Lin Mo didn't expect dying to feel like this.
Not dramatic. Not meaningful.Just… empty.Like something had already ended before he noticed.
The room smelled faintly of antiseptic—the kind that never really leaves. Somewhere above him, a clock ticked unevenly, like it had been ignored for years.
Time didn't move right anymore.
Sometimes minutes dragged so long they felt deliberate.Other times, whole hours disappeared—and he couldn't even remember losing them.
The nurse had stepped out.
Or maybe not stepped out.Just… gone.At some point, he stopped keeping track.
His fingers shifted weakly against the blanket.
Too light. Too slow.So this… was it.
The thought didn't hit hard. It just settled somewhere in his chest, quiet and heavy.
For most of his life, Lin Mo had been something people couldn't quite explain.
Doctors gave it names.None of them stuck.
He never found a word for it either.
"Absorb" was the closest—but even that felt off.
It wasn't taking.More like something slipping into him quietly… like it had always belonged there.
The first time, he was eight.
A stray dog—thin, ribs showing—lunged at him near an alley.He remembered the teeth more than the pain.
The fever came after. Days of it.
And then… something changed.
When he recovered, things felt different.
Not in a way he could prove. Just small things.
He moved a little faster. Reacted a little quicker.
Enough to notice. Not enough to explain.
So he tested it.
At first, carefully.
Then less carefully.
Birds. Insects. Fish.
Things no one would come looking for.
It felt wrong.
Not always—but enough that he noticed.
He kept going anyway.
At sixteen, it caught up to him.
A park. Middle of the day.
He had pushed too far.
His body wouldn't stop shaking. His vision blurred at the edges. People gathered, but no one got close.
He thought he was dying.
Turns out, he just wasn't strong enough.
After that, time blurred again.
Days turned into years before he really noticed.
He got stronger. Sharper. Harder to hurt.
But not enough.
A bullet would still kill him.
Some things didn't change, no matter how much he did.
And that was the problem.
There was nothing in his world that needed him to go further.
No enemies. No monsters.
No reason for his ability to change into something more.
Just ceilings.
Every time he got close, there was another one waiting.
His breathing slowed.
"If there was… anything past that…"
The words barely formed.
"…I never reached it."
The clock ticked again.
Or maybe it had already stopped.
He couldn't tell anymore.
His eyes closed.
And this time—
They didn't open.