Philosophy Building, Room 301
December 23, 2029, 6:30 PM
The door to Room 301 clicked shut, the lock turning with a sound that felt too loud in the stillness of the room.
They're back.
The retreat from Franco Pitch hadn't been all that tough, but it felt as though they'd emerged from a brutal fight.
The twenty-eight survivors leaned against the walls, some sliding down chalkboards, others curling up beneath desks.
The adrenaline that had propelled them earlier had drained away, leaving them exhausted and parched.
The air was thick with the scent of twenty-eight bodies that hadn't seen seen soap since morning, a cocktail of old sweat mingling with the metallic hint of dried blood.
Chika stood by the window, peering through a break in the barricade they'd just built. Outside, the shadows of the overgrown trees elongated, reaching toward the building like grasping hands.
Night was approaching swiftly, and in this strange world, he couldn't promise they wouldn't attract the attention of predators lurking in the dark.
"We need to assess what we have," Paul's voice broke through the gloom. He perched on the teacher's desk, methodically cleaning his knife with a piece of cloth torn from his own shirt.
His expression remained cold and impassive, but Chika noticed the determination in his eyes. "We walked into that pitch unaware of our capabilities, we can't risk doing that again."
"I think we should do a headcount and also gauge our abilities," Chika agreed, turning to face the room. He tried to project an authoritative air, but his trembling hands betrayed him. "Everyone, look up and pay attention!"
A few heads raised… but most remained fixated on their own concerns.
"I said, look up!" Chika's voice cracked like a whip. He channeled a hint of the chaotic energy he had felt during the awakening, just a flicker of the intensity that lurked within him.
It worked. All eyes in the room turned to him.
"We survived the march," Chika continued, his voice lowering to a steadier tone, "but we won't make it through the night without knowing what we can do. The System... it changed us, it equipped us with the means to grow stronger."
He held back the theory that they were being prepared for something even worse, knowing that such speculation might shatter his already fragile group.
"Tools?" Dubem scoffed from the back, the postgraduate engineering student leaning against a radiator, tending to his bruised arm. "It gave us hell, man."
"It gave us a chance to fight back and survive in this new world," Afoma stepping forward from her spot where she had been organizing water rations. She brandished her improvised spear, a mop handle with scissors attached like a teacher's cane.
Her dark eyes were sharp, scanning the room with unwavering resolve. "Chika is right, we need to document what we can do."
She retrieved a notebook she had salvaged from a desk. "I'll call out names, I'll point out anyone I don't know. When I do, share your Affinity, your Rank, and whether you possess a Skill. If you haven't activated your interface yet, just visualize a screen in front of you, and it will appear.
No fibbing, no concealing. If you withhold a Skill that could save us, and someone dies because of it, that death is on you."
The atmosphere in the room grew tense, no one wanted to speak first.
"I'll take the lead," Paul said, sensing their reluctance. He didn't have time for this indecision and slid off the desk to face the others. "Paul Okoye. Affinity: Oblivion. Rank: SSS. Skill: Layered Cut."
The ensuing silence was thick enough to hear a pin drop. SSS. The letters hung in the air like a heavy weight. Most were staring at E's and F's on their screens. "Wait, I thought the ranks went from F to A?" whispered a bewildered survivor.
"Abuchi," Paul nodded toward a corner, sidestepping the question.
Abuchi unfurled himself from his spot, nervously twisting a bloody chair leg. "Uh... Abuchi. Affinity: Devour. Rank: SSS. Skill: Vitality Absorption."
Our earlier speculation had placed ranks from F as the lowest to SSS as the highest. However, these ranks merely indicated talent, not raw power.
In the long run, an SSS-class individual might have latent skills waiting to emerge, while someone ranked F could train tirelessly yet still struggle to develop a Skill. That's what we believed, albeit with the possibility of being mistaken.
A ripple of realization coursed through the room, sharper this time. If they hadn't grasped its significance before, they certainly did now. Two SSS ranks felt akin to having military protection, a kind of VIP assurance.
The survivors' perceptions shifted as they regarded Paul and Abuchi not merely as fellow students but as something more. Their bodies trembled in anticipation, eyes glimmering with visions of a brighter future.
"Chika," Afoma called out, her pen poised above the page. Immediately, all eyes turned to him. His friends were formidable, surely he was no less remarkable, perhaps even more so.
"Chaos," Chika said, beads of sweat beginning to form on his brow, feeling exposed under the weight of their gazes. He refrained from mentioning his X-Rank, sensing it was too overwhelming, and foreign. "Skill: Pain Spike."
"What about your rank?" Afoma inquired, her tone curious.
Chika, maintaining his composure, replied with a smooth lie, "It... doesn't have a letter. It simply says 'Guardian.'"
Afoma paused, her gaze fixed on him. She sensed he was withholding information, yet she noted it down anyway. "Alright. Move on."
Paul subtly nodded at Chika, approving his discretion. While others might feel that he needed a rank to assert his authority, Chika had his own perspective. He believed that regardless of his relationship with his brothers, they would stand by him if the need arose. The mention of their rank is already sufficient validation.
For Mr. Okafor, Chika's humility reflected significant leadership potential, he envisioned guiding Chika on his journey toward rulership. Unbeknownst to him, this newfound thought would spark his mission in a fractured world.
As for the survivors, though they didn't grasp the significance of the Chaos element, it sounded as intriguing as the other two. The fact that it wasn't even ranked suggested its immense power. "We have three VIP generals watching over us," Fatty Tunde thought, his beady eyes gleaming with unspoken intensity.
The census commenced, evolving into a slow, arduous process of extracting hidden truths. Yet, as the list expanded, a clearer image of their survival capabilities began to take shape.
Kene Obiora, a stocky philosophy student who had always kept to himself at the back, suddenly stood up. He resembled a solid boulder that had transformed into a man. "Earth," he announced in a deep rumble
"Rank: D. Skill: Stone Bastion. I can... toughen my skin. Like a rock, just like that guy who did the same, except mine is a solid stone."
"A tank," Abuchi murmured, nodding to himself. "We've got ourselves a tank." Those who caught his words looked puzzled, but he said nothing further, they would understand soon enough.
Next up was Ngozi, a small girl who seemed to melt into the room's shadows so seamlessly that Chika hadn't even realized she was there.
"Darkness," she whispered, her arms twitching nervously as if she were shy. "Rank: E. Skill: Silent Death. I move quietly..." Her voice faded to nearly a whisper.
Then there was Dubem, the earlier cynic. He raised his hands, stained with oil despite not having touched a machine in hours.
"Metal," he sighed, eyeing his dirty hands. "Rank: F. Skill: Quick Weld. I can repair things. Maybe reinforce these barricades properly instead of just stacking junk."
"Essential," Afoma commented, scribbling notes fervently, her expression focused and completely locked in.
Adaeze, a nursing student who had rushed to a philosophy lecture to meet her deceased boyfriend, raised a hand.
She looked drained, her white shirt marred with dried blood that isn't her own. "Water," she said. "Rank: C. Skill: Life Water. I can... clean wounds and accelerate clotting."
"Healer," Abuchi sighed, feeling relieved. "That's huge. Adaeze, check on Tunde right away."
Tunde, the security guard, slumped against a desk, looking pale yet alert, his small eyes brimming with energy. He weakly waved a hand. "Air," Tunde wheezed. "Rank… F. No skill yet. But I feel... lighter... despite my size."
"Air," Paul noted. "Good for ventilation and running."
The introductions continued. 'Tiny' Emeka (not the ghost) had Earth (E) and a skill for crafting. Obiageli, a theater arts student, had Air (F) but insisted her voice could distract enemies. Chigozie, an education student, possessed a rare Life (E) affinity but lacked any combat abilities.
And then there was Chinedu and short. The chubby student pointed to his missing left ear, ripped off by a corrupt being. Surprisingly, he seemed cheerful despite his injury.
"The system says Rank S, Time, sis. But I think it's malfunctioning. My skill is called Second Chance. I guess it just means I am lucky to escape death," he said, grinning and flashing a playful wink.
A look of surprise crossed Afoma's face the ranking wasn't an SSS, but it is still formidable. Given that most people in the room had ranks below D, her A-rank lightning affinities made her a valuable asset as well.
The group didn't seem particularly taken aback by the mention of an S rank, in comparison to the three prodigies, it felt a bit so - so, their ignorance gnawed at them like a relentless beast, and soon they would come to grasp the folly of their beliefs when the S-rankers claimed dominion over the world, story for another day.
Once she finished her calculations, Afoma glanced up, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.
"Here's the math behind our survival," she declared, her tone matter-of-fact.
"Total Survivors: 28. Combat Capable (D-Rank or above): (Chika, Paul, Abuchi, Kene). Support/Utility: 10. Non-Combatant/Injured: 14."
She turned her attention to Chika. "We have an issue. We're looking at 28 mouths to feed with no food available. We maybe have four liters of water left among us. My System indicates I'm at a 'Saturation' level of just 5%."
"Saturation?" Chika asked as he examined his own status. He focused beyond the primary statistics to dive deeper into the interface. There it was, small print beneath his stamina.
He'd noticed it before but hadn't given it much thought, after all, he was too caught up in everything else to inspect each detail closely.
[REALM: NOVICE (EARLY)] [PHYSICAL SATURATION: 18%]
"It increased after the fight in the hallway," observed Paul. He had seen it previously but had buried the thought since he didn't feel any difference after the initial glimpse. His brow creased as he stared intently at his own invisible display. "When we defeated the Shamblers, their energy must have transferred to us."
"It's XP," Abuchi chimed in, bouncing his legs. "Experience points. But it feels like... we're consuming their power."
"Look at the percentage," Paul said, tension creeping into his voice. "I'm at 18%. What about you, Chika?"
"I'm at 15%," Chika replied quietly, running through his encounters in his mind. He had taken down one Shambler, injured another, and incapacitated yet another, plus he had caused some chaos with the bats. It seemed that for the XP boost, every little contribution counted.
"I'm at 12%," Abuchi added with a grin, though a hint of envy flickered beneath the surface as he eyed his two friends. "That won't cut it, I need to step up my game."
One by one, the others began to report their own saturation levels, with Afoma leading at 5%.
Paul's expression hardened as he spoke, "We don't know what happens when that bar fills up. Maybe it's a level up, or perhaps it leads to a new Realm. But right now? We're vulnerable. Those Scouts, the Metal Skin guy, he isn't just skilled, he had a weight to him."
With our highest at 18%, he's likely at 50% or 60%. Who knows, he might have taken out students to reach that point.
Paul pointed towards the window, his gaze fixed on the campus dimming in the evening light. "No matter how far along he is, he's made more progress than we have. If we confront him now, given our current numbers... we won't make it."
He was hesitant to admit it, but he felt a flicker of gratitude for Chika's presence, offering support in that moment.
"We need to boost our progress bar," Chika suddenly understood.
"We have to go out and hunt," Paul added.
The room fell silent. The thought of leaving their fortified shelter and stepping into the darkness filled them with dread.
"We don't have a choice," Chika declared, rising to his feet. He could feel the weight of the Shepherd mantle settling back on his shoulders. "We can't cross the Franco Pitch just yet. We're still novices. We need to grasp what reaching 100% means."
Chika continued, "But we must figure it out before they do."
He surveyed the terrified faces in the group. "We can't cross the pitch right now, we're too weak. So let's stick it out here. We'll search this entire building, from top to bottom. We'll eliminate every last corrupted being hiding inside."
His fist tightened, feeling the energy of Chaos vibrating within him.
"Tonight, we secure this building.
Tomorrow... we fill this progress bar."