Incubus Living In A World Of Superpower Users-Chapter 255: How The Situation Became After The Meteor Shower 2

A school floating above shattered clouds.

A train network threading through the hollowed spine of a mountain, long since abandoned by miners and taken over by engineers who no longer cared about ore, but only speed and safety.

A convoy of powered caravans cutting across scorched earth, the land cracked beneath their wheels.

Each truck bore a hand-painted flag—not of a nation, but of a clan. No borders. No governments. Just names. Names that had survived when nothing else had.

The simulation didn’t slow. Didn’t blink.

It wasn’t here to impress anyone.

It just showed.

Bit by bit.

What happened after the Fall?

This time, it moved away from devastation. Not toward hope, but toward silence. Toward the places that survived for a little while longer, because they were forgotten.

Hills, quiet towns, and dirt roads are not yet overrun.

People tried to pretend the world hadn’t ended.

They gathered for meals. Held weddings under half-collapsed churches. Marked graves with small wooden crosses and whispered stories to children as if the bedtime monsters were still only pretend.

But even then, they listened.

Always listening.

To the wrong wind, for the wrong birdsong, for the wrong silence between heartbeats.

Some lasted months.

Others vanished in days.

The simulation didn’t dramatize their ends.

It simply... erased them.

An empty home. A scorched dinner was still sitting on a wooden table. Toys were lying in dust beside a door that was no longer locked.

Whole buildings half-packed, as if the owners had tried to leave but never finished.

Then came the beasts.

Not charging. Not attacking.

Just walking.

Moving as though they belonged—because they did now.

Some traveled in herds. Others stalked alone, their shadows trailing over cities that once stood tall.

A few flew in slow arcs across the sky, casting silence in their wake so heavy that even the wind stopped.

There were no names given.

None were needed.

Everyone watching knew what they were.

Not animals.

Not abominations.

Just... the new dominant species.

Humanity wasn’t on top anymore.

And it wasn’t even close.

But people fought anyway.

That part came next.

Small groups. Makeshift teams. Fighters with scavenged gear. Jackets torn from the backs of old uniforms, respirators patched with cloth.

Red eyes from too little sleep. Hands shaking, but still reaching for their weapons when the time came.

Sometimes they won.

More often, they didn’t.

A medic crying in the snow, holding a bloodied scarf that clearly belonged to someone close.

A survivor ducking behind a doorframe, flinching at a creak, only to find no enemy, just the memory of one.

They weren’t brave.

They were just tired.

But not all dangers came from outside.

Some came back changed.

One man stood at the entrance to a bunker. The sign read "Families Only."

They turned him away.

He returned days later, but something had begun growing inside his veins.

Another moment froze—a woman screaming in a crowded shelter. Her eyes flicked sideways, then upward, spiraling in a way no human eye should move.

Others weren’t infected at all.

Just broken.

Too many nights without warmth. Too many lines crossed. Decisions they couldn’t take back.

Then came the wide pullback.

Continents lit like wounded circuits—flickering. Not on fire, not glowing, just... unstable.

Territories that didn’t belong to beasts or humans.

Just waiting.

Waiting for something else to take root.

But in those silent places, there were signs of pushback.

Underground cities draw warmth from old geothermal cores. Treehouses built inside the skeletons of massive fallen beasts—their lingering scent repelling other monsters.

Caves converted into self-contained gardens, luminous moss thriving in the dark, feeding those too stubborn to die.

It wasn’t a war.

It was a refusal.

They weren’t winning.

But they hadn’t vanished.

And that mattered.

Then, a child.

The simulation held on him.

Barefoot. Carrying a broken gauntlet, not like a weapon, but a toy.

No monsters. No buildings. Just the child walking down a fractured road with nothing but a red sky behind him.

Then something behind him flickered.

A shape.

It didn’t attack.

It watched.

Then turned.

And left.

The simulation didn’t comment.

Just moved on.

Back to survival.

Someone is guarding a cart of supplies with a metal pipe.

A woman threw herself against a charging beast so that three others could run.

A child blocking a door with their whole body.

These weren’t soldiers.

They were people doing the math.

If I hold.

If I fall.

If they make it.

Then came distortion.

Not because of machine error, but because the memories were too much.

A building caving in with no explosion. A girl walking backward, whispering numbers that weren’t in any known language.

A man clawing through stone, not to escape—but to reach someone already gone.

The world blurred.

Then quieted.

Snow is falling in a quiet district.

No monsters.

No survivors.

Just a suburban neighborhood, hollowed out by time.

Then came the shift.

Power didn’t arrive from science.

It wasn’t inherited.

It just... appeared.

A scream—and a man’s arm burned to ash, then regrew as black metal.

A cry—and every shadow in the room gathered protectively around a child.

A laugh—and flowers bloomed, then withered across an entire block in seconds.

It was unpredictable.

It was dangerous.

And it changed everything again.

Shelters banned powered individuals.

Some hunted them.

Others collared them.

But a few—

A rare few saw something else.

They saw potential.

And they moved.

They gathered the power, trained them, gave them names, not just identities, positions.

Roles, authority backed not by bloodline or badge, but by strength.

Guilds rose.

Contracts formed.

Cities paid protection fees to teams of five.

Not governments.

Groups.

And for the first time in years, structure returned.

Rough. Primitive. But real.

A man created a power field without knowing how.

A woman born blind saw in ways no one could explain.

A child fell into a crater. Came back speaking in coordinates. No memories. Just glowing eyes.

Power arrived unevenly.

Painfully.

It came with a cost.

Hallucinations, hunger, voices.

The strong grew stranger.

The gifted began drifting from who they once were.

Society tried to adapt.

Tried to regulate.

But failed.

Because you cannot control what you do not understand.

Then, something shifted.

Again.

Not a miracle.

Just order.

The first real academy.

Then another.

Then one more.

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But to sort it.

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