The day had come—the one X had warned him about.
If Tilus followed X, he would survive. No matter how many cities burned, no matter how many people died, he would make it through. That was the promise. That was certainty.
But was that what he wanted?
His body screamed for rest, exhaustion gnawing at his bones, but he forced himself forward. Just ahead, the bookstore stood like a lone island in a sea of ruin. His friends were inside. Still alive.
There are many ways to survive, so what is the way to survive without regrets ?
A low, guttural snarl broke through the stillness.
The street ahead writhed with movement. Infected. Once-human creatures, their bodies twisted into grotesque parodies of life. Their skin, cracked and peeling, pulsed with something dark beneath the surface. Blackened veins, hollow eyes, mouths hanging open in hunger. The nearest one lifted its head, sniffing the air.
Then, it turned.
The others followed.
A scream tore through the air—coming from the bookstore.
Tilus's chest tightened. They were still alive.
Adrenaline surged through his exhausted limbs, overriding the pain, the fear. He knew this was a mistake. He knew this wasn't what X had told him to do. But even so—
His grip tighten on the bar on his hand
One of the infected lunged.
One week ago, Tilus's phone buzzed, a strange message lighting up the screen. The sender? A mysterious figure known only as X.
X: "Stay inside. Stock up on food and water for one week. Do NOT go out, no matter what happens. A catastrophe is coming."
Tilus frowned at the text. X had sent cryptic warnings before—about minor delays, some random mishaps, and strange occurrences that always somehow turned out true. The messages would come from different numbers, leaving Tilus suspicious of the person's motives. Yet no matter how many times he asked for clarification, X never responded. Messages were sent. Numbers disappeared. Tilus dismissed it, as always.
Five hours earlier...
"Good job, Tilus."
"Make no mistake."
"Great work today, Tilus."
He was always the model employee—precise, efficient, the one who hit every deadline. After another long day, another soul-crushing overtime, Tilus sighed. The grind had worn him down. At least he could go home.
The streets of Ho Chi Minh City roared with life. Motorcycles zigzagged through traffic. Pedestrians and drivers clashed, an unsung battle for space in the city's arteries. The air was thick with exhaust fumes, the scent of sizzling street food mixing with the metallic tang of engines.
He weaved through the chaos on his motorcycle, a nameless specter drifting through the frenzy. As he passed by a row of neon-lit stores, his reflection flickered in the glass—skin pale under fluorescent lights, eyes hollowed from long nights. He wasn't sick, but something was fading, slipping away, like a man halfway between being and vanishing.
His rented house greeted him with the familiar, musty scent of mildew, clinging to the worn-out walls. Flip-flops cluttered the entryway as he stepped inside, the lazy ceiling fan doing nothing to alleviate the heat that clung to the air. His room, a fortress of books stacked high like an unsteady wall against reality, was the only place where Tilus could escape. Stories of power, of adventures, of purpose. Everything he didn't have.
Tilus collapsed onto his bed and opened his phone, mindlessly scrolling through the latest headlines:
"Mysterious 'C-Virus' cases detected in several cities."
"Experts say it's not serious, just another flu."
"Quarantine measures suggested—but no need to panic."
The comments were a mix of skepticism and fear:
"Another media scare."
"It's fake news."
"My cousin works in a hospital—this is worse than they say."
His phone buzzed again. The name on the screen: Dad.
Tilus sighed, picking it up.
"Hello, son. How are you doing?"
"I'm fine, Dad."
"Good, good. Take care of yourself over there. Oh, by the way, you coming home for Tet? It's been four years, you know. Your mom keeps—"
"I'll try my best," Tilus lied, his voice cracking slightly. He had said the same thing every year.
A pause. Then, a sigh. "Yeah, we can travel, you know. Life's short. Enjoy it while you can."
Tilus glanced at the orange pill bottles scattered across his desk, half-hidden beneath a Romance of the Three Kingdoms omnibus. "Yeah. Short."
His gaze lingered on the pills. His father had called them a necessity for "health," a life-saving miracle. But Tilus had learned to shove them out of sight.
"Oh, and guess what? Your brother's having a kid soon. You're going to be an uncle!"
The news hit him like a punch. Somewhere in Da Nang, life continued without him—family dinners, newborn nieces, incense coils swirling above ancestral altars. A life he wasn't a part of anymore.
"Find a nice girl," his father pressed.
"A wife won't fall from the sky," Tilus interrupted.
"You won't know unless you look up."
The conversation dragged on, full of small talk and familiar silences. Eventually, the nurse called his father back to work.
But before hanging up, his father's voice turned serious. "One last thing—make sure you're stocked up on supplies today. The news says this C-virus is spreading fast. Food, water, medicine—get what you can. And wear a mask when you go out."
Tilus exhaled sharply. "Dad, I know. You've told me like ten times already."
"And I'll say it an eleventh if I have to! You always forget these things."
A faint smile tugged at Tilus's lips. Some things never changed.
"Alright, alright. I'll take care of it."
"You better. Stay safe, son."
The line went dead, and the house fell into silence. Stocking up on supplies? Didn't that guy named X tell him the same thing? Even before his dad's reminder. He had already done it, though. Already taken precautions. He had listened, despite his doubts.
But still, the dread gnawed at him as his phone buzzed once again. This time, it wasn't his dad.
Later that night...
The phone buzzed again. Tilus groaned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, answering with the half-hearted tone of someone still recovering from the grind of the day.
"Yo, you awake?"
William's voice came through, steady, but tinged with something unusual.
Tilus yawned. "Barely. What's up?"
"You should really stop sleeping like a corpse."
"You didn't call just to critique my sleep schedule."
William was quiet for a moment. "No. Something weird's going on."
Tilus sat up, now fully alert. William wasn't the type to get rattled.
"Weird how?"
"People are acting like it's the end of the world," William said. He listed off the strange things he had seen today:
A man coughing violently in a café, ignored by everyone.A woman in a mask muttering about staying safe, only to be glared at by passersby.Big C supermarket shelves emptying, people fighting over rice and instant noodles.
"It feels... off," William finished, his voice tight.
Tilus frowned. "You're not usually the paranoid type."
"I'm not. But my gut says something's coming."
A loud bang echoed from outside the door.
"Shit," William muttered. "I forgot my key."
Tilus blinked. "Wait—you forgot something? You?"
William was never forgetful. His routines were immaculate. If he forgot his key, that meant he was... stressed.
Tilus sighed and got up, moving to the door.
"Alright, alright, I'm coming."
Just as he reached for the door, his phone buzzed again. Unknown number. He frowned.
He never answered unknown calls.
Then a text.
"A catastrophe is coming. Prepare yourself."
Tilus scoffed, ready to dismiss it as more nonsense. But then—a chill crept down his spine.
Suddenly, the power cut out.
Darkness swallowed the house. The usual hum of the city—the honking horns, distant chatter—fell silent.
William's voice echoed from outside the door. "Hey, did you forget to pay the bill?"
Tilus's heart skipped a beat. "No. I paid for it."
And then—
A scream.
Followed by chaos outside.
Before Tilus could react, the room grew cold. A holographic screen flickered to life before them, its edges crackling with static. Glyphs scrawled themselves across the void:
A figure appeared.
Not human.
It was four feet tall, its body cracked porcelain, and its face was a grotesque jester's mask—one half blood-red, the other an abyss of black. Hollow eyes gleamed with something wrong.
It wore a harlequin's outfit, its bells letting out a low, unnatural hum, like reality itself shuddered under its presence.
It moved too smoothly. Too alive for something that should be a puppet. Then it spoke.
"Greetings, everyone."
Its voice slithered through the air, warped and inhuman.
"My name is Verismon. Right now, I am broadcasting across Vietnam. There are others like me, all around the world, delivering the same message. The guardian God who protected this world is no more. So we have to activate the Self-Selection Sequence for a new guardian God. You humans will now face trials that will push you to despair."
"Now—let the Stage begin."
A window appeared before Tilus:
[Stage 0: Survive the Corrosion Disaster]
The world is being infected by an unknown virus named C-Virus.
Those infected enter a berserk, violent state. Their eyes turn red.
The C-virus is airborne.
Each person will be given one antidote pill per day. After that, they are on their own.
Type: Main
Difficulty: F
Clear Conditions: Survive for 7 days
Time Limit: 7 days
Compensation: 100 Coins
Failure: Death
Verismon's voice returned, almost cheerful.
"Good luck, humans. You'll need it."
The screen blinked:
[The first infected has already turned.]
Tilus's breath caught in his throat. He turned to William, wide-eyed.
And outside—
The screaming began.