Chapter 1: In the Beginning

When Levi was born, the midwives immediately noticed something strange. His eyes didn't move like a normal infant's. While most newborns reacted to light, his gaze remained mostly still, as if he were seeing something beyond the physical world. The doctor suspected partial blindness, but when tests were carried out, the results always came back normal—his vision was perfectly fine.

At first, his mother, Ella, dismissed it as nothing more than newborn sluggishness. But as the weeks passed, an unsettling pattern emerged. Sometimes, Levi would stare directly at her but not truly see her, his gaze unfocused, almost as if he were looking through her. Other times, he would track things that weren't there, following invisible objects.

Ella would wave her hand in front of his face, call his name, and snap her fingers, but he wouldn't react—until he suddenly did, blinking as if snapping back to reality. It was as if he existed in two worlds at once, his consciousness shifting between something unseen and the present.

The first time she truly felt fear was one quiet evening when she caught him giggling at the empty space beside his crib, reaching out as if something—or someone—was there.

On the rare occasions Ella spent time with the other mothers in the neighborhood, she couldn't help but notice how different Levi was from their children. While the other babies instinctively turned their heads toward their mothers' voices or reached for them the moment they came close, Levi remained eerily unresponsive. Even when she stood directly in front of him, calling his name or waving her hands, he barely reacted—his gaze drifting past her as if she weren't even there.

But then, there were moments that puzzled her even more. If she approached him from the side, rather than head-on, his entire demeanor would shift. His eyes would widen with recognition, and he would let out a delighted giggle, his tiny hands reaching for her as if he had just noticed her presence for the first time. It was as if he could only perceive certain angles of reality, as though looking straight ahead meant staring into something else—something she couldn't see.

It unsettled her. It wasn't blindness. It wasn't deafness.

But from time to time, such issues never arose, as Levi would notice her approaching just fine. It was this inconsistency that unsettled Ella the most. Some days, he was just like any other baby, locking eyes with her, giggling when she played peekaboo. Other days, he acted as if she weren't even there, only reacting when she moved from the side, as if he could only perceive her from a certain angle.

The uncertainty gnawed at her. Was something wrong with her son? 

Though life was already tough on her—juggling long hours at work while caring for an infant alone—she scraped together what little money she had and took Levi for a checkup. The doctors ran their tests and examined his eyes, and every time, the results were the same: nothing was wrong. His vision was perfectly normal.

She went back a second time. Then a third.

Each visit ended the same way, with concerned yet dismissive doctors reassuring her that some babies just developed differently. But their words didn't ease the unease that crept into her mind every time she saw Levi staring at something invisible, reaching for something just out of sight.

After the third checkup, she made a difficult decision. Their money was limited, and continuing to chase answers that didn't seem to exist wasn't an option. Instead of wasting what little they had on more visits, she decided to stop seeking medical explanations and hope for the best.

Levi's father, Daniel, was terminally ill from Chaos Vine—a deadly sickness caused by inhaling large quantities of zombie spores. It was one of the most feared infections in the world, not because it killed, but because it left victims trapped in an unconscious state.

The disease started subtly, often mistaken for exhaustion or mild sickness. But within hours, the symptoms became undeniable. Faintly glowing purple veins began to spread like roots beneath the skin, crawling from the lungs outward. At first, victims could still function, though their movements grew sluggish and their thoughts hazy. Then came the heaviness—their bodies became leaden, their breathing labored, and within a week, they would slip into unconsciousness.

There was a suppressant, but it was a luxury only the wealthy or powerful could afford. The treatment required a rare elixir refined from Chaos Hearts, along with a complex procedure that reduced the disease to a dormant state. Obtaining one meant hunting down the strongest mutated zombies—creatures so deadly that few ever returned from the attempt. The price was astronomical, and for people like Daniel, there was no hope of affording it.

—----

A thousand years ago, when the zombies struck, no one expected it, but thanks to movies, people were quick to respond. Barricades were set up almost overnight—makeshift walls of abandoned cars, overturned buses, and whatever scrap metal people could find. Neighborhoods banded together, fortifying their homes and stockpiling supplies. Panic spread like wildfire, but so did an eerie sense of preparation.

Governments across the world scrambled to contain the outbreak. Martial law was declared in major cities, and most countries recruited and deployed security forces en masse, sending soldiers, riot police, and even private militias into the streets. Checkpoints were established at city borders, scanning for signs of infection. Helicopters patrolled the skies, broadcasting emergency orders while drones scouted ahead for approaching hordes.

There were heated debates at the highest levels of government about how to contain the outbreak before it spiraled out of control. Some officials proposed immediate and drastic measures—nuclear strikes on the infected zones—to prevent the virus from spreading beyond its initial borders. However, these zones were in powerful first- and second-world nations, making such a decision nearly impossible. Nuking them would mean economic collapse, global retaliation, and, ultimately, mutual destruction.

Had the outbreak begun in a poorer, less influential nation, the response might have been far less restrained. The hypocrisy was blatant, and people knew it. Protests erupted in various countries, some demanding swift eradication, others calling out the double standard. News segments ran fiery debates, with experts warning of the catastrophic consequences of inaction. Meanwhile, the general public lived in quiet terror, glued to their screens, waiting for confirmation that the infection was under control—or for the first signs that it wasn't.

Despite the global unease, governments scrambled for a solution that wouldn't trigger a world war, and for now, the idea of turning entire cities to ash remained just that—an idea.

All private laboratories were swiftly shut down, their equipment seized, and their researchers heavily scrutinized. Governments feared that unauthorized experiments could lead to further mutations or hidden outbreaks, and any scientist caught operating outside official oversight was treated as a potential bioterrorist. Owning or running a private lab was now tantamount to declaring oneself the second coming of Hitler—an enemy of humanity itself.

By the end of the week, the worst fears were realized. A second wave of sightings was reported, but this time, it wasn't contained to a single location. Reports came in from different states and multiple countries, spread out in a way that defied logic. It was as if the infection had teleported across the world overnight. Some theorized that it had been lying dormant, undetected in isolated cases. Others whispered about deliberate releases, an unseen hand orchestrating the chaos.

Panic set in. Emergency broadcasts interrupted regular programming, warning citizens to remain indoors and report any unusual symptoms.

Over 50 countries were hit simultaneously, each facing outbreaks ranging from 500 to 1,000 zombies. While the numbers weren't overwhelming at first, it quickly became clear that these creatures were nothing like the slow, stumbling corpses from movies.

These zombies were fast—inhumanly so. They could sprint down streets at terrifying speeds, scale walls, and leap over obstacles with unnatural agility. Their strength defied logic; a single one could rip through reinforced doors or flip over cars with varying difficulty. Military units attempting containment found themselves overpowered—their barricades were shattered, and their armored vehicles were rammed heavily.

But the worst part was that some of them had abilities. Whether it was bursts of fire, bone spikes erupting from their bodies, or water tendrils launched at soldiers, these mutations made them even deadlier.

Since the world had been somewhat prepared, the initial outbreak was not as catastrophic as it could have been. Governments acted swiftly, imposing lockdowns, deploying military forces, and establishing quarantine zones. Large-scale evacuations were carried out, and specialized task forces were formed to hunt down the infected. Through sheer force and brutal efficiency, they managed to slow the spread, mitigating the worst of the initial wave.

That was when the first cases of Chaos Veins appeared. Unlike the infected who had been bitten and turned into zombies, these individuals displayed no signs of infection—no bite marks, no wounds—yet glowing purple veins pulsed beneath their skin. Panic spread like wildfire. No one understood why these people were changing or what it meant. Fear and paranoia took root.

Even though those afflicted with Chaos Veins did not turn into zombies, their presence alone was enough to shatter the fragile trust holding humanity together. Whispers of hidden infections and delayed transformations spread through survivor camps, and fear quickly turned into violence. People with the telltale glowing veins were executed on sight, often without trial, as mobs and even government forces deemed them a threat.

It didn't matter that they pleaded their innocence. It didn't matter that no one had seen a single Chaos Veins victim turn. The bond between humans became fractured, and friends became enemies.