The Valkyria stopped about five hundred meters from the coast.
Leon cut the engine. Silence fell over the deck, broken only by the rhythmic sound of water slapping against the hull. He ignored the landscape and focused his attention on the interface.
[COMMANDER STATUS]
Name: Leon
Class: Dockyard Commander
Level: 1
Soul Energy: 3/20
Passive Abilities:
[Dimensional Inventory]: Secure storage of 1m³.
[Captain's Gaze]: Status analysis of targets and structures.
[Soul Harvest]: Automatic absorption of energy from defeated enemies.
[VESSEL STATUS]
Name: Valkyria
Model: Parker 2520 (Modified)
Class: Coastal Fishing
Integrity: 94%
Fuel: 58%
Soul Energy: 3/20
Leon scanned the abilities tab.
[DOCKYARD ABILITIES]
Matter Deconstruction
Level: 0 (Locked)
Unlock Cost: 10 Energy Points.
Effect: Converts machinery, vehicles, and metal structures into Material Units.
Base Efficiency: 30% (70% Loss).
Dockyard Forge
Level: 0 (Locked)
Unlock Cost: 20 Energy Points.
Effect: Allows fabrication of complex modules and parts.
Requirement: Requires [Technical Schematics] (Obtained via Reverse Engineering).
Structural Modification
Level: 1
Effect: Allows repairs and reinforcements using Material Units.
Expansion: To increase vessel class requires [Hull Assimilation] (Fusion with a vessel of equivalent or greater size).
He had 3 Soul Energy points, gained from defeating the mall guard. Now, he only needed 7 more points to unlock [Matter Deconstruction].
Leon realized that without killing infected, the System would be useless. And without the deconstruction ability, he wouldn't be able to get materials to improve his vessel.
So, before starting the hunt for the missing energy, he needed to understand what was happening in the world.
He leaned back in the pilot's seat and pulled out his phone. The battery showed 15%, entering power-saving mode. The 4G signal fluctuated, dropping to 3G and back, indicating the cell towers were overloaded but still functioning.
He opened the browser.
His first attempt to access the Federation's news portal resulted in a timeout error. He tried again. The page loaded slowly, with text only, no images. The headlines were vague and seemed to have been written by panicking interns or an AI: "Civil Disturbances in Multiple Capitals," "Army Advises Staying Indoors," and "Power Grid Failures Detected."
No mention of "zombies" or "infected." Official media was still trying to maintain order, or perhaps there was no one left in the newsrooms to update.
Leon went where information flowed freely: forums and social media.
There, the scene was different. The feed scrolled so fast it was hard to read. Thousands of people were posting at the same time, creating a digital waterfall. There were videos of fights in supermarkets, photos of smoke rising in city centers, and audio of people crying, locked in bathrooms begging for help.
One specific video, shared thousands of times in the last ten minutes, caught his eye.
The caption simply said, "WHAT HAPPENED TO REX???"
Leon clicked. The image was shaky, filmed from a second-floor window. In the backyard, a dog resembling a golden retriever was ramming its head against the home's glass door. However, the sound wasn't of an animal asking to come in. It was the sound of bones breaking with each impact.
Suddenly, the animal stopped. Its body began to convulse. The skin on its back tore open, revealing a red, exposed musculature that seemed to boil. The dog grew, reaching nearly two meters, and its legs became longer and deformed. It lunged at the glass with a force that shattered the door.
The video cut off with the screams of the person filming.
Leon turned off the screen and stared at the horizon, a bitter taste in his mouth.
"Probably the whole world," he murmured.
It wasn't just humans. The virus, or whatever it was, was affecting everything it touched. If dogs and cats were changing, what would happen to wildlife? Sewer rats the size of dogs? Birds of prey diving into windows?
And most importantly for him, the sea. The ocean was full of predators. If a shark or a squid underwent that mutation... the Valkyria's fiberglass hull would seem like paper.
He needed support. Alone, he would have too many limitations.
Leon opened his contacts list. His fingers, usually firm, hesitated for a second over the name "Sgt. Mendes." They had said goodbye just hours ago at the base's exit. He was his former instructor, a man who had been stockpiling food since the predicted apocalypse of 2012. If anyone knew what was happening, it was him.
He dialed.
Ringing... Ringing... Ringing...
The call tone echoed in his ear. No one answered. It went to voicemail.
He tried Corporal Viana. Ringing... Ringing... "The network is busy. Please try again later."
He tried the naval base where he had served. Busy.
Leon lowered the phone slowly. The busy signal indicated the network still existed, but the chaos made communication impossible. Tactically, he was isolated. If the chain of command couldn't issue orders, there would be no coordination, no reinforcements, and no rescue.
He was on his own.
He put away the phone, preserving the remaining battery, and stood up to stretch his legs on the cramped deck. The sun was strong, and the heat was suffocating.
Leon walked to the bow and looked toward the coast. He needed to clear his mind and focus on the next step. His eyes swept across the bay, toward the line of rocks that marked the entrance to the open sea.
That's when he stopped.
He knew those waters like the back of his hand. Over there, to the right, was a large rock barrier that protected the channel entrance. He always used those rocks as a reference to know the tide's height.
He looked at his watch: 2:45 PM. Low tide. The rocks should be dry, covered in white barnacles and green seaweed.
But they weren't.
The dark water covered everything, pounding forcefully, almost two meters above what should have been the maximum high tide level.
Leon grabbed binoculars from the console and looked back toward the Imperial Marina he had fled. The water was dangerously close to the edge of the dock, lapping at the concrete where there used to be a safe access ladder.
"It's not the tide," Leon said to the wind. "It's the volume."
The water volume was rising fast.
If it continued at that rate, in a few weeks the city's low-lying areas, where the cargo terminals, port warehouses, and all coastal infrastructure were located, would be underwater. Solid ground wasn't dangerous only because of the monsters, but also because it was disappearing.
Leon looked around, assessing the small boat that was now his safe harbor.
The Valkyria was an excellent escape craft, fast and agile, but that was all it was a getaway vehicle, not a base.
To survive long-term at sea, he needed self-sufficiency. He couldn't depend on scavenging bottles of water on land forever; he needed desalinators and industrial filters. Fishing also wouldn't be a guarantee with the fauna changing like that; he would need space to cultivate, perhaps a greenhouse on the deck.
And perhaps most critical: he needed a crew. Alone, he would be too vulnerable. If he slept, the boat would be defenseless. Without trusted people to take shifts, exhaustion would kill him before any infected.
But none of that would fit here. The Valkyria needed to grow.
"I need energy to unlock the abilities," he murmured, starting the engine and feeling the deck vibrate under his feet. "And I need a larger vessel to assimilate."
He turned the wheel.
The Yacht Club was two miles away. It had luxury boats, fuel, and, with luck, the 7 energy points he needed to start building his floating base.