The first rays of morning hadn't yet touched the ruined skyline, but Ron was already awake, sitting near the window with a half-rusted kitchen knife in hand. The streets below were quiet. Muted. For now.
Behind him, the room breathed softly. Priya was still asleep, her bare shoulder rising and falling beneath a thin sheet. A sliver of calm had slipped into their lives the night before, the kind of fragile warmth that could only bloom in the darkest soil. But the world hadn't changed. The monsters were still out there. The hunger for survival still gnawed at them.
She stirred. Then her voice, quiet, uncertain: "Ron… I want to learn to fight."
He turned to her. "What?"
"I want to help you. I know I can't evolve… not yet. But I can collect cores for you. You need them, don't you?"
Ron looked at her for a long moment. "You don't have to. I never expected—"
"But I did," she interrupted, pushing herself up slowly. "The day we met, I told you I wouldn't be a burden. I meant it."
The silence between them was thick, but it wasn't cold. Ron stood and stepped over to her, his hand brushing against her arm. "Alright. But we do it my way. No heroics. No getting reckless. Understood?"
Priya nodded. Her fingers trembled, but her eyes didn't.
The day was gray and heatless. The haze above the city dulled the sun's burn but gave no comfort. They moved quietly through cracked streets, Ron leading with practiced caution, Priya close behind gripping a sharpened pipe like a lifeline.
They found their first target in an alley—a slouched figure with its jaw hanging loose, dead eyes twitching to the sound of their steps.
Ron turned to her. "It's alone. Go for the head. If it gets too close, I'll handle it."
Priya's breath caught. Her fingers gripped the pipe tighter. She nodded, stepped forward—and froze. The creature raised its head, let out a breathy growl.
She couldn't move. Her feet were nailed to the ground.
Ron stepped forward, blade ready, but she suddenly screamed and swung. The pipe missed. The zombie lunged—Ron yanked it back by the collar and drove the knife through its eye.
"Are you hurt?" he asked.
"No," she whispered, voice shaking. "Just scared."
He said nothing. He didn't need to.
The second kill was worse. So was the third. By the fourth, her arms were shaking from exhaustion and her cheeks were wet with sweat and tears. But by the fifth, something had changed.
Priya stood over the twitching body of a downed zombie, breathing hard, blood spattered on her cream colored shearling jacket. Her eyes were still wide—but now, there was steel in them.
"You said it's in the belly, right?" she asked.
Ron nodded. "Cut along the stomach. Not too deep."
She did. Her hands trembled, but she followed his instructions. It took three tries, but she finally felt it—something hard, smooth, and warm inside the gore.
A greenish-white orb, pulsing faintly.
She held it up with a smile that trembled on her lips. "I found one."
Ron laughed—actual laughter, for the first time in days. "Nice work."
By the time the sun touched the horizon, they had ten more kills between them. Priya had slain ten zombies—clumsy at first, then steadier, deadlier. Ron took care of the rest, covering her when needed.
Together, they gathered twenty cores.
Dusk painted the city in bruises as they made their way back to the apartment. But halfway up the road, three figures stepped out from behind a half-collapsed building.
"Hey, Ron." The voice was nasal, cruel. It belonged to a man Ron recognized—one of Raj's lackeys. "Didn't think we'd see you again."
Ron stepped forward, shielding Priya. "Turn around. Now."
"Oh? With your girlfriend behind you? You think we're scared?"
They rushed him.
It wasn't even close.
Ron moved like water with a blade. One man screamed as a knee shattered his face. Another crumpled after a punch that broke ribs. The third tried to run before Ron even touched him. They all fled.
But not before one of them flung a broken bottle at random—sharp glass cutting a long line down Priya's leg.
She stumbled, hissing in pain.
Ron turned in time to catch her. "Shit. You're bleeding bad."
"I'm fine—"
"Don't argue." He scooped her up without a word and carried her the rest of the way. Her cheeks burned red against his chest, but she said nothing.
He laid her gently on the bed and quickly wrapped the wound.
Then he turned to the cores.
One by one, he began absorbing them. The warmth flowed into him at first—then the agony began.
It was different this time. Deeper. His muscles twisted, bones grinding as if re-forging
themselves. Organs shuddered, reshaped. He fell to his knees, gasping.
The world around him blurred—and then vanished.
He was standing in the void again. That endless black ocean, and the orb. The Sea of Evolution.
"You've reached the threshold," a voice echoed, not from the orb, but from something deeper. "Meta Human. Level Five. Body Reformation: Complete."
Then he was back in the room.
On the floor.
Slick with sweat and blood.
And Priya's arms were wrapped around him from behind.
"You scared me," she whispered into his neck. "You looked like you were dying."
"I'm okay," he said, barely breathing. "It's done."
Her head rested against his back.
He turned, took her in his arms. They sat there, holding each other, her bandaged leg resting across his, his heart still pounding like a war drum in his chest.