Level-Up Apocalypse: Surviving With The Assimilation System

As he admitted to the grave sin he knew he had committed, even if he could justify it, he hesitantly looked at the young woman. He expected to find himself scorned, with hateful words and disdainful eyes, no–he hoped for it.

Instead, he found a look in Charlotte's saddened eyes that were not angered at him, but engraved with a sorrow at the one she looked at.

"I'm sorry, Finn," Charlotte apologized. "I should've been there."

'Why? Why are you saying that? Don't say that–don't apologize, not to me. Please–I can't handle that,' Finn thought in his mind.

The silken-haired girl sat beside him, placing her hand atop his own to comfort the young man, "I don't know what happened exactly, but I'm sure you did everything you could, right?"

Asked such a thing, he couldn't respond, not knowing if that was the truth in his own heart as the regret within him swelled.

From across the room, Magnus distanced himself, averting his gaze as if to show that this was not a conversation he had any part in speaking his mind of.

"Sorry," Finn quietly said, placing his face in his hand. "My mind is just…a mess right now. I just need some time alone, to think."

"Right, okay," Charlotte said, accepting with a nod of her head.

As the assassin picked himself up and began to make his way towards the exit of the library for some fresh air, the swede called out to him from behind.

"Listen, I'll be heading to the Tower by later today. If you're up for it, then you're free to come along, if not, then don't," Magnus clarified. "Don't force yourself."

"Yeah," Finn quickly responded with a simple word, not so much as looking back.

He navigated through the reformatted library by following along the narrow rows of shelves. It was a good idea for a shelter; the many walls of wood didn't let any monsters see inside nor hear anything from within.

Finn stepped over a pile of tossed books, finding a corridor that led directly to a door with a large "EXIT" sign over it. He used his forearm to push it open, immediately finding his eyes greeted by the sunlight outside.

It felt as though his eyes adjusted to the overwhelming darkness before, having to use his hand to block out the beaming rays of light as he stepped out of the doorway.

"--Hah," he exhaled quietly, looking upon the desecrated streets of buildings left claimed by overgrowth, decrepit already.

'I don't know what's wrong with me. Even after everything, all of this, I can't find any reason to survive besides trusting in what you left me. Is there truly hope left in this world, Damian? Everybody I loved is dead, the world I knew is gone. I just wonder…what's the point of pushing on? But, I have to keep pushing to figure that out, don't I?

It's a funny, little conundrum,' Finn thought to himself as he strolled down the sidewalk.

He sat himself down on a street-side bench, simply letting his mind wander as he watched the deteriorating cityscape. It still remained eerie just how quiet cities had become; the abandoned cars and their slumbering engines, the streets devoid of people, and the complete lack of electricity.

Sitting there in his own thoughts hardly helped, as the silence only allowed him to remember memories far too fond for his weeping heart, and some too painful. The smiles of his family on days of success, receiving their praise and affection; the casual, nothing conversations he had with his friend amidst the world's end, finding solace in those useless moments.

In the middle of such thoughts that brought his head down–clang. A sound echoed, coming from the building right across the street.

He rose from the bench, quietly stepping towards the worn, gray building as he kept his dagger ready between his fingers. With quiet steps, he crossed the street; it was unnecessary to investigate the sound, though a part of him sought an outlet for the emotions he was feeling.

Finn found that the door was already left halfway open, with some of the roots on the ground pressed down if having been stepped over.

'Something was here recently…not long before I came this way?' Finn considered.

As soon as he slid past the doorway without fully opening it, a chill ran down his body; the air was noticeably colder in the dark, lifeless interior. It was a rundown office of some kind, with the walls peeling and moss growing in already.

'What's this feeling? It's…dreadful,' he thought, finding his breathing unsteady as he slowly moved further into the lightless inside.

There were papers scattered across the floor, most of which were blank, likely meant for the out-of-order printer by the reception desk. Moving past the lobby, he approached an open door that led into a room filled with cubicles.

Just standing on the threshold as he looked in, he could see another door open on the other side of the office space. It was from that entry way that he heard something–a perplexing, yet disturbing sound.

It was a mixture of crunching along with the squishy, wet sound of meat being ripped apart. The sound was so aggressive and jarring that it brought him to a still as he tried to discern just what it could be.

'Something is…eating?' He guessed.

With silent steps, he began to move across the lightless room of gray, dull cubicles. He began to question if it was better to take his leave, yet he found himself drawn towards curiosity just a few strides away.

The revolting sounds continued as he drew closer, moving with himself slightly tilted as to keep his dagger-wielding hand in front.

He learned in such a way while inching closer that he could get a glimpse into the doorway before having to show himself completely. That foul noise of flesh squelching and teeth grinding meat filled his ears as he drew closer, bringing his foot one stride away from the threshold before–

It stopped.

Complete silence befell the interior as Finn found himself tensing up to not even allow the breath he was about to expel leave his mouth.

He was certain he hadn't made even the faintest of noise, yet it felt as though something had felt his presence.

More than ever, he hesitated upon glancing into that doorway, unsure of what he'd find, now without the element of surprise. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest as his blood ran hot, squeezing the handle of his dagger as he finally peeked into the room–

It was a storage area, housing boxes full of documents that had been toppled over. Though that wasn't what he focused on in his quick glance in:

He met eye-to-eye with somebody that was in the room already, looking right at those pale, blue irises that had a bestial sense to them.

Immediately upon making eye contact, he stepped in rather than retreating, not showing any weakness, "Are you…alright?" He asked.

For some reason, that was the question that left his lips as he tried to find something to say, not yet discerning if the person was a friend or foe.

The blue-eyed man was standing over a mauled corpse, seeming to be an orc with its chest completely split open and its face eviscerated, though it was barely recognizable. Its arms and legs were amputated, cut into neat, perfect circles as if put on display.

It wasn't hard to see that the stranger was responsible for the gruesome kill, seeing as fresh blood dripped from the weapon in his hand: a drenched cleaver. Only, it wasn't just the blade, but the unknown person's hands that were completely drenched in crimson.

'This guy…What's up with him?' Finn questioned, unnerved by the sight he walked in on.

For a moment, there was no answer from the young man who looked to be similar in age to him, even quite similar in build, if not only an inch or two taller. The person had shaggy, snow-white hair with tired eyes and an expression that looked completely enveloped in apathy, yet–

"I'm doing just fine. Sorry, did I scare you?" The strange answered, now with a smile as they did away with their weapon while wiping his hands off on his baggy, black pants.

The outfit worn by the youthful man hardly looked to resemble any practical gear, only wearing a plain, black tee that squeezed around his biceps with matching suspenders strapped from his belt to his shoulders.

"No," Finn responded, glancing at the maimed orc at the man's feet. "Are you out here alone? I didn't think this city had anybody else left in it."

The man with messy, colorless hair finished wiping his hands off, revealing ink etched onto his hands: wings of birds on the back of his hands, along with crosses down his knuckles, "This city? I don't even know which city this is, to be honest with you. Just arrived here after leaving a Tower." The stranger explained.

"I see. You're alone?" Finn asked again, seeking answers.

There was a certain unnerving aspect to the way that the man held a small, unassuming smile, though happily answered, "Yup, just by my lonesome. I prefer it that way, y'know?"

"Right," Finn responded.

While one of the goals he kept in mind was finding other survivors and gaining new companions to better increase their overall chances of survival, Finn was hesitant to lend such an offer to the peculiar person.

"What's your name?" The stranger asked.

"I'm surprised you didn't use Sleuth to find that out already," Finn answered.

A small chuckle came from the shirtless man as he nudged his boot against the lifeless corpse of the orc, tilting his head slightly as he looked back at the assassin, "You could've done the same. Just showing you the same courtesy here."

"Right…Well, I'm Finn," he gave his name.

"Finn? That's a unique name. I like it," the stranger said, glancing up at the ceiling as if pondering the name given to him before giving his own. "Just call me Crow."