GC—God's Children Factor. Simply put, it is a measure of one's potential to awaken a "Link." One among millions in the world carries even a trace of it. Most never will. But those who do can be identified by the development of unique GC cells in their blood—each roughly two micrometres in diameter.
To detect a Link's awakening, the GC cell count must exceed 5,000. Any ionizing radiation—such as a simple chest X-ray at around 5 mSv—is enough to agitate them. Once stimulated, GC cells begin to accumulate around the heart, even against the natural flow of blood. These cells move with a will of their own, drifting through the body like curious sparks, reshaping it subtly.
Once a person's GC cell count exceeds 100,000, the effects are no longer subtle—they are superhuman.
Currently, in Dzonal, there are 149 known individuals with the potential to awaken. Of them, five have already established their Links. Three others show potential to surpass the 100,000-cell threshold: Johnathan L. EmberWake, Delilah EmberWake, and Cain Iskar.
Johnathan, descended from Pholz, bears affinity to fire and longevity. Delilah is attuned to poison and restoration. And Cain—his potential lies with plague and evolution.
***
"So I do have the potential to reach superhuman heights," Cain muttered, bitterness curling on his lips. "Explains why they tried to win me over. Made me close to John, addicted me to those damned pills, confined me in EmberWake like a pet."
Disgust welled inside him.
There were countless archives he needed to comb through, but time was no longer on his side.
He scrolled faster, taking in as much as he could. The more he read, the more horrifying the truth became—EmberWake wasn't just tampering with technology or human DNA. They were preparing bioweapons. Using H.I.V.E.. Using people. Mutated humans in symbiotic relationships with the plague, just like the monsters that haunted the wilderness.
Then it hit him—what he had released onto Tooter wasn't just evidence of unethical experiments. It was proof. Proof of biological warfare.
Most average citizens wouldn't believe it. The footage could be passed off as AI-generated. Fabricated. Discredited in a media cycle. But Cain didn't care about them.
He had left it for the ones who mattered—intelligence agents embedded in Dzonal. And they would know.
He had hunted many of them under EmberWake's orders. Ruthlessly. Efficiently. But he had spared the ones with reach, the ones who could be useful—just for a moment like this. When the truth had to be heard.
Cain's actions might already be shifting the world. EmberWake, a juggernaut among the few remaining global superpowers, could not hold dominance if the world turned against it.
Ethopnat, Dzonal's immediate neighbor, had already soured. Forced to give up land brimming with resources, Ethopnat had grown more friendly with western powers than its brutal neighbor. Tensions were rising.
Cain exhaled sharply. "Too much happening in the shadows. And I was planning to dive in without even checking how deep the waters go."
His voice was low, his tone bitter. Years—nearly a decade—lost to drugs. To manipulation. His mind, once sharp, dulled by medication disguised as healing—whivh were toxins in reality.
The scars on his face still burned at times. A constant reminder. The pills for pain. The lotion for the burning pain on his skin. They were never meant to heal him.
His symptoms weren't random. Hallucinations. Mood swings. Uncontrolled lust. Then rage. All subtle at first, crawling into his mind like a parasite, until he was no longer Cain—but something broken. Something tame.
The turning point had come from the last man he expected.
Chairman Ben—the old viper—had visited Cain himself. Talked about his "beloved" grandson John, and the time they were close. He even brought a new ointment, smiling as if the scars on Cain's face mattered to him.
Cain trusted him back then. So he used it. For a while.
But the burning didn't stop. If anything, it worsened. So Cain switched back to his old ointment.
Weeks passed.
Then the collapse.
An explosion of pain inside his skull, like acid flooding his brain. He passed out. Woke up days later in bed. Broken—but strangely lucid. The fog in his mind was gone.
No hallucinations. No mood swings. No urges. Just... clarity.
Cain's paranoia took root. He began pulling strings, had the new ointment tested in secret.
Dimethylmercury.
A death sentence, disguised as kindness.
The chairman himself had tried to kill him. The man who once called him grandson.
It was a miracle Cain survived. But survival had a price—and a blessing.
His GC cells had saved him. They resisted the toxin, healed his broken nerves, and in doing so, awakened. He hadn't known it at the time, but near-death had triggered the growth of thousands more GC cells.
He felt it now—stronger, faster, sharper. And something more.
A deeper connection to the world. A hum in his blood.
GC cells were awakening. Slowly, steadily. And soon... he would become something more than human.
***
While his mind churned with revelations, Cain continued scanning archive after archive, devouring classified data with a ravenous hunger.
He didn't have much time.
His heartbeat echoed in the silence. The hum of the archive systems vibrated through the air, subtle and ever-present.
Then—bang!
The heavy door to the archive room slammed open.
A familiar silhouette stood at the entrance.
Cain's breath stilled.
It was Derick.
He walked in—over six feet tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a skin-tight military issue training shirt. His physique was chiseled, functional. Green eyes like cut glass. Buzzcut. Brown hair.
Cain stared at the man in his mid-thirties with zero emotion. Then, a condescending smirk tugged at his lips.
"Well, look who it is. Mr. Exile. So nice to see you ag—"
Before Cain could finish, Derick lunged.
Cain rose, but Derick's left cross was already flying. Fast. Brutal.
Cain slipped beside it, his body reacting on instinct. He pivoted to counter, but Derick side-stepped, already out of range.
Cain advanced—jab, cross, hook.
Derick blocked all three with effortless precision, using his elbows and forearms like a shield.
Cain snapped a roundhouse into Derick's inner thigh—directly at the vastus medialis.
His legs were weapons. Cain's strength bordered on the limits of human physicality, thanks to GC cell enhancement. That kick would have crippled any normal fighter.
Derick didn't even flinch.
Cain's eyes narrowed. He didn't pause.
He shifted his stance, planted the kicking foot forward, and pivoted—driving a front kick straight toward Derick's crotch.
Derick's hands moved like a blur.
He caught Cain's leg mid-strike. Perfectly. Effortlessly.
Then With his back foot, Derick delivered a light tap to Cain's supporting shin using his own.
It looked light—but Cain's leg snapped with a sickening crack.
He crashed to the floor, one leg crushed beneath him, the other still locked in Derick's grip.
Pain roared through Cain's body—but Derick didn't stop.
He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a small automated syringe, and plunged it into Cain's thigh.
Cain convulsed. A burning fire spread from the injection site through his veins like acid.
Then—
Everything went dark.