Apocalypse Ascension

With steeled resolve, Justin's steps fell heavier now, still stepping over bodies and limbs. Hope Center was just down the block so the walk was anything but far, along the way another corpse caught his eye.

The man was dressed in a navy blue uniform with a handgun, handcuffs, and a flashlight on his duty belt.

'Avalon City Police Department… If even a cop couldn't survive him… what chance did the rest have?'

Avalon City—Justin's lifelong home, located in New Jersey, United States. It was founded in 2020, aiming to surpass economic powerhouses like New York and Tokyo combined—designed by global architecture firms it boasted towering megastructures, advanced transit lines, and green infrastructure. For a short while, it seemed like it could really achieve these far-fetched goals.

But then, reality hit like a tidal wave. For all these positives and a sprint toward rapid progress, the flaws of the plan stuck out like sore thumbs. Avalon's officials forgot all about its mid-low class and the city's crummy areas: known as the Underlevels, where Justin resided.

Shelters like the one Justin was headed to, adoption centers, and mental health facilities received subpar funding. Even the sanitary workers were underpaid—leading to strikes, riots, and occasional graffiti in these Underlevel streets.

Now, in 2035—after fifteen years of development, Avalon had finally shown signs of improvement… before everything went to shit of course.

Ending that thought, Justin squatted down, pulling the handgun out of the officer's duty belt and pressing the magazine release button.

'No ammo…probably why he died, rest in peace man.'

Justin closed his eyes for a moment before placing the handgun back in its holster and unbuckling the cop's duty belt, strapping it to his waist.

'A wise man once said: "by failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail"…or something like that.'

[That man was Benjamin Franklin, a true wise man indeed.]

Pathway added, earning a nod of approval from its host.

Refocusing on the corpse, Justin also took his jet black bulletproof vest. It was lightweight, but offered far better protection than a plain black T-shirt ever could.

Before putting it on he checked for any damage or bloodstains, finding a few gashes or claw marks but nothing serious.

The vest fit perfectly along Justin's chest, he didn't realize yet but those stat increases he gained were developing his body's muscle growth substantially.

'Pathway, just to be sure… firearms do work on those things right?'

Cold sweat poured down Justin's back, and rightfully so, If guns, the backbone of modern warfare—didn't work, the fate of not just Avalon… but the entire world would be uncertain.

[Correct Justin, firearms are effective. However, their effectiveness almost vanishes if an existence C rank or higher appears. Harming them is only possible if vitals are attacked. I recommend you urgently increase your rank!]

Justin exhaled, half relieved and the other half… dreadful.

'That's somewhat good to hear, but what are the chances I'll actually run into something C rank or above?'

[The chances of encountering a C- rank threat in the next 24 hours sits at 64%, Justin.]

A small gulp sounded out in the city street.

'…Sixty-four percent? That's not a chance— it's a guarantee with hope sprinkled a little on top…I'll heed your recommendation then, sir Pathway.'

Thinking this, he continued on. Hope Center wasn't far, but somehow, it felt farther than ever.

***

As he bent a corner, Hope Center finally came into view.

But the scene that played before him was the polar opposite of what he expected.

The shelter's front entrance was barricaded with cafeteria tables, shopping carts, and desks stacked making a lopsided wall. Behind the barrier, dozens of frightened faces peeked out—mothers cradling toddlers, the sick and elderly, and scrappy teens holding sticks, crowbars, and broken brooms. Justin made it, but it wasn't safe in the slightest.

A low growl rumbled through the air as six monstrous hounds lingered just beyond the gate. They circled like wolves around dying prey just waiting to feast, they looked like Rottweilers but different—bigger with longer limbs, patches of bone pushing through blistered skin, and eyes glowing a dim, unnatural orange.

Their breath hissed as they snapped at the air and barricade, leaving scorch marks in the concrete with every footstep.

One of the older teens behind the barricade—was Tanya Brooks, a beautiful brunette girl Justin remembered playing cards with during long shelter nights. Now, a deck of cards didn't fill her hands—but a metal rod.

"We can't hold them if they charge again!" she shouted to someone inside.

"Where the hell is DeMarco?!"

A little boy behind her whimpered, and a woman held him close, the air tense with fear.

Justin's fists clenched.

'Shit, I expected it to be bad but not like this…'

His clench got tighter and tighter, before something clicked.

'But…from where I am I could definitely help.'

With that thought, he moved.

Justin darted across the street, staying low, feet silent on the cracked asphalt. As he closed in, one of the beasts twitched, its ears flicking toward him—but it was too late.

With a grunt, Justin yanked a metal trash can lid from the ground and flung it. With his increased strength the lid flung at high speed—the hound that bore the frontal impact of it was as good as dead.

CLANG!

It hit the closest hound right in the head, knocking it aside with a yelp—a pool of blood forming under it.

[E+ rank Otherworldly Invader: Blaze Hound killed, 20 ascension energy obtained—Great job redirecting their attention Justin!]

'NOT THE TIME FOR PRAISE PATHWAY!'

Tanya's eyes widened.

"Justin?! Is that-?"

"OPEN THE GATE!"

He shouted, cutting her off.

"When I say now, drop it for half a second!"

The pack charged at him now, enraged by one of their brethren being killed. Their burned paws pounded the ground, leaving scorched prints.

The hounds gained on him quick—but not quick enough. Justin spun on his heel and sprinted toward the left side, leading the beasts away from the front.

He slid between a tipped vending machine and a damaged sedan, diving behind cover as three of the hounds slammed into the spot he was just at.

For some reason, even while outnumbered he felt composed, like his senses were boosted from ten—to one thousand. He guessed it was because of one of his traits but he obviously didn't have the time to confirm.

[Justin, you've created some distance. The three hounds are temporarily disoriented!]

Justin popped up and launched a brick at the Alpha: the largest, most grotesque of them all. Smoke leaked from its skin as It snarled, bolting after him, leaving the gate exposed.

"NOW!"

The barricade shifted, giving just enough of an opening for Tanya to hurl a fire extinguisher through it—Justin caught it flawlessly.

"About fucking time," he muttered.

He rolled, popped the pin, and blasted it directly into the Alpha's face as it charged—foam and gas exploded, blinding it.

With the rest of the pack confused and the Alpha screeching, Justin shouted.

"RAISE THE GATE! NOW!"

The barrier slammed shut again, just in time for the foam-covered Alpha to slam into it headfirst.

Inside, Justin finally caught his breath.

Dozens of people stared at him, some smiled in disbelief, others shaking, some in tears.

The elderly wore thankful expressions on their faces, but hidden beneath—there was disdain. They were obviously afraid of the prowess he just displayed, which was almost superhuman.

Still breathing hard, Tanya stepped forward, sweat dripping down her face.

"You made it…" she said, still panting but you could tell there was nothing but warmth beneath it.

Justin gave her a small smile.

"I didn't do all the work, you all held your own. I just gave you guys a breather."

Outside, the hounds snarled… still waiting.

[Justin, you'll have approximately 73 seconds before the pack re-coordinates. You should rest, but stay ready, there's more where that came from.]

He wiped the sweat from his brow, eyes narrowing.

'Fuck, way to spoil the moment.'

Justin's breathing slowed, but his senses didn't. He'd fought better because the odds were against him.

He'd done it before against some low-lives in the slums—but this? Against huge hounds that had killing intent in every attack, was different.

Justin didn't know if this was survival… or the thing Pathway couldn't stop mentioning—evolution.