Mutant awakening: My evolution knows no bounds

Vic's heart pounded in his chest as he glanced down at the injury on his ribs. Just one look, and he could tell—the wound was from the shifter's claws. The more he stared, the clearer the memory became, each moment replaying in vivid, excruciating detail.

It had happened so quickly. The shifter had lunged at him, its claws slicing through the air with terrifying speed. Vic had managed to swerve to the side at the very last second, barely dodging the full force of the attack. But in that chaotic moment, he hadn't realized one of its claws had grazed him.

He hadn't noticed the scratch at first. Even when Silas had been interrogating him, Vic had been clueless. He hadn't known that Silas was right—that the shifter's claws had, in fact, marked him.

"Damn it. This is not good." Vic swallowed hard, his entire body slick with sweat. His pulse raced, thundering in his ears, each beat a deafening reminder of his growing dread.

He knew the truth about shifter scratches. Anyone infected turned within ten minutes—transformed into a creature of relentless violence and hunger. But it had been far longer than ten minutes. In fact, more than three hours had passed. As much as he wanted to convince himself otherwise, he couldn't ignore the signs. The infection had taken root; he could feel it changing him.

His body ached, every muscle screaming in agony. His senses had sharpened to an almost unbearable degree. He could hear everything: the faintest whispers of students in their rooms, the steady rhythm of their heartbeats. Each sound was amplified, each noise clear and distinct, as if every person in the building were standing right next to him.

"What's happening to me? What... what's going to happen?" Vic muttered, his voice trembling with fear. Cold sweat dripped from his face, pooling on the floor beneath him, soaking through his shoes.

The academy's rules were clear. Anyone infected by a shifter was to be eliminated—no exceptions. The staff or guild members would show no mercy. Status didn't matter. Family name didn't matter. An infected person was a threat, and threats were neutralized.

Panic tightened its grip on Vic's chest. Even being part of the prestigious Hardcastle family wouldn't save him. He knew that if the staff found out, his name wouldn't protect him. His father wouldn't hesitate to drive a blade through his heart the moment he learned the truth.

Vic didn't want to die. He was too young, and there was so much he hadn't accomplished. Dreams unfinished. Goals unfulfilled.

"What do I do? What do I do?" he muttered, voice shaking. "It feels like my organs are tearing each other apart... like they're trying to rip free." His face was flushed, bright red, drenched in sweat.

Gripping his head, he clenched his teeth, trying to will the pain away. Hoping—praying—that this was just a nightmare. But it wasn't. The agony was real. The transformation was real. He could feel his body changing, every second pulling him further away from the person he had been.

"Silas... he's different. He's not like the rest of us. He might have answers." The thought clung to him like a lifeline. Without wasting another second, Vic turned and bolted out of the bathroom, heading straight for the exit.

He burst through the door, sprinting toward Silas's dorm.

Elsewhere in the academy, Silas lay asleep in his bed, exhausted from the day's events. His peaceful rest was shattered by a loud, frantic pounding on his door.

His eyes snapped open. Silas rolled out of bed, glancing at his wristwatch. 2 a.m. Who could be knocking at this hour?

He froze, a chill creeping over him. Had the academy discovered his secret? The possibility gnawed at his mind, but he couldn't think of any reason they would know. He had been exceptionally careful these past few days.

Silas stood by his bed, motionless, lost in thought. The pounding came again, louder, more desperate. It snapped him back to reality. He tiptoed toward the door, each step measured and cautious.

He stopped just short of the door. "Who is it?" he called, his voice low but steady.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

"Just open the goddamn door, Silas!"

The voice was unmistakable. Silas opened the door without hesitation.

"Vic? What are you doing here at this hour?" Relief flooded Silas, but it was short-lived. Vic looked disheveled, wild-eyed. Something was wrong. "What's wrong?" Silas asked, concern etched on his face.

"This is all your fault, Griswold!" Vic roared. He lunged forward, grabbing Silas by the collar. Before Silas could react, Vic lifted him off the ground and hurled him across the room.

Silas crashed into the wall and slumped to the floor. Before he could recover, Vic was on him again, grabbing his collar and tossing him aside like a ragdoll.

Silas hit the wall but landed gracefully on his feet. His eyes narrowed. "I'm not going to fight you. Just tell me what the hell is going on!" His voice was calm but edged with tension, his gaze locked on Vic.

"You want to know?" Vic's voice dripped with venom. "If you hadn't insisted on checking out why everyone was running, this wouldn't have happened! If you hadn't tried to play hero—something you clearly aren't—none of this would've happened! If we'd just stayed at the shopping mall, I wouldn't be like this!"

"What are you talking about?" Silas started to ask, but the words caught in his throat. His eyes widened as he saw it—the black claw mark on Vic's ribs.

He hadn't noticed it before, too focused on defending himself from Vic's sudden attack. But now, with the mark in plain view, everything clicked. The truth was clear, and it was far worse than he had imagined.

"That's... a shifter's scratch, isn't it? Earlier, when I asked if you were infected, you said no. You didn't turn. So what the hell is going on now?"

"I had no idea I was injured until a couple of minutes ago. Then... my whole body started feeling different." His breaths came in ragged, uneven gasps, muscles visibly tense beneath his sweat-soaked shirt.

"Different? What do you mean, different?" Silas pressed, his voice strained. Each word was deliberate, cautious.

Vic's fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms. "I don't know... Everything's sharper. My senses—every sound, every scent—I can feel it crawling under my skin. Pain's ripping through me, like my body's at war with itself." His voice dropped to a low, dangerous growl. "And I'm hungry, Silas. Terribly hungry."

Silas's brows knitted in concern. "Hungry? We can go to the 24-hour convenience store. Grab something quick if you need to—"

Vic's head snapped up, eyes blazing with a predatory light. His voice, low and guttural.

"No. It's not that kind of hunger. What I crave is... different." He leaned closer, his breath hot and ragged. "I can hear them, Silas. The heartbeats. Everyone in this dorm. Thumping, pumping... I can hear your heart. I can feel the blood rushing through your veins." His eyes darkened, gaze fixed on Silas with an almost primal intensity. "All I can think about is ripping it out and eating it."

Silas staggered back, his heart pounding. "Vic, you're changing. This is bad, man. Really bad. I've got to report this to the academy."

Vic's face contorted with rage and fear. His voice cracked. "Are you even hearing yourself right now? Report it? Do you know what they'll do to me?" His eyes glistened, desperation breaking through the feral mask. "They'll kill me, Silas. No hesitation. No mercy."

"It's the right thing to do," Silas argued, his voice firm but tinged with sorrow. "If you turn, you'll hurt people—turn them. The staff can stop this before it's too late."

"They'll kill me, Silas. I don't want to die. Please... help me." His vulnerability cut through the tension, a desperate plea from a man on the edge of losing himself.

Silas's expression hardened, his voice heavy with regret. "There's nothing I can do to help you, Vic. I'm sorry."

"Yes, there is!" Vic shouted, his voice raw with desperation. "You're not human, Silas. You know things—things the rest of us don't. You have to know how to fix this."

Silas shook his head, eyes filled with sorrow. "There's no cure. No way back. Anyone scratched by a shifter turns. You have to accept your fate."

Vic's face twisted with a mix of despair and fury. "So that's it? You're just going to let me die?" His voice cracked. "I thought we were friends, Griswold!"

Silas met his gaze, eyes filled with an almost unbearable sadness. "We are friends. That's why I'm begging you to turn yourself in. I don't want you to die with the blood of innocent people on your hands."

Vic's expression darkened, tears streaming down his face. "Screw you, Griswold!" He spat, his voice shaking with rage and fear. "It's because of you I got infected! Now you want me to die alone?" He stepped closer, voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "Either you help me... or I'll tell the academy everything. Your secrets, Griswold. If I'm going down, you're coming with me."

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