Caz spent the day working small repair jobs, trying to ignore the flickering timer in the corner of his vision. But it never left. Every second gone was another step toward whatever trap the system had set.
By evening, he'd convinced himself maybe he could avoid it — that if no one attacked him, he wouldn't have to kill anyone. Rustvale wasn't gentle, but it didn't chew you every single day.
Then the Rat Knives found him.
He'd just finished fixing a busted cooling coil for an old man in a salvage yard when the shadows shifted near the gate. Two of them stepped out, both wearing that same filthy red wrist cloth. One had a grin. The other had a brick in his hand.
"Well, look who's still breathing," the grinning one said.
Caz's body reacted before his brain caught up — his stance shifted, weight balanced, one hand loose at his side. The system pulsed in his skull:
"Quest conditions met. Engage."
The timer vanished, replaced by a flashing line: [Combat Mode Active].
The first one lunged with the brick. Caz stepped aside, catching the man's arm and twisting hard. The brick clattered to the ground. The second came in low with a knife, slashing upward. Caz grabbed the man's wrist, but as their eyes met—
Something in him shifted.
The edges of his vision darkened. His pupils narrowed to slits. The other man froze mid-motion, his face going slack, knife trembling in his grip.
It wasn't fear. It was… paralysis.
Caz didn't think — he shoved the frozen man backward into a rusted metal post. The knife slipped free. The other attacker recovered, swinging wildly. Caz ducked, drove the knife into his stomach, and ripped sideways.
The man crumpled.
The second one — the one he'd paralyzed — started to move again, confusion and horror dawning in his eyes. Caz slammed the knife into his throat.
It was over in seconds.
The system's voice was calm, almost congratulatory:
"Quest Complete. Reward: +2 Stat Points. Basilisk Gaze – Minor potency increase."
The bodies bled into the dirt, steam rising in the cool night air. Caz's hands shook — not from guilt, but from adrenaline, from the electric awareness that had surged through him when his eyes locked on that man.
He'd felt the power take hold. And it had felt… natural.
He dragged the bodies behind a stack of rusted pipes, covering them with scrap sheets. The blood on his hands dried as he walked home, but the weight in his chest stayed.
When he got back, Tessa was already asleep. He washed up in silence, staring at his reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror. His pupils were still narrower than they should've been.
The voice whispered one last thing before he slept:
"This is only the beginning."