Ethan walked through the wrecked streets, his body aching and his mind in turmoil. The guilt from the man’s death gnawed at him.

  "What the hell am I even doing?" he thought, clenching his fists.

  His mind kept returning to the man he couldn’t save. Could I have done more? But there was no time for self-pity. He had to keep moving, keep surviving. He needed to find his parents. He couldn’t afford to stop.

  After some time, Ethan found an abandoned building, its door cracked open. He entered, scanning for any immediate threats. Inside was quiet, empty. He sank into a corner, exhausted.

  His hand shook as he pulled out his phone.

  “Where are you? Something is happening, call me ASAP!” The previous notification was a message from his mom

  He tried calling them, desperate to call his parents. But the call didn’t go through. The line was dead.

  "Great. Just great," he muttered to himself. "Can’t even make a damn phone call now. Useless."

  Ethan tucked the phone back in his pocket, his frustration bubbling over. He ran a hand through his hair, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.

  Fuck..

  His arm throbbed as the adrenaline wore off, leaving the pain from his bruises and cuts more noticeable.

  He remembered the loot. Maybe it could help.

  Ethan grabbed the low-quality HP potion from his bag, uncorked it, and took a sip. The bitter liquid burned down his throat, but almost immediately, the sharp pain in his arm and side dulled. It wasn’t much—just a temporary relief—but it was enough to keep him going for now.

  Afterwards, Ethan checked his stats. As soon as he thought about it, a blue screen appeared.

  [Ethan Walker]

  Age: 22

  Level: 2

  Strength: 11

  Dexterity: 11

  Vitality: 11

  Wisdom: 10

  Intelligence: 10

  Stat Points: 1

  Skills

  Perfect Replication [Lvl. Max]

  Skill Points: 0

  Leveled up… Is this real? Ethan thought, staring at the screen. The experience felt hollow, almost meaningless, in the face of everything he had just endured. He’d fought, he’d killed, but at what cost?

  The man had still died. It was hard to feel any satisfaction from leveling up when death was the only thing he could see in the rearview mirror.

  His gaze dropped to his hands. Perfect Replication. That was the name of his skill, and it was the only thing that separated him from the chaos around him. But what did it actually do? How could it help him when everything else was falling apart?

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  Ethan moved toward the corner of the room, where a wooden table leg had been left in the mess. He ran his fingers over the smooth surface, feeling the grain beneath his fingertips. No conscious thought needed—his mind just clicked into place.

  I can replicate any object I touch.

  The realization hit him, and his pulse quickened. It wasn’t anything he imagined, it wasn’t anything he wished for. It was only what he had physically touched. That was the limitation.

  He closed his eyes for a moment and focused harder, concentrating on the table leg. When he opened his eyes again, he was holding two identical pieces. The weight, the texture, the grain of the wood—it was all the same. One in each hand, like they had always been there. Then the pipe, it was a perfect copy.

  Ethan flexed his fingers, testing the weight of both pieces. Perfect replicas. He was starting to understand. And something else occurred to him—these copies aren’t temporary. They’re real. They’ll last as long as I want them to, unless I dismiss them.

  That was when it clicked. He didn’t need to worry about running out of supplies. If he could replicate food, weapons, tools, anything he physically touched, he wouldn’t have to worry about his future. The apocalypse no longer meant starvation.

  He gripped the replicas tighter, his mind already racing with possibilities. He could replicate anything—everything. His body had an instinctive understanding of the skill, and the realization hit him hard:

  He felt the weight of it all. His mind spun as he thought of the implications.

  The power was overwhelming.

  He concentrates, trying to replicate the potion he just drank. The soft shimmer of his power flickered through his fingers, and when he looked up, he saw another identical vial resting in his hand. His heart skipped a beat as he realized what this meant.

  I can replicate loot too? The thought was almost too much to process. He had no idea how valuable this skill could be, but it was clear now—he could take anything he touched and make as many copies as he wanted. And those copies would last. Forever, unless I choose to dismiss them.

  Ethan gripped the vial in his hand, his mind spiraling. He drank the replicated vial in his hands, as he was still injured, a single potion was not enough to heal him completely, but what if it was 10 potions, even more. This was it. This was the game-changer.

  But then, the thought hit him, and he grimaced. This is just like the novels. The game-like apocalypse. The loot drops. The leveling up. He’d read about it all a thousand times in fantasy books, the kind that were full of epic heroes and crazy powers. But now it’s real. It’s happening to me.

  His mind flashed back to those stories, how they always seemed like fun adventures. Never did he expect he’d be the one fighting for survival in a broken world. Never did he think that he’d be the one who had to take on the monsters and the chaos.

  The cold reality set in. He hated it. He didn’t want to be part of some sick game. He didn’t want to be a hero. But what choice did he have?

  I’ve got this power. It’s mine now. He looked at the table leg, then the pipe he had replicated earlier. It’s broken, and it’s mine. And it’s going to keep me alive.

  Ethan exhaled slowly, the weight of the realization heavy on his chest. The world was no longer about survival. It was about control. And with his ability, he had the power to take control of this new world. All he had to do was make the right choices.

  But in a world like this, were the right choices even possible?

  No. He had to be careful. No one could find out about this.

  He couldn’t let himself get arrogant. If he had awakened a skill this overpowered, what’s to stop others from having the same? There were people out there who would exploit him, use his power for their own gain. He couldn’t afford to trust anyone—not with this.

  He closed his eyes, forcing himself to focus. Survival first. Everything else second.