8 Killing The First Awakener

Zorvax lingered in the shadowy embrace of the desolate alleyway, his gaze intently fixed on the brash man who had made the center of the street his stage. "Thinks he's top dog," Zorvax grumbled, the words barely escaping his lips as he watched the scene unfold with a sceptic's eye.

The man seemed to sense an audience; his voice, loud and booming, echoed off the broken facades of the surrounding buildings. He paced back and forth like a performer confident in his show. "You see, those two were nothing," he shouted, his chest puffed out with pride. "But me? The awakening has touched me. Ain't no zombie gonna take me down."

Hiding within his veiled nook, Zorvax's mouth twisted into a sardonic smirk. His fingers itched around the handle of his knife, a sense of readiness pulsing through him. "Time for a reality check," he whispered, eager to deflate the man's arrogance.

The man, perhaps hearing a whisper of movement or catching a whiff of Zorvax's presence, spun around with a mocking laugh. "What's the matter, zombie? Scared to face a real challenge?" he taunted, scanning the shadows for signs of his opponent.

With a sudden burst of energy, the man charged. His arm, grotesquely transformed into a mass of muscle and sinew, swung with the power of a sledgehammer. "Meet your end, monster!" he roared, confident that his attack would seal Zorvax's fate.

Zorvax reacted instantly, muscles coiling like springs as he tried to leap aside. "Predictable," he retorted, hoping to evade the wild swing. But fate, as it often does, threw in a twist; his boot snagged on an upturned cobblestone, sending him staggering forward, off-balance.

The man's booming laughter echoed in Zorvax's ears, a sound that seemed to fill the entire world for a split second before his body crashed through a crumbling wall. The impact sent a cloud of dust and debris skyward, fragments of the old world rising like spectres before settling back down to the earth.

Buried under a heap of broken bricks and plaster, Zorvax let out a pained groan. His limbs felt heavy as he pushed himself free, dragging his body out of the wreckage with sheer force of will. "Note to self," he coughed, the dust tickling his throat, "watch where you're stepping."

Standing across from him, the man was now almost bouncing on the balls of his feet. A grin spread across his face that was equal parts glee and challenge. "Come on, then," he called out, waving his monstrous arm. "Up you get. This is the real world—survival of the fittest!"

Zorvax stood upright, shaking the last vestiges of debris from his shoulders. His eyes, empty sockets a moment ago, now burned with a dark fire. "Fittest, you say?" he growled, taking a deliberate step forward. "Let's test that theory."

With the careful poise of a predator, Zorvax advanced, each step calculated, each breath a measured rhythm. The man mirrored his movements, the two of them circling each other amidst the ruins, a deadly dance set to the silent music of a world gone mad.

The ensuing clash was a dance of chaos. Zorvax was swift, a shadow flitting through the air. The man swivelled to counter, his arm a shield against Zorvax's strikes. "Missed again!" he chortled each time his arm deflected another blow.

They circled each other like predators, the man's guffaws echoing down the empty streets, Zorvax's silent snarls a counterpoint. Left, right, Zorvax feinted, searching for an opening. But the man matched him, move for move, his own laughter a soundtrack to their deadly waltz.

Eventually, the man's patience waned, and he lunged, his massive hand snapping shut on Zorvax. "Got you now!" he shouted, triumphant.

Zorvax's chuckle was a scratchy whisper. "Do you now?" With a twist and a turn, he slipped an arm out of the man's grasp.

In the next heartbeat, Zorvax's knife found its way to the man's face. The scream that tore from the man's throat was raw, filled with pain and shock. "My eyes! What have you done?!" he cried, his hands flying to his face, trying to stem the flow of his agony.

Zorvax watched for a moment, then moved in close. With one swift, merciful thrust, he brought the knife down one final time, ending the man's screams.

As the man crumpled to the ground, a cold satisfaction settled in Zorvax's chest, the system's voice announcing his reward: "[Evolution Points: +50]."

"Fifty points richer," Zorvax mused with a grim nod. He scanned the area around him—the bodies, the broken streets—and sighed. "I'm truly getting the hang of this world," he concluded, his voice carrying through the empty city, a lone declaration in the void.

---

Zorvax then shuffled through the quiet streets, his heavy footsteps echoing off the empty buildings. The crisp sound punctuated the otherwise silent city, a backdrop to his solemn quest. He was a solitary figure among the ruins, a thinker among the thoughtless.

The fragments of his past humanity surfaced as he walked, and he found himself talking to the silence. "Awakened humans, fifty points," he recited, piecing together the rules of this new world. "And that Swift Zombie, it was like a level one, too. Also, fifty points."

He paused, considering the pattern. "Does that mean all level ones give fifty points?" he wondered aloud. His voice was deep, gravelly—a stark contrast to the stillness around him.

Checking his Evolution Points, he saw the number [190] glowing faintly before him. A dry, humourless laugh escaped him. "Just ten more to go," he said, a whisper in the vastness of the abandoned city.

He resumed his search, eyes sharp behind his decrepit exterior. "Where are you hiding, my final points?" he murmured, almost playfully.

His search was methodical and thorough. He peered into the broken windows of cars under the debris that littered the streets, searching for any sign of movement.

It didn't take long. The familiar groans of the undead reached his ears, and he turned toward the sound, a sense of expectation in his step.

One by one, he found them—a zombie here, another there. They were weak, slow, easy targets for someone like him. He moved among them like a shadow, his presence only revealed by the soft thud of bodies hitting the ground.

"Plus one," he counted each time, his voice low but certain. Each fallen zombie brought a quiet satisfaction, a step closer to his goal.

Finally, after what felt like both an eternity and no time at all, he heard the announcement that signalled his success: "[Evolution Points: 200]."

Zorvax stopped and stood still for a moment, letting the reality of it sink in. "Two hundred," he said, the number rolling off his tongue. A grin that was more grimace than a smile stretched across his face.