For several minutes, he sat motionless on the floor, leaning against the cold wall, listening to the distant wails echoing from beyond the balcony. Adam drew in a slow breath, as if trying to confirm this wasn't a dream. And that's when he realized something strange.
Despite everything he had just been through… his body didn't hurt. His muscles didn't burn, his wounds didn't throb. He felt… fresh. Like he'd been reborn. The only trace of fatigue was a heaviness in his head, as if his brain had burned through every ounce of energy it had.
It was unnatural.
"It must be that damn... Essence Record again," he thought. He didn't really know what it was. A system? A being? A mechanism of the universe? He didn't understand. But ever since it appeared, everything had changed.
Maybe the Essence Record was the reason he didn't feel pain. Maybe it was affecting his body, his regeneration, his vital functions. Or maybe it was all just an illusion? The thought wouldn't leave him alone.
With a moment of genuine peace finally within reach, Adam knew it was time to check what he had actually gained. What changes had taken place in his body since that first kill. How those stats—glimpsed only briefly during life-or-death moments—actually worked.
"Status" he whispered, unsure if it would do anything.
The space before him trembled. The air thickened for a fraction of a second, and then a familiar, semi-transparent window of data appeared:
Name: Adam
Level: 3
Race: Human
Age: 21
Class: None
Title: None
HP: 75 / 100
Mana: 30 / 50
Strength (STR): 16
Agility (AGI): 16 (2)
Vitality (VIT): 18
Intelligence (INT): 7
Free Stat Points: 8
[Active Skills: Void Manipulation (Phase I, Tier: Novice) – Allows limited manipulation of attractive and repulsive forces on nearby low-mass objects. Effectiveness depends on the user's INT, mana, and imagination.]
[Equipped Artifacts: Scout's Gloves (Normal Artifact) – Agility +2, increased grip precision, moisture resistance]
He stared at the numbers for a long moment, but something felt off. What appeared before him was like a hologram—it didn't hover in the air, exactly, but seemed suspended somewhere between reality and his awareness. He reached out to touch one of the text lines—but his fingers passed through it without resistance, as if reaching into a mist. A faint tingling touched the tip of his finger, but nothing more.
"So it's not a projection… it's something mental? Psychological?" he wondered.
Only then did he really focus on the numbers in front of him. At last, he could examine his growth in peace.
"Interesting…" he murmured, scanning line by line.
"I started with eleven strength. Now it's sixteen. Four more points, just from fighting."
"Agility… ten before, now sixteen, and two in weird brackets."
"Vitality was twelve… now eighteen. Six more points."
"And intelligence… still seven. Not a single point higher."
He went over the lines again and began to analyze.
"Strength… that's probably raw physical power. Punching, lifting, breaking things. The higher it is, the more damage I can deal with my body."
"Agility… probably speed. Maybe reflexes too—like how fast I can react or dodge. In the store, when I fought that fast corpse—I only avoided it because I was faster. That's probably what this measures."
"Vitality… no mystery there. Endurance, durability, maybe even recovery. Probably thanks to this stat that my body isn't feeling any fatigue."
He stopped at the last one, frowning.
"And intelligence… seven." Adam furrowed his brow, eyeing the number with distaste. "Is this tied to IQ? Or maybe… wisdom?"
He had no idea. Unlike strength, agility, or vitality, this stat felt completely abstract. He didn't feel stupid, but he didn't think he was some genius either. Still, the contrast in numbers was stark.
"Looking at this… I'm basically a stereotypical meathead," he muttered under his breath.
He paused for a moment.
"Vitality grew the most. Then strength and agility. Does that mean the Essence Record rewards what I use the most?"
He glanced once more at the numbers. "So… Essence Record doesn't just reward killing, but also your fighting style?"
His eyes landed on the line that read 'Free Stat Points: 8'.
"And now what?" he sighed quietly. "I could dump them all into strength and hit even harder… but maybe I'd regret it later."
He went quiet again, thinking.
"I have no idea how to build myself properly. Maybe I should wait—see what the future brings."
He clenched his hand into a fist.
"I wish I knew exactly what gave me which stat…" he muttered. "I don't even remember how much that mutated bug gave me compared to the zombies."
At that moment, the space in front of his eyes rippled again. A new panel appeared next to the main window—smaller, but just as clear.
[Stat Gain History:
Mutated Fly (LVL 3): +1 AGI, +2 VIT
2x Zombie (LVL 2): +2 STR, +1 VIT
Zombie (LVL 2): +2 STR
Zombie (LVL 2): +1 STR
Zombie (LVL 4): +3 AGI, +1 VIT
2x Zombie (LVL 2): +1 VIT]
Adam narrowed his eyes, reading.
"So the fly gave me three points… and the rest came from zombies. But… why did the first corpse give me two strength, and the rest less and less?"
He stared at the list. "Why didn't any of these monsters give me a single point of intelligence? Does the system not grow what I don't use? Or maybe only certain enemies can give INT?"
The more he analyzed, the more questions he had. And no answers were coming.
"Maybe…" he sighed, glancing again at the list. "Maybe the more times I kill the same type of enemy, the less I get?"
That would make sense. At first, the zombies gave him two points of strength. Then less. And now… just one vitality point for two opponents.
"Maybe the Essence Record considers that I've already 'mastered' them? That they're no longer a challenge to me, so they don't offer anything more?" He shook his head. "Or... maybe it's meant to push me to seek stronger opponents, not stay in one place."
The thought was terrifying. But also logical.
His gaze accidentally fell on the skill line. "Void Manipulation..." he read again. "Manipulation of attractive and repulsive forces..." he murmured under his breath and sighed. The memory hit him suddenly—the moment in the pharmacy when he had screamed in panic and a wave of invisible force had thrown the attacker back. It had activated on its own, as if instinctively.
Now he had the chance to test it consciously.
He stood up slowly and walked to an empty corner of the room. A discarded tin can lay on the floor. He focused.
"Void Manipulation," he said quietly.
Nothing happened.
He narrowed his eyes. Tried again—this time without speaking, only concentrating on the image of pushing the can away from him. A faint flicker. The air around his hand shimmered slightly, but the object didn't move.
For several minutes he repeated the experiments. Sometimes the can twitched slightly. Other times, nothing at all. Once, it slid suddenly, as if something had yanked it. The effects were inconsistent, unpredictable.
"So I have to focus... imagine a specific force? A direction? Maybe even an intention?" he began talking to himself.
After a dozen tries, he noticed that when he focused on the "weight" of the object, he could lift it slightly—but only for a second. Pulling seemed harder than pushing.
"It's like a primitive version of telekinesis..."
He looked at his hand. "Is this... magic?" he whispered, uncertain. "I don't know what it is, but it looks like something that should be impossible."
He couldn't think of another word for it. To him, it was magic—even if the system called it something else. Whatever it was, it had worked with incredible power in the pharmacy. It had saved his life. So he had to be able to replicate it.
He tried again. This time he stood, spread his legs like preparing for a strike, and thrust his hand forward, imagining something invisible erupting from within him, shoving everything in front of him.
Nothing.
He tried again, but this time, instead of strength, he focused on that feeling—that fear, desperation, the need to survive. For a second, he felt that familiar tension in his chest. The can on the floor jumped and rolled a few centimeters.
Adam held his breath.
"It only works... when I feel threatened?"
He started improvising. Yelling into the empty room, swinging his arms, pretending someone was charging at him. Only then—during a sudden, vivid visualization—the air trembled, and the can was flung several meters away.
He stood in silence, breathing heavily.
"This really is magic. But a kind whose rules I still don't understand. Like something's missing—like it needs more than just willpower."
At that moment, he felt a familiar, dull rumble in his stomach. He frowned and glanced out the window. The sun was already low, painting the sky in shades of orange and red.
"Evening already?"
He realized he hadn't eaten since morning—maybe longer. Instinctively, he reached for his backpack on the floor, picked it up, and headed to the kitchen.
He sat at the table for a moment, then opened the backpack and began sifting through its contents: canned goods, pâté, instant rice, a few bottles of water. He pulled out a can of meat in sauce and a packet of pasta, filled a pot with water from the tap—hesitantly—and turned on the gas.
The surprise hit him instantly as he heard the familiar click of the igniter and saw a small flame.
"It works..." he whispered. "Water's running. Gas is working."
He froze for a moment, then slowly added, "Makes sense, I guess. It's only the first day. Maybe some power plants, distribution stations, maybe even parts of the grid are still up."
For a while, he just watched the water begin to boil. It was absurdly ordinary.
In a world full of blood, mutants, and corpses… he was cooking pasta. The scene felt so out of place it was jarring. Almost sacred in its normalcy.
He turned off the flame and served the food onto a plate he'd found in one of the kitchen cupboards. The smell was surprisingly comforting—simple, but familiar. As if he were cooking in his own apartment, not in an abandoned building after the end of the world.
With a cup of water in one hand and a plate in the other, he walked toward the living room. For a moment, he truly believed it could be calm. That he had a normal evening ahead of him. That he could just sit down and eat.
His shoulders relaxed. His breath steadied. For a split second… he forgot the world had ended. He was just about to sink into the soft couch when something happened.
Something stopped him mid-step. His heart froze for an instant. The air in the room thickened, as if gravity had suddenly changed.
And then—out of nowhere—she crashed to the floor.
An unconscious woman's body hit the ground with a dull, brutal thud.
Adam stumbled back on instinct, and the plate and cup fell from his hands, scattering food and water everywhere. Porcelain shattered against the floor with a sharp crack.
"What the fuck…?" he hissed, still staring in disbelief at the woman who, just a second ago, hadn't existed in this world.