The pale morning light crept through the boarded window, slipping between the cracks like fingers of warmth in a cold world. It washed over the bed, where Priya lay curled beneath the thin blanket, one bare leg draped over the edge, her chest rising and falling in the rhythm of deep, contented sleep.
Ron sat beside her, shirtless, his back resting against the cool wall. He hadn't slept—not really. Not after a night like that.
His eyes traced the gentle slope of her shoulder, the curve of her hip beneath the sheet. Bruises dotted her skin—small marks from the passion they had shared, but also reminders of the battles they had both survived. The faint purpling on her thigh from the frostbite had faded, but he'd never forget how close he came to losing her.
He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek. She shifted slightly, murmuring something incoherent in her sleep, then settled again. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
Ron didn't smile back.
Not because he didn't want to. But because he was afraid of how fragile this moment was. The world outside that room was death, fire, and cold ash. But inside? Inside was warmth. Soft breathing. Her.
He let his head fall back against the wall with a quiet thud. His body still ached. Not just from last night, but from everything. Every fight, every choice, every loss. Nokul's death still clung to him. Raj's blood was still on his hands.
And yet, she was here.
Priya.
The one soul he hadn't expected to find in the ruins.
A soft yawn broke the silence. Ron glanced down as Priya stretched, her arm reaching toward him like instinct.
"Hey…" she mumbled, eyes still closed. Her voice was thick with sleep.
"Morning," he said quietly.
She cracked an eye open, squinting at the light. "Did you sleep at all?"
He shook his head. "Didn't feel like wasting the moment."
Her brows furrowed slightly. "You're thinking too much again."
"I always do."
She shifted, pulling herself up until she was sitting beside him. The blanket slipped, revealing her bare shoulder, and she didn't bother hiding it. Instead, she leaned her head on his arm.
They stayed like that for a long while—just breathing. Just being.
Outside, the wind howled faintly against the building walls. But inside, it was still.
And for once, stillness wasn't terrifying.
The old electric stove buzzed faintly, the coil glowing orange under a dented steel pot. Steam curled into the air as Priya stirred a mixture of rice and canned mushrooms, her movements slow and gentle, careful not to burn it.
"Smells decent," Ron said, leaning against the kitchen counter, his arms folded. "You always make it taste better than it should."
She glanced over her shoulder with a soft smirk. "I could make tree bark taste good if I had to. Lucky for us, we've still got enough rations to last a few weeks."
"Thanks to Raj's hoarding," Ron muttered.
"Thanks to you not torching the whole building when you were angry," she teased.
He grunted, walking over to the small folding table in the corner—the one barely big enough for two. It had once belonged to a monster. Now, it was theirs. The apartment smelled of warmth and food, a rare comfort in a world gone cold.
Priya brought over two plates and sat down opposite him. They dug in quietly, the mix of soft rice and chewy mushrooms more satisfying than it had any right to be. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence between them peaceful.
Then Priya looked up. "Feels strange, doesn't it?"
Ron raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"This. Morning light, hot food, you across the table instead of bleeding on the floor or fighting a mutant." She nudged his foot beneath the table. "Almost feels like a real life."
He gave a low chuckle. "If this is real life, I might be tempted to keep it."
Her smile was small but genuine. "Then keep it."
When they finished, Ron stood up and crossed the room to the couch. Sitting atop it was a large black duffel bag—its zipper straining slightly from the weight of what lay inside. He lifted it, placed it heavily on the table, and unzipped it. A faint green glow spilled out.
Inside were 200 zombie cores. Smooth, pulsing orbs, humming like something alive.
Priya's expression sobered as she stared down at them.
"You're really going through with it?"
Ron nodded. "We can't afford to stay behind. Not with Jonathan turning into a bigger problem."
She looked at him, searching his face. "Then split it. Half each."
He reached for one, but she stepped forward, placing a hand gently on his arm.
"No. You take all of them."
Ron frowned. "That's not—"
"You're at Level 5," she cut in. "If 200 gets you to Level 10, you become demi-human. That's what we need."
"And you?" he asked quietly.
"I'll take what's left after. If you only need 160 cores, I'll use the remaining 40 to go from Level 3 to 5. That's enough for me. Right now, we need you to be stronger."
He looked into her eyes. There was no fear there, no hesitation. Just belief.
He let out a slow breath, then nodded. "Alright."
He picked up the first core. It vibrated softly in his hand, almost as if it recognized him. As he pressed it to his chest, light flared, and a familiar burning pain erupted inside him.
Ron clenched his jaw, sweat breaking on his forehead as the core began its work—reshaping him, tearing through flesh and soul alike.
Pain came like a tidal wave—sharp, searing, relentless.
Ron fell to his knees on the cold floor, his hand still pressed against the glowing orb. The room around him blurred, then twisted, then vanished altogether.
He opened his eyes… and found himself somewhere else entirely.
A sea stretched out around him—vast, endless, and crimson. It churned like molten blood beneath a sky the color of bruised dusk. Floating above the horizon, immense and silent, hovered the same radiant orb he had seen once before. Only now… it was closer. Alive. Pulsing.
Ron stood barefoot on nothing, his body casting no shadow. His breathing was ragged, but here in this strange, quiet place, there was no wind, no sound—just the thrum of evolution vibrating through his bones.
And then the voice came.
Ancient, colossal, emotionless.
"Congratulations, Earthlink. You have reached Demi-Human Level 1."
The sky rippled. Energy crackled through the air.
"You have awakened a supernatural ability. The Third Eye."
Ron's vision dimmed for a moment—then flared.
A sudden weight pressed against the center of his forehead. Not physical, but… energetic. A presence. Not visible in the mirror, but felt. It pulsed with a power that didn't belong to this world.
"This Eye is forged from the energy of the God of Destruction."
The crimson sea boiled.
"Abilities include—perception of life energy, detection of evolution cores, and an affinity for destruction-based skill trees."
Ron staggered, the information burning into his mind like a brand.
It all made sense now—how he had sensed the presence of cores inside the undead. It wasn't instinct. It was the Eye. Dormant until now.
But then a thought clawed its way into his mind.
If I only awakened now… why could I sense cores back at Level 5? Was it triggered early… because I almost died?
The sea calmed again, as if answering his unspoken question.
"Under life-and-death duress, certain awakenings may manifest early. Consider it… a fracture in the system."
Ron's eyes widened.
A crack in the system?
He turned his gaze upward at the floating orb. It no longer looked like a gift. It looked like a gatekeeper. Watching. Judging.
Before he could ask more, the sea began to crumble. The sky tore open. And his body was yanked violently upward.
---
With a gasp, Ron returned to the room.
He was flat on his back, drenched in sweat, chest heaving. Priya knelt beside him, worry etched into her face.
"Ron…? You okay?"
He blinked. Then slowly, painfully, he sat up. His body felt stronger. Sharper. The world looked… clearer, though he couldn't explain how.
"I'm more than okay," he muttered.
He looked at the couch. Only 40 cores remained.
"Your turn."
Priya sat cross-legged on the rug, her palms trembling slightly as she lifted the small pouch Ron had passed her. Inside, 40 perfectly round green cores shimmered softly—each one a heartbeat stolen from a fallen creature.
She glanced at Ron, still sitting on the floor, his hair damp, eyes distant like he hadn't quite returned from wherever he'd gone.
"Sure you're okay?" she asked, voice low.
He nodded, lips parting into a tired smile. "Just… hold on if it hurts. And breathe through it."
Priya gave a short laugh. "That's what you said last night too."
Ron grinned.
Then, without another word, she lifted the first core to her chest.
The light shot into her like lightning. Her body jolted. Ron moved instantly, catching her from behind, letting her lean into him as the pain began. Her back arched, breath ragged, eyes squeezed shut.
Core after core, she absorbed them, her skin glowing faintly as the energy reshaped her cells. Ron held her tightly, whispering comfort through her gasps, through the trembling of her limbs, until finally, after the fortieth, the glow dimmed.
She slumped into him, breathless, skin hot with fevered energy.
"You did it," he whispered into her ear. "Metahuman… Level 5."
Her fingers curled around his hand. "It… hurts more than I thought," she murmured.
"It always does."
They stayed like that for a while—wrapped in warmth, in pain, in silence. Until a sound broke through.
Knock. Knock.
Both their heads turned toward the apartment door.
They looked at each other.
Three more knocks followed. Light, hesitant. Almost nervous.
Priya stood slowly, her legs still shaky from evolution. She pulled on Ron's hoodie, brushed back her hair, and opened the door.
It was Jiya.
She stood in the hallway, fidgeting, her eyes glassy with worry. Her lower lip trembled.
"Can I… come in?" she asked softly.
"Of course," Priya said, stepping aside. But something in Jiya's body language made Ron stand up.
Jiya walked in, holding the hem of her pants up just enough to reveal her shin. A faint smear of dried blood. A tiny wound—no bigger than a dog's bite—marked the skin.
"I think..." Her voice broke. "I think it happened yesterday. When those dogs with human faces chased us... I must've gotten nicked when I tripped."
Ron's expression darkened instantly.
He crouched, examining the wound. The signs were unmistakable—discoloration, heat, a slow pulsing beneath the skin. It wasn't a scratch.
It was a bite.
"No…" Priya whispered, stepping back in horror.
Jiya sat on the couch, wringing her fingers together. "I didn't notice it at first. I thought it was just a bruise, but it's getting worse. I feel... weird."
Her voice cracked.
"I don't want to turn. I don't want to become that."
Ron didn't answer right away. He stood silently, jaw clenched.
Priya sat beside Jiya, hugging her gently, trying to stay composed.
"There's still a chance," Ron said, his voice calm, steady. "If we can get you an evolution orb, the virus won't work."
Jiya looked up, hope flaring in her eyes. "You… you have one?"
The silence that followed was thick.
Ron and Priya exchanged a quick glance—but said nothing.
The truth was brutal.
They had an orb. Just one. They got it after killing Raj. And they'd used it on Priya. Because they had no choice.
But they couldn't say that.
Couldn't let anyone know that evolution orbs could drop from dead evolvers. If that truth spread, the world would rip itself apart. No one would be safe. Especially not them.
So Ron forced a slow nod. "We'll get one," he said. "Somehow."
"How long?" Jiya asked, barely above a whisper.
Ron exhaled. "Ten hours. Maybe less."
She looked down at her shaking hands.
"I'll wait," she said. "I'll wait, and I'll trust you."
She didn't see the guilt in Ron's eyes.
Didn't notice the way Priya reached for his hand behind her back.
Because neither of them said what they were thinking.
That to save Jiya… they might have to kill again.