The other me reminded me of a fantasy I'd once entertained—a world where I was muscular instead of perpetually malnourished. He stood there, a stark contrast to my lean, battered form, tracing his gaze from my head to my feet. Then, with a slow shake of his head, he exuded something unmistakably condescending. If he had a mouth, I was sure he would have sighed in disappointment. Instead, his entire body seemed to deflate in an exaggerated fashion, an almost theatrical display of exasperation.
It was comical. Comical and deeply irritating.
I mean, sure, I was lean. And yes, I was bloodied. But I liked to think it added to my charm, gave me a sort of rugged, dangerous appeal. He, apparently, disagreed.
Before I could start arguing with my own shadow, it suddenly turned away from me and began sinking into the floor, melting seamlessly into the darkness. Within seconds, it had completely reverted to an actual shadow, reattaching itself to my leg like it had never left in the first place.
"What's with the attitude?" I muttered, about to launch into a full-blown rant—until the sharp sting in my left arm reminded me that standing around yapping in the open was probably not the best idea. Priorities.
I quickly took off, searching for shelter. Fortunately, this whole nightmare had only begun two days ago, so there were still a few intact buildings around. I slipped into one, shutting the door behind me.
The first thing I spotted inside was a bed, and for a brief, blissful moment, I considered just collapsing onto it. Unfortunately, reality had other plans.
Number one, I was still bleeding profusely.
Number two, I hadn't checked the building for any lurking wraiths.
Number three, there was still far too much to process.
With a heavy sigh, I dragged myself to the bathroom. To my surprise and relief, there was a bathtub—and even a few buckets. Small mercies.
I wasted no time stripping off my tattered clothes and stepping into the tub. The moment the cold water met my skin, especially the raw wound on my arm, I let out a strangled cry that was part agony, part regret. For a few seconds, I just sat there, letting the events of the day flood my mind. There was too much to ignore, too much to discard.
So, I started sorting through it all.
First and foremost—my ability.
I had faced multiple life-or-death situations since waking up in this hellscape, yet not once had my shadow emerged to help me. Not until now. That left me with two theories:
One, it was restricted to the night, just as my power was weaker during the day.
Two, it was sentient and had simply chosen not to reveal itself until I was actually about to die.
The latter thought made me irrationally angry. That bastard couldn't see the future. I could have died a dozen times before this. What, did it think those situations weren't dire enough? Did it have some kind of barely-about-to-die threshold before it deemed me worthy of assistance?
I set that irritation aside—at least for now. No point getting mad at a shadow I didn't even fully understand yet.
The second thing on my mind—the Wraiths. Or Aberrants, as the deranged deity had called them.
There were too many uncertainties surrounding them. First, their varying levels of strength. The wolves were nothing compared to the banshee, and the banshee, in turn, was nothing compared to the colossal entity that had punched me across several towns.
Which begged the question—were there even stronger beings out there?
Of course, there were. I already knew the answer. Fate was cruel like that.
Another troubling detail—variety. I had encountered at least three distinct types of Wraiths. And the one that made those awful scraping noises? That was something else entirely. If they had both numbers and diversity on their side, that meant one thing.
This was going to be a very long year.
I exhaled slowly, pushing that grim realization aside. At least there was one silver lining—all the Wraiths I had encountered so far had a way to be killed.
The wolves were weak on their underbellies.
The banshee's power came from its grotesque, hole-ridden neck.
The others? I hadn't lived long enough to find out.
The real problem wasn't their weaknesses. It was actually getting to those weaknesses without being turned into a smear on the pavement first.
The last and perhaps most unsettling observation popped into my head uninvited.
There were no humans in this city.
The apocalypse had only started two days ago. Two. So why was the entire town already devoid of life?
And it wasn't just that people were missing—there were hardly any bodies. In all my wandering, I had come across less than twenty. In an entire town.
That wasn't normal.
I didn't want to dwell on the implications, because every theory that came to mind was more horrifying than the last. So, I shoved it to the back of my head. There was only one thing that truly mattered right now—reaching and saving my family.
Everything else? Just background noise.
Time passed more quickly while I was lost in my thoughts. The ambient darkness in the house had restored my strength to about 50 percent, which was enough to keep going. A few hours later, I climbed out of the tub, my arm still throbbing, and set about finding some clothes.
After rummaging through a wardrobe, I found a pair of black pants and a white long-sleeved shirt. Good enough. I pulled them on, threw my overcoat over it, and finally turned to the mirror.
Not too bad.
Sure, my face still looked like it had gone three rounds with death itself, but at least I wasn't covered in dried blood anymore. The only thing ruining my otherwise devastatingly handsome self was the dark rings under my green eyes.
People had always looked at me weirdly for them—strange, unnatural, even unsettling, they'd say. Personally? I thought they made me look cooler.
I considered tying my hair back into its usual ponytail but immediately abandoned the idea. Too much effort. It could stay as it was.
Tempted as I was to collapse into a bed, I knew better. My strength was at its peak during the night. I would make this house my base, restrict my activity to nighttime, and rest during the day.
After a very thorough search of the house to ensure no nasty surprises were lurking in the shadows, I returned to the living room and grabbed a box of cereal from the dining table. Without ceremony, I tore it open and started shoving handfuls into my mouth.
Cereal wasn't exactly a luxury I had often indulged in before, so I took a small moment to appreciate the tiny silver lining in my otherwise horrific life.
I might have even believed that sentiment if a lone tear hadn't slipped down my cheek.
Pushing all that aside, I turned my attention to the real task at hand.
I pulled down every curtain and covered any openings with stray fabric to block out any potential daylight. Then, I sat down on the couch, stretching out my fingers.
It was time to begin my training.
How to Use My Ability 101.