Chen Liu absorbed eleven one-star white crystals, bringing his source energy to thirteen strands—still far from the thirty-two needed for a four-star Awakened. That leap’s a major hurdle, he thought. His expression was steady but tinged with frustration. He stood, stretched, and sat cross-legged again, slipping into meditation.
Awakened cultivation mirrored that of fictional magicians. Source energy was like mana, but mental strength, or “mind force,” required visualisation training. Chen Liu focused, his awareness entering his sea of consciousness—a hazy, directionless void, more elusive than his dantian. At its center, a spherical white crystal rotated slowly in an intricate pattern: the Awakened Seed. It triggered abilities, linking with source energy to unleash powers. Silver threads—mind force—flowed through it, their strength dictating an ability’s speed, frequency, and potency. Source energy sets the base; mind force amplifies it. His face was calm with understanding.
Physical-type abilities demanded less mind force, while elemental and mental-types relied heavily on it. Special-types, like his Ability Replication, varied. Magneto’s metal control comes from insane mind force, he thought, recalling the fictional character’s power. The “Flame Queen,” with her massive fireball, showcased similar strength. That’s raw talent. He couldn’t hide his envy and admiration. Yet Chen Liu was gifted too. His sea of consciousness teemed with countless silver threads, unlike the sparse strands of most Awakened. No wonder I had those headaches, he thought as his face softened with clarity. His frail body had struggled to contain his potent mind force, triggering collapses as self-protection. Awakening had stabilised it, and now he craved even more mind force to fuel his copy ability.
His visualisation began, centred on the Three-Eyed, Eight-Armed Demon God from his dream—the source of his bloodline. Its image, imprinted in his consciousness, remained hazy. When I see it clearly, my mind force will soar. He was motivated. Two hours passed in meditation, a faint mental ache signalling his limit. Pushing risks damage, he thought, his face tightening. Most Awakened managed only an hour; physique-types often less. His endurance was exceptional. The night passed quietly.
At dawn, Chen Liu rose, washed, and ate milk and biscuits. No more noodles every day. He sat at his computer, studying human anatomy, force application, and basic combat techniques, absorbing them eagerly. His awakened memory made learning swift. Combat skills could save my life. “Time to hunt,” he said, slinging on his backpack and heading out.
The zombies had changed overnight, stronger and faster. Most are two-star, maybe three or four. Stabbing a zombie’s skull with his gateball mallet now required effort to pull free—proof of tougher bones. Their intelligence had grown too, hunting in pairs or packs. Chen Liu faced danger repeatedly. Once, his mallet got stuck in a skull, and another zombie nearly bit him. His three-star enhancements and sharp senses saved him, but he emerged dishevelled. This mallet’s useless now, he thought, his expression frustrated. I need a blade.
A fire axe came to mind, common in Huaxia’s fire stations. The sanatorium’s only fire station was near the main gate, across the compound. No time to waste. He moved with urgency. He avoided zombies when possible, moving cautiously. Turning a corner, he froze. A massive yellow dog with tusks and bristling fur—likely a three-star mutated beast—blocked his path, rivalling a Tibetan mastiff in size. Stronger than that cat, he thought, his expression tightening. Running was futile; he couldn’t outpace it.
Gripping his mallet, Chen Liu steadied his breathing and locked eyes with the dog, standing still to counter its speed. This could be my deadliest fight. His heightened senses caught faint footsteps and muffled breathing behind him. Another mutated dog, he thought, his expression darkening. “Cunning bastards,” he muttered. One distracted him from the front, the other poised for a sneak attack. Without his senses, he’d be dead. He stood frozen, not daring to glance back, refusing to show weakness. The air grew heavy, tension coiling like a spring.