The simple contact, her quiet presence, was an ointment to his raw nerves. The fear of the Fade hadn’t vanished yet, not completely, but it felt distant now.
Honestly, now that he was back to his senses, he kind of felt like he’d overreacted. Yes, indeed he had overreacted. For a transmigrated soul, who should have a system any time soon and be overpowered, he sure acted like a pussy there.
What did he have to worry about anyway? He wasn’t just some regular guy doomed to get eaten by the end credits. He’d been transmigrated. Dropped into this world and into this body for a reason.
He had a purpose. A destiny. Probably something cool—like dominating this world, turning the tide in their endless war against the monsters clawing at the edges of civilization, or casually building a harem made of queens and Matriarchs. You know, the classics.
As Sage said, he was an outlier. He just had to find the missing piece. His system. If he even had one.
But if not? Meh. He’d improvise. Systems were overused and overrated anyway. Still, it would’ve been nice to have one, or just something to check his stats.
He wondered if he got a system, what would it be like? What would he even want it to do? Auto-loot? Infinite inventory space? An attractiveness meter for all the women around him? That last one sounded pretty essential, actually.
"Congratulations, you have unlocked: Passive-Aggressive Aura. Enemies within five meters will experience mild emotional damage."
Ezra snorted at the thought. Yeah, that sounded about right.
Maybe it would be one of those edgy, sentient systems with a creepy voice and way too many ellipses.
> Welcome... Host... to the Abyssal Codex...
Your fate... is sealed... but you may yet struggle... pointlessly...
He’d delete it immediately.
No, if he got a system, it better make him overpowered. Preferably with a potential to rival that goddess Marea. He had some scores to settle with her.
But until then?
He’d fake it.
Make up stat sheets in his head. Assign random titles to himself. Pretending his every dramatic monologue earned him a level-up in Main Character Energy. It was dumb. It was pointless. But it was fun.
And in a world like this? Fun was about as close as you got to a power-up.
Ezra turned his head, his lips finding hers in a soft, impulsive kiss. It wasn’t deep or demanding, but it carried a quiet intensity, a mix of gratitude and something more, a spark that promised more.
Her lips were warm, yielding to his touch.
He pulled back. "Thanks, Ysmeine," he murmured, his voice rough with a weariness that ran deeper than just today.
That emotional whiplash had done a number on him. "I think I need a nap. I’m wiped."
He gave her hand a squeeze. "I’ll probably head to Ryan’s later. Catch up on studies. Maybe flirt with despair a little. But first... sleep."
Ysmeine straightened, letting him stand.
___
A little while later, Ezra lay on his bed, trying to sleep. However he couldn’t fall asleep, and he wasn’t very tired anymore. He kept on thinking about the fade virus and what it might mean for him.
But as usual he reminded himself of what an anomaly he was and that nothing will happen to him. Just wait for the system, and then he will have whatever he wants.
Ping!
His monitors on the desk across the room illuminated.
Ezra looked over towards them to see that it was a message from Ryan, the only male friend he had.
He slid off the bed, a half-hearted sigh escaping him.
He padded over to the desk, his bare feet cool against the floor.
The message from Ryan was short:
[hey zryn... not feeling so great... head’s all fuzzy... body’s aching bad... really need someone to talk to... if ur free pls come over...]
Zaeryn reread it. Not feeling well. That was an understatement for Ryan, who was usually as stoic and uncomplaining as a statue.
Ryan was a few years older, probably in his mid-twenties, a quiet, scholarly type with thick glasses and a perpetually rumpled look that somehow made him seem even smarter.
He had a deep love for ancient texts and botany, spending most of his free time either buried in dusty archives or tending to the meticulously curated garden behind his house. He was the kind of friend who’d listen more than he spoke, offering calm, thoughtful advice, never judging.
Ezra frowned slightly.
The message from Ryan felt... off. Like it was written in a hurry—or worse, in a state of panic.
The punctuation was all over the place. Too many ellipses. No capitalization. Like his hands were shaking. That wasn’t like Ryan at all. Maybe he was just drunk or something.
’Still, he did mention he was not feeling well. And a visit might break my boredom. Besides, it gives me an excuse to stretch my legs.’
He sent a quick reply, [On my way. Don’t die before I get there,] Then he grabbed his comms, a small, sleek device that fit snugly in his palm, and slipped out of the apartment, giving a soft, "Later, Ysmeine, I’m going to visit Ryan," to the quiet living room.
Thirty minutes later, Ezra stood outside Ryan’s house.
By the words standards, this house was old-school, all wooden beams and vine-covered walls, with flickering lanterns that screamed cozy but stuck out in the high-tech neighborhood.
It fit Ryan perfectly, rustic, a little pretentious, but warm. Ryan was different from most guys in the city. He was one of the few who refused to bend to this world’s rules, and always talked about how he wanted the Patriarch to return to this world.
He was older than Ezra by a few years, bookish, awkward, but always kind. The type to drop off soup when you were sick and nag you about coasters.
Ezra knocked. No answer.
"Ryan?" he called, pressing his hand to the scanner.
The door clicked open, but inside, the house felt... off.
No sage or lavender smell like it usually was, just stale air. Papers were scattered on the floor, Ryan hated messes so that was strange to see.
A broken teacup lay near the kitchen floor.
Ezra’s gut tightened, it was too quiet.
Then he remembered, Ryan often hung out in his garden at night, meditating or reading some illegal things. Ezra headed through the side hallway and slid open the back door.
There he was. Ryan.
He stood by the pond, staring at the water, back to Ezra.
He was motionless, and too still. His usual plain clothes hung on him oddly, like they didn’t fit right anymore. He even had a weird smell around him.
"Hey, Ryan," Ezra said, forcing a grin to hide the unease crawling up his spine. "What’s with the statue act? Expecting me to think you’re fighting war ladies or something?"
There was no response. Not even a twitch.
Ezra stepped closer, heart picking up pace. The pond was still, like it was holding its breath. "Ryan?" His voice dropped, cautious.
And then, moonlight hit Ryan’s face, and Ezra froze.
"Uh... Ryan, what the fuck happened.... " Ezra muttered, staring with wide eyes. He started stepping back as he completed his question, "... to you?"
It was Ryan, but not. His skin was pale, waxy, stretched tight over bones that looked wrong. His eyes, usually behind thick glasses, were wide, milky, lifeless.
Red marks scarred his nose where the glasses used to sit.
A low, guttural sound rumbled from Ryan’s chest. Not human. Not an animal. Something is wrong.
Ezra’s stomach did a backflip. This wasn’t Ryan. This was the Fade.