Kai woke with a gasp, his heart hammering against his ribs as if trying to escape his chest. For a blissful, disoriented moment, he didn't know where he was, the horrifying events of the previous night feeling like the fading remnants of a particularly vivid nightmare. Then, the cool, crystalline text of the Dragon System flared into existence in his vision, an unwelcome overlay on the drab, familiar sight of his cramped alcove ceiling.
[HOST STATUS: AWAKE. DRACONIC ENERGY RESERVES: 28% (CRITICALLY LOW). PHYSICAL TRAUMA (HEAD): MINOR (HEALING). MENTAL STRESS: VERY HIGH. IMMEDIATE OBJECTIVE: RESTORE DRACONIC ENERGY RESERVES TO >50% TO PREVENT SYSTEM INSTABILITY AND POTENTIAL PHYSIOLOGICAL DEGRADATION.]
The reality crashed back in with brutal force. The package, the explosion, the assimilation, the dead thugs, the terrifying power now fused to his very being. It was all real. He was… something else now. A host. A vessel for a "Shadow Wyrm."
A wave of nausea, more potent than the lingering ache in his head, washed over him. He pressed his hands to his face, trying to block out the glowing text, trying to deny the truth. But the System was implacable, its presence a constant, undeniable weight in his mind. He felt a deep, gnawing emptiness in his core, a hunger that was different from any normal starvation he'd ever experienced. It wasn't just his stomach; it was a craving that seemed to emanate from his very bones, from the thrumming, alien energy that now suffused him. The System's "sustenance" requirement.
He could hear his mother moving about in the main room, the familiar sounds of her preparing for her early shift at the district textile recycling plant – the clink of chipped ceramic mugs, the sigh of the ancient water purifier. Elara would still be asleep. The thought of facing them, of trying to act normal when he felt like a monster wearing human skin, filled him with a profound dread. How could he look them in the eye, knowing what he'd become, what he'd done, what this System now demanded of him?
[SYSTEM ADVISORY: SUSTENANCE PROTOCOL – ASSIMILATION OF VITAL ESSENCE IS REQUIRED FOR DRACONIC ENERGY RESTORATION AND EVOLUTIONARY PROGRESS. CURRENT RESERVES INSUFFICIENT FOR OPTIMAL SYSTEM FUNCTION OR MANIFESTATION OF PROTECTIVE DRACONIC ABILITIES. IDENTIFY AND ACQUIRE SUITABLE SOURCE(S) WITHIN 12 STANDARD HOURS.]
Twelve hours. The deadline hung in his mind like a guillotine's blade. "Suitable sources." The System's euphemism for living beings. The memory of the desiccated husks on the loading platform, the sickeningly sweet taste, made him gag. He couldn't. He wouldn't. Not again.
But the hunger was a physical ache now, a cold fire spreading through his limbs, making them tremble. His enhanced senses, a passive gift from his new draconic core, picked up the faint scent of his mother's synth-kaf, the rhythmic beat of Elara's sleeping heart through the thin partition wall. These mundane, human sensations were now overlaid with a terrifying new layer of perception – he could almost feel their life force, their vital essence, a faint, warm glow in his mind's eye. The System pulsed a faint, almost eager, acknowledgment. [Low-Grade Vital Essence Signatures Detected (Proximity: Close). Familial Bond Resonance: High. System Recommendation: Avoid assimilation from primary social/familial unit due to potential for severe psychological destabilization of Host.]
Relief, so potent it was dizzying, washed over him, quickly followed by a fresh wave of horror. The System had considered them as sources. The fact that it advised against it due to "psychological destabilization" rather than any moral consideration was chilling. This thing inside him was utterly alien, utterly amoral.
He had to get out of the apartment before he faced his mother, before she saw the haunted look in his eyes, the subtle but undeniable changes he felt thrumming beneath his skin. He still had the permanent +1 to his Strength and Vitality from the previous night. Did he look different? Feel different to the touch?
He fumbled for his worn clothes, his movements clumsy. His head still ached, but the System noted his "Draconic Senses (Passive – Tier 0)" were slightly sharper – the dim light of the alcove seemed brighter, the sounds of the apartment block more distinct. He could hear the wheezing cough of old Mr. Henderson in the apartment below, the distant rumble of a cargo transport on the main thoroughfare three blocks away. It was overwhelming, disorienting.
He managed to slip out of the apartment just as his mother was about to emerge from her own small sleeping space. He mumbled a hasty excuse about an early courier pickup he'd forgotten, avoiding her gaze, and fled into the pre-dawn gloom of District 7.
The streets were mostly deserted, the air thick with the usual smog and the smell of desperation. Where could he go? What could he do? The hunger was a gnawing beast now, making his thoughts cloudy, his steps unsteady. He needed to find a "suitable source," and soon. But the thought of hunting, of taking another life, even that of a street thug, filled him with a paralyzing revulsion.
He found himself wandering towards the more derelict, abandoned sectors near the District 8 borderlands, the System's azure navigation line a ghostly guide he hadn't consciously decided to follow. This was where the dregs of society often congregated – sump-scavengers, feral gangs, individuals who had fallen through even the wide cracks of District 7's meager social net. They were dangerous, yes, but also… expendable, in the cold calculus of the city. A horrifying thought, but one the System seemed to subtly endorse. [ANALYZING LOCAL ENVIRONMENT: Multiple Low-Grade Vital Essence Signatures Detected (Feral Humanoid Type). Threat Assessment: Variable (Low to Moderate). Potential for Sustenance Acquisition: High.]
He stumbled into a ruined marketplace, its stalls long since looted and collapsed. A pack of sump-rats, mutated and oversized, scattered at his approach. He ignored them. The System had specified "humanoid" vital essence, or "Ancient Creatures." Rats wouldn't do.
Then he saw them – three figures huddled around a meager fire barrel, their faces gaunt and desperate, their clothes little more than rags. They were arguing over a piece of scavenged metal, their voices harsh and grating. They looked like they hadn't eaten a proper meal in days. They were pathetic, wretched. And to the cold, alien hunger now consuming Kai, they were… prey.
He tried to turn away, to fight the rising instinct, the System's insistent prompting. But his body was failing him. The [Draconic Energy Reserves: 25%] warning flashed insistently in his vision. Dizziness assailed him. His legs felt like lead. If he didn't feed this… this dragon… within him, he would collapse. He might die.
With a choked sob that was lost in the wind, Kai, the boy who had dreamed of being like Leon, the boy who just wanted to provide for his family, took a hesitant, stumbling step towards the flickering firelight, towards the unsuspecting figures, towards an act that would shatter the last vestiges of his innocence. The Dragon System had presented its bill. And the price was his soul.