The moment Chad stepped into his room, he shut the door quietly behind him and leaned against it.
Not slammed. Not rushed.
Just a soft, practiced close.
He needed to keep up the act. The trembling survivor. The boy still shaken.
But the second the latch clicked, his face relaxed.
His posture shifted.
The tension left his shoulders in a long, silent exhale.
Silence.
Not the humming sterility of a police cruiser. Not the eerie stillness of the crash site. This was his silence. The kind born of thick walls, sealed windows, and absolute solitude.
The room smelled like lavender.
Lili had cleaned it recently. Probably just the day before. Vacuum lines still traced neat angles through the carpet. The stack of freshly folded hoodies sat on the edge of his gaming chair, arranged by color. A cup of tea, long cold, still rested on the coaster beside his monitor.
Everything was exactly as he'd left it.
Except now, he wasn't the same.
His dual-monitor setup glowed faintly in sleep mode, casting cold light across the posters on his wall — shadowed warriors, masked assassins, anime heroines. They once made him feel small. Like a kid dreaming about strength.
Now he wondered if they would fear him.
He peeled off the foil blanket and let it slide to the floor with a crinkle.
The hoodie came next. Stiff with dried blood. The collar torn, sleeves tacky. It clung to his skin as he pulled it over his head, resisting like a second skin being shed.
His t-shirt was worse — soaked through, stuck in patches, pulling free like peeling gauze. He stripped it off in strips.
What he revealed beneath wasn't bruised and broken.
It was something else.
His chest looked tighter. His stomach flatter. There was definition now. Not full muscle mass, not yet — but organization. Intent. Lines that hadn't been there before. A tension beneath the skin.
He stepped in front of the mirror Lili had bought him last Christmas — back when she still thought he was just a quiet, troubled kid trying to find his way.
What stared back now wasn't the same.
His jaw was leaner. Sharper. The soft roundness of his face had been carved down into something more angular. His eyes were darker. Not just from exhaustion.
There was a focus in them now.
Something predatory.
He leaned closer.
Studied his face.
Still his — but tightened. More symmetrical. Subtly more appealing. System-optimized.
And then his eyes dropped.
A glance.
A second look.
Then a pause.
His breath hitched.
What the hell...?
He looked again.
And again.
Not imagination.
Not swelling.
Change.
He'd always been average. Unremarkable. The kind of anatomy that brought anxiety in gym class and disappointment in locker rooms.
But now?
It sat heavier.
Thicker.
Longer.
The skin was warmer. Veins more defined. The base sat lower. The shaft had grown both in length and in weight, a change he could feel now with every movement. Even flaccid, it looked — different.
Engineered.
His heart pounded once.
That wasn't from the healing.
That's from the Bloodline.
The System hadn't just repaired him.
It had begun rewriting him.
From the inside out.
He stood there a moment longer, fingers flexing faintly, eyes tracing his reflection.
And in the silence, a thought crept up from the back of his mind:
This is only Level One.
And with that realization came a new kind of heat.
He turned away from the mirror, heart pounding with thoughts that made him half-laugh, half-whisper.
Let them call me broken.
Let them look at me with pity.
Soon they'll look up at me — in fear, in awe, in desire.
He stepped into the bathroom and flipped the switch.
The lights blinked on overhead, pale and sterile. White tile. Fogged glass. The same space he'd used a thousand times.
But it felt different now.
He stepped into the shower and turned the handle. Hot.
The pipes rumbled. Then the water hit—heavy, fast, and burning.
Steam rose instantly, curling around his legs, chest, and shoulders like fog pouring in from a cold battlefield.
Blood ran off him in streaks. Down his arms. Across his thighs. The water washed away clots, smeared patches, bits of gravel.
But not the change.
Bruises faded beneath the heat. Small cuts sealed. Deeper wounds tingled, already in the process of closing.
His muscles felt like coiled wire under his skin—tighter now. More reactive. Like they were waiting.
He leaned forward, bracing both hands against the slick tile.
The water pounded his spine.
He didn't flinch.
He let it hit. Let it burn.
It's mine now. All of it.
The house.
The quiet.
The throne.
Lili had run to him like he was all that mattered. She had sobbed into his shoulder, clutched his chest like it anchored her.
That's how it starts.
Mia's wide-eyed awe.
Luna's rigid silence.
Even the house itself felt like it shifted around him, like it was adjusting to a new center of gravity.
They need a man of the house. They just don't know it yet.
He let the water roll over him, washing away the last remnants of the boy who stepped off a Greyhound bus looking for a place to die.
That boy was gone.
What remained was something else.
Sharper. Smarter. Hungrier.
I'll make them mine. All of them. One by one.
This isn't just a family.
It's a dynasty.
He reached for the soap.
And smiled.
The steam thickened around him as he exhaled.
Each breath came out steady, measured. His skin radiated heat, but not from the water. From within.
The water traced new lines down his torso. Broad shoulders. Defined arms. Hardened chest.
The symmetry was no longer teenage softness.
It was engineered.
The bones sat differently. The tension in his spine carried balance.
Every drop that slid over his body confirmed it:
This isn't healing.
This is evolution.
He stood in the steam. Quiet.
Letting the fog cling to him like something territorial.
A beast emerging from a cave. Reborn.
And ready to hunt.
Then—
A knock.
Soft. Hesitant. Just two taps.
He stiffened.
A second passed.
Then a voice — gentle, muffled through the door.
"Chad? It's me."
Lili.
He blinked.
His heartbeat didn't spike. It slowed. A quiet, measured rhythm. A mental shift — the same way he used to switch classes in a game, from defense to charm.
He reached for a towel, dried quickly, wrapped it around his waist. Water still dripped from his hair. The mirror fogged behind him as he stepped into the hallway and cracked the door just enough.
Lili stood outside, still in her robe — tighter now, drawn close at the waist, her platinum hair pulled back into a low bun. Her eyes were swollen and pink from crying, the way only a mother cries: raw, constant, quiet.
In her hands — a tray.
Simple food. Toast. Scrambled eggs. Tea. A folded napkin tucked beneath the plate like she didn't know what else to do.
She blinked when she saw him.
Relieved. But fragile.
"I… I didn't want to bother you," she said, voice soft, throat tight. "I just… I thought you might be hungry. Or maybe you'd want to talk. If you need… anything."
Her eyes dropped for a moment — maybe taking in the towel. Maybe catching the way the water still trailed down his chest. She blinked again and quickly looked away, embarrassed by her own noticing.
He didn't say anything at first.
Just stood there, letting the steam roll out of the bathroom behind him.
Then, quietly — perfectly measured:
"…Not yet."
She hesitated.
The tray shook slightly in her hands.
"Are you sure?"
Chad met her eyes — just for a second.
And tilted his voice into that exact broken register he'd practiced a thousand times as a kid in the system. Not too emotional. Not blank. Just tired. Too tired to lie.
"Just… let me think. Please."
A beat.
Then Lili nodded.
Her eyes glossed again, but she blinked the tears away.
"Of course, sweetheart. Take your time."
She stepped back, set the tray down on the nightstand without another word, and gently pulled the door shut behind her.
It clicked.
Soft.
Final.
Chad stood in the center of the room for a long moment, staring at the closed door.
Then he turned.
The tray sat neatly on the nightstand. Still warm. Toast slightly buttered. Eggs soft, just the way he liked. Lili had even added a drizzle of honey to the tea, the way she always did when he was sick as a child.
He sat on the edge of the bed.
Didn't touch the food.
Just looked at it.
A quiet part of him registered the care. The effort. The way she'd folded the napkin. The way she hadn't said anything about the blood. The System. The lie.
She was still trying to hold onto the image of a boy who could be hurt, could be saved.
She still thinks I'm that boy.
He let out a slow breath.
There was love in the tray.
And blindness.
Lili didn't want to see the thing he was becoming.
She wanted the boy who broke his arm falling off the swing set. Who cried after seeing Old Yeller. Who clung to her in the middle of thunderstorms.
But that boy had died last night.
And something else had stood up in his place.
Still, she loved him.
He could feel it radiating from the food, the folded linen, the crack in her voice.
That's how it starts.
Pity becomes protection. Protection becomes loyalty. Loyalty becomes need.
She didn't know it yet.
But she was already his.
They all were.
He picked up the toast.
Took a bite.
Warm. Soft. Familiar.
And as he chewed, he watched the steam from the tea curl upward toward the ceiling like a ribbon.
They think they brought me home.
But this was never theirs to begin with.
He reached for the tea.
And smiled.
Downstairs, he could hear them:
Luna's voice — clipped, tight, demanding answers she wouldn't get.
Mia, small and anxious, whispering questions through sniffles.
And Lili, holding them all together. Soft-voiced. Tired. Stretching herself thin.
They're scared. They're shaken. They're lost.
And I'm the center of all of it now.
He took another bite.
Walked to the bed.
Then let the towel fall.
Unceremonious.
He climbed in bare.
Laid back on clean sheets, warm tray in his lap, steam still rising faintly off his skin.
It felt good. Sloppy. Comforting.
He tore another piece of toast and chewed, slow.
No more waking up wondering if today's the day he throws me out.
No more sidelong glances at report cards or silent dinners.
The only obstacle is gone. Permanently.
And in its place? Lili.
Sweet. Tired. Alone now. Her hands had trembled when she passed him the tray.
She wouldn't question him. Not deeply. Not for a while.
She's too soft. Always has been.
And now she has no one left.
He shifted against the pillows, dragging the blanket over his legs, settling in like a man with nowhere else to be. Nowhere else he ever wants to go.
For the first time in years, he didn't feel the press of pressure behind his eyes.
The weight in his chest? Gone.
He had a bed. A system. A body that was changing in ways he could feel with every stretch and shift beneath the sheets.
The toast was gone.
He picked up the tea.
Still warm.
He sipped it slowly, fingers steady.
His eyes drifted across the posters on the walls — warriors, assassins, conquerors.
It was all fantasy once.
Now it's a roadmap.
His eyelids grew heavier.
A creeping weariness. Not weakness. Not failure.
Just drain.
The kind that follows transformation.
His body had grown. Adapted. Begun to rebuild itself overnight. Inside and out.
That took energy.
He welcomed the fatigue.
Let it settle in my bones. Let it help me grow.
He closed his eyes for a second.
Then another.
When I wake up… I'll be stronger.
School's almost done. I'll grind levels this summer. I'll get faster. Smarter. Cooler.
Luke won't see it coming. Jessica? Maybe I'll make her mine, just to watch his face.
He smiled faintly at the ceiling.
Let them all chase their grades and scholarships.
I have something better.
I have the System.
His thoughts drifted, pulse slowing.
The sound of voices downstairs faded into the background. The air warmed around him.
And slowly, without realizing, Chad Redfield began to drift.
Not into dreams.
Into planning.
The sun was rising slow over Lake Mansfield, casting long beams of pale gold across the frost-kissed pines that bordered the Redfield estate. The snow still clinging to the branches caught the light like powdered sugar. Thin sheets of ice shimmered on the lake's surface, already beginning to melt.
Inside the house, it was silent.
Not peaceful.
Just heavy.
The kind of silence that hangs after grief — brittle, untouchable.
Lili stood in the kitchen, her robe tied loosely, sleeves pushed up as she moved with the mechanical grace of someone going through the motions.
She had barely slept.
She'd lain on the edge of the couch with Mia curled into her side until the girl had finally cried herself out around 3 a.m. Lili didn't remember falling asleep. Just brief blinks of darkness between flashes of her own breath and the memory of Chad's face as he stepped out of the cruiser.
Mia still lay curled on the couch, bundled in a knit blanket, cartoon voices murmuring from the television. Her face was pale, cheeks blotchy.
Luna had gone upstairs hours ago and hadn't come back down. She hadn't said a word.
The kettle had clicked off fifteen minutes ago.
The tea still sat.
Lili had made toast. Eggs. Wrapped them gently in a cloth and set them on a tray, folding the napkin three times instead of two.
She didn't remember doing it.
Her hands moved by habit.
Her mind moved nowhere.
She looked toward the stairs.
Chad hadn't come down.
No water. No creaking floorboards.
No sign of life at all.
And that worried her more than anything else.
Not because she expected him to bounce back.
But because silence like this meant something was wrong.
She picked up the tray.
Stepped barefoot into the hallway. Her slippers were still by the couch. She hadn't noticed.
The wood beneath her feet was cold. The radiator hadn't caught up with the spring morning chill yet. The house still breathed like it had been holding its lungs overnight, slow exhales creaking through the old frame.
She climbed the stairs carefully, each step measured. Morning light filtered through the tall windows, brushing gold across the hallway as she reached the landing.
She paused outside Chad's door.
Knocked.
Soft.
"Chad...?"
No answer.
No rustle. No cough.
No shift of blankets or boards.
She hesitated.
Her hand rested on the doorknob for a moment. She told herself she'd just crack it. Just listen. Just check.
She turned it.
The door opened slowly, quietly.
The room was dim, touched only by thin beams of gold light slicing through half-drawn curtains. Dust motes hung suspended in the air like snow.
It smelled faintly of soap. Of damp linen. And something else.
Something biological. Sweet. Sharp. Animal.
It wasn't cologne. Not detergent.
It was him.
She stepped in.
Just two feet.
The tray in her hands.
Then she saw him.
And stopped.
He lay flat on his back, one arm draped over his bare chest, the other flung toward the far edge of the bed. The blanket had slid halfway down, bunched near his thighs.
The towel he'd gone to bed with was gone.
Slipped off sometime during the night.
He was completely, utterly exposed.
She swallowed. Blinked.
And for a moment—just a flicker—she didn't see Chad, the boy she had pulled from the snow a decade ago.
She saw a man.
His chest rose slow and steady. Broader than it had been. Shoulders wider, posture heavier. There were lines now across his stomach, faint ridges of muscle beneath skin that looked warmer than it should've. Alive in a way that made her breath catch for reasons she couldn't immediately name.
He wasn't fully grown.
Not yet.
But the difference between a boy and a man wasn't always size. Sometimes it was weight. Presence. The way someone filled a room even in sleep.
No. That's not right. He's always been—
Her thoughts tangled.
It was Chad. Of course it was.
But the image in front of her didn't align with her memory. It felt like standing at the edge of an old photo—the kind you hadn't seen in years—and realizing the edges didn't match. That someone had grown out of frame.
His face was softer in sleep. Lips parted. Lashes dark against flushed cheeks. His hair, still damp from the shower, clung in faint curls to his temple.
But something didn't line up.
He used to be smaller.
Narrower.
Safe.
And now?
Now there was a hum at the edge of her nerves. Not fear. Not shame.
Just unfamiliarity. Like she was looking at something she should know, but didn't anymore.
Something... evolved.
And then—
He stirred.
A breath.
Eyes opened, slow and unhurried. Unfocused at first. Then sharp.
"...Lili?"
His voice was low. Rough with sleep. Deeper than it used to be.
Not cracked, not small.
She startled. Nearly dropped the tray.
"Oh! Sorry—I didn't mean—I was just bringing breakfast. I thought you were…"
Her words stumbled. She couldn't finish them. Because the sheets moved with him as he sat up, baring more of that strange, changed frame, and she turned away quickly, toward the door.
"I—I'll just leave this here. You should rest. I'm so sorry—just... just rest."
She placed the tray on the nightstand with a trembling hand, head turned, eyes fixed on the floor. Then she left the room quickly, not waiting for a reply.
In the hallway, she stopped.
Closed the door gently behind her.
Pressed a hand to her chest.
Her breath came short.
Her skin felt too warm.
And her hands were shaking.
She didn't understand why.
Not yet.
Down the hallway, Luna cracked open her bedroom door.
She'd heard it—her mother's voice. Sharp. Breathless. Not loud, but not right. Not for morning. Not for grief.
She stepped out into the hallway, rubbing at her eyes.
Her hoodie hung off one shoulder, sleeves stretched from years of use. Her shorts were black athletic ones she wore to bed, one sock navy, the other gray. Her braid from the night before was loose and lopsided, but her eyes were alert now—cleared by instinct.
Something's off.
"Mom?" she called out, low and firm. "What was that?"
Lili didn't stop.
She was walking fast, face flushed, eyes wide. She looked like someone coming out of a hot shower—or trying to walk away from something too quickly.
"Nothing," she said. Too fast. Too light. "Just… let him sleep. Don't go in there."
But Luna was already moving.
Because that? That wasn't normal.
Chad hadn't said a word since he came home. No thank-you. No update. Just vanished upstairs like the world owed him silence.
Part of her had expected it—figured he'd sink into his usual pattern of withdrawal. Trauma gave him a perfect excuse.
But this?
Her mother's face?
That tightened everything.
She crept to his door, barefoot. The floor was cold under her heels.
It was open.
Not wide.
Just cracked. Enough to suggest someone meant to close it… and didn't.
She hesitated.
Then pushed.
The door creaked open.
Light filtered in through the curtains, pale and gold, brushing the floor and bed in soft bands.
She blinked, letting her eyes adjust.
Then froze.
Chad was on the bed.
No shirt. No towel. No effort to hide himself.
He sat there like it was nothing. Legs relaxed. One arm stretching behind his head. The blanket a half-fallen mess at his side.
He didn't move.
Didn't scramble.
Didn't even flinch when the door opened.
Luna's breath caught in her throat.
She wasn't staring—she told herself that.
But her eyes moved anyway.
His torso — lean, tight, defined. Not like a gym rat, but not soft anymore either. Shoulders wider than she remembered. Skin warmer in tone. His chest rose and fell slow, controlled.
Her eyes tracked up—neck, jaw, cheekbones.
His face wasn't new. But it was different.
Like someone had taken the boy she grew up with and added weight. Definition. Something in the shadows of his eyes looked too old for seventeen.
And then came the scent.
Not body spray. Not soap.
Something else.
Something... primal.
Warm and strange and wrong in this context. It hit her like static — slow and clinging. Her stomach twisted before she could process why. Her brain scrambled for a label it didn't have.
Her spine stiffened.
What is that? Why does it feel like... like heat?
And then his eyes met hers.
Still half-lidded. Still heavy from sleep.
But focused. Direct.
He didn't reach for the blanket.
Didn't say sorry.
He just looked at her like he'd been expecting her. Like this moment belonged to him. Like she was the one interrupting something sacred.
And that?
That's when Luna's body finally caught up with her mind.
"Dude—seriously?" she snapped, voice too loud, trying to break whatever weird spell was forming. "What the hell? Close the damn door if you're gonna sleep like that!"
Her voice cracked halfway through.
She hated that.
It made her sound young.
It gave something away.
Chad didn't react much.
Just blinked.
And smiled.
A little.
Not an apology. Not embarrassment.
Just a flicker of acknowledgment.
Like he'd seen something he liked. Like he knew she had, too.
Luna spun on her heel, yanked the door shut with a heavy thud, and stood there with her palm against the wood like she had to physically push the moment away.
Her chest rose too fast.
Too high.
Her breath stuttered as she turned and stormed down the hall.
"Freak," she muttered under her breath. "What the hell is wrong with you…"
But she didn't believe it.
Not really.
Because her heart was still thumping too fast.
And that smell — that weird, wrong scent — still lingered in her nose.
And she couldn't stop thinking about how his eyes didn't look like Chad's anymore.
Not like her brother's.
Not like any boy's.
Luna slammed her door harder than she meant to.
The sound echoed in the hallway — too sharp for morning, too loud for what had just happened — and she stood there for a moment, hand on the knob, breathing too fast.
Idiot. Freak. What the hell was that?
She paced once.
Twice.
Then stopped at the foot of her bed, gripping the bedpost like she needed it to ground her.
She sat down. Hard.
The room was cold. The windows were still fogged from last night. She pulled her blanket around her legs but didn't move beyond that.
She couldn't stop seeing it.
Him.
Chad.
Naked. Stretched out like he owned the space, like he knew she'd come in. Like he didn't care.
That was the part that got her — the calm.
No shame. No panic. No scrambling to cover himself.
He just looked at her like she was… late.
And worse?
She'd looked back.
Not for long. Just a second. Maybe two.
But her eyes had scanned — torso, chest, arms, face.
And down.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
You weren't staring. You weren't. It was just—he didn't even cover up!
But still.
She saw.
And she couldn't unsee it.
His body was… different. Not just from what she remembered, but from what she expected. Stronger. Tighter. Like someone had taken his shape and reforged it, made it harder, denser, more solid.
She wasn't used to seeing guys like that. Not in real life.
She'd never had a boyfriend. Had never even kissed anyone. Her world was track meets, study groups, locker room gossip she tuned out.
She didn't care for boys. Didn't need them.
Until now, she thought she had them figured out — dumb, loud, muscle-obsessed attention-seekers like Luke and his crew. They were easy to reject.
But Chad?
He wasn't supposed to look like that.
He wasn't supposed to be a man.
Not yet.
Not to her.
He was the weird one. The quiet one. The boy who talked too much about games and disappeared for days when he got obsessed with a project.
But now?
Now he was… something else.
Her arms folded tighter across her chest. Her legs curled in. She pulled the blanket higher.
Her heart was still beating too hard.
He's not your real brother, a quiet voice said.
Not by blood. Not even by choice. You were just kids when Mom brought him home.
That didn't matter.
It wasn't about that.
It was about the look in his eyes.
And the way he didn't flinch when she saw him.
Like he'd been expecting it.
Like it didn't bother him.
And something about that bothered her.
It made her feel smaller. And she didn't like that.
She was always the one in control. The one who didn't flinch. The one who walked away.
But now she was sitting here, flushed, confused, and trying not to think about what a man's body looked like when it wasn't just a diagram in health class — when it was real and right in front of her.
What is wrong with me…
She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes.
The image burned in her mind anyway.
She turned the volume up on her phone and flicked to a playlist. Something loud. Something fast. Something else.
But the smell still lingered in her memory.
And the look in his eyes…
It wasn't going anywhere.
Not yet.
Lili stood at the kitchen sink, hands resting under the running water.
She wasn't washing anything.
Just letting the stream run across her fingers. The sensation was grounding. Cold enough to bite, but not enough to shock her fully awake.
Her hands trembled — not dramatically, but in small, rhythmic pulses. The kind of tremble that doesn't start in the body, but in the mind. The kind that stays after the crying stops.
She stared not at the backyard, not at the lake just beyond the pines — but at her reflection in the kitchen window. Faint. Ghostlike. Blurred by the glare of morning light on glass.
She barely recognized herself.
Her eyes were ringed with red. Her face drawn. Her skin blotched where tears had dried.
It's just exhaustion.Just a long night.Just trauma.
She reached for the faucet — paused.
Left her hand there, suspended in the stream. Watching the water curl around her fingers like it might answer something she hadn't asked aloud.
Her heart was still racing.
The image was still there.
Chad.
His body.
His eyes.
You just walked in on him. That's all. It's not the first time.You raised him.You changed his diapers. Bathed him when he was covered in dirt and cuts.You're his mother.
And yet…
Something in her had hesitated.
Not just from shock. Not just from seeing a naked boy in his bed.
But from something deeper.
Unnamable.
The way the air had felt when she stepped into his room — thick, humid, charged. Like stepping into a greenhouse full of something blooming too fast. The scent hadn't been soap. Or sweat. Or anything human, really.
It had been biological. Instinctual. Almost… wrong.
Her breath caught as she finally shut off the faucet. The sudden silence made it worse.
She dried her hands slowly on the nearest towel. Not because she needed to. Because it gave her something to do.
Her thoughts circled like trapped birds.
He's not a boy anymore.But it didn't feel like pride.It felt like a shift. Like the center of the house had moved — just slightly. Just enough that everyone felt it, but no one could say why.
She turned, finally, toward the living room.
Cartoons still played on the screen — something colorful, simple. Familiar. But even that didn't cut through the tension.
Mia was sitting on the edge of the couch now. Not curled up anymore. Just perched.
Hands on her knees. Blanket still around her shoulders.
Staring.
Not at the TV.
At nothing.
Lili swallowed. Her throat felt raw again.
"Sweetheart," she said, softer than intended.
Mia turned slowly to look at her.
She didn't smile.
Didn't speak.
Just nodded.
Her eyes were too wide for morning.
Too knowing for thirteen.
And in that silence — the one that followed nightmares and loss and things that didn't quite make sense — Lili realized she wasn't the only one who felt it.
Even Mia knew.
Something in the house had changed.
Not broken.
Just… shifted.
Like the walls had realigned around someone else's shape.
And none of them had words for it yet.
But all of them felt it.
Chad lay stretched across the bed, the blankets kicked half off, skin bare and open to the rising warmth bleeding in through the curtains.
He hadn't bothered with the towel.
Why would he?
The room was warm. The sheets were soft. The space was his.
Sunlight cut across the mattress in gold slants, illuminating the quiet disarray around him. One leg hung loosely off the edge of the bed, the other bent slightly at the knee. His body rested in a perfect sprawl, lazy and unconcerned.
Beside him, the tray sat lopsided, one corner pressing into the blanket. The eggs were half-eaten. Toast crumbs dotted his chest and stomach. A smear of jam glistened on the sheet near his hip.
He didn't care.
Let it stain. Let it sit.
Lili would clean it up.
She always did.
She had brought it to him like she always had. But this time her hands had trembled. Her eyes had darted. Her breath had caught when she saw him.
She didn't even try to hide it.
And Luna?
Still playing the same game. Still trying to hold onto whatever illusion of control she thought she had.
But he'd seen her.
The way she froze in the doorway.
The way her eyes scanned him before she snapped.
The way she slammed the door too fast, too hard, as if she was running from something she didn't want to feel.
He licked a smear of butter from his thumb and smiled.
They didn't say it. But they felt it. So did I.
He wasn't Chad the ghost anymore. Chad the stray. Chad the tolerated presence in the house.
He was seen now.
He was felt.
He could feel the weight of it in the room—a shift in pressure, like gravity had found a new anchor. The space bent toward him now. It knew its center.
Lili's flushed exit.
Luna's cracked voice.
Even Mia, too young to name it, had stared a moment too long over her cocoa.
I'm not just stronger.
I'm not invisible anymore.
The System hadn't just healed him. It had declared him.
Rewritten him.
Elevated him.
And this was only Level One.
He let out a quiet laugh. Not sharp, not mocking. Just pleased. Content. The sound of a boy waking up in a body that finally made sense.
Crumbs dropped onto the blanket as he bit into the last piece of toast. He didn't brush them away. He stretched, one arm behind his head, the other resting lazily over his stomach. His posture was effortless. Possessive.
This room, this bed, this moment — it was all his now.
This is how kings wake up.
The steam from the tea curled upward from the cup beside him.
He hadn't touched it.
Didn't need to.
He felt full.
Not from the food.
From the shift.
The sense of power settling into his bones like warmth in muscle.
It pulsed through him. Not in his chest. In his spine. A hum. A whisper.
An invitation.
He smiled wider, almost without realizing.
His voice came low, lazy, satisfied.
"System."
The word wasn't spoken for show.
It was a summon.
And just like that, the flicker returned.
Silent.
Cold.
Ready.
That electric pulse behind his eyes flared again—like a spark caught behind the retina—followed by the sudden, silent click of the interface.
It unfolded cleanly across his mind's eye.
Sharp.
Precise.
Etched in black glass and silver-glow lettering, it wasn't just a screen. It was architecture, suspended in the dark of his mind like something ancient made digital.
Still cold.
Still sterile.
Still limitless.
[SYSTEM – ASCENSION INTERFACE]
[Soul Balance: 2](hover for breakdown)
[Soul Points: 1650 SP]
He blinked.
Focused on the number.
Immediately, the text shimmered and expanded, splitting off into a semi-transparent overlay.
[SOUL LEDGER – ACTIVE]
Source Type Kill Method Value Status Arthur Redfield Human Direct / Intentional 1250 SP Unspent Eastern Bull Moose Beast Brutal Melee 400 SP Unspent
[Total Deaths: 2]
[Total Accrued Soul Points: 1650 SP]
[Total Spent: 0 SP]
Chad sat up straighter.
Eyes wide.
Then narrowing.
Oh... hell yes.
It wasn't just a number.
It was a history. A ledger. A tally of consequence.
He stared at Arthur's name.
Just text. Just black-on-gray.
Final.
1250 SP.
That's all he was worth in the end.
There should have been weight to it. Some twist of guilt.
There wasn't.
Just clarity.
A clean, mathematical certainty.
The moose's soul looked almost like a footnote in comparison. Still valuable, but barely.
Even beasts have worth.
Even death that doesn't speak still builds power.
He closed the ledger with a thought.
Returned to the core.
[Ascension Interface – Core Categories]
• Weapons
• Skills & Abilities
• Bloodlines
• Summons
• Knowledge
• Crafting / Tools
• Vehicles
• Magic
• Hidden (LOCKED – Class Rank 2+)
• Forbidden (LOCKED – ???)
He hovered over them slowly, one mental flick at a time.
Each category shimmered under his focus—some expanding with detail, others stuttering with corrupted symbols or glitching glyphs like the system didn't want him seeing them yet.
Walls everywhere.
Gates.
Temptation.
He dropped into Weapons first.
And nearly flinched.
Frostmourne — 88,000 SP
Buster Sword (Final Fantasy) — 75,000 SP
Halo Energy Sword — 62,000 SP
Witch King's Mace — 110,000 SP
The names alone were heavy.
He flicked sideways. A new page loaded.
Modern Weapons:
• Beretta M9 (Military-Issue) — 4,500 SP
• AR-15 (Modded) — 10,000 SP
• Riot Suppression Shotgun — 15,500 SP
• Anti-Material Rifle — 24,000 SP
• Tactical Grenade Pack — 9,000 SP
His pulse ticked up slightly.
He hovered over the shotgun.
Just long enough to imagine it in his hands.
Then backed out.
Not yet.
Curiosity took over.
He flicked to Vehicles.
Instant regret.
• 2023 Dodge Charger (Black) — 22,000 SP
• Armored SUV (Unmarked) — 38,000 SP
• WWII German Panzer Tank — 180,000 SP
• Hovercycle — 120,000 SP
• Star Wars Speeder Bike — 300,000 SP
• Batmobile (Variant A) — 500,000 SP
He actually laughed.
A sharp, amused breath. Uncontained.
I can't even afford a fender.
Still, the dream lingered.
Cruising down a backroad in a tank. Letting Luna see it from the window. Letting the whole town hear it rumble.
He smirked. Then blinked the thought away.
Not yet.
He slid into the Summons category.
And here... things got strange.
The list wasn't just long. It was surgical.
Submenus. Subcategories. Sorting options.
At the top, a toggle:
"Summon Type: Living | Bound | Controlled | Uncontrolled"
He scrolled.
Humans – Basic Template Tier:
• Human (Infant) — 500 SP
• Human (Young Child) — 750 SP
• Human (Teenager) — 1200 SP
• Human (Adult — Generic) — 1600 SP
• Human (Middle-Aged Professional) — 2100 SP
• Human (Elder — Intellectual) — 3000 SP
A red triangle icon hovered over several entries:
"Warning: Summoned entities possess independent minds. Alignment unpredictable."
There was even a gender filter.
He arched an eyebrow.
Unsettling? Sure.
But useful.
Then came the fantasy races.
Fantasy Races – Tier 1 (Unlocked):
• Goblin (Feral) — 600 SP
• Elf (Commoner) — 2500 SP
• Dwarf (Warrior) — 3000 SP
• Orc (Brute) — 3200 SP
• Dark Elf (Scout) — 3500 SP
• Succubus (Feral) — 4200 SP
Several entries were greyed out:
• Angelic Fragment — LOCKED
• Vampire Spawn — LOCKED
• Demonkin — LOCKED
He flipped over to the Historical category.
Legacy Candidates (Rare):
• George Washington (War Leader — Summon) — 45,000 SP
• Miyamoto Musashi (Sword Saint — Unbound) — 60,000 SP
• Cleopatra (Diplomatic Caster) — 55,000 SP
• Nikola Tesla (Inventor Variant — Semi-Controlled) — 72,000 SP
• Alexander the Great (Unstable Strategist) — 80,000 SP
Chad leaned back slowly.
Eyes wide.
Mouth slightly open.
This is insane.
This is real.
This is mine.
He couldn't afford any of it yet.
But just seeing it?
Lit something inside him.
A hunger.
He wasn't just some kid with a HUD anymore.
He was looking at the toolkit of gods, tyrants, and monsters.
And the only price?
Souls.
He stared for a long moment.
Then blinked the tab closed.
Took a breath.
Stop browsing like a noob. You have 1650 SP. That buys one throwaway dagger. Maybe a low-end summon. Nothing real.
Then the thought shifted.
A hum in his chest.
Bloodline.
He flipped back to the Bloodlines tab.
The interface shifted — darker than the rest, edged in green and red, as if it was alive beneath the code.
Most of the entries were grayed out, locked behind warnings and unreadable symbols.
[GREENSKIN — TIER 0][Level 1: ACTIVE]
Below it, a faint expansion icon pulsed.
He tapped it mentally.
The next upgrade unfolded:
[Level 2: UNLOCK COST — 10 Souls]
(Equivalent Soul Points: 6,000 SP)
Chad blinked.
Ten souls.
He had two.
But the price didn't scare him.
Because the second he focused on the entry — his body reacted.
Heat rolled through his chest.
Muscle along his arms tightened. Shoulders shifted slightly. His spine straightened.
The same pressure that had made Lili fumble. The stare that had made Luna freeze in the doorway.
All of that... from just Level One.
His mind reeled at the math.
If Level One gave me this... what does Level Two look like?
What happens at Level Five? At Ten?
A new prompt blinked below:
[Milestone System Active]
"Upon reaching Bloodline Level 10, user may choose:**
• Evolve current bloodline (Tier Ascension)
• Select an additional Bloodline (dual-path option)
• Convert all Tier 0 data into Evolution Path"
Another set of greyed-out options showed possible upgrade names:
[Greenskin – Tier 1 Evolutions: LOCKED]
• Fleshforged Juggernaut
• Bone-Hammer Bastion
• Primeblood Reproducer
• Savageborn Predator
• Warchild Chimera (Rare)
All locked.
All distant.
But not impossible.
His fingers twitched.
He could already feel it. The need to grow. The pull.
This isn't just about strength. This is identity. This is transformation.
Grind to ten. Then evolve. Or branch out.
He smiled.
Closed the interface.
Time to earn.