The journey back to the apartment was a blur of heightened senses and raw exhaustion. Eobard moved with a newfound efficiency, his Blood Barbarian senses picking up tremors of distant movement, the faint scent of decay, the metallic tang of Qi. He avoided the larger mutated beasts, sticking to the shadows, his mind reeling with the information he'd gleaned from the Central Park realm. Novice, Bronze, Silver... he wasn't sure where he fit, but he knew he was beyond Novice. He felt the Qi from the consumed mantis core pulsing within him, a strange, invigorating warmth that pushed back the gnawing Primal Hunger to a manageable thrum.
He slipped back into the apartment, the quiet relief of his family almost suffocating. Priscilla rushed to him, her embrace tight, tears silently falling. Ethan and Derick clung to his legs, their small bodies trembling. Shawn, though, simply stared at the loaded backpack, his eyes wide with a dawning comprehension of what Eobard had risked, and what he had brought back.
"I found water," Eobard rasped, his voice still a little rough, pulling out the bottles. "And food. But there's more." He emptied the backpack onto the worn rug: the strange, glowing crystals he'd pulled from the realm floor, and a few small, duller ones he'd instinctively carved from the mantis corpse – Demon Crystal Cores, he now knew them to be.
Priscilla picked up one of the glowing crystals, her brow furrowed. "What are these, Eobard? They feel... alive."
"They're Qi," he explained, his voice low, his mind racing to put the abstract into simple terms. "Spiritual energy. It's what's changing everything. What changed me." He looked at the family, then at the still-throbbing core of the mangled mantis he'd kept. "And these," he held up a duller core, "are from the mutated beasts. They hold concentrated Qi. We can use them."
He focused, pushing the energy from his Blood Barbarian Body into the dull core. It wasn't the instinctive, violent absorption he'd performed on the mantis. This was deliberate. He felt the subtle resistance, then the faint resonance, as his internal Qi began to draw the energy from the core. A warm current spread through his limbs, a feeling of deep replenishment. The Primal Hunger, momentarily sated by the mantis, retreated further, becoming a distant whisper. He felt his muscles solidify, his senses sharpen further. He was stabilizing. Learning to control.
"It makes me stronger," he explained, still marveling at the sensation. "It helps me... use my power."
The fear in Priscilla's eyes softened, replaced by a desperate glimmer of hope. "So, this is how we fight back?"
Over the next two days, their apartment became Eobard's crude laboratory and training ground. He couldn't risk revealing the full extent of his changes outside, nor could he afford to lose control.
He spent hours, often in the dead of night when the city's screams were at their lowest ebb, attempting to consciously access his partial beast forms. He'd feel the agonizing stretch of bone and sinew as his fingers elongated into claws, or the terrifying surge of power as his musculature swelled, only to have it snap back, leaving him trembling and exhausted. The process was agonizingly slow, a constant battle against his own biology. His analytical mind relentlessly picked apart each failure, each fleeting success, trying to reverse-engineer the process his body had undergone.
The Primal Hunger became his constant companion, a subtle, almost addictive craving. It wasn't always a roar; sometimes it was a persuasive whisper, urging him to seek out more Qi, more cores. He found himself pacing, restless, feeling the ebb and flow of spiritual energy in the decaying city, drawn to the pockets where it seemed denser, where recent struggles between awakened and mutated beasts might have occurred.
Their food and water supply dwindled again, pushing Eobard back into the brutal streets. These weren't mere scavenging trips; they were calculated reconnaissance and resource gathering missions. He moved with a precision he hadn't possessed days ago, utilizing his enhanced hearing to avoid patrols of mutated dog-creatures, his speed to dash across open streets that would have been suicide for a Novice. He learned to distinguish the sounds of different mutated animals, to predict their movements, to identify the tell-tale shimmer of residual Qi that hinted at a recent kill—and thus, a potential core.
He quickly realized the truth of the new world: power was the new currency, and trust was the most valuable, and rarest, commodity. He saw small groups of survivors huddled in fortified storefronts, their eyes wary, armed with anything they could find. He witnessed desperate skirmishes over a discarded bag of rice or a leaking water pipe.
He also saw more awakened. A woman, barely older than him, sending controlled bursts of lightning arcing from her fingertips to deter a pack of mutated pigeons. A heavily built man with skin like hardened bark, deflecting bullets from a makeshift gang of looters with his earth-infused body. They were all struggling, all learning, their powers raw and unrefined. He observed their fights, their tactics, their failures. He saw a chilling incident where a newly awakened man, his eyes wild with terror, accidentally released an uncontrolled burst of darkness Qi, momentarily blinding himself and his allies, leaving them vulnerable to a pack of rabid, mutated dogs. The subsequent screams haunted Eobard. This wasn't just about strength; it was about control, about understanding.
He narrowly avoided a confrontation with a group of six hardened individuals, their movements coordinated, their Qi visibly stronger. They sported crude, leather armbands adorned with a stylized bird of prey. Two of them were clearly Bronze Gene Demon Slayers, their elemental powers manifesting as crackling energy around their fists. They had established a perimeter around a looted supermarket, driving off anyone who approached. They moved with a chilling efficiency, their eyes cold and calculating. Eobard noted their strategy, their ruthlessness, and the fear they instilled in any Novice who came too close. This was the nascent form of local power, a microcosm of the new hierarchy where strength was the sole decider.
He returned to his family, his backpack heavier with canned goods, bottled water, and critically, four more Demon Crystal Cores—two small, dull ones from common mutated rats, and two larger, faintly glowing ones from what looked like a mutated badger he'd managed to ambush. The Primal Hunger was quiet now, a satisfied purr.
As he rested, sharing the meager spoils with his relieved family, Eobard's mind churned. The city was a vast, dangerous puzzle. Humanity was scattered, terrified, awakening powers they couldn't control, fighting for scraps. The mutated beasts were growing stronger, their numbers seemingly endless. The secret realms pulsed like cancerous organs, spewing forth more corruption. The slow decay of the world wasn't a threat; it was a visible, undeniable reality.
He thought of the raw, untamed power he wielded, the Blood Barbarian Body a terrifying gift. He remembered the desperate cries of the Novice in the realm, the uncontrolled lightning burst, the ruthless Bronze-ranked patrol. He had knowledge now, knowledge of the stages, knowledge of Qi, and a rapidly developing instinctive understanding of this new physics. What if that knowledge, combined with his unique strength, wasn't just for their survival? What if it was for humanity's survival?
The thought was a fragile seed, barely formed in the chaos, but it took root. He couldn't save everyone, not alone. But if others could be taught, if they could understand their powers, control them, cooperate... then maybe, just maybe, humanity wouldn't be wiped out by the accelerating decay. This wasn't about a building yet, or grand plans. It was about an urgent, intellectual imperative, born from the dire necessity he now faced. He needed to learn more, to understand more. And then, he would find a way to teach.
His gaze fell on the fading photo of his family. His mother, his brothers. They were the reason. They were the fuel for the forge of his necessity, driving him not just to survive, but to strive for something more, something that could turn the tide of humanity's slow, agonizing death.