The heat was becoming unbearable.
It clung to Chika's cheap shirt, transforming the fabric into a claustrophobic layer that pressed against his back.
The air was searing, warping the horizon into a shimmering, oily mirage that made his eyes sting behind his glasses.
Along the gravel and cracked asphalt, twenty-eight pairs of feet advanced in a rhythmic march, the sound echoing loudly in the strange quiet of the afternoon.
Chika halted...
Ahead of them was the Franco Pitch.
Just a few hours earlier, it had been a dry expanse where students kicked around a football, and rusty goalposts stood like isolated watchmen.
But now, it resembled a lush, green sea.
The vegetation had flourished uncontrollably; the grass towered waist-high, thick as fingers and glowing with a vibrant, almost radioactive green, swaying in a breeze Chika couldn't perceive.
It sparkled with a subtle, internal glow...
[SYSTEM IDENTIFICATION]
[Name: Energy Grass
Tier: 1 (Common)
Properties: Minor energy absorption. Edible but tough.]
Chika jolted; surprise crossed his face... even ordinary grass had evolved, this hinted that the surrounding trees might be valuable resources. Hope sparked within him "they could survive... if they harvested and stored it... and as a common grade, maybe there were even higher tiers... like those trees."
Energy Grass.
It resembled not so much plants as countless green blades aimed towards the sky.
"Stay close," Paul whispered from the front... he must have received the notification too; anyone who focused on the grass likely did. But he was aware they couldn't harvest it just yet.
His voice was a low rumble, barely audible over the whispering wind. He gripped his knife tightly, knuckles pale. "Avoid touching the grass if you can. It looks sharp."
Abuchi jogged up beside Chika, a bloodied chair leg slung over his shoulder. "Hey, boss," he said, his tone higher than usual, beads of sweat forming on his brow.
"Is this really the shortcut? It looks like the Amazon rain forest hooked up with a nuclear power plant."
Chika didn't respond. He was in a state of shock.
His lips moved silently.
The landscape of the pitch had transformed, concealed beneath this bizarre flora, yet the essence of the place remained unchanged.
The shadows cast from the crumbling scoreboard were exactly where they had been eighteen months prior.
Then, a familiar odor hit him, a ghostly mix of damp earth, overflowing trash, and iron... a shocking contrast to the current scent of greenery.
The unmistakable smell of blood...
The world began to spin rapidly... the green grass was replaced by the muddy darkness of that night.
Thud.
Chika flinched sharply.
"Please," a voice whimpered close to his ear... Chika immediately recognized it as Emeka's familiar tone.
He shut his eyes tightly, but the vision seared itself behind his eyelids.
In his mind's eye, he saw Emeka kneeling in the mud, Danladi's fist crashing down on Emeka's jaw like a brutal hammer.
The sound wasn't the muted thud of a film effect. Instead, it was a sickening crunch, akin to stepping on a dry branch in the woods, enough force to take out an average man.
"You ran," the Ghost murmured, its breath chilling against his neck. "You were right here, and you ran."
It gestured toward the very spot where Chika had stood during that moment.
"I..." Chika gasped, his chest rising and falling rapidly, clawing at his shirt in a desperate attempt to breathe. The guilt weighed on him like a hand around his throat.
"Chika!"
A hand gripped his shoulder. A real, warm hand... not the icy touch of Emeka.
Chika opened his eyes wide, the struggle evident on his face. The night faded, replaced by blinding sunlight. Abuchi stared back at him, panic evident in his eyes.
"Boss, you're shaking," Abuchi said in a hiss. "Get a grip. You're scaring them."
Chika glanced behind him. The twenty-five survivors from Room 301 were huddled together, watching him with fearful eyes.
They resembled cattle poised for slaughter. If he let his emotions loose now, they would undoubtedly panic.
"I'm fine," Chika lied, the words feeling abrasive as they left his throat. "Just... the heat."
"Movement!" Paul signaled, quickly dropping into a crouch, freezing the group.
Following Paul's gaze, Chika spotted the old scoreboard looming high above the pitch, a rusted relic covered in vines, its electronic panels long silent.
But now, something was stirring in the shadows of the metal structure.
The shapes didn't resemble birds at all.
They released themselves from the metal with the sound of tearing fabric, dropping into the air and unfolding wings that momentarily darkened the sky.
"Get down!" Paul shouted, diving headfirst into the foliage.
The air was filled with the cacophony of what they were creating.
A piercing screech resonated from the scoreboard, a sound that rattled in Chika's ears and made him dizzy. The swarm descended, hundreds of them... all at once.
Chika zeroed in on the lead creature, which appeared more powerful and larger than the others.
[SYSTEM IDENTIFICATION]
Name: Shadow Bat
Tier: 1 (5% purity)
Threat Level: Low (Individual) | Medium (Swarm)
Ability: Echolocation, Minor Darkness Affinity
Purity? Is this how they evolve? He quickly shifted his gaze to a smaller bat.
[2% purity]
Three percent lower than the leader... Perhaps the key to their evolution lies in their purity, but now isn't the moment to ponder that.
Shadow Bats.
They were the embodiment of nightmares, wrapped in black fur, with leathery wings spreading three feet wide and eyes that gleamed with a wicked, ruby-red light, they swooped down like a hail of arrows.
"Form a defensive circle!" Chika shouted, the command escaping his lips before he even mentally processed it. "Outer ring, ready your weapons! Inner ring, heads down!"
The swarm crashed into them.
It turned into utter chaos, clawed hands raked at their faces, wings battered their heads, and the cacophony of screeches was so piercing it left them momentarily stunned.
A bat collided with Chika's chest, knocking the breath out of him. It was dense, muscle-bound, it felt like a weighted stone smashing into him.
The stench of its breath hit him, like rotten fruit and dried blood. It lunged at his face, its yellow fangs snapping perilously close to his nose.
Chika didn't think; he reacted instinctively, flailing like a cornered animal, swinging his rock down and crushing it into the creature's ribs.
Crunch.
The bat squealed and tumbled away, thrashing in the grass.
"Strike them!" Paul was a blur of movement, wielding his knife, which glinted in the air as he cut through the swarm. Each slash claimed a life.
One bat swooped towards his throat; he dodged and severed its wing. It fell to the ground, and without losing a beat, Paul stomped on its skull.
[Shadow bat eliminated .. Saturation increased]
But there were too many... a single person couldn't take them all on...
"Get off! Get off me!" A girl from the inner circle screamed. Two bats had tangled in her hair, their claws digging painfully into her scalp.
"I've got you!" Abuchi leaped into action, swinging a chair leg like a baseball bat.
Thwack.
One bat soared away, and he seized the other with his bare hand, disregarding the claws raking at his wrist, and slammed it against the ground.
"They're too quick!" Afoma yelled from the back. She swung her scissor-spear with grim precision, but for every one she felled, two more came diving in.
Chika struggled to his feet, swinging his rock wildly. He connected with a bat's wing, feeling the bone shatter beneath his strike.
We can't win, his mind screamed. We can't shoot them either; we have no ranged weapons. We're like meat in a blender.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the swarm lifted.
The bats shrieked one last time and soared high above the pitch, appearing agitated yet retreating.
"Why have they stopped?" Abuchi panted, wiping blood from his brow. "Did we win?"
"No," Paul replied, his voice chillingly calm. He pointed across the field. "They found something else."
Chika followed his gaze.
Across the expanse, about two hundred meters away, figures emerged from the tree line near the Alvan Hostel.
They were human...
Five men strutted forward, and Chika recognized the swagger, the confident walk of men who ruled the ground beneath their feet.
Bare-chested with glistening sweat, clad in tattered jeans and military boots, they were armed with machetes, iron pipes, and axes honed to a deadly edge.
"Looks like men, probably scouts," Paul murmured. "With that kind of armament, they must belong to a gang."
"Danladi's men," Chika stated coolly, recognizing the man with a fire scar etched across his face.
Before the scouts, three students knelt on the ground. Their hands were bound tightly behind their backs with wire... sobs wracked their bodies, the signs of distress evident in their trembling shoulders.
One of the scouts, a tall, wiry man with a shaved head, stepped forward without a weapon. He simply cracked his knuckles with a grin that suggested he is enjoying himself.
"Watch," Paul whispered.
The slender scout seized the first kneeling student by their hair. The sharp scream of the student pierced the air, echoing across the pitch.
The scout didn't employ any weapons or techniques that Chika could discern. Instead, he solidified, his skin transforming into a dull, metallic gray.
Chika concentrated on him...
[SYSTEM IDENTIFICATION]
[Name: Human
Realm: Novice(early)
Affinity: Metal
Threat Level: Moderate]
With a swift motion, he swung his fist down.
A straightforward punch sent the student's skull caving in with a sickening crack, reminiscent of a dropped melon.
Laughter erupted from the other scouts, a carefree, bubbling sound as if they were simply watching a football game.
Chika felt a wave of nausea rise within him. He turned away, retching bile onto the Energy Grass.
They're executing them. Just like that, like livestock.
"We can take them," Paul asserted fiercely, his voice low and menacing. He looked at the scouts with the intent gaze of a wolf sizing up its prey. "There are only five. They're not paying attention. If we maneuver through the grass…"
"No," Chika gasped, wiping his mouth.
Paul turned to face him. "Chika, they're killing people! We have the advantage of numbers and surprise."
"Look at us, Paul!" Chika hissed, gesturing to their group.
The twenty-five survivors were in disarray, bloodied from bat scratches, some crying, others trembling so violently they struggled to hold their makeshift weapons.
They were not soldiers, they were just a terrified group of students.
"If we confront them," Chika said, his voice quivering but gradually strengthening, "the scouts will wipe us out. That guy… he hardened his skin.
He's likely E-Rank or higher. If we charge, these people will die."
He pointed towards Afoma, Tunde, and the weeping girl that Abuchi had rescued.
"We can't cross the pitch," Chika insisted. "We can't reach the Medical Center. Not like this."
"So what's the plan?" Paul moved closer, his presence intimidating. "Do we just go back? Abandon my wife? What about my daughter? Are you seriously saying you'll leave Judy behind?"
"We need to survive. Judy doesn't want a dead Chika, and I'm sure Precious doesn't either," Chika replied, locking eyes with Paul.
He summoned all his strength not to flinch. "We'll return to the Philosophy building, secure it, find real weapons, and then… then we'll make our move."
Paul stared at him, the tension crackling in the air. For a moment, Chika wondered if Paul might turn that knife on him.
The desperation in Paul's eyes felt tangible, a frantic father grappling with his own inability to protect his family.
Finally, the tension began to drain from Paul's shoulders. He watched as another student was thrown to the ground and nodded sharply.
"Retreat," Paul ordered, turning to the group. "We'll head back to the building quietly. Move."
Chika cast one last glance at the scouts. The lanky metal-user was laughing, wiping remnants of the student's brain matter from his fist.
I will kill you, Chika silently vowed. The thought was chilling, stripping off the panic that usually consumed him. I will return, and I will kill all of you.
He turned and followed his group back into the shade of the trees. The Ghost of Emeka lingered at the edge of the pitch, silently watching him depart, unusually quiet.