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Chapter 3 Cards

The young girl's tender and springy flesh sank deeply into Buck's teeth, the gushing blood reeking of metallic rust staining his chin. With just a slight increase of force, Emma's fragile life would vanish forever from this world.

But Buck stopped moving—not because he didn't want to devour this prime specimen before him, but because he couldn't move. A chef's knife was now deeply embedded in the back of his skull, buried up to the hilt.

Buck's pale eyeballs retained a trace of excitement—even in death, he couldn't understand why Emma's empty hands had made that futile struggle in midair, yet he had died instead.

For a moment, Emma's ears were filled only with the thunderous pounding of her own heartbeat beneath the heavy corpse—thump, thump—Enduring the excruciating pain in her neck, she pushed hard at Buck's body. With a loud thud, the heavy corpse fell backward onto the floor. The knife embedded in Buck's skull shifted from the impact, its tip now protruding from his wide-open mouth.

Clutching her neck with a hand now completely crimson, Emma gasped hoarsely for breath. She viciously kicked the corpse on the ground, her voice rasping as she whispered: "... Who said I only evolved two traits?" Just uttering these words made the pain in her throat unbearable.

The moment she delivered that kick, Emma suddenly saw blackness before her eyes, nearly collapsing—the dizziness from blood loss struck faster than she'd anticipated. Setting aside everything else, bandaging her wound became paramount. Staggering, she found a towel and pressed it tightly against the injury. Gasping, she slumped back onto the floor, using all her remaining strength to maintain pressure on the towel.

The shrill wails of police sirens rose and fell across the city; faintly mixed with human screams and cries—making the silence in this 38th-floor apartment feel deader than death itself.

Drifting between semi-consciousness and awareness for some time, the bleeding finally stopped—it seemed fate wasn't ready to claim Emma yet, as the wound hadn't reached any arteries. After resting, she regained enough strength to drag herself up and drink some water.

Setting down the cup, she raised her eyes to see Buck's grotesquely positioned corpse still lying quietly on the floor.

After some thought, Emma dragged her trembling body to the corpse's side. With shaking hands, she placed a palm on her body and hoarsely whispered: "Store this."

The moment the words left her lips, a white light flashed from her palm. The knife-pierced corpse vanished, replaced by a playing-card-sized object that clattered to the floor with a sharp "clink!"

Emma pulled out her phone to illuminate the card.

Just as she'd expected, the card featured crude crayon drawings—a crudely sketched man with a knife protruding from his head, mouth agape. Below it, bold text declared: "Buck's Corpse."

[Buck's Corpse]

Name: Can't you read the title?

Race: Human

Status: ...Dead

Potential Value: 204

Prime Suspect: Emma

Basic Abilities: Extreme Temperature Adaptation, Physical Enhancement, Body Modification

Advanced Abilities: Mutual Benefit Society, Nutritionist

"What the hell is all this..." Emma stared at the card, momentarily speechless. This bizarre object represented her third evolved ability—the one that had just saved her life tonight.

—Whenever she wished, Emma could convert any object her palm touched into a card stored within her body. To retrieve it, a mere thought would get the card back into its original form.

Her earlier act of grabbing a boning knife and throwing it at Buck had been mere misdirection. The true killing movement came when Buck bit into her—during her struggling, she'd pressed her hand against the back of his head. Without a thought, the "Chef's Knife" card stored in her body that morning was transformed back into a blade, piercing clean through Buck's brain.

After days of experimentation, Emma had discovered she could only perform four conversions per day.

Though familiar with the cards she created, this was her first encounter with such... detailed content. She hurriedly flipped over [Buck's Corpse], revealing densely packed fine print:

Buck, a male, 28, from another "New World." Introverted since childhood, unpopular with girls, received a confession from a male senior in college. After the New World emerged, he struggled to survive (details omitted). In summary, after arriving in suspect Emma's world, Buck devoured a billionaire with potential value 2, inherited his assets, and deliberately approached suspect Emma. Just as he was about to consume her, he was killed instead.

"Fine, skip the important details—but why keep calling me 'suspect'?" Emma grumbled, flicking the text with her finger. The words immediately vanished, replaced by new paragraphs:

[Mutual Benefit Society]: Among the sea of humanity, identify high-potential seeds with discerning vision. Through intimate physical contact (kissing, hugging, etc.), this ability stimulates ordinary humans' potential, accelerating their evolution of various abilities. True win-win cooperation.

[Nutritionist]: After consuming a person, maximally absorb the target's potential value, evolved abilities, and physical attributes. Balanced nutritional intake ensures a brighter tomorrow.

Note: The chef's knife in the skull was manufactured in Germany. Sharp-edged, lightweight yet durable. Purchased for $599 on sss Marketplace.

Were it not for her "Keen Intuition" ability, Emma might have thought this was a dream. Cursing under her breath, she stared at [Buck's Corpse] uncertainly. She refused to store a corpse inside her body. After consideration, she simply stuffed the card into her pocket.

Since Buck's card detailed his abilities so thoroughly, would his own card explain his powers and this "New World"? While intriguing, Emma couldn't exactly turn herself into a card—her eyes narrowed as she plucked a hair and whispered: "Store!"

A white flash later, another card appeared.

[Hair]

Owner: Emma

Quality: black, healthy, slightly dry ends.

Function: Annoying when stuck to brooms.

Note: Based on root analysis, the owner may experience hair loss around age forty.

"D*mn. Completely useless." Emma waved her hand dejectedly. The hair vanished in a white gleam.

A scorching New World...? She thought distractedly.

56°C... Even with her evolved Heat Adaptation ability, this was nearly unbearable. What must ordinary people be enduring?

Suddenly, Emma jolted upright from the couch. Sophie! How could she have almost forgotten her friend!

Imagining Sophie in danger, Emma ignored her own injuries. Frantically grabbing a backpack, she rushed to the kitchen and emptied the fridge of all the bottled water and drinks. Changing into athletic wear, she retrieved keys to unlock the emergency exit, charging into the pitch-black stairwell.

Though merely descending, tackling 38 floors left Emma breathless. Wiping sweat from her brow and taking a water break, she continued toward B1 level.

Buck's car—or rather, the car belonging to the man he'd eaten—was parked on B1. Sophie's home was twenty minutes away by car—impossible to reach on foot in this heat.

No sooner had Emma stepped into the parking garage than a wave of blistering air nearly knocked her over.

Staring at the scene, Emma numbly switched off her phone's flashlight.

No need for artificial light here.

Every parked car had its headlights glaringly illuminated, engines roaring—the amplified engine noises reverberated through the enclosed space. Hundreds of exhaust pipes collectively spewed heat, transforming the semi-enclosed garage into a literal oven, temperatures at least 3-4°C higher than outside.

Everyone who could reach the garage had come. With citywide blackouts, people unable to endure the heat had flocked to the only functioning air conditioners—those in vehicles.

After mere steps through this molten air, Emma's back was drenched. Through car windows she saw panicked faces: some frantically dialing phones, others clutching crying children, some unconscious—perhaps dehydrated during their trek. Many stared at her in disbelief, wondering how she still had strength to walk.

Despite being surrounded by car air conditioners, despair hung thick in the air. These cooling systems merely delayed the inevitable—once fuel and electricity were depleted, nobody in this garage would survive the external inferno.

Emma knew she couldn't help these people—her backpack held only five water bottles, three sodas, and some bandages. These meager supplies needed to last indefinitely. Gritting her teeth, she averted her eyes and marched toward the familiar Audi, practically diving inside.

After consideration, she didn't activate the AC, merely rolling down the windows. Since heat couldn't kill her, enduring discomfort was preferable to wasting precious fuel Sophie might need—wiping sweat, Emma turned the steering wheel, easing the car out.

Compared to the underground steam bath, the 56°C outside air felt marginally better. Empty streets showed few vehicles—most conserving their resources.

Cars lining the roads mirrored the garage's situation—idling engines sustaining their occupants' final moments of cool air.

As Emma sped past a red Mazda, a dark shape suddenly flew from the right—"BANG!"—violently striking the Audi's door.