Entire story is purely fictional. All characters and locations are unrelated to the real world. Also, in this world, there are no nuclear weapons.
September 23, 2029, Sunday. Xingcheng. A top university.
Brandon Young came back to campus in high spirits after a long day of part-time work. Two days of hauling bricks earned him 300 bucks—enough if he stretched it through the coming week.
Back in the dorm, he saw two of his roommates glued to their phones, gaming as always.
"Brandon, you're back! Log on quick, man, Nigel's dragging me down hard. I can't carry this alone," Jake Lewis called out like he'd just spotted a lifeline.
"Carry you? You even seen your own stats? One kill, eight deaths—you should be ashamed to talk," Nigel Dawson scoffed.
"Only 'cause of you! Every time I try to help, you’re too busy chasing those two creeps for last-hits!"
"The creeps were under the damn turret! You can’t wait a second?”
"If I wait, they just run off!"
“You charged solo and got wrecked anyway, didn’t you?”
“…”
Brandon shook his head and laughed. "Alright, alright, knock it off. Neither of you is any good, so quit blaming each other… You're both deadweight."
“…”
"Hey, Wilson hasn't come back yet?" Brandon asked.
"Nope. Off having a date. Might not be coming back at all tonight,” Nigel said.
“Figures. But really, you two just sit in here gaming every day? Don’t even think about getting a girlfriend? We’re juniors, man."
“Games are better than girls. At least games don’t dump you,” Jake said.
“Exactly. And don’t come preaching. You ain’t got a girl either,” Nigel added.
“No money. What I earn barely feeds me. Can’t afford another mouth,” Brandon sighed.
"With that reader-killer face of yours? You don’t need money to pick up girls. With so many rich chicks around campus, land one and quit breaking your back at work."
"I like my teeth intact. I don’t chew soft meals.”
“…"
Brandon pulled out his phone and tried calling Wilson Bateman. Out of power. He frowned.
"Seriously? Out on a date and didn’t bother charging his phone? Typical.”
Shrugging, he let it go, played a few rounds with the others, carried them to some wins, then hit the shower. Two days moving bricks—his body was screaming.
Late into the night, the dorm was dead silent. Everyone asleep.
“You are my little, little apple…”
A blaring ringtone shattered the stillness. Brandon jumped and grabbed his phone, slapped a hand over the speaker, and checked the caller. He hurriedly answered in a hushed voice, “Wilson, where the hell’ve you been? I tried all day. Your phone’s been off!”
There was a pause before a tired voice came through: “Bran… mind having a drink with me?”
“What? It's the middle of the damn night, and we’ve got classes tomorrow,” Brandon grumbled, but asked anyway, “Where are you?”
“Rooftop.”
“Sh*t!” Brandon shot up, heart racing. He jumped off the bed. “Don’t do anything stupid! I’m coming!”Brandon Young threw on a shirt without a second thought and dashed out, heading straight for the rooftop.
He and Wilson Bateman had known each other since middle school—they were tight, as close as brothers. Hearing that Wilson was alone on the rooftop this late? Of course Brandon was worried.
He sprinted from the third to the seventh floor without stopping. Normally, students weren’t allowed up there—the iron door was always locked. But for the more... resourceful students, that was never a real problem. That lock had probably been picked or copied a hundred times over by now.
No clue where Wilson got his key, but the rooftop door was already open.
When Brandon burst onto the rooftop, he spotted Wilson slumped on the ground, a bunch of beer cans scattered around him.
Relieved but a little pissed, Brandon barked, “What the hell are you doing up here this late? I thought you were about to jump!”
Wilson looked up at Brandon, who was clearly angry but couldn’t hide the worry in his eyes. Wilson gave a faint smile, voice low and rough. “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to make you worry.”
Brandon just shook his head, walked over, and sat down beside him. He grabbed a beer and took a swig.
“Spit it out. What happened?”
Wilson downed half a can before the words finally came. “She dumped me... After three damn years. Just like that. Reality wins again.”
Brandon paused with the can halfway to his lips. Not surprised. Judging by how wrecked Wilson looked, he’d already guessed it.
That fool had gone too deep. Guys like him always took the hardest falls.
He clapped Wilson on the shoulder. “Come on. There’s plenty of fish in the sea. You're not ugly; getting another girl ain’t gonna be a problem.”
“But I really loved her...” Wilson's voice broke.
“Yeah? And can love fill your stomach?”
“Kinda. Seeing her, I didn’t feel hungry.”
“...”
“But she still cheated on you.”
“How do you know?”
“Please. Knowing you, if she didn’t, would you have broken up?”
“...”
“So, who's the bastard she climbed into bed with?”
“...”
“You here to dig salt into my wounds or what?” Wilson gave Brandon a look.
“I just wanna know who had the balls to mess with my brother. Gotta settle this.”
Wilson’s eyes flared with another wave of emotion. Gritting his teeth, he hissed, “Julian Wayne. That rich punk. Thought money could buy everything. And the worst part? Sophia actually fell for his crap.”
Brandon nodded slowly. “That bastard, huh? Don’t worry, I’ll break his third leg for you.”
“No, wait, that’s illegal, Brandon. Not worth it.”
“Fair. Then I’ll just return the favor—make sure he knows what it feels like.”
“But... he’s already with Sophia. You're not planning to go after her too?”
Brandon shot him a look. “Please. That guy’s got a harem. Sophia’s not even top tier.”"......"
"Why would she leave me for a guy like that?" Wilson Bateman muttered in pain.
"‘Cause that guy’s loaded."
"......"
"Brandon, were you really trying to comfort me? Feels more like you're stabbing the wound and tossing salt in for good measure," Wilson cracked, completely falling apart.
"Haha, I'm just saying—she's not worth it. Remember, you're a man. Learn to let go. Don’t lose yourself over one woman. C’mon! Tonight we drink till we drop, tomorrow’s a new start!" Brandon Young gave him a firm pat on the shoulder.
"Yeah… but Brandon, we've got class in the morning…"
"Screw it. Bros come first."
"Brandon, you're the best!"
"Shut it, don’t be gross. Close the door, or we’ll get caught by the teacher."
"Alright."
The campus slept in silence. From some dorms came low murmurs—clearly, the night owls were still awake.
Pulling all-nighters on games and still making it to class in the morning? Nothing unusual in college.
Tonight, though, the moon hid its light while the stars burned bright—spread across the skies like silver dust, lighting up the earth beneath.
On the rooftop of Dorm 21, two young men lay sprawled out. Beer cans scattered all around.
In a daze, Wilson suddenly raised an arm, pointing up, "Brandon… don’t you think… the Big Dipper looks weird tonight?"
"Heh… you're drunk all right. Big Dipper's got seven stars, man, not nine."
"Huh… guess I really am wasted."
"Wait… hold up… it does look like… nine stars."
"Let me count."
"One... two... three... eight... nine."
"Shit. Nine stars for real."
"Haha, guess we're both drunk as hell."
"Yeah... feels kinda magical… I swear I can see Polaris… falling down…"
"I see it too... trailing a long fiery tail... puts any shooting star to shame."
"Wait up… another Polaris? No way."
"For real... and it’s… red."
"Haha, that’s it. I’m done. Can’t keep my eyes open. Gonna sleep it off. Tomorrow, it’ll all be fine." With that, Wilson dropped his head and passed out.
Brandon, still tipsy, kept staring at that blood-red 'Polaris' above—eyes bleary but full of curiosity.
Eventually, sleep dragged him under.
After the strange skies appeared, it was as if something ancient cracked open.
Spiritual energy surged up across Bluestar, thick and sudden, spreading everywhere.
Problem was, the aura carried rot.
The energy seeped into every living thing.
For some, nothing changed.
But most... their bodies twisted. Eyes turned crimson, skin rotted, minds slipped away...
They became mindless flesh-eating monsters.
Only a handful awakened powers, and nearly all had one thing in common—
they’d been touched by that crimson star.