Every step is a battle. The forest floor was covered with tree roots and decaying leaves, and Alivia's three hundred-pound body crashed through like an injured rhino. Her lungs were burning, her heart was pounding wildly behind her ribs, and thick, greasy, foul-smelling sweat trickled down her face.
She had to stop. Leaning against a huge oak tree, she gasped for breath, her chest rising and falling. "It's so tragic," she murmured, wiping the dirt from her face with the back of her hand. "Truly tragic."
A sharp buzzing sound interrupted her breathing. A strange insect, with a vibrant green body and fierce stingers, charged towards her face.
Instinct took over. Alivia raised her hand, commanding her bio-control abilities to strike, crushing the insect's nervous system.
A faint green light flashed from her fingertips-then it died out. The energy was too weak, too thin, even to penetrate the air.
The insect approached.
Damn it. Alivia snarled, slapping with her thick arms. She crushed the bug against the tree trunk, leaving a green viscous substance on the bark. She stared at the glowing viscous substance in her hands, a cruel reality surfacing in her mind. Her ability was useless. At most, it was only level one, barely enough to make someone's head ache, let alone fight the dangers of this world.
She must know what this ability can actually do. Picking up a sharp stone, she made a shallow cut on her forearm. Blood gushed out, the bright red contrasting against the muddy skin. She pressed her glowing fingers onto the wound, pushing the energy.
Healing was infuriatingly slow. Cells connected, tissue reconnecting bit by bit. It took a full two minutes for the wound to close, leaving a faint white line. When it was over, Alivia felt dizzy, her stomach spasming with intense hunger, as if she had been punched hard.
The sound of flowing water entered her ears. To a dehydrated body, it was the song of a siren. She pushed through the trees, struggling through the thorns-those thorns tearing at her rough leather skirt-stumbling toward the sound.
The stream was crystal clear, flowing through the forest. Alivia knelt by the bank, scooping up cold water and splashing it on her face. The chill was biting, washing away some of the sticky heat and grime.
She looked down.
The surface calmed down, becoming a mirror. The face she saw in the reflection made her stomach drop sharply.
That wasn't the face she recognized. Swollen, waxy yellow. Pimples swelled her cheeks and forehead, with her features squeezed into the center by thick fat. She opened her mouth in horror, revealing a crooked, yellowed set of teeth, some of which were already black at the roots.
Alivia jerked back and plopped down in the mud. "God," she muttered. She knew she was ugly-the memory told her so-but seeing it firsthand, this raw physiological reality, still felt like a heavy blow.
For a moment, despair choked her. Then she took a deep breath. "Self-pity doesn't burn calories," she said sharply to herself. "Get up."
She struggled back to the water's edge. This time, she didn't avert her gaze. She examined the reflection with the cool, analytical gaze of an agent assessing a target. Obese. Hormonal imbalance. Severe malnutrition masked by excess fat. Poor hygiene. Misaligned teeth.
"Well," her voice was flat, "it's a disaster area. But it's mine."
She stood up, brushing the mud off her buttocks. The first law of survival is health and hygiene. She couldn't fight back, she couldn't run fast, but at least she could wash herself clean. She scanned the shore for privacy. A shallow bend in the river, half-hidden by a pile of rocks and dense vines, was a good spot.
Alivia shuffled forward, her mind racing. She needed to wash herself clean. She needed to survive. Then, she needed to figure out how to fix this mess.
