Congratulations! You have unlocked the Newbie Pack: earning 3 points to be reallocated to any skill.
— What... rubbish. — she murmured while blinking, looking at the notifications. She had expected weapons, food, or a new skill. What would she do with the skill points? — So, I just need to move one skill point to something like increasing attractiveness? —
*Skills Screen*
Character name: Eve Prescott
Class: Succubus
Level: 1
Active Skills: None found
Passive Skills:
- Aphrodite: Basic Seductress Skill - Level 2 - Description: Increases attractiveness.
Unique Ability: None found
Titles: None found
Skill points: 2
Blinking tiredly, she stood up, abandoning her shirt on the messy bed. The realization that she could feel tired in her own dream surprised her. She decided to take a shower, still rationing water before returning to the room where she had woken up. The noise outside was starting to get louder and more bizarre with all the grunting.
Waking up in the same bed still in her dream was scary for her. The combination of how real it felt stopped her for a few seconds, until she decided to ignore it. It was just one of those long dreams she had heard about.
The first activity was to check out the vegetables and see which ones she could try to plant. However, among all, only the onion was actually plantable, assuming that she could plant it in the soil in her backyard. She scratched her head, confused about how to proceed with what she had. The mixture of vegetables resulted in a delicious salad that would have to sustain her all day if her plan to explore the dream apocalypse was successful.
The zombies at the beginning of the novel were not as strong as the mutant zombies that would eventually emerge. So, a simple layer of more resistant clothing might help. However, that wasn't her goal; she aimed to achieve something she had seen in one of her favorite series about the apocalypse. Covering herself in zombie entrails, in her logic, should provide camouflage. Although it was not a pleasant prospect, it was certainly her secret dream.
She dressed in layers of jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and a leather jacket she found among the male protagonist's clothes. With a raincoat to spread entrails and a simple kitchen knife, she found herself leaving the house.
She wondered if dying would mean waking up or if it would be like a game where she would respawn. Or perhaps she could dream of being a zombie... Should she allow herself to be bitten?
Humming in agreement, she found the situation interesting. Upon leaving the house and passing through the fence, she didn't encounter any zombies, which was honestly anticlimactic.
The house was nestled in a noble area, characterized by its well-kept residences and orderly streets, each adorned with some form of fencing, all following a common pattern. The absence of zombies in this affluent neighborhood puzzled her. Perhaps, she mused, it was precisely this uniformity and security measures that kept the undead at bay.
However, the first zombie she saw was trying to break through the fence to reach her. Maybe because it was something she had dreamed of for so long and prepared herself psychologically, it wasn't as special as she had imagined. The zombie's grayish skin bore a single bite on his neck, where her fingers had sunk in as she grabbed his throat and pulled him against the fence.
In the first attempt to stab him, the knife slipped, cutting part of his forehead and almost injuring her own fingers. It was only on the second attempt that she was successful. The zombie's resistance was greater than she expected. He escaped the knife and was out of reach of her fingers as gravity did what it was supposed to.
She slammed the knife into the fence, the metallic clang echoing in the eerie silence of the deserted surroundings. With a cautious glance around for any other zombies, she pondered a doubt that had begun to gnaw at her: perhaps the technique wouldn't work once the zombies started to evolve. Could the zombies in her dream evolve? The unsettling thought lingered, prompting her to wonder if she could alter the dream's course if she concentrated enough...
He stared at the zombie, waiting for it to evolve, but nothing happened.
As she stabbed him in the stomach, rubbing against the raincoat, she regretted not having looked better for an elastic to tie her hair back from the beginning. Should it smell so bad?
Raising her hand to her mouth, the sight of the scattered guts mixed with her scent hit her hard. Nauseous, Laurel fell back, just before turning around and vomiting on the floor next to the zombie, expelling all of her breakfast. Ripping the raincoat off her, Laurel ran back home, scared.
- Shit, shit, shit, shit,- she continued to repeat tirelessly. Laurel's legs weakened, letting her entire body fall to the ground without strength. The taste of vomit still in her mouth pulsed, reminding her of what felt real. - It can't be real,- Laurel muttered, trying to get up, dragging herself across the living room towards the kitchen.
Barely managing to stand up, shaking uncontrollably, she reached the drawer where the knives were stored. Gripping tightly, Laurel watched the knife tremble in her hand as she slid it across her own skin. The intense pain was very real. The knife fell from her hand as she tried to stop the bleeding from her wrist. "Shit, shit, shit, shit," she muttered through clenched teeth. The pulsing pain was like a punch in the stomach, more real than the smells or the hunger she felt before.
She allowed herself to cry, pulling her knees against her torso as she curled up as much as she could. It was real. Maybe she was dead?
Laurel didn't dwell on herself or try to understand what had happened; instead, she remembered her mother. The candle had a funny smell, but she wouldn't do something like that… would she?
The sun was at its peak when she rose again. Her small face was swollen and red from crying. The blood had already stopped flowing from her wrist.
Laurel—or was it Eve now?—crawled through the house towards the bathroom. It smelled of vomit, blood, rotting zombie flesh, and phlegm that had run down onto her blouse. Her eyes were dull, without the shine they used to have.
She was always good at ignoring problems, like when her mother ignored her and she focused on reading, but she doubted she could do that now. The strange smell of the candle kept coming back to her thoughts every time she worried about her mother finding her body.
Because she knew, a certainty that screamed inside her, that she was dead.
Laurel stopped with her wet clothes, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to her skin, as she realized that she hadn't removed all the layers. Hastily, she began to rip off her clothes, the sound of fabric tearing echoing in the empty house. Just then, the distant rumble of a car engine reached her ears, breaking the eerie silence of the post-apocalyptic world around her.
"Congratulations on the mission accomplished!"