The moment Sohan stepped beyond the heavy iron gates of the Steel Armor Shelter, the atmosphere shifted. The air grew heavy, saturated with a primal energy that forced his muscles to instinctively coil. Before him, the wasteland stretched out a vast, desolate expanse of jagged rock and alien flora under a permanent, twilight sky.
"Stay together!" the group leader bellowed, his hand white-knuckled on the hilt of a rusted broadsword. "Don't act alone unless you're looking for a grave!"
The seventeen newcomers moved as a single, trembling unit. Sohan remained in the center a pocket of absolute calm amidst a sea of anxiety. He wasn't looking at the horizon; he was feeling the ground through his boots, mapping the vibrations of the earth.
"Movement!"
The cry had barely left someone's lips before the grey shadows lunged. They were four legged, hairless predators with needle thick teeth Ordinary class creatures, the bottom tier of the Sanctuary's food chain.
"Attack!"
Chaos erupted. The group broke formation; some screamed and fled, while others swung their weapons with a blind, panicked fury. Sohan remained still. He watched the creature lunging toward him, analyzing the trajectory of its leap and the tension in its haunches.
At the last possible millisecond, he stepped aside. The creature's claws hissed through the air where his chest had been a moment before. Sohan swung his metal rod. Thud. It was a solid hit, but the creature's hide was thicker than he'd anticipated. It spun instantly, snarling.
Sohan didn't panic. He adjusted his timing, predicting the follow-up strike based on the creature's weight shift. As it lunged again, Sohan moved early. He didn't just swing; he drove the rod into the creature's soft throat with surgical precision.
Crack.
The creature slumped to the dirt, its life light fading. "First kill," Sohan murmured. He waited for the voice in his head the announcement of a beast soul. Silence.
"As expected," he thought, wiping the grey ichor from his rod. Beast souls were rare, a miracle of probability that most hunters went months without seeing. This was only the foundation.
One Week Later
The wasteland became their classroom. The group hunted daily, grinding through Ordinary creatures until the repetitive violence became a numb routine. The numbers told the story: twenty had become seventeen. Some had succumbed to injuries; others had simply vanished into the grey fog of the plains.
But Sohan had changed the most. His movements were no longer those of a starving slum-dweller; they were efficient, sharp, and chillingly deliberate. Each hunt refined his Gene Control, making every absorption of energy cleaner and more potent.
Then came the day of the swarm.
"Over there!" a scout shouted, pointing toward a shimmering black mass moving across the red sand. "Primary Ants!"
Dozens of them, each the size of a large dog, swarmed forward with a terrifying, rhythmic clatter of mandibles.
"Attack with caution!" the leader commanded.
The group engaged, but the ants were fast, swarming in overlapping waves. Sohan moved like a ghost through the fray. Step. Strike. Avoid. He wasted no motion, his breathing remaining as steady as a metronome. An ant lunged he crushed its thorax. Another bypassed his guard he sidestepped and shattered its head.
Then, as his rod came down on the third ant, a clear, mechanical voice echoed in the cavern of his mind:
"Primitive Beast Soul – Primary Ant Armor obtained."
Sohan paused for the briefest of seconds. Primitive. In his Soul Sea, a new shape flickered into existence a suit of dark, segmented armor layered like an insect's carapace. It radiated a solid, defensive weight.
It was a Primitive-class soul. It was stronger than anything a beginner usually found in their first month, let alone their first week.
Sohan resumed the fight immediately, his face a mask of indifference. No one noticed the flicker of power in his eyes. Inside, however, his thoughts were racing. Most hunters would have equipped the armor instantly, basking in the newfound security.
I won't use it, Sohan decided. Not yet.
The Gene Stone stirred in his Soul Sea, pulsing with a dark, hungry light in response to the new soul. Others depended on what the Sanctuary gave them. Sohan intended to dictate terms.
"I'll upgrade it," he thought, his gaze growing cold as he struck down the final ant of the swarm. "I'll make it something the Sanctuary never intended."
As the battle ended and the exhausted survivors regrouped, Sohan stood among them in silence. He felt no pride, only a sharpening of his resolve. The luck of the Sanctuary had given him a tool, but his control would decide its fate.
"Luck gave me a beast soul," he whispered into the rising wind. "But I will decide what it becomes."