Kill to evolve: A system that demands blood-Chapter 23: Serpent tattoo

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Chapter 23

Ronan stopped keeping track of the days.

They all felt the same, wake up, train, eat, train again, go home and pass out. The clock ticked, but for him, time just. Nothing real was happening, and he was beginning to wonder what harbingers actually did, afterall...he had never heard of them until he met Nathaniel.

The most annoying thing was, even with all the training drills, his body never ached. His muscles never trembled. No soreness, no exhaustion. No limits. He no longer felt human.

It should've been a good thing.

But it was terrifying.

While the others groaned and limped after drills, Ronan stood still, not even out of breath. While they rotated in and out of the medbay for bruised ribs and torn ligaments, Ronan kept going, unaffected. It wasn't even that he was stronger. He was just different from the rest.

Unnaturally different

Ever since the upgrade, something inside him had changed. The system hadn't given a full explanation—just a boost in stats and some vague message about "evolution." But this wasn't just evolution. This felt like a quiet mutation. Like his body was also evolving into something he didn't recognize anymore. Good part is, at least he still looked human.

He tried to hide it from the other team members. Trained harder, made mistakes on purpose, forced himself to grunt and pant even when he didn't need to.

But hell, it didn't work.

They all noticed.

Especially after the rematch with Hugo.

No systems activated. Just raw hand-to-hand. And for the first time, Ronan didn't get overwhelmed. He actually pushed Hugo to the edge—forced him to block, parry, even sweat.

Hugo still won. Barely. But by the time Ronan hit the mat, the entire team was staring at him like he'd grown another head.

"He's only been here how many days?"

"Is he sleeping with the combat manual under his pillow or something?"

"Did you all notice he doesn't seem to get tired?"

The comments piled up. Some were jokes. Some weren't.

He thought he could brush it off.

Until today.

They were doing full-contact drills. Nothing serious, just reflex training. His opponent—Felix, tall guy with heavy punches and zero restraint—lunged too far forward on a counter, his elbow slicing across Ronan's cheek.

The impact wasn't light. The pain lit up his face, almost dislocating his jaw.

Ronan staggered. Blood trickled down his chin. He touched it instinctively. Warm, sticky blood.

"Oh shit—my bad!" Felix panicked, stepping back. "You okay, bro?"

"I'm fine," Ronan muttered, wiping the blood with his hand.

"You're bleeding, dude. Wait—hold on." Felix darted off to grab a cloth from the corner bench.

Ronan stood there in silence.

By the time Felix returned—less than thirty seconds later—the blood was gone. He thought maybe Ronan had wiped it off and somehow stopped the bleeding, until he came closer.

He froze when his eyes scanned the are but couldn't find any sign of injury. "Wait..."

Ronan blinked.

The stinging sensation on his face was gone.

No gash. No cut. Just clean, unbroken skin.

Felix slowly turned toward the others. "Did—did I imagine the injury just now?"

"No, I saw it," someone said.

"Yeah, blood was dripping from his face too."

"Did it heal already? What the hell?"

All eyes turned to Ronan.

He stayed still. His jaw tightened. His mind raced. He had completely forgotten that the system now automatically healed any injuries the same way it cured his fatigue even when he didn't activate the system.

He opened his mouth, but the words felt foreign in his throat. How the hell was he supposed to explain that his system was responsible. That shit was unheard of, will anyone even believe him?

"You saw wrong," he said flatly.

And then turned and walked toward the exit.

"The hell you mean 'we saw wrong'?!" Felix called after him. "You think we imagined your blood stains on the floor?! You think this is group hallucination therapy, bro?!"

Someone choked on a laugh.

Ronan didn't turn back. He clenched his fists and walked faster, heat prickling behind his ears.

He needed to get out of there.

Now.

—

Back in the dorm, Ronan shut the door and leaned against it, breathing hard—not from exhaustion, but from frustration.

He stripped his shirt off and tossed it aside, then grabbed a towel to wipe the sweat from his neck and chest. But the moment the towel brushed against the back of his neck—

A sharp pain shot through his spine.

"Ghh—!"

He dropped the towel and stumbled forward, gripping the edge of the sink as his knees buckled. The pain spread like wildfire, burning beneath his skin.

His hands scrambled to feel the spot behind his neck. It was hot and pulsing.

He turned to the mirror and twisted his head, angling the reflection just right.

What he saw made his stomach drop.

The tattoo.

The one that appeared after his upgrade a few days back, the dragon tattoo etched in black ink, was gone.

In its place was a coiled serpent. Sleek. Sinister. Its head faced downward, and the motherfucker looked creepy as hell, yeah.. Ronan hated snakes, with all his being.

"What the hell..."

The pain faded slowly, leaving behind a throbbing pulse in the back of his skull. Ronan touched the serpent again, his skin crawled with disgust, why in the world did it have to be a snake tattoo. He tried scrubbing it off with the towel.

But it still remained.

It wasn't an illusion or trick.

His system had changed something.

Again.

He stared at the tattoo for a long time, his mind blank. No alerts. No explanation. Just another mystery burned into his skin.

He couldn't help but wonder what exactly a serpent tattoo meant.

He didn't have answers. And he hated not knowing.

Eventually, the ache dulled. He grabbed the towel again and stepped into the shower, hoping the hot water would help him clear his head.

He needed to focus. Thank goodness the tattoo wasn't were he would have to see it all day, or he wouldn't be able to bear it.

Whatever the system was doing, it hadn't tried to kill him—yet. And right now, staying in Squad 4 meant keeping his head down and surviving long enough to find out what the hell he was becoming.

He stood under the water, letting it run over his face, the steam fogging up the room again.

Just a tattoo.

Just a change.

He could deal with it.

WEEEOOO-WEEEOOO-WEEEOOO!

The emergency alarm blared through the dorms, loud and sharp.

Ronan's head jerked up.

He froze, water still running down his skin, heart pounding against his ribs.

Emergency alarm meant one thing:

A real mission.

No simulations. No drills.

The real deal.

His blood surged.

Finally.