The whole nation is trying to survive on the cable car; I'm choosing one of three options at ea

Brown short fur covered his entire head, with erect ears, a prominent muzzle, and a pair of brown eyes set in his furry face, making him look somewhat unreal. He wore a baggy combat suit, with his tail sticking out of his trousers and swaying slightly behind him.

A guild leader nearby couldn't help but glance at him a few more times. The kobold noticed the gaze, turned his head sharply, bared his teeth, revealing a row of jagged fangs, and let out a low, beast-like roar.

"What are you looking at? Haven't you ever seen this before?" His voice was hoarse, filled with obvious anger.

The president's expression changed, he stood up, and said in an unfriendly tone, "What kind of attitude is this?"

The atmosphere instantly became tense.

People around turned to look, and some even put their hands on their weapons.

A middle-aged man sitting next to the kobold quickly stood up, grabbed the kobold's arm, and whispered, "Calm down, he didn't mean it." Then he turned to the guild leader and explained apologetically, "He's become like this; he's a bit irritable. Please don't mind him."

Someone asked, "What happened? How did it turn out like this?"

The middle-aged man sighed, hesitated for a moment, and then said, "He was injured while fighting a canine monster and became infected by its blood." He paused, then added, "Some people say that he was so hungry later that he ate the dog's flesh raw."

There was a moment of silence in the tent.

The guild leader who had clashed with the kobold was stunned. He looked at the kobold, and the kobold looked at him. The anger in the kobold's eyes was gone, replaced by a more complex helplessness, like someone had reopened a wound.

The president didn't say anything, slowly sat back down, and didn't pursue the matter further.

"It's not easy," someone muttered. Those around nodded, their gazes shifting from wariness to sympathy.

A soldier sitting in the front row spoke up, his tone calm and measured, as if he were giving a presentation.

This phenomenon is called "bloodline." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the people present, "When fighting monsters, blood fusion, or consuming the flesh and blood of monsters... there is a certain probability of activating one's bloodline and gaining some of the opponent's abilities."

Extremely rare, perhaps only one in ten thousand. However, facial or physiological characteristics may change at the same time. These changes are irreversible.

Irreversible. A chill ran down Su Mu's spine.

He remembered the egg liquid he had drunk... It was the egg of a level 10 purple behemoth, whose energy was many times stronger than that of an ordinary monster.

He hadn't considered the risk of "mutation" at all. What if his body hadn't absorbed that energy, but instead been consumed by it... what if he had become a bird-man, half-human, half-bird, with wings, but still a human face and a human body...

Su Mu dared not think further. Fortunately, he was lucky; the only change was that his skin could turn gold, and it was controllable. He glanced at the back of his hand; it was a normal skin color, without any gold.

Another person walked in.

Standing nearly two meters tall, his massive frame resembled a moving wall. He wore a sleeveless combat vest, revealing his dark skin and bulging muscles. Not the defined muscles of a gym workout, but a more rugged, savage kind, like a rock sculpted by the forces of nature.

He leaned a hammer against the chair, its handle wrapped in worn strips of cloth, the hammerhead stained with dried blood. Zhao Derong. Su Mu didn't know his name, but he didn't seem like one of the other special evolved individuals...

It has no green skin, no dog's head, and no wings; it's just an ordinary power-type evolved being, only a bit bigger and more muscular.

Su Mu scanned the group. Apart from the green-skinned woman, the kobold, and the burly man, the others did not show any obvious physical abnormalities. At least on the surface, they still appeared to be normal humans.

The tent flap was lifted again, and a person walked in.

The noise in the entire venue seemed to be choked by an invisible hand, and it fell silent instantly.

He was a foreigner with very fair skin. He was tall, at least 1.85 meters, and wore a well-tailored dark formal suit... not the combat uniforms or tactical jackets commonly seen in post-apocalyptic worlds, but a real formal suit with a bow tie and brooch.

A silver brooch was pinned to her collar; the brooch was shaped like a pair of outstretched wings.

His hair was meticulously combed, the golden strands gleaming softly under the tent's light. Standing there, he exuded an air of nobility that said, "I come from high society," like a prince who had just stepped out of a court ball, rather than a survivor who had fought his way out of a monster horde.

What's most striking is his back... a pair of white wings folded behind him.

Its feathers are as white as snow, each one shimmering with a subtle luster. They extend from the shoulder blades, folding together on either side of the body, with the wingtips almost reaching the knees.

Those weren't decorations or props; they were real, growing out of his body. His wings rose and fell gently with his breath, and a faint light shone through the gaps between his feathers.

He walked to the front row and sat down in a chair. His movements were graceful, as if he were taking his seat in an opera box, not in this simple military tent. He adjusted the position of his wings slightly, without bumping into the person next to him or the back of the chair, with ease and control.

"Proscius." His voice wasn't loud, but the standard, Western-style animated tone made every word sound like recitation. "SS rating, possesses angelic blood."

His tone was flat, as if he were stating a well-known fact.

But beneath that calm exterior lies a confidence that says, "You should all know who I am."

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly, and his gaze swept over the people in the tent. It wasn't scrutiny or sizing up, but rather a more subtle composure, as if he were surveying his own territory.

The people inside the tent reacted in different ways.

Most people's expressions were complex...a mixture of jealousy, envy, resentment, and sour grapes.

Some people thought to themselves that this guy was too pretentious, but when they saw those wings, they felt that he did indeed have the right to be pretentious.