The goblin's retreating screech echoed unnervingly in the sudden silence of Alex's apartment, a silence thick with the coppery tang of blood and the dust motes dancing in the slivers of moonlight piercing the gloom. Alex stood panting, chest heaving, the cheap chef's knife feeling impossibly heavy in his trembling hand. His left forearm throbbed, a fiery counterpoint to the icy fear still gripping him.
He risked a glance down. The tear in his t-shirt sleeve was ragged, stained dark. Beneath it, three parallel gouges, not deep but definitely bleeding, marred his skin. The pain was sharp, real, a visceral confirmation that the [-8 HP] notification wasn't just data on the ethereal blue screen still hovering persistently in his vision. He focused on the HP bar: [HP: 92/100]. It remained stubbornly static. No slow, comforting regeneration tick like in Aethelgard's Legacy after a minor skirmish. Whatever healing this 'System' allowed, it wasn't automatic or fast, at least not yet.
Think, Alex, think! His gamer brain, slowly wrestling control back from the primal panic centers, started issuing directives. Threat neutralized (temporarily). Assess status. Secure immediate area. Plan next move.
First, the wound. Stumbling on legs that felt like overcooked noodles, he made his way to the bathroom. Flicking the light switch was futile, muscle memory betraying the new reality. He fumbled in the dark cabinets under the sink, his fingers brushing past forgotten toiletries before closing around a small, thankfully well-stocked first-aid kit he'd bought ages ago and never used.
Working by the dim moonlight filtering through the bathroom's small window, he cleaned the scratches as best he could with antiseptic wipes that stung fiercely, eliciting a hiss of pain. He slapped on some antibiotic ointment and wrapped his forearm clumsily with gauze and tape. It wasn't pretty, but it stopped the bleeding and offered a thin layer of protection. Mundane actions felt strangely grounding amidst the utter madness.
He went back to the living room, his eyes drawn to the chef's knife lying on the floor near where the goblin had dropped it. Dark, greenish-black ichor coated the blade. Bile rose in his throat. He hesitated, then forced himself to pick it up. Wiped it clean – grimacing – on a discarded T-shirt. It was a pathetic weapon, unbalanced and never meant for combat, but it was all he had. And it had saved his life. The notification [Basic Knife Proficiency (Passive) - Rank 1/10] felt less absurd now, more like a grim necessity. Maybe rank 1 wasn't much, but it was something.
Next: supplies. His gamer mind immediately thought in terms of inventory slots and carry weight. He grabbed his sturdy hiking backpack from the closet – a relic from a hiking trip he'd meant to take last summer but never got around to. He emptied it quickly, then started 'looting' his own apartment with a desperate efficiency.
Water bottle – filled from the tap while the pressure still held. Several protein bars and bags of jerky from his gaming snack stash. The first-aid kit went in. A small, powerful LED flashlight and spare batteries – essential now. A multi-tool he'd gotten as a gift. Duct tape – because, as countless zombie movies suggested, duct tape was always useful. He debated taking the replica sword from the wall again, then scoffed. Useless weight. He needed practicality, not fantasy props. He zipped the backpack shut, hefting its reassuring weight onto his shoulders.
Okay. Gear check. Health… manageable. Weapon… pathetic but present. Supplies… minimal but better than nothing. Next objective: escape the compromised apartment. Destination: ground floor, then… figure it out.
He crept towards the shattered remains of his front door, knife held ready, heart pounding anew. He peered cautiously out into the hallway. Emergency lights flickered intermittently at the far end, casting long, dancing shadows. The air hung heavy with the smell of dust, ozone, and something metallic… blood. Dark stains smeared the carpet near his doorway – the goblin's trail. Further down, another apartment door hung open, splintered like his own. No sounds came from within. Silence, in this new world, was rarely comforting.
Should he follow the goblin's blood trail? Find out where it went? No, his mind screamed. Avoid unnecessary conflict. Objective: egress.
He slipped out into the hallway, hugging the wall, moving slowly, deliberately placing each footstep to minimize noise. He felt ridiculously exposed. Every creak of the building, every distant, unidentifiable sound, made him jump. He half-expected a [Stealth Detected] notification to flash, but the UI remained impassive, only showing his basic stats and the faint glow of his newly acquired knife skill icon. Apparently, just trying to be sneaky didn't automatically grant a skill. Good to know. Made sense, he supposed. This wasn't that much like a game.
He reached the fire escape stairwell door at the end of the hall. It was heavy steel, thankfully intact. He pushed it open slowly, wincing at the faint groan of the hinges, and slipped inside, letting it click softly shut behind him.
The stairwell was cast in near-total darkness. The emergency lights here were either dead or hadn't activated. Cold, stale air descended from above, carrying faint, echoing sounds that were impossible to place. The concrete steps spiraled down into blackness. Fifteen floors to go.
He gripped the cold metal handrail, took a breath, and began the descent. Each footstep seemed amplified in the enclosed space. He kept the knife ready, scanning the landings above and below, straining his ears. Was that shuffling? A distant moan? Or just the wind whistling through broken windows somewhere in the building?
On the landing between the 12th and 11th floors, he saw it. A crumpled shape slumped against the wall. As he drew closer, his flashlight beam trembling, the shape resolved into a human form – an elderly man in pajamas, eyes wide and unseeing, a dark stain spreading across his chest. Alex's stomach churned. He quickly averted his gaze, hurrying past, the image burned into his mind. This was real. Death was real. The stakes couldn't be higher.
Between the 9th and 8th floors, a heavy, rhythmic thudding echoed from below. It sounded… large. Alex froze on the landing, pressing himself flat against the cold concrete wall, holding his breath. The thudding grew louder, closer, ascending the stairs towards him. He could feel the vibrations through the soles of his shoes. He risked a quick peek over the railing. Nothing visible yet, but the sound was definitely something big and heavy-limbed. He squeezed his eyes shut, praying it wouldn't sense him. The thudding passed his level, continued upwards, and gradually faded. He waited a full minute after the sound disappeared completely before daring to move again, his muscles screaming from the tension.
The descent was agonizingly slow, a test of nerve more than endurance, though his legs were starting to burn by the time he reached the lower floors. He was drenched in sweat, not just from exertion but from sheer terror. Every shadow seemed to writhe, every echo sounded like an approaching monster.
He was somewhere around the 3rd floor landing, pausing to catch his breath, when it happened.
Flicker. Buzz.
The overhead fluorescent light fixture directly above him sputtered to life, casting the stairwell in harsh, sterile white light. A second later, another light further down buzzed on, then another. Main power. It was… back?
Alex blinked against the sudden brightness, momentarily disoriented. He instinctively checked his UI. No notification. No explanation. Just… light.
Was this good or bad? He could see better, no longer needing his flashlight, but surely whatever creatures lurked in the building could see him better too? And wouldn't lights and the hum of electricity attract more unwanted attention?
As if in answer, a faint chirp came from his pocket. He fumbled for his phone. The screen flickered on, displaying the charging icon at a miraculous 3%, along with the dreaded "No Service" indicator, before the screen went dark again, the battery finally giving up the ghost completely. A tease. A glimpse of the world that had vanished only hours ago, now irrelevant. The System was the new reality.
He continued down, more cautious than ever now that he was illuminated. The sounds from the ground floor grew louder – not just chaos, but voices. Human voices. Arguing?
He reached the final flight of stairs leading down into the lobby. He slowed, peering around the corner before descending the last few steps.
The lobby was a disaster zone, but an occupied one. The main glass entrance doors were shattered, but someone had dragged heavy sofas, overturned tables, and potted plants to form a crude, almost pathetic barricade across the opening. Broken glass crunched underfoot. Fluorescent lights overhead flickered erratically, casting stark shadows. In the center of the lobby lay the corpse of a Goblin Scout, looking identical to the one he'd fought, its skull caved in messily.
About eight or nine people were huddled behind the makeshift barricade, their faces pale and drawn in the flickering light. They were a motley group – a young woman in yoga pants clutching a fire extinguisher, an older man in a security guard uniform (unarmed, uniform torn), a couple clinging to each other, a businessman in a suit jacket but no tie holding a tire iron. Fear radiated off them in palpable waves.
They spotted him the moment he stepped fully into the lobby. Several gasped, weapons (or potential weapons) instantly raised.
"Whoa! Hold on!" Alex said quickly, raising his hands, keeping the knife pointed down. "I live here. Fifteenth floor."
The security guard, a portly man whose name tag read 'Frank', squinted at him. "Fifteenth? How'd you get down here? We thought… we thought everything above ten was overrun."
"Almost was," Alex said grimly, gesturing vaguely upstairs with the knife. "Had a… visitor. Door's gone."
The young woman with the fire extinguisher, maybe in her early twenties with her hair hastily tied back, eyed his bloody sleeve and the knife. "You fought one of those… things? Alone?" Her voice held a mixture of disbelief and grudging respect.
"Sort of," Alex admitted. "It ran off." He decided against mentioning the UI, the levels, the skills. They looked terrified enough already; adding impossible game mechanics to the mix probably wouldn't help. Not yet. He needed to gauge the situation first.
"We gotta get out of here, Frank," the businessman snapped, nervously tapping the tire iron against his leg. "This barricade won't hold if more of them come. My car's in the garage. We could make a run for it."
"And go where, Henderson?" Frank retorted tiredly. "The streets are swarming! Saw a thing the size of a damned Smart Car out there earlier! We're safer here, barricaded in."
"Safer?" scoffed a young man Alex hadn't noticed before, leaning against the reception desk, arms crossed. He looked like a student, maybe early twenties like Alex. "We're trapped fish in a barrel. We saw those… those gates opening up! And that tower! This is just the beginning. Staying put is suicide."
Alex listened, his gamer mind analyzing the group dynamics. Frank, the reluctant leader by default of his uniform. Henderson, the panicked pragmatist focused on immediate escape. The skeptical student (no weapon visible, interestingly). The terrified couple. The woman with the extinguisher, who seemed watchful and relatively calm despite the fear in her eyes. A fragile, fractured group united only by circumstance and terror.
"Anyone seen… anything else?" Alex asked cautiously. "Besides those goblin things?"
The woman with the extinguisher nodded grimly. "Shadows. Fast things, like big dogs made of smoke. Seem drawn to light. And Frank wasn't kidding about the big one. Something huge smashed a delivery truck down the block like it was paper."
Shadow Hounds drawn to light? Great. Alex thought, glancing nervously at the flickering overheads. The partial return of power suddenly felt like a curse.
"And the… the screens?" Alex ventured, keeping his voice low. "Anyone else seeing…?"
Blank stares met him. A couple of them frowned in confusion.
"Screens? What screens?" Frank asked.
Okay. So maybe not everyone got the System interface? Or maybe they just hadn't noticed or understood it amidst the panic? Interesting. That gave Alex an information advantage, but also isolated him further.
He needed to make a decision. Stay with this group? They offered safety in numbers, however slim, and potentially shared resources. But they were disorganized, frightened, and already arguing. Their barricade was laughably inadequate. Trying to move with them would be slow and attract attention. Striking out alone felt insane, but offered speed and stealth. His gamer instincts screamed for a small, competent team, but where would he find one in this nightmare?
Before he could weigh the options further, a low growl echoed from outside, cutting through the nervous chatter in the lobby. It wasn't the high-pitched screech of a goblin. This was deeper, guttural, predatory.
Multiple sets of glowing red eyes appeared in the darkness beyond the shattered glass doors, focusing on the flickering lights and the figures huddled within.
"They're back!" the woman with the extinguisher hissed, hefting the red cylinder.
Henderson swore, gripping his tire iron. Frank fumbled uselessly at his empty belt holster. The couple whimpered.
Alex's eyes locked onto the creatures peering through the gaps in the barricade. They resembled large, unnaturally gaunt dogs, but their fur was replaced by shifting, semi-corporeal shadow, and their eyes burned with intelligence. Shadow Hounds, he guessed. The System didn't offer a convenient name tag this time. Maybe he needed to be closer, or maybe it only worked on certain types?
Growl. One of the hounds slammed its shadowy bulk against the barricade. A heavy potted plant skittered back. The makeshift defense wouldn't last long.
Panic erupted. Henderson was yelling about the garage again. Frank was trying to rally the others with shaky commands.
Alex felt a strange calm descend amidst the chaos. This was it. Another fight. Another test. Maybe… maybe a chance to gain some EXP? Learn another skill? The thought was horrifyingly pragmatic.
He looked at the others, then at the approaching shadows. Staying here meant fighting alongside these unprepared, terrified strangers. Leaving now meant abandoning them to face the hounds alone while he slipped out a side exit… if one even existed.
Suddenly, as if prompted by the imminent danger and his internal conflict, a new window popped up on his UI, stark and demanding:
[Threat Detected! Combat Imminent!]
[Initial Latent Potential Scan Complete.]
[Choose Your Path! Select Your Starting Class:]
[ ] Warrior (Melee Combat Specialist - STR/VIT Focus)
[ ] Mage (Elemental Magic User - INT/MP Focus)
[ ] Ranger (Ranged Combat & Survival - DEX/PER Focus)
[ ] Rogue (Stealth & Precision Strikes - AGI/DEX Focus)
[Warning: Class Selection is Permanent!]
The Shadow Hounds hit the barricade again, harder this time. A sofa scraped loudly across the marble floor. Screams erupted from the huddled survivors.
Alex stared at the Class Selection screen, the weight of the permanent choice pressing down even as the immediate threat loomed inches away. Warrior? Mage? Ranger? Rogue? His gamer instincts, his survival instincts, and the ticking clock of the approaching monsters warred within him.
He had maybe five seconds to choose the path that would define his survival – or his death – in this unbound world.