C2 CHAPTER2

"Master," were the first words uttered by the seven-star biochemical guard upon laying eyes on Sam.

Before Sam stood a man of unremarkable appearance, indistinguishable from a real person if not for the vacant look in his eyes.

"I finally feel a bit safer," Sam mused. Though not overwhelmingly powerful, he could easily dispatch any low-level zombie threat. "From this moment forward, you'll be known as... Uncle Moreels."

"Name: Uncle Moreels"

"Race: Cyborg"

"Level: Seven Stars Awakened"

"Master: Sam Moreels"

"It's time to give the lottery a whirl," he thought, eager for the system's potential rewards.

"Ding! Let the lottery commence!"

Accompanied by the system's signature tone, a spectral screen materialized before him, featuring a roulette wheel crammed with countless options.

A shiver ran down Sam's spine as he surveyed the wheel. Each segment offered an item more fantastic than the last: Celestial Divine Sword, Colossal Divine Beast, Guardian...

Yet the most daunting segment was labeled: keep trying! It dominated a significant portion of the wheel, drastically reducing the odds of an overnight surge in power.

Crossing his fingers and silently hoping, Sam commanded the wheel to spin. He watched as the prizes blurred past, and before he knew it, he was nervously nibbling at his nails.

"Ding! Level-3 item acquired, Walnuts x 10: Consume to enhance natural genes!"

Joy propelled him into the air, even as Uncle Moreels looked on with disinterest. He had snagged a level-3 item, far superior to any pill he'd been peddling, and he'd scored tenfold.

Common knowledge dictated that after the awakening of human genes, natural genes were categorized into classes E, D, C, B, A, and S. The disparity in gene quality was a strong indicator of one's developmental potential.

For instance, a class E individual faced a steep climb to become an Awakened. To evolve beyond that with a higher talent level was near impossible.

"I reckon my talent's around D, maybe C..."

"Ding! User's talent identified: E-level loser, essentially the runt of the genetic litter."

"Haha," Sam chuckled derisively. What did talent matter when he wielded the system? "Even a lowly E-level guy like me has a system like you at his beck and call," he taunted. Without waiting for a response, he popped a walnut into his mouth.

After years of consuming foods laden with chemicals and preservatives, and sipping on so-called nutritious drinks that were nothing short of culinary abominations, the almost forgotten taste of something natural was a true delight for the taste buds.

"Ding! The host has consumed a level-3 walnut. Natural genes have upgraded from E to D+!"

"Five levels?" The shock was unmistakable. From E to D+ meant passing through E, E+, D-, D...

Savoring the lingering taste of the walnut and buoyed by the thrill of a bright future, he was taken aback by another surprise.

"Ding! The host has advanced to a 1-star Awakened!"

Indeed, this was his day of fortune: he had secured a guardian, acquired the walnuts, elevated his genetic level, and ascended to the status of an Awakened.

...

In the city's illicit coliseum, Cyril contemplated his upcoming bout. As an underground fighter, he was no stranger to success, but his next challenge was daunting—a clash with a five-star Awakened, a notch above his own rank.

His adversary, known ominously as The Savage, had a reputation that preceded him. In the coliseum, where every fight was a duel to the death, the method of execution was left to the discretion of the victor. The Savage boasted a thirty-five-match winning streak, marking him as a formidable force at his level.

Bound by his contract with The Twisted Arena, Cyril had no choice but to face the battle, and potentially his demise.

Standing in the arena, the chants of the crowd began to swell, "Savage, Savage, Savage." Their fervor was palpable; they were there for the gore.

With a leap, The Savage landed before his hapless foe, towering over him by at least half a meter, his arms as thick as Cyril's legs, and clad in superior leather armor.

"Rip his head off!"

"Savage, break all his bones!"

"Crush him!"

No one harbored any illusions about the outcome—the odds were squarely in The Savage's favor. Yet, the crowd's morbid fascination lay in witnessing the manner of the kill. The anticipation of blood and entrails was the addiction of all who frequented this macabre venue.

With a bestial roar, the battle commenced. Before Cyril could react, a colossal fist crashed into his chest, wrenching a pained cry from him.

The Savage, sporting an ironic grin, watched his opponent squirm. A four-star Awakened stood no chance against him.

"I wonder where your brain will squirt out when I crush your skull—through the eyes, the ears... or maybe the nose?" he mused, his face twisting into a sickening grin.

As Cyril scrambled to his feet, he retreated in a desperate bid to devise a strategy. But it was futile; another vicious blow sent him reeling, the taste of blood surging in his throat. Death loomed, yet surrender wasn't an option, even though victory against such a monster seemed unattainable.

Confronted with his mortality, Cyril dug into his pocket and retrieved what he had reserved for this dire moment. Uncertain of its efficacy, he preferred to die having exhausted all options rather than perish in doubt...

"Strength Enhancing Pill!" Resigned to his fate, he popped the pill and lunged at his adversary, fists primed for impact. To the shock of all present, both combatants recoiled.

Observing The Savage stagger backward, Cyril's body surged with adrenaline. His fists now matched his foe's might, and with one more pill in reserve, he wasted no time consuming it.

The first pill had granted him an extra 500Kg of force, leveling the playing field with The Savage, albeit briefly. He had to capitalize on this fleeting advantage.

The second was the Divine Speed Pill. Suddenly, his body felt lighter, his movements more agile, and The Savage's incoming punch appeared to move in slow motion.

When The Savage, exerting his full power, struck nothing but air, panic set in. A cold sweat broke out as he whirled around, unleashing another futile punch.

Cyril, now adept with the pill's velocity, chose his moment and struck from behind, delivering a crushing blow to the back of The Savage's head.

For a moment, The Savage's world went dark; he bit his lip until it bled, flailing wildly in response.

Yet the tide had turned. Now it was The Savage who collapsed with a thud, rising again with a diminishing growl, gasping for air, blood oozing from every orifice.

"Cyril, Cyril, Cyril, Cyril, Cyril!"

The chants persisted, the fervor unchanged—only the hero's name had been altered.

"Kill him, tear his head off!"

"Better make it worth the loss of my bet."

"You're a savage, deserving death for being such garbage. How could you be beaten by someone beneath you?"

The tide had turned, yet the crowd thirsted for bloodshed. It mattered little who perished, only that the ground was stained red by the end.

Cyril, no stranger to this brutal spectacle, had the image of the peculiar vendor etched in his mind as he pummeled the Savage's skull, their blood mingling and streaming down his face.

"A thousand spiritual coins, what a rip-off," he mused. "But damn, it was worth every one!" he bellowed, slamming his hammer-like fists down on the Savage's head, now just a lifeless husk with vacant, glassy eyes.

The "crack" snapped him back to the present, his gaze fixed on brain matter oozing from the remnants of the Savage's skull. No pity stirred within him, no sorrow—only the sweet relief and elation of surviving yet another day in this merciless arena.