[Blight (Curse-Type)]
[Current Blight Coefficient: 1.0]
[Talent Quality: ???]
[Talent Description: ???]
Pain, sharp and exquisite, lanced through every cell in Calder’s body. A smile, however, touched his lips. This was exactly what he wanted.
In his previous life, the Blight Cells hadn't fully spread until the game's mid-stages, forcing him to awaken his Curse-Type talent far too late. He had missed the golden growth period at the start, spending countless hours just to catch up to Azura's top-tier Divinely Gifted.
This time was different. He had weaponized the rules of the Novice Grace Period, deliberately pushing his body to the brink to force the Blight Cells to activate. It was an insane gamble, but it had paid off. The system interface of The Eternal Dominion couldn't analyze a Curse-Type talent, hence the question marks, but that didn't matter. Having lived this life once before, Calder already knew everything there was to know about the power of Blight.
His gaze swept over the carnage littering the classroom floor. He walked over to the corpse of a Knorr Aberrant Fiend, grabbed it by a leg, and began to drag it towards the back of the room. The university classroom wasn't massive, and the grating sound of the corpse being dragged across the floor quickly drew attention.
Draven, noticing the movement, barked, "Calder, what the hell are you doing?"
Without pausing, Calder gave a clipped, four-word reply. "Clearing the battlefield."
His logic immediately clicked with someone else. "He's right. We need to move the bodies before the next wave spawns."
The room was larger than a high school classroom, but another Beast Surge of the same size would quickly devolve into the same chaotic melee. Clearing the area was a tactical necessity.
Draven accepted the explanation with a condescending chuckle. "At least you know your place." He then turned and projected his voice to the rest of the survivors. "All of you without talents—help clear the bodies! Stack the desks and chairs by the door to make a barricade. Pile the corpses on the back balcony, keep the main floor clear!"
Draven had already established himself as the de facto leader of Classroom 208. No one dared to defy his orders. The handful of other Forsaken—the talentless—began to move, albeit reluctantly. Their glares, however, were fixed on Calder.
"It's all your fault," one muttered under her breath. "Making us do this thankless work."
"Seriously," another whined, looking at her hands in disgust. "I just did my nails, and now I have to touch these gross things? It's disgusting!"
Calder spared them a single, dismissive glance before turning away, not even bothering to reply. There was a reason ninety-nine percent of The Forsaken didn't survive the initial stages of the game. It wasn't just about lacking power. If a person had no strength and offered no value, their survival was, by definition, unnecessary.
While the other Forsaken busied themselves with the furniture, not one of them was willing to touch the dead. Calder alone moved the bodies, silently dragging one after another to the designated spot. This suited his plans perfectly.
Once he was in a corner of the balcony, hidden from view, the nail on his right index finger underwent a subtle, horrifying transformation. It lengthened and hardened, sharpening into a glistening, chitinous point. With practiced ease, he plunged the makeshift talon into the corpse of a Knorr Aberrant Fiend.
He felt the fiend's life force—its blood, its energy—siphoning through his fingertip and into his arm. The corpse on the balcony floor visibly deflated, its skin growing slack and dry. As soon as the first body was a desiccated husk, his finger plunged into the next. He moved from fiend to student corpse, a grim harvester of the dead, as a stream of notifications chimed in his mind.
`[Right Upper Limb Blighting +0.1]`
`[Right Upper Limb Blighting +0.1]`
`[Right Upper Limb Blighting +0.1...]`
Soon, the pile of bodies in the corner was largely hollowed out. He left two or three corpses on top as a disguise, but beneath them lay nothing more than empty, leathery sacks.
A tangible surge of power flooded his right arm. This was the first ability of his Blight talent: [Devour]. By devouring the energy of the dead, he could directly enhance his own body. Limbs corresponded to Strength and Speed. Organs to Constitution. The brain to Spirit. By strengthening a specific part, he could raise its corresponding attribute.
When the stream of notifications finally ceased, the results were clear.
`[Right Upper Limb Blighting: 2.3]`
His personal panel updated accordingly:
[Strength: 0.6 + 1.15 (Average)]
[Speed: 0.7]
[Constitution: 0.5]
[Spirit: 1.1]
The average adult male had a Strength of 1.0. Calder’s right arm now possessed the strength of nearly three men. His left arm, however, remained unchanged.
Calder’s eyes narrowed. Not enough.
There were simply too few bodies. The first Beast Surge had only produced a dozen or so Knorr Aberrant Fiends, and adding the student casualties brought the total to just over twenty. He needed far more to evolve to the next stage.
He was pulling himself back from his cold calculations when Draven’s shout echoed from across the room.
"Everyone, over here! Meeting!"
The other Forsaken, who had been hovering on the fringes, scurried over with looks of desperate hope. Calder let out a silent, humorless laugh and followed at a measured pace.
Draven wasted no time. He began pointing at people, assembling his inner circle. "Garrett. Lana Marsh. Dex. Brock. You're with me. The other Divinely Gifted, form your own squads. Stay organized."
Those chosen beamed with relief. In this new world, sticking with the strongest was the only way to survive. And with the exception of Lana Marsh, all of Draven's picks were, like him, D-Tier Divinely Gifted. The rest of the gifted students looked on with unconcealed disappointment.
Draven cleared his throat, his gaze falling upon the remaining few. "You lot," he said, his voice dripping with disdain, "the ones without talents. Get to the front. Brace the barricade. Don't let the monsters break through."
The faces of The Forsaken turned pale with terror, then flushed with outrage.
"We don't have any talents! You're sending us to our deaths!"
"Why should we be the ones on the front line? No way! I'm not doing it!"
"Yeah! You can't do this! I'm telling the professor!"
Their resistance was fierce, but futile.
Garrett let out a derisive laugh. "Ha! The world's ending and you think a professor can help you? You could call the cops and it wouldn't do a damn thing."
Since the arrival of The Eternal Dominion, all conventional communication devices were dead. An invisible barrier seemed to surround the classroom, sealing them in. Classroom 208 was now a closed box, cut off from the outside world.
Draven's expression darkened. "You can die now by my hand, or you can die buying us time," he stated, his threat hanging naked and brutal in the air. "Choose."
A palpable killing intent radiated from him, and The Forsaken flinched as if struck. Some turned desperately to their classmates in the crowd of Divinely Gifted.
"Monty, say something! We're roommates!"
"Rex, we're friends! Help me!"
Silence. The Divinely Gifted averted their eyes, refusing to meet the gazes of the condemned. Before the first wave, they might have still valued friendship and camaraderie. But after witnessing the gruesome deaths of their peers, a cold, pragmatic reality had set in: the talentless were useless. This was the apocalypse.
Despair and resentment warred on the faces of The Forsaken. But faced with Draven's ultimatum, they had no choice. They shuffled to the front, their bodies trembling.
As Calder began to follow them, Draven’s voice cut him off.
"Calder. You, come here. Stand with me."
Calder hadn't expected to be singled out, but a moment's thought made it clear. Draven had seen his +10 attribute bonus at the start. Confident in his own power to suppress any potential threat, he wanted to recruit Calder as a high-value subordinate who would do his bidding.
Calder offered no protest, smoothly moving to stand behind Draven. A self-satisfied smirk played on Draven's lips; he was pleased with Calder's compliance.
"Good. You're smart," he said, clapping Calder on the shoulder. "Don't worry. Once I take over this academy, you'll be my right-hand man."
Draven’s decision wasn't just about the initial attribute points. There were three reasons. First, Calder was ruthless, the only one to charge the first monster without hesitation. Second, he was clever, immediately understanding the need to clear the battlefield for the next fight. And the final, most important point: Calder seemed to know his place. He was the perfect tool. In the apocalyptic world to come, Draven knew he would need loyal and capable "dogs" like this. First, I'll conquer the academy, Draven thought, a spark of ambition igniting in his eyes.
The other Forsaken watched as Calder joined the elite group, their faces a mixture of envy and renewed terror. They could only clutch their chair legs and brooms, standing as a fragile human wall at the classroom entrance.
Calder observed it all with cold detachment. He had anticipated this. In a way, Draven's decision was the smart, correct choice. In the end of days, you use every resource at your disposal. Sympathy? Compassion? Such emotions would only get you killed.
`[Second Beast Surge Countdown: 3... 2...]`
`[1]`
The countdown ended, and the roar of monsters filled the air once more. Knorr Aberrant Fiends swarmed at the entrance, but the hastily erected barricade of desks and chairs held them back, for now.
"Now! Kill them!" Draven's eyes lit up as he saw the barricade working. He ordered the Divinely Gifted with ranged abilities to attack.
"Fireball!"
"Wind Blade!"
"Ice Bolt!"
A volley of spells shot towards the fiends tangled in the furniture. The immobilized monsters were far easier targets than the nimble ones from the first wave, and several spells found their mark.
"I hit one! Haha! I got it!" someone cheered.
Their celebration was short-lived. With a crash of splintering wood, the fiends broke through the flimsy barricade and poured into the classroom.
"Aaaah! Help me!"
The Forsaken at the front screamed, swinging their pathetic "weapons" in a panic. The second wave was significantly larger than the first; at a glance, more than twenty had already breached the room, with a continuous stream flooding in behind them. Within seconds, the human shields were swarmed, pulled down, and torn apart. Even some of the Divinely Gifted standing further back began to tremble, loosing their spells wildly.
Draven snorted in disgust. "You're with me! Forward!" he bellowed. Unarmed, he charged, his fists blurring as he met the tide. His C-Tier Power Surge was devastating. He hammered a fiend's chest, and the sound of cracking bone was followed by a spray of blood as the creature was thrown backward, dead before it hit the ground.
"Draven's incredible!"
"He's so strong!"
The cheers from the back seemed to fuel him. Like a general leading a charge, he roared, "No one retreats! Kill them all!"
His example worked. Bolstered by his ferocity, the other Divinely Gifted found their courage and surged forward with him. Their performance was markedly better than during the first wave; they were more coordinated, more decisive.
Draven watched with satisfaction, but his brow quickly furrowed in annoyance. Just like before, he wasn't receiving any attribute rewards for his kills. Each Knorr Aberrant Fiend only granted him 10 minutes of Time. Nothing else.
So the first-kill bonus was a one-time thing? He felt a pang of regret. He should have been the first one to charge. He was the strongest, after all.
His eyes flicked over to Calder, who was still methodically bashing fiends with a broken chair leg. The man seemed a little stronger than before, but he didn't stand out among the other Divinely Gifted.
Hmph. Even with a 10-point head start, he's still a weakling, Draven thought with an internal sneer. Then again, that's for the best. If he were too strong, he'd be harder to control.
After that brief assessment, Draven threw himself back into the fray. The second wave numbered around fifty monsters, more than the Divinely Gifted in the class, but because of their organized formation, the battle was manageable. After fifteen minutes of brutal combat, the classroom was nearly clear again.
Just then, a new notification echoed in the minds of every player in Novice Zone 911.
`[Ding! Congratulations to Vance for being the first in Novice Zone 911 to reach Level 2! Reward: Attributes +10, Time +1 day.]`
The students in Classroom 208 stared in shock.
"Holy shit, someone leveled up?"
Even Draven's face was a mask of disbelief. The second wave was over, and their own level was still stuck at 1, with no progress in sight.
As they were processing the news, another alert followed.
`[Ding! Regional Chat for Novice Zone 911 is now open.]`
The chat channel is open. The timing is the same as last time... Calder thought, as a translucent text box materialized in his vision.
`[Hey, it actually works! Hahaha, hello everyone! I'm a second-year IT student at Southpeak Academy!]`
`[No way, me too! Southpeak represent!]`
`[Does anyone have a signal? Can you contact the outside world?]`
`[Don't think so. All our phones and computers are dead. Besides this chat, we're completely cut off.]`
`[Same here. Those monsters are terrifying. We just finished the second wave.]`
`[I'm so scared... please, can anyone help me? Almost everyone in my class is dead...]`
`[How can anyone help? The classroom doors are sealed shut.]`
`[My class got hit hard too. These things are monsters.]`
With the battle in Classroom 208 concluded, everyone's attention immediately shifted to the chat.
"So Novice Zone 911 is the Southpeak Academy campus?"
"Looks like it. Everyone here seems to be from the academy."
The chat confirmed their suspicions. Most of the messages were from students, with a few from faculty members who were just as trapped and powerless as everyone else. No one was in a position to lead.
Soon, the chat's focus shifted again.
`[Hey, that Vance guy hit Level 2! That's insane! What kind of talent do you have, man?]`
`[Yeah, for real! We've killed two waves and we're still Level 1. This game makes no sense.]`
`[Vance, you there? Can you tell us how to level up?]`
After a moment of suspense, the man himself appeared.
`[Vance]: Hello, fellow students. My talent is B-Tier Stormfire.`
`[What the fuck, B-TIER?! The best we have is a D-Tier!]`
`[You guys are lucky. Our only C-Tier died in the first wave!]`
`[I'm so jealous I could die!!!]`
The chat exploded with a torrent of praise and envy. Vance seemed to be enjoying the attention, and he graciously shared his secret.
`[Vance]: Listen up, everyone. Killing monsters gives you Time. Once your accumulated Time reaches six hours, you can evolve and level up.`
`[One monster is only 10 minutes... that means in two waves, Vance killed 30 monsters?! Holy shit... the guy's a beast!]`
`[A beast +1!]`
`[A beast +10086!]`