colored a bruised, unnatural purplish-grey, with thick black veins coiling around it like parasitic worms that were visibly throbbing with hot, dark blood.
It looked bizarrely healthy and terrifyingly functional, completely contrasting my otherwise rotting, decaying aesthetic.
It was incredibly hot to the touch, radiating a bizarre, feverish warmth that completely clashed with the cold deadness of the rest of my body. I stared at this giant zombie-schmeat in absolute horror, because this was beyond absurd.
[Notice: Your reproductive organs have been heavily mutated to accommodate your debuff. They are currently the most biologically active, structurally sound, and durable cells in your entire body.]
I had exposed bone on my knee, but my balls were apparently bulletproof, which made me wonder who exactly wrote the priority list for this evolution, since it was like putting a military-grade rocket launcher on a rusty tricycle.
I glared at the floating screen, mentally scrambling to find some kind of loophole in this nightmare, because surely I could just take care of this myself. Can't I just punch the clown, raw-dog a fist, and call it a day?
[Negative, Host. Flogging the undead dolphin into a bush does not trigger the biological reward loop required to fulfill the Apex Breeding Urge. Your body requires the presence of a viable female host. Ejaculating into the dirt of the Arklay Mountains will yield zero mental stabilization.]
I couldn't believe this shit, and I had to ask if the system had any idea how hard it was to find a living, breathing woman out here in the middle of a spooky forest. The only females within ten miles were probably other decaying zombies, and that was where I drew the line.
Wait... do I have to—
There was absolutely no way in hell I was doing that, because I was not touching that rotting, maggot-infested zombiussy.
I had standards, and even though I might currently be a walking biological disaster with my massive meat-missile hanging out of my ruined pants, I drew a hard line at sticking it into a corpse that was actively decomposing.
Could I actually handle a three-way with the Dimitrescu sisters, or would their flies eat my bulletproof dick before I even got to first base?
Get a grip, you absolute degenerate, your left kneecap is literally showing.
[Host is advised to seek out high-value female targets, commonly referred to as 'Heroines' or 'Villainess'. Fulfilling your debuff with these entities provides significant evolutionary benefits.]
Oh, sure, just go find a heroine, because that sounded incredibly easy, didn't it?
I could just waddle my rotting ass up to Rebecca Chambers or Jill Valentine, tip my non-existent fedora, and politely ask if she wanted a one-way ticket on the t-Virus express, and I was sure she would love that.
Those women had guns, and they were highly trained military operatives who shot things that look exactly like me for a living. The second they spotted my ugly grey mug, they were going to paint the nearest pine tree with my brains, or worse, shoot my bulletproof dick just to see if the bullets actually bounced off.
[To aid in your evolution, the System has provided the Evolution Shop and the Roulette Wheel. By hunting and killing special mutated creatures, you will earn Evolution Points.]
[These points can be used to purchase genetic upgrades, spin the Roulette for random monster themed multiverse spanning rewards, or buy the evolutionary forms of creatures you have slain.]
That seems nice...
Maybe I could buy a fresh human skin, or buy my voice back so I stopped sounding like a garbage disposal full of wet gravel, so I demanded to see the damn shop right now.
A new screen materialized in front of my face, and my excitement immediately died a cold, brutal death, because the interface was almost entirely blank. There were no shotguns, no cool powers, and zero magical potions that could fix my melting face. The only thing listed was a basic, flashing message.
[Evolution Shop currently locked. Kill and absorb a unique biological target to register its genetic blueprint and unlock buyable content.]
I was being completely scammed, because this shop was emptier than a Blockbuster in 2010, which meant I had to go out and play Monster Hunter as a slow-ass zombie just to put inventory on the shelves.
[Affirmative, Host. The Roulette Wheel remains unlocked. A special first-time spin costs 10 Evolution Points. All subsequent spins will cost 100 Evolution Points. Host currently possesses 0 Evolution Points.]
I stared at the glowing zero, and questions immediately started piling up in my rotting head.
How exactly did this economy work, what kind of creature dropped how much EP, and did I get points for stepping on a spider, or did I have to suplex a Licker to see a payout? And what specifically counted as biomass for my cellular decay, because I wanted to know if I could eat a squirrel, or if it had to be a mutant.
The blue screen simply hovered there without providing a single clue, and the System completely ignored my questions.
Then another terrifying thought hijacked my panic, and it was a really bad one.
I was in the Arklay Mountains, and there was an Umbrella lab nearby, which meant Resident Evil, but which flavor of Resident Evil was I actually dealing with here?
I had completely overlooked the movies, but the Paul W.S. Anderson cinematic universe had its own version of Raccoon City and the Arklay range, and if I was stuck in that specific brand of fuckery, things were infinitely worse. I would have to deal with Alice, a psychic, clone-spawning, dual-wielding Mary Sue who could vaporize my zombie ass with a single dirty look.
System, am I in the games or the movies? This is incredibly important information, so blink once for Capcom, or twice for Milla Jovovich.
The blue rectangle offered absolutely zero clarification, leaving me hanging in the dark, which was just my typical luck.
I took a deep, rattling breath of the damp forest air, though trying to calm down felt like trying to defuse a bomb while high on meth.
The constant, aggressive hum of lust buzzing in the back of my mind made it almost impossible to focus, especially since I was literally wandering around a dark forest with a massive, throbbing meat-bat jutting out of my ruined pants.
I really needed to get my priorities straight before my brain completely turned into mush.
First off, I was absolutely starving, and with my cellular integrity sitting at a pathetic twenty-three percent and dropping fast, I needed to find some biomass to absorb with my fancy vacuum-touch buff before I turned into a typical feral zombie.
If that happened, I wouldn't even get to test drive my new, bulletproof undead cock, which would be a tragedy of evolutionary proportions.
Or maybe even in feral state, I might start craving booty instead of flesh, who knows..
Secondly, I needed those sweet, sweet evolution points, so I had to find something mildly dangerous to kill and absorb right away and since I couldn't just sit in the mud forever, I guess it was time to start hunting.
I dragged myself to my feet.
My legs wobbled dangerously. My coordination was absolute garbage. The human brain relies on complex motor functions and a healthy, cooperative nervous system to walk properly. My nervous system, on the other hand, was currently being chewed on by a man-made retrovirus.
I took a step forward and immediately face-planted into a large, wet fern.
I laid there in the dirt for a solid minute, inhaling the scent of decaying moss and seriously rethinking every life choice that had led me to this bizarre transmigration.
Eventually, I managed to push myself up again and leaned heavily against a massive, moss-covered oak tree, panting even though my dead lungs didn't technically need the oxygen.
Once I got a semi-steady rhythm going, I forced those filthy, intrusive Ada Wong fantasies into a dark corner of my mind. I needed to think logically, or I was going to end up as organic fertilizer.
If I was in the Arklay Mountains, I was currently standing in the absolute worst hotspot of biological warfare on the planet. I was at the absolute bottom of the food chain out here.
I mentally ran through the terrifying roster of B.O.W.s currently lurking in these woods. There were giant spiders like Web Spinners and the Black Tiger, capable of melting my rotting flesh with high-pressure acid spit. There was Yawn, a giant, venomous snake that could swallow me whole without even unhinging its jaw. There was Plant 42, and those creepy-ass Chimeras—bizarre fly-human hybrids that loved to drop down from the shadows and rip targets to shreds.
And then there were the real heavy hitters. Hunters. Alpha and Beta models. Not to mention the Tyrant T-002 sleeping in the labs.
If a Hunter Alpha caught me shuffling through the brush like a lost tourist, it would decapitate me before my rotted nerves could even register the threat. I stood absolutely zero chance of surviving an encounter with those scaley bastards.
But then, a highly important question crossed my mind.
How did the aggro mechanics work in real life?
In the games, high-tier monsters like Lickers and Tyrants would absolutely shred standard zombies if they got in the way. But did the lower-tier stuff care? Would a Cerberus or a giant spider treat me like a cousin, or would they see me as an easy, slow-moving chew toy? I had absolutely no way of knowing until I came face-to-face with one.
On top of that, I needed to figure out exactly when I was.
Was this before the Spencer Mansion incident? Or was the disaster already in full swing? Was Rebecca Chambers currently running around these woods with a handgun, looking for a place to cry?
The best way to pinpoint the timeline was to find the train tracks. If the Ecliptic Express was stalled in the middle of the forest, covered in giant, mutating leeches, then the events of Resident Evil Zero were actively happening. If there was no train, I might actually have some prep time.
My first major goal was decided: find the train tracks.
I stumbled through the dense brush of the Arklay forest, moving with that classic, jerky zombie shuffle. The moonlight filtered through the thick canopy, casting long, creepy shadows across the forest floor. The air was thick with the smell of wet pine, decaying leaves, and the overwhelming metallic tang of my own dead blood.
Walking was incredibly difficult. Not just because my nerves were shot, but because my ridiculous, rock-hard eight-inch erection was actively throwing off my center of gravity. It kept bouncing against the torn fabric of my pants with every jerky step. It was like trying to navigate a balance beam while carrying a lead pipe strapped to your pelvis.
I pushed my way through a thick wall of damp ferns and stepped into a small, open clearing.
I froze instantly.
My non-beating heart didn't actually pump blood, but a cold sensation of pure panic flared through my chest anyway.
Less than ten feet away from me, standing over the mangled, bloody remains of a human hiker, was a massive mutant dog.
Its fur was patchy and mangy. Huge chunks of skin were completely missing to expose a raw, red ribcage. Its muzzle was thoroughly coated in thick, dark blood, and its eyes glowed with a sick, yellowish light in the darkness.
A Cerberus.
My brain screamed at me to run. My stupid, uncooperative legs absolutely refused to move. If this thing charged, my thirty-three percent biological integrity was going to get shredded into cheap dog food in seconds.
The Cerberus stopped chewing on the dead hiker's leg. It slowly lifted its head, its ruined ears twitching in the quiet air. It turned its yellowed, rotting eyes directly toward me.
I held my nonexistent breath. I watched the beast lower its snout and take a deep, wet sniff of the cold forest air.
The dog let out a soft, guttural grunt. It completely dismissed my presence, turned its head back down, and plunged its jaws right back into the hiker's exposed stomach. It ripped out a long, grey string of intestines with a wet tear.
I let out a long, silent sigh of relief.
Well, I'll be damned.
Was there some kind of unwritten camaraderie happening here? One mutant to another? Some common enemy mob union rule that dictates no infighting among the infected? You don't usually see standard enemies fighting each other in the game, so perhaps that mechanic was actually working in my favor.
On second thought, perhaps that wasn't a total guarantee. There had definitely been some specific mutants in the franchise that attacked other infected just for the hell of it.
But at least for right now, as long as I didn't act like a complete idiot, the common local wildlife wouldn't immediately see me as a walking chew toy. Even basic invisibility to other t-Virus mobs was a massive boon for my survival.
I looked around the clearing. My mind instantly shifted from pure panic to raw opportunism. I had a completely free shot at this thing.
Near the base of a rotting tree trunk, I spotted a heavy, jagged rock. It looked like it weighed about ten pounds. Perfect for delivering some serious, old-school blunt force trauma.
I awkwardly bent my knees. My dead joints popped loudly in the quiet night, but the dog was too busy eating to care. I wrapped my grey, dirt-caked fingers around the cold stone, lifting it with both hands. It was heavy, but my adrenaline-fueled dead muscles could handle the weight.
I slowly shuffled forward, closing the distance step by step.
My massive, undead scepter kept aggressively swinging back and forth with every movement. I completely ignored the distraction, keeping my rotting eyes firmly locked on the feasting hound.
The Cerberus was totally lost in its meal, chewing on human bone with ravenous hunger.
I stepped right up directly behind it. I was so close I could easily smell the hot, metallic stench of the dead hiker's fresh blood.
I raised the heavy rock high above my head, channeling every single ounce of my remaining necrotic strength into my shoulders.
I swung the stone down with a vicious, two-handed slam.
The heavy rock connected directly with the back of the dog's exposed skull. A sickening, wet crunch echoed loudly through the clearing.
The Cerberus collapsed instantly into the dirt. Its mangy legs twitched wildly as its ruined brain began to misfire. It let out a high-pitched, pathetic whimper.
I didn't give it a single chance to recover. I dropped straight to my knees, pinning the thrashing animal down with my body weight, and brought the heavy rock down again.
Once. Twice. Three times.
I kept bashing until the skull caved in completely. Thick, black blood and chunky grey matter sprayed all over the wet grass.
The dog finally went completely still.
[Target Eliminated. +50 Evolution Points.]
I let out a breathless, gurgling sigh and tossed the bloody rock aside. My arms were trembling violently from the sheer physical exertion, but a massive, ugly grin spread across my cracked lips.
I knelt beside the pulped head of the Cerberus. My hands were shaking slightly. My cellular integrity was still sitting at a pathetic thirty-three percent, and my muscles were already screaming from the effort of swinging that boulder.
I placed my grey, dirty palms flat against the dog's bloody flank.
Time to test the buffet.
Instantly, the flesh of my palms split open. Hundreds of small, wet, dark red tendrils erupted from my skin like a swarm of starving leeches. They aggressively burrowed straight into the dog's corpse, tearing through fur and ruined muscle to anchor themselves deep inside the meat.
The dead dog's flesh rapidly began to bubble and liquefy beneath my hands. The tendrils acted like biological straws, eagerly sucking up the dissolved tissue and pumping a thick, glowing crimson sludge directly back into my own veins.
It felt fucking incredible.
A sudden, intense rush of euphoric energy exploded through my nervous system. It was a blinding, toe-curling high that felt dangerously close to a full-body orgasm. The pure ecstasy of consuming raw biomass completely overwhelmed my rotting brain, though the overwhelming high faded almost as quickly as it arrived.
The dull throbbing in my skull vanished completely. The torn skin on my arms rapidly knit itself back together, leaving behind smooth, dense grey scar tissue. I could physically feel my dead muscle fibers tightening, growing noticeably thicker and stronger under the skin.
Within ten seconds, the entire meaty bulk of the Cerberus was gone. The tendrils slurped up the last drops of liquid biomass and smoothly retracted back into my palms, sealing the skin shut behind them.
Only a pile of brittle, fragile white bones remained in the dirt.
[Biomass absorbed. Cellular integrity increased to 38%.]
[Time till Critical Stage: 12 hours.]
[Special Creature Genetic Data Acquired: MA-39 <Cerberus>]
[Evolution Points earned: +50.]
A loud digital chime rang straight through my head.
[Evolution Shop updated. New content unlocked.]
Fuck yes. Daddy needs a new pair of vocal cords.
I mentally swiped the screen to open the newly unlocked shop. My excitement immediately plummeted straight into the dirt.
The digital storefront was almost completely empty. There were no assault rifles. There were no magical healing items. There were absolutely no options to magically fix my melted face or give me a working voice box.
The screen displayed only three measly items, all clearly unlocked by the mutant dog I had just turned into a fleshy protein shake.
hi guys, nice to meet ya.
I have written around 80k words of the book so I won't be dropping it in short term at the very least.
And regarding the plotline, its going to be very horny & filthy etc so hope you aren't here expecting full on action fantasy. Its a smut book so expect around 50:50 ratio of plot vs lemons.