NOVEL WEB Chapter 1: Step One: Die First. Then Start Over
Because sometimes survival starts with letting them kill you.
The first thing he registered was the intense sting all over his body.
It burned like acid, slow, creeping, and violating.
Asher's eyelashes fluttered open, vision swimming as the brightness of the white ceiling carved into his skull like a blade.
Every light in the lab glared down on him like a thousand suns.
He tried to move but couldn't.
Panic surged through him, but it was swallowed instantly by the sharp jolt of restraints cutting into his wrists and ankles.
Thick leather straps held his limbs in place, tight enough to bruise.
His throat, dry and raw, struggled for sound.
Asher took in a ragged breath.
The scent: bleach, chemicals, and blood, overwhelmed his senses.
It was the familiar smell of sterilized death.
He forced his head to the side as his neck barely obeyed, the muscles trembling.
All around him was white: white tiles, white walls, and white tables filled with syringes and bone saws arranged like instruments in a concert of carnage.
Turning his head back, Asher became acutely aware of the cold slab of metal beneath his bare back.
That realization of his situation and where he was hit him a second later, slow and sickening.
His skin prickled in the frigid air, every scar, every old wound, exposed under the sterile light like a specimen under observation.
He closed his garnet eyes as he remembered what transpired just a few weeks ago.
Asher had been tasked with the A Rank mission at St. Anna Claire Hospital, where it ended in everyone but him being slaughtered cruelly.
He can still remember the blood that soaked through his uniform as he ran through the empty corridors of the hospital.
He remembered how James screamed in agony before falling to a silent, how Tristan, whose legs were injured, urged him to run away, and Kieran's voice was frantic as he screamed at him that there was a rank 10 Zombie Emperor and to not come near.
Yet Asher did anyway, wanting to save his family of teammates, yet someone had struck him hard and the last thing he saw was the dead bodies of his teammates…
His heart clenched, a physical ache stabbing through his chest.
Suddenly, the sounds of heels echoed in the room.
Asher then smelled the scent of a familiar expensive perfume that failed to cover the underlying rot of blood and his blood ran cold.
Rene Grayson, his half step had her brown hair pulled back in a sleek bun, not a strand out of place.
Her red eyes—identical to his, yet so much colder, glittered with clinical interest as she tapped something on a holographic screen beside him.
She looked at him like a failed experiment.
"You're awake," she said, her voice as polished as her heels.
"Good. I was worried you wouldn't survive the extraction."
Asher's throat was raw when he tried to speak. "Why?"
A flicker of amusement passed over her features. "Why what? Why you? Or why now?"
He didn't answer.
She already knew what he meant.
Why betray him?
Why dissect him?
Why, after everything?
Rene circled him slowly.
Her red eyes scanned the deep, raw scars that crisscrossed his bare torso.
He was strapped to a medical gurney, shirtless, cold.
He tried to summon his lightning ability but all that escape was a short burst of energy before it dwindled.
His abs twitched involuntarily as he tried to activate another arc of lightning yet it just danced beneath his skin, but could not erupt from his body.
The scar on his chest, jagged, shaped like a thunderbolt from shoulder to rib, glowed faintly.
It pulsed like it was alive.
"You're a marvel," She murmured, placing her gloved hand just above the scar.
"Your lightning ability evolved faster than anyone in the Capital. I had to see what made you special."
"I was your brother."
Her expression didn't change.
"You were a tool."
It wasn't anger that bloomed in Asher's chest.
It was grief.
Cold and bitter, like ice water pouring over open wounds.
He had spent his life trying to win even the smallest kindness from his family.
A smile. A nod. Recognition.
Instead, he had been dragged through the halls of the Greyson estate like a stray, shoved into shadows, mocked for his illegitimacy, beaten for his defiance.
And Rene?
She had been the one who told him he mattered.
She had lied.
"You really thought you were one of us?" She said, laughing now.
"Oh, Asher. You were never meant to survive the outbreak. You were meant to feed it."
The lights above him flickered.
The restraints hummed as Rene adjusted them, digging deeper into his wrists.
He couldn't even summon his ability.
The room was sealed, isolated, built specifically to suppress awakened powers.
He was going to die here.
"You should be proud," Rene whispered in his ear, crouching beside him. "You're going to be the first successful Ability Transplant. Imagine what your lightning can do in the hands of someone who deserves it."
A soft hiss.
The needle slid into his neck.
Asher gasped, spine arching as electricity roared through his veins.
The world blurred into violet and white and searing red before passing out.
He woke again after who knows how long
"Asher. You made it."
There it was again. Silk over steel and sugary venom.
From the far side of the room, a shadow detached itself from the white. He didn't need to see her to know who it was. The soft click of heels. The rustle of a lab coat.
Rene, the favorite child and the pride of the family hailed as a once in a lifetime genius.
She was a monster.
She stepped into his blurry field of vision, clipboard in hand, her long brown hair tied back into a neat bun.
Her blood-red eyes gleamed with cold fascination as she examined a syringe filled with glistening violet liquid.
"Asher," She said again, gently now, almost like a lover might.
"You're awake. That's good. I was worried you wouldn't survive the extraction."
He tried to speak, but only a rasp came out. His throat burned.
"You want water?" She cooed, crouching beside the metal table. "Or something stronger?"
Asher didn't answer. He couldn't.
Her fingers reached out, brushing his sweat-dampened hair off his forehead.
"You always had such pretty eyes," She murmured, almost to herself.
"That vivid red, just like mine. Too bad a bastard like you was born with those eyes. It's almost a shame they're going to cloud over soon."
His body flinched. He wanted to rip her apart. To scream.
But he was weak.
She smiled at his attempt.
"Relax," She whispered.
"You won't feel a thing. Or maybe you will. Honestly, I'm curious to find out."
She turned away, setting the clipboard down.
Her back was straight, every movement graceful, and calculated.
"Did you know, Ash," She said, pulling on black gloves that snapped tight against her wrists, "Your lightning ability is one-of-a-kind? The doctors say it's a perfect candidate for extraction. Isn't that amazing?"
He stared at her. Hate poured through every vein, black and hot.
"But don't worry," She added, eyes gleaming, "Although the extraction was successful, you won't die right away. I'm going to keep you alive. That way, I can record how your pathetic life came to an end."