Brock crept past the shabby doorway and surveyed the town laid out before him. Almost instinctively, he let out a whistle. As far as run-down went, he felt this place was the epitome of it. Not even taking the state of the structures into account, the air smelled dead and stale, feeling thick and humid as it slid up his nostrils.

Buildings had crumbled to rubble all around him, leaving half-standing frames and unstable stone canopies. There were very few that still maintained the status of being intact, and those were all eagerly guarded by frantic eyed individuals, looking ready to defend the much-needed shelter with their very lives if they must.

Mothers and fathers, covered in filth and dried blood from old wounds cowered over their children and dwindling supplies of gathered food, desperately trying to keep themselves afloat in the cruel game that was life. He even saw children crying over the corpses of siblings or the elderly, mourning their loss with all their soul.

Brock bit his lip, pity surging deep in his gut. It was one thing to hear about poverty and terrible living conditions, but it was another thing entirely to see it with your own eyes.

It was… harrowing, to say the least.

Brock snuck a glance at the ebony-skinned woman standing solemnly to his side. Even though she appeared to be one of the few people who were better off than most in this place, her cheeks were gaunt, and her arms were far bonier than what was deemed healthy. Filth covered most of her body, and her tied up black hair was almost as matted as his own was.

He had no idea what had reduced the population of this place to such a sorry state, and he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to. The System’s harsh devices certainly made life tough for many, but this… this was beyond the aftereffects of simple displacement and confusion. It was famine, starvation, and desperation.

Licking his dried lips, Brock ran a hand through his hair and stepped onto the cracked remains of the street, the white lines long worn from the asphalt. Many turned their gazes toward him and his apparent healthiness, and Brock seriously considered dumping a portion of his reduced food stocks to help these people. He wasn’t sure how to feel about his choice, but he ultimately decided against it.

No matter how badly he wanted to be of help, he placed the lives of him and Harry above their own. He found little consolation knowing that they would probably do the same if the roles were reversed.

The new girl, Fon, just opted to stare at her feet as they walked, Brock noticed. He hadn’t had enough time with her to gauge her personality properly, but from what he had seen so far, she seemed to at least remain morally bound, something that was a good sign no matter the situation. She also seemed to have a tinge of hidden sass to her words, and it was oddly refreshing, though he had no idea why.

While evidently nervous, she appeared to be a rather capable and professional woman, and he had no doubt she would shore up the communications and ranged aspect of their little group. Brock couldn’t help but groan at the idea of him and Harry trying to manage negotiations when they needed supplies.

Harry was a boy who clearly struggled to read emotions and moods. And Brock… well… he was an idiot. The only reason he actually managed to get what he wanted out of Jordan was the fact that the dude himself wanted something from him more. Sure, he may have taken a business class, but he also fucking failed it.

Brock sighed. Mum had not been happy…

He’d probably have to assist Fon with her levelling a little bit, however, but if he found her to be trustworthy, he felt he could potentially acquire another long-term companion. Her apparent ability to perceive energies was something Brock was particularly looking forward to, especially since he had a hunch his initial ideas of its usage were right on the mark.

Brock’s thoughts froze dead, however, as he turned the street corner and left the sorrowful poverty of the masses behind. Instead, there was something waiting for him that was far worse. The stench of death slapped his nostrils and made him reel, and he felt the stickiness of rot cling to his flesh.

He resisted the urge to grimace.

Corpses. Corpses everywhere. They were strewn about in all directions, half-eaten and mangled, their blackened organs hung across the rubbles and road like streamers. The idle buzz of flies pervaded the area as the insects ate their fill. Behind him, he heard Harry gag. Fon one-upped him and spewed off to the side.

“Fuck…” Brock was left speechless by the sight.

Fon gagged once more and turned her gaze up to the clouded sky, avoiding the sight, “They’re called Skin Walkers. They showed up here first, and the people… well, they weren’t ready for them...”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Brock commented, eying the corpse of an elderly man and the eternal scream his face was forever frozen into. His lower body was torn off and strewn off a few meters away, “You said they were called Skin Walkers?”

“…Yep.” Fon sighed loudly, “We have no idea where they came from. One just suddenly shed its disguise and attacked someone. Even then, we hadn’t realised how dire the issue was until the next day.”

Solemnly, she gestured toward the carnage, retaining her refusal to look at anywhere but the sky.

Opting to stay silent, Brock considered the situation. From what he knew from mythology, Skin Walkers were creatures that could morph into and disguise themselves as humans or animals. He assumed the intricacies would differ depending on the accuracy of his connection to the creatures of the System, but hopefully, his limited information would come in handy.

Images flashed in his mind of those two people in Fon’s group that had begun to shift and change, and he was all but certain they were replaced by these creatures too.

“Alright… why’s the town in such a bad situation then?” Brock asked, feeling his nausea return, but for an entirely different reason as he continued to look over the mass loss of life.

Fon took a few seconds to regain her bearings after the short silence but quickly answered his question, “No one trusts anyone anymore. There’s no way to tell who’s one of them and who isn’t, and even people you’ve known your entire life could be a Skin Walker. They imitate the people flawlessly.”

From what Fon was saying, he thought he got a pretty decent idea of the situation. If no one could truly know who was a fellow human, resources would become a frantic dependency, simply because the future became yet more unpredictable.

What if the person in charge of rationing was one of them? What if the beast’s sabotaged the supplies? What if someone else steals them first?

No one was willing to share their supplies, and an imbalance between distribution would have been created. Soon, those lacking would succumb, and those hoarding would live slightly longer before dying too. In the end, the problem would never disappear without some semblance of order remaining. And even then, Brock couldn’t begin to think of a real long-term solution to the issue.

He didn’t even dare to think about the scenario of ‘infiltration’ into his own group.

Brock caught movement to the left and looked over, noticing a bloke a few years older than he was as he appeared from the interior of a fallen family home, and began to rummage through the wilting remains of a garden, searching for anything edible, above or below ground.

Much to his apparent delight, he yanked out a few potatoes, although they had long begun to rot, and he tucked them into a makeshift sack at his waist. Finally, he noticed Brock and met his gaze, a slight spark of madness inhabiting within. The man tilted his head curiously and wandered over. Fon shifted uncomfortably, taking cover slightly behind Brock.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t some new arrivals?” he clapped his hands messily, a crooked smile donning his face and revealing a slew of yellowed teeth. Brock felt himself slightly unnerved by the man’s presence, his aura somehow… different, “Have you come to taste the uniquely terrible flavour of poverty?”

The guy’s voice was an octave too high, leading him to come off screechy. That, plus a rounded head and thinning hair, Brock couldn’t help but compare him to Gollum from Lord of the Rings. It was an almost uncanny resemblance, except it really wasn’t at all.

“Can’t be much worse than my sister’s cooking.” Brock shrugged in response, and Gollum’s grin widened slightly, as if he was indulging in the hilarity of it. It was more of an inside joke, so Brock was left confused as to what he was actually smiling at.

Frantically, the man scratched what seemed to be lice in his limited hair and turned to Fon, who was rather flustered by the man’s appearance, “Fonny, beautifully malnourished as always. You’ve brought quite the ensemble to our home.”

“Pete… what do you want?” she tried to sound confident, although her voice came out far too quiet.

Pete, as he was apparently called, grinned widely, “Why I’m just saying hello. Is that so wrong?”

Brock snorted, simultaneously utilising his remaining vestiges of aura to investigate the man’s own, “People don’t happen to call you Creepy Pete, do they? Cause it’d be accurate.”

“Well. Aren’t you rude?” Creepy Pete looked Brock up and down with narrowed eyes.

Before he could say anything more, Brock finally found the source of the irregularity in the man’s aura and his arm snapped outward, catching Pete by his frail throat. He choked on whatever he was about to say next and his eyes widened in terror.

Fon’s eyes followed suit and she grabbed Brock by the sleeve of his jacket, “what the hell are you doing?!”

His grip tightened on the man’s neck, and his face slowly went blue, “Look.”

The thing that had unnerved him all this time, the ‘irregularity, was simply because Pete’s aura was fake. It had taken a deep search, although with the passive force Oppressive Might bestowed him it was an easy affair, but there was another aura hidden underneath Pete’s, the latter having been used as some sort of mask for it.

Pete’s aura rapidly began to dissolve as the creature masquerading as him realised it was in trouble, and instantly another aura replaced the one before, a full ten levels higher, at level 35. Fon appeared beyond startled, while Harry didn’t really care, and an animalistic aura billowed out and washed over the area, roiling with primal terror. The beast understood it was not the predator here, but the prey.

And it was horrified.

Within his fingers, the feeble man’s skin rippled and distorted, his frame elongating and enlarging to impossibly disfigured proportions, lean muscles bulging beneath and two antlers worming through his forehead. Then, the skin sloughed away like melted wax and left a humanoid beast squirming in Brock’s grasp.

Its clawed foot managed to catch him near the crotch, just a bit lower on the thigh, and instinctively, Brock let go. The Skin Walker scampered back a few paces, snarling at him angrily. While remaining relatively humanoid, the creature was a being of lean muscle and overly pale flesh, its frame exceeding lanky and cheeks skinless, revealing a set of sharp enamel daggers.

Two deep brown eyes regarded him with fear, and its antlers stood tall above it, taking an appearance similar to that of a deer’s. Respectable talons were attached to the minor appendages of the beast’s hands and feet, though Brock was confident he’d be somewhat safe from their deadly sharpness.

A mane of matted brown hair clung to its head and hung down its back, buffeting softly in the breeze.

It was the oddest feeling, but Brock felt that the monster was actually familiar. He didn’t know how or where he saw the resemblance, nor who it was from, but he couldn’t deny it reminded him of someone. No matter how hard he tried, however, the person refused to be recalled. The feeling left him slightly unsettled.

“Pete… was a Skin Walker?” Fon whispered off to the side, clearly shaken by the sudden development. Another person she believed to be real turned out to be one of those beasts.

The monster’s eyes shifted and locked onto her, and instantly it shed all hesitance and charged her, a considerable advantage in levels and stats rendering her unable to react in time. Luckily, Brock was even faster, and his arm blade found itself embedded to the base into the creature’s skull.

Blood wasn’t even given a chance to spurt out as the beastly body lost its solidity and began to slough into a pile of blood and gooey flesh. Brock watched grimly as the puddle slopped onto the ground and spread wide, the edges already beginning to turn to mist and getting carried away by the chilled wind.

Fon stared at him with confusion, “How… did you do that? Realise he was a Skin Walker?”

The man in question shrugged, “Gave me a weird feeling, and not just cause he was creepy. I had no idea it was gonna wake up on the wrong side of the bed, though.”

His newest companion seemed to stew on it, her brows furrowed at the notion that she had never even noticed what Brock had. She prided herself on her understanding of energies, and it was clearly a blow to her pride that he so easily figured out the dilemma which had reduced the town to a desperate ruins.

Brock glanced one more time over to the wreckage and corpses, and he licked his lips, an idea forming in his head, “Hey, Fon? You mind gathering up all the town’s people for me?”

A loaf of bread appeared in his hand and he chucked it to her.