In the forums of the future—when humanity had already stumbled into the abyss of evolution—scholars, survivors, and powerhouses often debated what truly determined an individual's strength.
After countless bloody trials, two truths had emerged:
Talent and Career.
Talent was the foundation. It appeared with the arrival of the will of the universe—the "System." As long as one did not fall to zombification, the System granted every surviving human a unique talent upon awakening.
Career, however, was rarer, almost mystical. Hidden professions, advanced job paths, and extraordinary class evolutions were treasures beyond imagination. Obtaining one was like grasping lightning in bare hands—uncommon, precious, and often life-changing.
Ethan White knew this well.
In his previous life, he had memorized the conditions for several powerful hidden professions—knowledge passed around in whispers and forums, gained through desperate gambles in secret dungeons. But right now, that knowledge was useless. Those job-change quests and dungeons would only appear after the apocalypse began.
For the moment, all he could focus on was talent.
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When the System descended, everything—talents, professions, skills, equipment, and even props—was ranked from F to SSS.
Anything above S rank was unique.
Those who awakened such powers instantly drew the gaze of the gods themselves. And an SSS-level talent? Even fragments of SSS-level items had driven gods to war.
Ethan's fists clenched at the memory.
In his last life, the Dark Mother Goddess herself had ended him—not because of betrayal, not because of weakness—but because of an SSS artifact fragment. A single shard had been worth more than his life.
If the fragment of such an item could spark divine wrath, how terrifying must the full relic have been?
That was why this time, he had to find a way—any way—to awaken a talent strong enough to rival gods.
How could he shape his common ability into something extraordinary?
---
He thought back to what future survivors had analyzed on the evolutionary forums.
The theory was clear:
Explore the limits of your hidden talent.
Develop it as much as possible before the apocalypse officially begins.
And in the ten days leading to doomsday, when the magnetic field brushes Earth, push your body to its absolute edge.
To most people, these words were nonsense. Who could know what their hidden talent was before awakening? Who could develop what hadn't yet revealed itself?
But Ethan knew.
Because he had lived through it before.
His talent was painfully ordinary:
[Virus Resistance (E-Rank Talent)]
Your constitution is different from ordinary people. It is difficult for bacterial or viral infections to overwhelm your immunity. Even the basic zombie virus finds it difficult to kill or assimilate you through infection.
It sounded impressive. In truth, it was almost worthless.
Yes, it made him harder to infect. Yes, it allowed him to shrug off illnesses that could cripple others. But in a world where monsters, dungeons, and alien invaders thrived, being immune to colds and flu was no blessing.
And the zombie virus—the "scourge of the beginning"—was only the first and weakest threat of the apocalypse.
This talent gave him no direct combat power. No strength, no speed, no firepower.
In his last life, Ethan had cursed this talent more times than he could count.
But now, reborn, he saw it differently.
The question was simple: how could he exploit it?
How could he take a useless-seeming ability and forge it into something rare, even divine?
---
The answer was brutal.
He had to test it. Push it. Break it.
Only then could it evolve.
At night, Ethan slipped through the quiet streets of Riverdale City, his baseball cap pulled low over his face.
He headed for the Affiliated Hospital of Riverdale University.
The halls were hushed, echoing faintly with the distant beeps of machines. Most staff had gone home. Family members of patients had retreated for the night. Shadows stretched long across the tiled floor.
Ethan walked with purpose. He didn't waste time searching. He already knew what he was looking for.
On the third floor, behind a closed door, lay his target.
The patient appeared asleep, his body wracked by fever. His chest rose and fell with labored breaths.
But Ethan's eyes, sharpened by decades of survival, saw the truth.
Beneath the skin, faint, wriggling lumps shifted like trapped worms. His fingernails had already turned gray, lengthening into claws.
A zombie in its larval stage.
Ethan's lips tightened. He had seen thousands like this before.
Without hesitation, he pulled a syringe from his pocket. The steel needle gleamed under the moonlight that filtered through the blinds.
Stepping forward, he plunged it into the man's bulging vein.
Dark, red-black blood surged into the tube. The stench of rot filled the air, but Ethan didn't flinch.
Ten seconds later, the syringe was full.
He pocketed the weapon, tugged his cap lower, and slipped out as silently as he had entered.
---
Back at the dorms, his roommates were still missing. No doubt, they were wasting their youth in internet cafés, playing games, unaware that the world was about to end.
Ethan barely spared them a thought.
He had lived decades beyond them. He had killed and bled. He had no patience for brotherhoods forged in comfort. He was an orphan. He had always walked alone.
He entered his room. The moon shone through the window, washing everything in silver. He didn't turn on the lights.
For the first time in years, his calm heart wavered.
Even though he had fought and killed for decades, this was different.
Because what he was about to do might kill him outright.
The zombie virus was unmatched in terror. Its spread was relentless. Its lethality absolute. Its cruelty endless.
It devoured the body, destroyed the mind, and then reanimated the corpse to spread itself further.
No natural virus on Earth could compare.
No bacteria, no pathogen could stand against it.
That was why he hesitated.
Even with Virus Resistance, even knowing his body would fight back, he couldn't be sure he would live to see tomorrow.
But hesitation was weakness.
If he didn't risk everything now, his second chance at life would be wasted.
He remembered the Emperors—those human titans who had risen without the aid of gods. They had carved their own paths.
Could he face them, if he refused even this gamble?
He clenched his teeth. "If I don't have the courage to do this, I may as well die tonight."
He unbuttoned his sleeve. His arm trembled as veins pulsed beneath his skin.
With a steady breath, Ethan raised the syringe.
The blood inside shimmered darkly under the moonlight.
Zombie blood. Death in liquid form.
He hesitated only once more. His mind whispered: What if it fails? What if you waste this chance? What if you could grow strong slowly, without risking everything tonight?
But he crushed the thought.
Nothing in the apocalypse was guaranteed. If he didn't push himself to the edge, he would never surpass the limits of this "useless" talent.
He thrust the needle into his arm.
The cold sting barely registered before fire roared through his veins.
The moment the last drop entered his bloodstream, his body convulsed.
Color drained from his face. His muscles locked. He staggered backward, gripping the edge of the desk for balance.
It felt as if every drop of his blood had caught fire.
His veins bulged, writhing like snakes under his skin. His chest thudded with a sickening rhythm, as though a war drum was being hammered against his ribs.
He barely made it to the bathroom, where he hurled the syringe into the toilet and flushed it down.
Then, with the last shred of willpower, he collapsed onto his bed.
His vision blurred. Darkness clawed at the edges.
And Ethan White, the man who had once been the White Devil Saint, fell unconscious, his fate balanced between life and death.
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