to knit together, the skin mending before his eyes. The blood loss wasn't a concern anymore; his body was mending itself at an incredible rate.
The silent, terrifying void in his mind was gone, replaced by a low hum, a constant thrum of energy. It was like a dormant engine had just been kickstarted. He could feel the flow of energy within him, a strange, new sensation. He extended his hand, and without consciously willing it, a faint, translucent blue light flickered around his fingers.
"The system is offline, but the core is active," the new voice continued. "The host is now the system's primary power source. Ingestion of the catalyst will grant temporary access to core functions and system abilities. Caution: Overexertion will cause a rapid depletion of catalyst reserves and a return to the dormant state."
Sion stared at the shimmering light around his hand, a mixture of awe and bewilderment on his face. He wasn't a magic user. He was a scientist, a professor. But this… this was real. The water wasn't just hydrating him; it was charging him.
He looked back at the river, its dark surface a shimmering mirror of the moon. It wasn't just a river anymore. It was a wellspring of power, a lifeline in this brutal world. He had a fuel source, and for the first time since he had arrived, he felt a flicker of hope. He still had so many questions, but for now, he had the strength to find the answers. He stood up, his small form now radiating a quiet power.
Chapter 8: Attacker Bees
A flicker of hope was a dangerous thing in this world. It felt like a small, fragile flame in a howling gale. Sion stood up, his small form now radiating a quiet power. The pain from his wounds was a dull ache, and the fatigue had been banished by the river's cold magic. He felt a newfound confidence, a sense of capability that was entirely new to his six-year-old body. He needed to find shelter, a safer place to rest and think, away from the open riverbank.
He turned back towards the city, a sprawling monument to decay and neglect. As he moved away from the water's edge, a low, persistent hum that quickly escalated into a frantic buzz filled the air. It was a sound he instinctively knew meant danger. He looked up, his eyes widening in disbelief. A dark, pulsating cloud was emerging from the shattered windows of a nearby office building. It wasn't a cloud of smoke or dust; it was a swarm of insects.
Each bee was the size of his thumb, their black bodies glistening with a sickly green iridescence. Their wings beat with a furious rhythm, creating a menacing, high-pitched whine. They spotted him instantly, their compound eyes locking onto his small, solitary form. The cloud descended upon him like a living torrent.
Instinct took over. This wasn't the clumsy panic of a child; it was the ingrained muscle memory of an advanced martial arts practitioner from the modern world. His body, now fully charged, moved into a practiced fighting stance, his small fists clenching automatically. He threw a quick jab, a short, sharp punch that instantly pulverized the first bee. Another punch, this one a hook, shattered two more. His movements were precise and fluid, a dance of practiced strikes that sent a dozen of the creatures plummeting, lifeless, to the ground.
The stings were like tiny, searing needles. They pierced his skin, and with each one, he felt a strange, cold, dead sensation spreading from the prick. The energy that had been humming within him stuttered, a flickering light threatening to go out.
"Warning: Foreign neurotoxin detected. Catalyst consumption rate increased by 700%. Recommend immediate evasion," the mechanical voice inside his head blared.
He understood the warning instantly. He could fight them, but the cost was too high. Every sting was draining his water-fueled energy at an alarming rate just to fend off the toxin. He felt the familiar weakness returning, the pain in his muscles resurfacing. This wasn't a fight of skill; it was a fight of resources, and his were finite.