He used it once, on a bully who had cornered him. The boy’s own combat knife stopped an inch from Quinn’s throat. The bully’s arm simply refused to move. Quinn whispered, “Walk away,” and the boy did, tears streaming down his face, screaming internally. The turning point came during the Mid-Year Trial: a simulated dungeon-break in the colony’s lower sectors. A real rift had opened, spitting out beasts. The teachers sealed the exits, turned it into a graded exercise. Survive for six hours. Kill as many as you can.
Quinn smiled.
Quinn discovered he couldn’t just bite anyone. The moment he tried, his incomplete hybrid nature caused the victim’s System to flag him as an . A colony-wide alert would follow. He learned to be surgical: a tiny incision, a stolen blood-pack from the medical incinerator, a drop of his own saliva to seal the wound. My Vampire System
His bones didn’t break; they unmade , dissolving into a slurry of dark matter that reconfigured itself along a fractal, predatory blueprint. His blood boiled, not from heat, but from a new hunger—a thirst that had no name, only a red, screaming void. He felt his humanity peel away like wet paper, and in its place, something ancient and feral took root. He used it once, on a bully who had cornered him
Except Quinn. His Awakening screen had remained stubbornly dark. A Null. A zero. In a world where your job, your status, even your right to breathe clean air was determined by your Level, Quinn was already a ghost. Quinn whispered, “Walk away,” and the boy did,