The silence after the storm was eerie.
Ron stood frozen in the middle of the scorched street, his mind replaying the blood-red dream. The voice, the Sea of Evolution, the glowing green orb—it had felt like a hallucination, yet something in him had changed. A part of him had awakened.
He pressed his palm against his chest.
Nothing visible. No mark. No scar.
But he could feel it—something humming faintly beneath his skin. Like a low, steady burn.
The orb was real. He didn't know how he knew, but he did. And it wasn't full.
Not yet.
A shriek snapped him back to reality. Around the corner, a cluster of things—zombies—were stumbling out of a ruined department store. Their movements were jerky but not slow, and they were looking around. Their eyes weren't cloudy. One of them lifted its head and sniffed the air.
Ron's breath caught.
They can smell blood.
These weren't the brain-dead shufflers from movies. They were fast. Aware. Predatory.
And there were too many to fight head-on.
So he ran.
Not away. Not this time.
He dashed into a construction site across the street, weaving between metal rods and scattered debris. He found a rusted steel girder hanging by a broken chain and climbed up a stack of crates. Behind him, the shrieks grew louder as the horde followed the scent of his wounds.
Good.
He waited until they were directly beneath him.
Then he kicked the crates out from under the girder.
The chain snapped.
A ten-foot beam crashed onto the heads of the front line, splintering skulls and spraying gore across the concrete. A few fell instantly. The others reeled in confusion.
Ron didn't hesitate.
He leapt down, grabbed a broken pipe, and went to work.
The fight was brutal and clumsy. He was outnumbered, outmatched, and injured. But rage and adrenaline gave him the edge. He dodged, ducked, stabbed. Again and again.
When it was over, he stood among ten twitching corpses, gasping for air, his clothes soaked in blood.
Then it happened.
From each body, something lifted. A faint wisp of green—like mist or smoke—rose and curled into the air before being drawn to his left hand.
He staggered.
The sensation was strange. Not painful, but heavy. Like something ancient was being poured into him.
And in that moment, he understood.
This is what the voice meant. This is how I evolve.
The orb inside him had begun to absorb the energy of the dead. These weren't just corpses—they were stepping stones.
But the cost was real. His arms were shaking, and a gash on his thigh was bleeding freely. He couldn't stay here.
So he limped back toward his apartment complex, cradling his side. The gate was bent, the lobby doors wide open. Blood smeared the floors.
The six-story building housed about forty people. His room was on the fourth floor.
Now, at a glance, half the residents had turned.
But something was… strange.
Dozens of zombies loitered on the first floor, pacing aimlessly. Yet none of them had moved past the stairs.
Ron crept closer and saw why.
The staircase to the second floor had been barricaded with furniture, metal rods, even a makeshift fence welded to the railing. Someone had sealed off the upper floors.
Trapped the infected below.
He felt anger rise in his throat.
The people above had sacrificed the ones below just to protect themselves.
He didn't care who it was. It wasn't right.
So he moved. Silent and swift.
One by one, he dispatched the trapped zombies. It took time. His wounds reopened. His legs screamed with every step. But he didn't stop.
By the time the last one fell, his vision was blurred and his hands were numb.
He didn't bother collecting the cores.
He just cleared the barricade and climbed to the fourth floor.
The hallway was quiet. His apartment door was still intact.
That's when he felt it.
Someone watching.
He looked up, heart pounding.
A woman stood on the fifth-floor balcony, leaning over the railing. Her eyes had been on him the whole time.
She was beautiful—long black hair, elegant features, wearing a white shirt stained with dust. He recognized her immediately.
Pryanki.
He stepped inside and collapsed onto the floor.
She lived upstairs. Store manager of some high-end brand. The kind of woman who existed in another world entirely.
They'd never spoken.
So when the knock came a few minutes later, he wasn't expecting her.
He opened the door, eyes wary.
She stood there, eyes determined.
"I want to stay with you," she said quietly.
Ron blinked. "Why?"
"I won't be a burden. I have supplies. And… I don't feel safe up there."
He didn't answer right away.
Then she added, "Raj. Sixth floor. He's formed a group. They're forcing people to give up their food. Last night, they killed a family. Took a girl upstairs. No one's seen her since."
Her voice trembled. "They blocked the stairs to trap the infected below. Now they're planning to take the fifth floor next."
Ron sighed. "I don't need a burden."
"I won't be," she said, meeting his eyes. "I swear it."
He stepped aside.
"One condition," he muttered. "You listen to me. Always."
She nodded.
That night, she patched up his wounds. Her hands were gentle. Skilled. She gave him painkillers, disinfected his arm, wrapped his thigh.
The apartment was cold. The windows had no insulation. The temperature had plummeted.
"Take the bed," Ron said, voice gruff. "It gets worse at night."
She hesitated, then nodded, curling up under the blanket as he lay on the floor beside the wall.
He didn't sleep.
Not really.
At 2 p.m., he woke to the scent of something cooking.
In the kitchen, Pryanki was frying rice and eggs over a portable stove. Her damp hair clung to her neck, and the white shirt she wore had its top button undone, revealing the delicate curve of her collarbone.
She looked like something from another world.
He sat at the table silently, watching her.
Then he remembered the dream.
The Sea. The blood-red sky. The voice.
You have entered the Sea of Evolution.
Fill the Life Orb.
Break it. Rebuild it. Rise.
Ron's fingers clenched into fists.