Aurora swiped at her screen, confirming the allocation. She turned back to me, something sharp glinting in her expression.
Her lips parted, ready to speak.
The words never came.
The door rattled.
Not the frantic, desperate pounding we'd grown accustomed to upstairs. This was different. Methodical.
A slow, deliberate sound that sent ice crawling up my spine.
Scrape of nails against metal. A dull thud, then another. Patient. Calculated. Hunting.
The sound reminded me of documentaries where predators tested fences for weaknesses. Intelligence behind the violence that made it infinitely more terrifying.
My muscles tensed as reality crashed down on me again. The brief reprieve we'd found in this basement wasn't safety.
It was borrowed time.
In this new world of lunar magic and glowing-eyed monsters, "safe" was nothing but a comforting lie. Even here, surrounded by cold concrete walls and protected by thick steel, we weren't hidden.
We were just delayed prey.
Aurora moved before I could finish the thought. Rising to her feet in one fluid motion. Her sword materialized with a soft shing of luminous light.
Coalescing from nothing like it had been waiting just beyond the veil of reality.
It still caught me off guard—the effortlessness of it. As if wielding a weapon forged from moonlight was the most natural thing in the world for her.
"I'll take care of it," she said, voice steady as she stepped toward the door.
The blade hummed with quiet energy. Metallic glow from her weapon cast dramatic shadows across her face, highlighting the determined set of her jaw.
"Wait." I reached out, fingers wrapping around her wrist.
The contact sent a jolt through me. Her skin was burning hot, heart pounding beneath my grip. I could feel power thrumming through her, like holding onto a live wire.
She turned, eyes narrowing. A flicker of luminous light danced in her irises.
"Nate, we don't have time to—"
"Let me try," I said, surprising even myself with the conviction in my voice.
Her eyebrows shot up. "What?"
"My class. I want to see what it does."
What I could do. I'd felt something upstairs—that quill, that moment of seeing beneath reality. There had to be more to it.
She studied me for a long moment. Tension radiating from her like heat. The sword in her hand pulsed once, twice, as if sensing her indecision.
After what felt like an eternity, she gave a short, sharp nod.
"Fine. But the second you screw up, I'm stepping in."
"Deal."
I swallowed hard and forced myself to stand. Legs unsteady beneath me as I faced the rattling door. My fingers clenched into fists, nails digging into my palms.
'Breathe,' I commanded myself. 'Just breathe.'
'System. Abilities.'
A new screen shimmered into existence before me. Translucent blue and impossibly real. Unlike my stat screen, this one was organized differently.
A list of skills, most grayed out and inaccessible. Only one highlighted and available.
Astral Rewrite: Gravity Anomaly (Active)Edit gravitational force in a localized area by rewriting the lunar code.Mana Cost: 50Cooldown: 30 secondsRange: 20 meters
The words hung in the air. Their meaning sinking into me like stones dropped into still water.
Edit. Rewriting.
I didn't summon spells or swing a weapon like Aurora. My class altered reality itself. I was meant to change the fundamental forces that governed existence.
The rattling grew more violent. Metal groaning under increasing pressure.
Whatever waited on the other side wasn't mindless. It knew something was hiding here.
And it was growing impatient.
"Are you sure you can do this?" Aurora whispered, voice tight with tension. "My Lunar Blade skill is straightforward—I call the sword, it comes. But your ability sounds... complicated."
"I have to try," I replied, surprised by my own determination. "We need to know what I'm capable of."
I stepped forward. Heart hammering against my ribs.
Aurora shifted behind me. The soft hiss of her blade cutting through air the only indication of her readiness to intervene.
I lifted my hand, unsure what I was reaching for. Trusting the system to guide me. I focused on the skill name in my mind.
'Astral Rewrite: Gravity Anomaly.'
Something cold shimmered into existence between my fingers.
A quill.
Not metal, not wood, not anything that could be defined by earthly terms. It pulsed with otherworldly energy, shifting colors between deep indigo and shimmering stardust.
Its tip dripped with what I somehow knew was Astral Ink. Liquid cosmic energy harvested from the very force that had turned our world upside down.
The quill was simultaneously solid and ephemeral. Like holding a thought given physical form.
The moment my skin made full contact with it, my vision changed.
Reality fractured before my eyes. Splitting open to reveal what lay beneath.
Thin, glowing lines of energy—a network of flowing, interconnected lunar magic—spun through the air around me. As if the fabric of existence had been written on invisible parchment.
Every object, every surface, every molecule of air was coded into this strange script. Luminous constellations and runic formulas twisted and turned through three-dimensional space.
"Holy shit," I whispered, overwhelmed by the sudden influx of information.
"What do you see?" Aurora asked.
Her voice sounded distant. As if coming from another room.
I couldn't answer. The world as I knew it had peeled away, revealing something far more complex and beautiful beneath.
Equations and symbols floated through the air. Not random, but interconnected. A vast cosmic web that defined everything around us.
Physics wasn't just a human concept but a literal code written into reality itself.
And through all of it, past the heavy steel and concrete, I saw the zombie.
Its form outlined in raw, pulsing lunar energy. Like a broken marionette filled with unnatural life. Crystalline light leaked from the cracks in its skin, pouring from its eyes and mouth like liquid metal.
Above its head, something strange flickered. Lines of lunar code, shifting and twisting like a chaotic tangle of equations I could barely comprehend.
'The code that made it move. That made it exist.'
The quill pulsed in my hand. Eager, almost hungry.
It wanted to write, to change, to redefine.
I had no idea what I was doing. But I knew one thing with absolute certainty—if I could read this code, then maybe I could change it.
I gritted my teeth and reached forward. Quill hovering over the tangled lunar script that defined the creature's existence.
The equations governing gravity stood out to me. Complex formulas defining the pull between masses, the curvature of spacetime around physical objects.
Even without formal training, I somehow understood what I was seeing. As if the knowledge had been downloaded directly into my consciousness when the class was assigned.
I tried to rewrite.
And I immediately failed.
The moment I pressed the tip of the quill against the air, the symbols twisted violently. Fighting back with unexpected force.
The ink spattered and fought. Equations flickering and reshaping themselves in response to my intrusion.
It was like trying to carve into water. The moment I made a change, the system tried to heal itself. To restore the natural order.
A sharp pain exploded behind my eyes. White-hot and merciless.
My knees buckled. My mind burned as if someone had poured molten steel directly into my brain.
Distantly, I heard Aurora call my name. But it was muffled, as if she were underwater.
"Nate!" Her voice finally broke through the haze of pain. "Whatever you're doing, do it fast!"
The door groaned. Metal bending inward with each impact.
A loud bang echoed through the basement, reverberating off concrete walls. The hinges wouldn't hold much longer.
I had seconds.
I ignored the pain. Pushed past the blaring warning message that flashed across my vision in angry red letters.
Equation Failure—Risk Detected!
This wasn't about understanding the code perfectly. It was about forcing my will upon it.
I pushed through.
The symbols twisted beneath my quill. Erratic and unstable, but this time I forced them to submit.
I didn't need to understand every line, every rune. I just needed to change enough.
I focused on the gravitational constant in the equations. Multiplying it exponentially, localized to a single point in space.
The script shifted. The ink bled through reality itself.
And then—
Gravity collapsed.