’Where... am I?’
The last thing he rembered was the cold press of bullets against his forehead—then nothing.
’What is this place?’
His thoughts rang clear, but no sound left his lips.
Warmth surrounded him on all sides. Sothing liquid, thick and slow, cushioned his body while holding him perfectly still.
He pushed against it. A solid shell resisted.
Smooth. Curved. Like an egg.
He didn’t panic. Not because he lacked emotions, but because he already accepted his death.
’So this is hell? Sohow, it’s more comfortable than I expected.’
The liquid pulsed through his veins, rejuvenating his body.
[Host confird: Francis Hall]
[Error detected: Host’s soul corrupted with extre hatred.]
[Evaluating host’s karma...]
[Murders committed: 1007]
[Victims: high-ranking officials, senators, governors, judges, police officers, mafia bosses, generals, drug lords, human traffickers, trained rcenaries, terrorists, criminals, offenders,...]
[ntal Alignnt: Psychopathic and Calculative]
[Soul Alignnt: Vengeful Entity]
[Result: System modified in accordance with ntal state.]
[SUPRE PARASITE SYSTEM ACTIVATED]
He didn’t react and just let it unfold. The kill count might have shocked most, but for a Tier 1 operator like him who beca a vigilante—it was only to be expected.
[Main Mission: Evolve to Category 10]
[Reward: Revival Stone ×3 — Resurrect anyone who shares your blood.]
His composure shattered.
For the first ti since waking, his pulse thundered.
Sarah. Emma. Their nas ca before the thought did — their laughter, their small hands wrapped around his fingers.
’Revival Stone.’ he repeated.
Outrageous. Impossible. A sick joke dressed up as hope.
And yet.
’If there’s even a chance—’
His head struck the shell. A crack split the surface. He hit it again. And again.
The shell groaned around him, fractures webbing outward, liquid bleeding through the gaps.
’If this isn’t a lie—’
He kept slamming until it gave — a violent burst of slimy green that dragged him through and spilled him onto cold stone.
Dim light stabbed his eyes. He blinked until the world sharpened.
’A sewer.’
Water seeped through cracked floor tiles beside a dark canal. All around him: broken eggshells. Hundreds. Maybe a thousand, scattered across the filth.
But the shells weren’t the problem.
’What are those?’
Things moved in the dark. Pink, glistening, wet — bodies that writhed and twisted across the ground on thousands of tiny scraping legs.
One turned toward him. Small black eyes fixed on his position. Its mouth gaped open and snapped shut like a fish drowning in open air.
"No—"
The word ca out wrong. Squeaky. Small.
Francis looked down.
Pink skin. Soft, cylindrical body. No arms — just stubby little legs that barely kept him off the ground. He tried to speak again. The sa pathetic squeak.
’Calm down. I’ve turned into a worm. Accept it and move on. All I have to do is follow whatever that system thing is asking.’
Survival first. Everything else could wait.
More larvae were drifting his way.
’Tsk. Not coming over to make friends.’
He tried to back up. His legs offered nothing — no speed, no traction. The nearest creature opened its mouth wider, teeth catching the faint sewer light.
[DING!]
[Species: Sewer Larva — Category 0]
[Current Status: Weakest evolutionary stage]
[Mission: Devour your own kind. Evolve to Category 1 within 48 hours.]
[Reward: Evolution]
[Penalty: Death.]
He didn’t waste a second on self-pity. The ssage was clear: eat, or get eaten.
’Such is the way of the jungle.’ He moved away from the cluster. The larvae watched, but didn’t follow.
Good. Direct confrontation at his current size would be suicide. Start with easy targets.
’The eggs.’
Hundreds of them, still sealed, lying helpless across the sewer floor.
Francis approached the nearest one and tapped his head against the surface. A crack appeared. He pressed his round mouth to it and bit down hard.
The shell caved with a wet crunch. Warm fluid spilled across his face.
Inside, a half-ford larva twitched — barely alive, barely anything. It tasted vaguely tallic, but he swallowed it anyway.
[Sewer Larva consud: 1/1,000]
’One thousand.’
A twitch ran through his body. At this pace, he would be crawling through filth for days.
’No. I can feel it—I’m a bit stronger after eating it.’
One down. Nine hundred ninety-nine to go.
He settled into his own pacing.
Crack. Bite. Swallow. Crack. Bite. Swallow.
The repetition beca chanical. Almost ditative.
[Sewer Larva consud: 67/1,000]
His body had changed. Longer now, thicker, legs that actually gripped the stone beneath him.
Then he noticed the company.
A few larvae had drifted toward his feeding ground, watching with those flat black eyes.
’You think this is a buffet?’
He coiled — surprised by how naturally the movent ca — and fixed his gaze on the closest one. Size was the only currency down here, and he already had more of it.
When one crept too close to his egg, Francis struck. His teeth sank into soft flesh and tore the head clean off in a single motion.
[Sewer Larva consud: 69/1,000]
Living at tasted different from the half-ford things in the shells. Richer. More real.
The remaining larvae scattered, squeaking as they fled.
’This is my territory now.’
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