Low growls escaped their helms as they lowered their heads. Corrupted by the memory core's adverse effects, these souls had lost basic functions—like speech. But in exchange, they had gained one thing: the ability to fight.
'Verdict.'
Design Name: [Vulture]
Compactability: 35%
Rank: D+
Trait: [Plague of Rot — Spreads rot and death wherever it goes. Cuts from a Vulture rot quickly and infect fast!]
Final Verdict: [A great craft—not a masterpiece, but an innovative creation. Congratulations! You've weaved a design with a potent trait. Make more. An army of Vultures should be your desire.]
Merek leaned against the wall, drained of strength. These undead were of medium build, each weighing around 115 kilograms. As he gazed at them, his vision blurred until he eventually drifted off to sleep.
Hours later, a loud, rapid knock on the storage room door jolted him awake.
Groaning, Merek rose. As he blinked the sleep from his eyes, a faint clink of metal drew his attention left. Standing in the shadow beneath the narrow window were two Vulture undead. Their chains rattled softly with each slight movement.
Both were level 4. He quickly realized: his newly weaved creations would always be five levels below his own. Leveling up became a top priority.
"You stood all night and still don't feel tired. Tsk, I envy you," Merek muttered, opening the door to find Tevin waiting outside.
"It's 10 in the morning. We should get going."
"To where?" Merek asked, walking past him. He glanced at Yuki, standing guard at the entrance like a sentinel, hands resting on her sword's pommel.
Tevin paused. He hadn't thought that far ahead. "What were you even doing in there all this—!"
His eyes widened as the Vultures stepped into view, their movements heavy and deliberate.
"You were making more? How many can you make? Fifty? A hundred?!"
"You ask too many questions," Merek replied coolly, grabbing a bottle of water and biting into a biscuit.
Tevin scowled. "You don't look older than me. Why act like it?"
"How old are you?" Merek asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Twenty. I'm in my third year—"
"I'm twenty-two. Respect your elders," Merek said with a dry chuckle, glancing at the golden rays trying to pierce through their makeshift barricade.
"What?! You're done with school?!"
Merek ignored him, then after a moment's thought, spoke. "I need to find my brother. He's with the Howling Moon Gang. They control the mall. Last I checked, they had firearms and nearly a thousand people in their safe hold."
Tevin finished a bottle of water in one go. "The mall's got everything—food, clothes, a backup generator, space. Of course people would gather there." He tilted his head. "But you can't take them on. They've got guns—and definitely people with Jobs."
"I won't let my younger brother become their pawn. He's just fifteen." Merek's tone had softened; the distance in his voice was gone.
"I'm with you," Tevin said, firmly.
"Why?" Merek looked him in the eyes.
Tevin looked away. "I don't have parents anymore. And I'm not desperate enough to run to a thug-run safe hold. You're my best shot."
"Good." Merek turned toward the exit. "Let's go, then. First, we deal with the mutant dog. You're in charge of scavenging. I'll find more Wraiths."
"Eh?"
"Just do your duty." Merek cocked his bottle of water, drew his revolver, and checked the cylinder. It still hadn't regenerated any bullets, yet his eyes burned with resolve.
"Let's go."
….
After a short walk, Merek and Tevin arrived at the crossroads—only to find the mutant Rottweiler already lying dead, a slender figure standing over its body.
She had platinum hair cut into a long bob that framed her neck and shoulders. A blue jean jacket covered her black top, paired with fitted black pants and boots. Part of her face was hidden beneath a cap, but Merek instantly caught a glimpse of her beauty.
He watched in silence as she swallowed the dog's essence core and then slowly turned toward them.
For a moment, Merek froze. He'd seen beautiful women before, but this was something else—this was the kind of beauty that made you uncomfortable just by proximity.
Felicity's gaze lingered on the strange armored beings beside the two young men, her eyes narrowing at the one in a stained white sweatshirt. Something about him made her body instinctively tense—a quiet readiness. He gave off a presence that screamed danger.
"Class Prez… is that you?" Tevin blinked in disbelief, rubbing his eyes. He hurried forward.
"Tevin?" Felicity's voice softened as she recognized him. Her posture eased slightly.
Tevin couldn't believe it. Felicity—the class president, the school belle—had been distant and aloof, often seen with headphones on from morning to night, rarely speaking to anyone. Rumors had always swirled about her coldness, about her powerful background, but Tevin knew better. He knew it had everything to do with her father.
"Class Prez… where are you coming from? Did anyone escape the school with you?"
Felicity nodded. "The others are with the professor. But…" Her eyes didn't leave Merek. "Who's that?"
"He's a neighbor. We lived in the same building before all this. Don't worry about how strange he feels."
She turned to Tevin, then back to Merek. "Does it have something to do with his Job?"
Tevin nodded. "I think so."
"Is he with you?"
"Yes," Tevin said without hesitation.
"Then…" Her gaze narrowed. "Why is he leaving?"
Tevin turned and found Merek walking away. "Hey! Where are you going?!"
Merek waved him farewell as he continued walking away.
"That way is in the direction of White Shop camp. The professor wants to take those of us that survived there but not all of us have Jobs. So far, only a few of us have it and we might not be able to protect everyone. I am trying to increase my level but I can sense essence within you. Will you join us? It would make things easier."
Tevin turned to Merek. "We're going in the same direction! Let's go together!"