Doomsday Gluttony: I Level Up by Eating

Chapter 4

Ryatt’s POV

The red notification pulsed in my vision, but I didn't move toward it. Instead, I pulled back into the shadows of a brick alcove, my chest heaving despite the newfound strength in my lungs. I focused on the translucent red interface, trying to force it to show me something more than just stats and warnings.

"What are you?" I whispered, my voice raspy. "Where did you come from?"

I navigated through a sub-menu I hadn't noticed before, a flickering icon that looked like a jagged signal wave. When I tapped it mentally, the interface didn't just show me my own status. It expanded. A massive, scrolling ticker of data streamed past my eyes, far too fast to read, but the headers were clear enough.

Sector 7-G: Terra. Integration status: 12%.

My heart hammered against my ribs. "Sector? Integration?"

Beneath the text, a low-frequency hum vibrated in my skull, and then a voice—or the impression of one—echoed through the system. "...broadcast signal strength at sixty percent... harvest yields within expected parameters for a Level 1 civilization..."

"It's a broadcast," I breathed, my hands trembling as I gripped my rifle. "It isn't just me. This isn't just Earth."

I looked up at the grey, choked sky. The realization felt like a physical weight crushing my lungs. We weren't having a localized apocalypse. We were being tuned in. We were a show, or a resource, or a project being managed from somewhere so far away the light of their stars hadn't even reached us yet. Humanity wasn't the center of the universe; we were just the latest planet to be plugged into the grid.

"Ryatt, focus," I hissed to myself, shaking my head to clear the scrolling data. "Doesn't matter where it comes from. If I don't get the supplies, I'm dead regardless of the galaxy's plans."

My body felt tight, the mutated cells in my chest beginning to itch—a reminder that the Lesser Healing Factor was a hungry beast. It needed fuel. It needed stability.

I moved toward the corner of the alley, peering out toward the pharmacy across the street. The chaos at the convenience store had reached a fever pitch.

"Get off me! It’s mine!" a woman screamed, her voice cracking as she clawed at a man’s face.

"There’s more inside! Go! Go!" another man yelled, gesturing wildly toward the bread shop.

The mob surged, a sea of flailing limbs and desperation. That was my opening. I sprinted across the asphalt, my boots crunching on broken glass, and ducked under the half-collapsed security gate of the pharmacy.

Inside, the air smelled of antiseptic and stale dust. I didn't waste time. I swept a row of ibuprofen into my bag, then moved to the prescription counter.

"Antibiotics... bandages... morphine..." I muttered, shoving boxes into my pack. "I need the high-grade stuff."

I climbed over the counter, my eyes landing on a pair of legs sticking out from behind a consultation desk. I froze, my rifle raised, but the body didn't move. It was a man in a white coat, his throat opened by something much sharper than a human fingernail.

[Corpse detected.]

[Extraction available: Basic Medical Knowledge (Level 1). Extract?]

"Yes," I whispered. 

A cold chill raced up my arm as I touched the man's shoulder. Information flooded my brain—suture techniques, drug interactions, the precise way to tie a tourniquet. It was nauseating and exhilarating all at once. 

I moved to the next one, a woman huddled in the corner of the aisles. 

[Extraction available: Sprint (Level 1). Extract?]

I touched her cold hand. My calves tightened, the muscle fibers knitting into something denser. I moved to a third body near the back exit, a security guard with his skull caved in.

[Extraction available: Club Proficiency (Level 1). Extract?]

"It’s getting easier," I said, my voice sounding hollow in the empty store. "Why is this getting easier?"

I was becoming a scavenger of souls, a vulture in a tactical jacket. I hated the way my skin crawled during the process, but as I stood up, I felt faster, smarter, and more capable than I had ever been in my twenty-eight years of life.

"Hey!" 

The shout came from the front of the store. I spun around, my rifle leveled. 

A group of survivors stood at the shattered entrance. The bread was gone, and now they were looking for the next thing. Five of them, their eyes red-rimmed and hollowed by hunger. They weren't looking at the medicine. They were looking at the way I was standing over the bodies.

"What are you doing to them?" a man asked, his voice trembling as he held a jagged piece of wood. "I saw you. You touched them and... and you changed."

"I'm just taking what I need," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. "Stay back."

"He’s got a full bag!" a younger woman shouted, pointing at my pack. "He’s taking the meds! We need those! My brother is burning up, give them here!"

"I said stay back," I repeated, the Master Firearm Proficiency making the rifle feel like an extension of my own arm.

"There’s five of us, kid!" the man with the wood yelled, taking a step forward. "You can't shoot all of us before we tear you apart!"

They were desperate, and desperate people didn't care about logic. They moved in a loose semi-circle, their eyes darting between my bag and the corpses on the floor. They saw me as a predator, or worse, a freak.

"I'm leaving," I said, backing toward the rear exit. "Don't follow me."

"Get him!" the woman shrieked.

I didn't fire. I didn't want to waste the ammo, and I didn't want to draw more of them. I turned and bolted through the back door, slamming it shut and jamming a metal rod through the handles. I heard them pounding on the other side, screaming insults and pleas, but I was already moving down the rear service corridor.

I burst out into another alleyway, my heart drumming a frantic rhythm. "Just get to the safe zone. Just get away."

I was halfway down the alley when the shadows above me shifted.

Creeeee.

A sound like grinding stone echoed off the brick walls. I looked up just as a dark shape blotted out the sliver of grey sky.

"What the—"

Something heavy slammed into my shoulders, throwing me face-first into the dirt. I rolled instinctively, the Sprint skill kicking in as I scrambled away. 

It was a beast—lean, covered in mottled grey hide that looked like wet concrete, with elongated limbs and claws that left gouges in the pavement. It hissed, a sound of pure predatory hunger.

It lunged again. I swung the butt of my rifle, catching it in the side of the head, but it felt like hitting a boulder. The creature swiped, its claws whistling past my ear, catching the fabric of my jacket and tearing it like paper.

"Get back!" I roared, firing a snap-shot at its chest.

The bullet sparked off its hide, drawing a thin line of black ichor. The beast shrieked, backing off for a heartbeat, its yellow eyes narrowing. It was stronger than anything I’d encountered—faster, too. 

I fired again, aiming for the eyes, but the creature leapt upward, clinging to the brick wall with unnatural strength. It hissed once more, realized I was armed and dangerous, and scrambled up toward the roofline, disappearing into the haze.

I stood there, gasping for air, the adrenaline making my hands shake. "It didn't die. Why didn't it die?"

I couldn't stay here. The noise would bring others—humans or monsters. I shouldered my bag and turned the corner of the alley, aiming for the main street.

I froze.

A line of men and women stood ten feet away, blocking the exit. They weren't the bedraggled looters from the pharmacy. These people were clean, relatively well-fed, and armed with tactical gear that looked scavenged from a precinct.

In the center stood a broad-shouldered man with short black hair and a face carved from granite. He stepped forward, his eyes locked on mine with a terrifying, calm authority.

"That's far enough," Captain Easton Ackerman said, his voice booming in the narrow space. "You look like you've had a very busy afternoon, Ryatt.”