The evening sky had dimmed into deep cobalt by the time Lucas returned home. The familiar creak of the apartment door and the faint hum of the purification fan greeted him. The Saint family lived in a modest housing unit on the edge of District 17, where aging walls bore the scars of pre-fortification days and utility panels flickered like tired eyes.

  His mother, Jennifer, looked up from the kitchen, her apron stained with oil and soy protein. "You're late again, Lucas. Did you at least eat something?"

  "Not hungry," he replied, slipping off his shoes.

  David, his father, was sprawled on the couch, nursing his leg again. The injury had never healed right, not since the last factory accident. He gave Lucas a tired nod. "Didn’t miss your training, did you?"

  "No," Lucas lied.

  His sister, Lucy, sat cross-legged on the floor, balancing a tablet on her knee as she studied a simulated beast anatomy chart. Her Vitality Index had surged past 120 in just this semester alone—more than double Lucas's current score.

  Lucas ducked into his room, shutting the door behind him. His sanctuary was small but meticulously organized. Foam-padded flooring, resistance bands, weighted gloves, and a rusted punching dummy stood in silent anticipation. At the far end, his old Vitality Scanner flickered weakly.

  He placed his hand on the pad.

  [Current Vitality Index: 47.1]

  The number stared back like an insult.

  Clenching his jaw, Lucas dropped to the floor. He began his training routine—slow, deliberate movements drawn from the foundational Body Refinement Techniques: Iron Vein Circulation, Bone Vibration Breathwork, Core Compression Holds. He cycled through them again and again, sweat quickly soaking through his shirt.

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  And yet, deep down, he knew it wouldn’t be enough.

  The moment he stopped moving, fatigue came crashing down like a tidal wave. Lucas collapsed onto his back, breathing hard.

  Darkness slipped in at the edges of his vision.

  When his eyes opened, the world had changed.

  A heavy sky loomed overhead, dyed in dull shades of rust and violet. The ruins of a collapsed city stretched around him, steel bones and shattered glass littering the landscape. Lucas stood barefoot on cold stone, dressed not in sleepwear, but in synthetic armor marred with dried blood.

  The same place. The same dream.

  Only it wasn't a dream.

  Ahead, shapes emerged from the mist—tall, hunched, twitching abominations with twisted limbs and hollow sockets. Lucas stepped back, instinct screaming.

  But something was different tonight.

  His muscles felt tighter. His breath is more controlled. And in his palm was a weapon—a jagged, dark alloy blade, faintly humming with energy.

  The first husk lunged.

  Lucas sidestepped, reacting on reflex. The blade came up, carving through the creature’s chest. Ichor sprayed. Another followed. Then another.

  It was chaos.

  But Lucas moved with purpose.

  He didn’t just survive. He fought.

  And for the first time since he had arrived in this world, Lucas felt something stir deep within—a presence, ancient and mechanical.

  [Synchronization: 7%]

  A voice—cold, synthetic, inhuman—rang inside his skull.

  [Skill Extracted: Peripheral Pulse Tracking]

  Lucas stumbled back, gasping. The corpses of the husks dissolved into ash, leaving only silence.

  He dropped the sword.

  "What... was that?"

  But there was no answer.

  Just the wind blowing through a dead world, and a new number etched into his mind.

  [Synchronization: 7.1%]

  The nightmare was evolving. And so was he.