The fire crackled. His body ached. His heart thudded — slow and distant, like it had lost its rhythm somewhere between worlds.
Russo sat with his arms around his knees. Somewhere nearby, the charred corpse of the creature still smoked — Ironfang, the system had called it.
[SYSTEM ACTIVE] Function: Bloodline Extraction — Available Target: Ironfang (Lesser Beast) Status: Essence — Pure Apply?
The voice in his head wasn't a voice at all. It was knowledge — raw, unspoken, without source. It simply was.
"This… is a hallucination," he rasped. "Or maybe… some kind of program?"
His jaw clenched.
"No… It's an invasion."
Fear bloomed in his chest. Not the fear of pain — he was a soldier, pain was familiar. This was fear of the unknown growing inside him. Something was calling to him. Asking to be let in. To be used.
To decide.
He closed his eyes.
"…So be it. Apply."
⸻
Agony.
No — not agony.
Unmaking.
He didn't scream. He simply fell — into the void, into fragments, into a roaring that came from every nerve. The world became sound. Then bone. Then beast. Something crawled down his spine. Dug into his skull. Rewrote his muscles, one fiber at a time. He felt everything — as if his nerves were being chewed from the inside out.
Modification complete. Ability acquired: "Ironfang Dash."
He collapsed to his side, soaked in sweat. His whole body vibrated — like a second heart had awakened inside him.
And then he heard everything.
A rustle far off. Stone grinding. An animal in the brush. His vision sharpened.
The world became crisp, almost too clear — like someone had peeled a filter off his eyes. But there was no pride in his chest. Only fear.
"…What did you do to me?" he whispered. [Response: Adaptation. Priority: Survival.] He laughed — broken, hysterical. "Survival… Fine. But whose?"
⸻
The next day, he found tracks. Bloodstains. Ash. People? His heart jumped. He ran — not with thought, but with instinct. Like a predator sensing its pack. An hour later, he found them. Four survivors. Dirty. Worn. A woman, a man, two children. Each carried weapons — crude, but lethal.
They spotted him instantly. The man stepped forward, speaking in a language Russo had never heard.
And yet… he understood. "Show your mark," the man said. "If you don't have one — you're scavenger meat."
What?
How do I understand him?
He didn't know the words. But he knew their meaning. As if the language whispered directly into his brain. "…Mark?"
Russo raised his hands. "I don't understand. I—" "Drop your gear," the man interrupted. "Or I'll strip it from your corpse." A threat. [Threat detected. Activate: "Ironfang Dash"?] "No!" he shouted.
"Don't—!"
Flash.
He vanished. His body moved on its own, faster than thought, faster than fear. A blur of motion and dust. He was behind the man before he realized what had happened.
Strike.
The man dropped — silent, instant, dead.
Russo froze. His hands trembled. The others didn't move. Only the children's eyes filled with terror. He took a step back. Stared at his fingers. At the body that wasn't entirely his anymore.
"…I didn't give the command," he whispered. "That wasn't… me."
He dropped to his knees. The earth beneath him felt alien. The sky — too red. The wind — too still.
"…System," he muttered. "Are you controlling me?"
"I'm not…"
"…human anymore?"