Mark sat with his back against the wall, hands resting in his lap. No blisters. No open wounds. Just smooth skin where, hours ago, there had been scorched flesh.
He stared at his palms in disbelief. The burns—second-degree at best, nerve-deep at worst—were gone. Not even a scar. No peeling, no redness, not even the faintest trace of pain. Just clean, unblemished skin.
That wasn't natural, he thought, flexing his fingers slowly. That wasn't just pain suppression… that was actual healing.
For a moment, he wondered if the G.O.D. system had changed—evolved. Or maybe… maybe it worked differently under extreme conditions. He didn't remember using a healing skill. But something had triggered.
Across from him, Alex was rummaging through his backpack. He looked up, immediately noticing the way Mark kept turning his hands over.
"You were half-melted last night," Alex muttered. "What the hell happened?"
"I don't know," Mark replied honestly. "They were burned. Deep. Now… nothing."
Alex didn't look at Mark as he suprissed Mark as he tossed over a beat-up can of drinks.
Mark caught it without thinking, still tracing the lines of his palm, as if expecting the burns to reappear.
Mark and Alex just oooked at the celling in silent before they both dosed off.
---
At 5:32 AM, Mark woke to the sound of soft grunts. Alex was doing push-ups, slow and controlled.
"You know muscle atrophy starts after twenty-four hours without food?" he asked without looking up.
"What time is it?"
"Still 5:32," Alex answered. "Watch is stuck."
Mark sat in the corner and watched quietly until six. Then, Alex dropped flat, arms shaking slightly.
"I'm taking a nap," he muttered, rolling over.
Mark nodded. "Yeah. Me too."
---
Mark's eyes snapped open. He wasn't sure how long he'd been out, but Alex was already awake, sitting with his back to the wall, staring blankly into space.
"You good?" Mark asked.
Alex didn't look over. "Yeah."
"You ready to move?"
Alex stood and stretched, ribs no longer stiff from the blow he'd taken the day before. The deep bruises were still there, but whatever system-triggered regeneration he'd tapped into overnight had closed the internal bleeding.
They walked out into the corridor.
Sunlight spilled through the windows, warm and blinding. The hallway reeked of dried blood and rot. Bodies were everywhere, but no movement. No moaning. No undead. Just silence.
They rounded a corner—and stopped.
Standing at the far end of the hallway was a massive figure. Easily six-foot-seven, maybe taller. Shredded clothes hung off pale, speckled flesh. Its body moved with jerks and spasms, but its eyes… its eyes were still human. Barely.
"What the fuck…?" Alex took a step back.
The giant turned toward them, steam rising off its body from infected lesions. It charged.
"Alex, move!" Mark shouted, gripping his axe.
The monster's fist slammed into the wall, shattering tile where Alex had stood seconds before. Alex dove to the side, rolling behind a locker. Mark swung his axe at the creature's neck.
The blade connected—but only glanced off bone, sending a spray of rot and splinters into the air. Mark cried out, stumbling back as bits of decayed bone struck his face.
"Fireball!" he shouted instinctively, raising his right arm.
A searing orb of flame launched from his palm, slamming into the creature's face. It howled, flesh blackening instantly.
Alex burst forward swinging the makeshift spare. He drove the spear into the giant's abdomen—again and again—until the stench of decaying flesh filled the air.
The creature screeched, flailing—and one wild fist caught Alex square in the chest.
Bang.
He flew backward, crashing into a wall and crumpling to the floor. Blood spewed from his mouth.
Mark didn't hesitate. He rushed to Alex's side, dragging him back behind a broken table.
Alex coughed hard, spitting red into his palm. "I think… I'm good," he groaned.
"You're not. But we're not dead yet."
The monster roared from the hallway, shaking dust from the ceiling.