《Blood and Grit》


 Chapter 1

    ¡°It¡¯s not fair¡± I murmured under my breath, staring at the water slowly pooling in my cupped hands.


    With a pained hiss, I drew it across my face, sighing as the cold brought a pleasant, but all too temporary, numbness over the fresh bruises.


    In the empty bathroom of the high school, only the sound of the running faucet accompanied my own intermittent groans.


    ¡°It¡¯s really not fair¡± I murmured once more, knuckles resting on either side of the sink to look in the mirror.


    The 18 year old man that stared back at me was a sorry sight. Covered by reddening bruises, left eye almost swollen shut and blood dribbling from a split bottom lip, this fresh new batch of hurts and pains that had done nothing to improve a face that was already not particularly handsome to begin with.


    I scooped more water into my hands and brushed them over my close cropped scalp, the slight stubble of black hair pricking my palms. Haircuts cost money I did not have, so this way, I could just take a trimmer through it and still do a halfway decent job at it.


    The embodiment of average. That could describe me.


    A mere 5 foot 8, with a build that wouldn''t stand out in a crowd and a face that was an unremarkable blend of features easily forgettable the moment you turned away. My weight alone didn''t really fit neatly into that mold. A little heavier than most, especially around my midsection, the result of a diet dictated more by necessity than choice.


    Cheap, store-brand and fast food were the norm, a consequence of tight finances, not a lack of self-discipline.


    The only thing that''d vaguely stand out was the shape of my body. But only if I were not to wear my two sizes too large, second hand hoodie. Years of working part-time at a construction site had left me with a sturdier frame than the average eighteen-year-old. My shoulders were a bit broader, my arms a little thicker, the kind of subtle changes that came from hauling heavy materials and long hours of physical labor.


    It wasn¡¯t anything striking, nothing to brag about, but I carried the quiet strength of someone accustomed to hard, honest work. A day laborer¡¯s body, built out of need, not vanity.


    ¡°You said you¡¯d fight back this time, Jon. Even if they put you in ER or in the fucking ground, you were gonna fight this time¡±.


    I snarled at my own reflection. Self-disgust welled up inside me and I wanted to put my fist through the mirror, if only to give myself the illusion of striking against the mirrored manifestation of all these fears and doubts.


    But all that would get me would be a cut hand and a few years of even more bad luck than I already had, so I swallowed the anger and redirected it where it was supposed to go.


    At myself.


    I had frozen. Completely and utterly frozen. And it sickened me.


    Every man has this fantasy : ¡°What would I do if I faced a bear?¡±.


    As stupid as it may seem, it¡¯s the kind of thing that keeps us up at night, while we imagine, plan and fantasize about our crowning moment of heroism in the face of overwhelming odds.


    The unfortunate reality is that for a vast amount of people, this is the moment when we freeze up. Unless you¡¯re used to being in life or death situations, the cocktail of adrenaline and hormones that your body releases in such events will effectively short-circuit your body.


    It¡¯s not something our ego would allow us to admit to, of course. We¡¯re all the heroes of our own stories.


    But it¡¯s the reality.


    Grim, uncompromising and uncaring of opinion.


    In my case, Andreas Henderson was that metaphorical ¡°bear¡±.


    A 6 foot 5 giant of a man, crotch spawn of our oh-so-esteemed mayor, Andreas was everything I lacked. Rich, handsome, influential.


    Also a complete sociopath who had ¡°implemented¡± a method of bullying into our small, provincial Texan city school, that alluded a lot more to the precursor of organized crime and racketeering than anything as mundane as simple ¡°bullying¡±.


    Though that was unsurprising. A chip off the old block, Andreas was the spitting image of his old man.


    And Mayor Henderson¡¯s ¡°business dealings¡± with certain individuals of ill repute was an open secret, happily ignored by a police force too far into his pocket to make any waves.


    The fact that the good mayor approved of his son''s actions, if not actively encouraged them, was the cherry on the crap sundae.


    And then there was me. Jon.


    Last name, irrelevant, since it was a name given by nurses after I was abandoned in the maternity ward by my, and I use the word loosely, mother. And a history all too typical of many orphans, bouncing from foster house to foster house, taken in by people more interested in the foster care financial aid rather than raising a child, eventually arriving at the assisted housing where I lived today.


    Instinctively I clutched at the only gift I''d ever been given. A small wooden cross dangling from my neck.


    Those poor old nuns at the orphanage had probably hoped It¡¯d ¡°steer me on the path to salvation¡± or something like that.


    Sure, I believed in God, true, and had gotten a hot meal at the local churches enough times to appreciate the value of good people. But "salvation" and all that self-righteous stuff was a luxury you didn''t have in the slums.


    Still, I¡¯d formed a bit of a habit of holding onto it whenever I was at my lowest.


    An all too often occurrence.


    ¡°It is what it is. Try again tomorrow¡± I murmured and resumed splashing water over my hurts.


    A new sound intruded on the noise of the faucet as someone entered the bathroom. Boots on tiles and a thin chain ringing off a belt.


    ¡°Hey gopher, get a move on, will you? Teacher¡¯s asking questions¡±


    I didn¡¯t look directly at the intruder, and just sighed. A voice I knew all too well. Benjamin, one of Andreas¡¯s thugs. The lanky, skinny prick that carried his boss¡¯s ¡°words¡± and ¡°demands¡± with as much authority and gusto that a cowardly little lapdog could muster.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    Benjamin shrugged, flicking the brown mop of curly hair out of his eyes.


    ¡°Why do you think, dumbass? School-related injury so you gotta sign the waiver for the nurse¡¯s office. But don¡¯t worry. Andreas and the rest of us already took care of most of the work. We explained to the teacher of that nasty-nasty fall you took on the stairs¡± he added with a snicker, theatrically tapping his knuckles against a stall door.


    ¡°Nasty fall that. Nasty-nasty. You really oughta'' be more careful, gopher¡±


    I just nodded. There was no point in rising to the bait now anyway. Andreas and his eight thugs had beaten me to a pulp in the middle of the classroom.


    The other classmates knew that.


    The people outside the classroom know that.


    Hell, even the teacher knew that.


    But no one would do a single thing about it.


    Not when dear old dad was on the fast track to the Governor''s office. Not when the entire police force was on his payroll. And definitely not when every crook and sleazeball in the city were on his speed-dial.


    Mayor Henderson was untouchable and as such, Andreas was untouchable.


    ¡°Shoulda¡¯ paid Andreas, man. You know how he gets when you gophers try to skimp on the protection tax¡± Benjamin carried on as I piled on more water over my face, if only to stop him from seeing the small, malicious smirk on my face.


    Telling Andreas where to shove his tax had been a pitiful little win, but it was still mine.


    It had almost made getting my proverbial teeth kicked in, worth it.


    Almost.


    ¡°He¡¯s calling all you gophers to meet at the old school building tonight, by the way. Your little stunt, telling him you ain¡¯t gonna pay no more, he didn¡¯t like that. Not one bit¡± he carried on, moving close to where I stood.


    ¡°Can¡¯t let you gophers get all uppity. So, your tax gonna grow. Your duties gonna get increased. And it¡¯s all thanks to you, smart ass.¡± he chuckled, clapping me on the shoulder mockingly.


    I grunted as he grabbed at the exact spot where Andreas had stomped on, and closed my eyes.


    Gopher duties : Everything from food delivery and school work duty for Andreas¡¯s group, all the way to carrying whatever they needed carrying and getting booze and smokes for them.


    All on top of a protection tax, the around forty of us gophers from different classes were, for all intents and purposes, indentured servants.


    And everyone pretended like it didn''t happen.


    The other classmates for fear of being targeted.


    The teachers for fear of being sacked, or worse.


    It is what it is. No different than the last three years. Do the same thing I''d always done. Tough it out.


    ¡°Hard day ahead, then?¡± I snarked back, taking my eyeglasses off the sink edge and placing them gingerly around my broken nose.


    ¡°HAH¡± Benjamin snorted ¡°Oh man you got no ide¡­¡±


    The floor beneath us shifted, a subtle tremor at first, almost imperceptible, like the faintest quiver, a shiver running through the ground. Subtle, slight, but enough to make Benjamin clamp his mouth shut.


    "What the? Earthquake? The hell was tha..." he began, looking around, only to be immediately interrupted.


    The shock of force struck us like a freight train, launching both me and Benjamin on the tiles, followed by a thunderous, all-encompassing *crack*, as if the world itself had just snapped open. The windows and porcelain sinks exploded in a symphony of breaking glass and piercing shards, spraying in every direction like the shrapnel of a claymore.


    And my world became one long scream.


    Ears ringing with the deafening sound, I instinctively folded my arms over my head as glass and porcelain rained down in a hailstorm of debris. The floor trembled beneath me, vibrations sending tiny flecks of plaster falling from the bathroom ceiling, dusting me in a gritty shower.


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    I didn¡¯t know what had happened. Earthquake? Explosion? Some kind of attack? A thousand possibilities spun through my mind, each more impossible than the last, while the chaos around continued, relentless.


    All I could do was huddle on the floor, folded in a foetal position, desperately trying to shield my head.


    Time seemed suspended.


    A minute stretched into what felt like hours, every agonising second spent waiting for the entire damn building to come crashing down on me.


    And then, as suddenly as it had started, everything stopped, the thunderous roar replaced with a deathly silence, and the beginning chorus of people screaming.


    Slowly, I pushed the plaster bits off me, patting myself to make sure no glass or shards of porcelain had struck my body. The last thing I needed was to snag something and gut myself with a sharp edge. Fortunately, my loose hoodie and jeans had stopped most of the ¡°shrapnel¡± and I had suffered had been a few extra bruises and superficial cuts.


    A cough and cuss made me turn to the right where Benjamin lay buried underneath a thin coating of plaster and debris.


    ¡°What the fuck?¡± was all he could say as I pushed enough of it off him to be able to get up.


    ¡°What?¡± I asked, my ears still ringing ferociously from the explosion.


    ¡°What?¡± he yelled back ¡°I said, what the fuck?¡±. His own ears must have been as badly impacted as mine.


    As soon as I patted myself down, clearing the remaining dust and gravel off, I rose from the floor and beelined it towards the window.


    I had to see, try to get a clue as to what had happened.


    ¡°I think it was a nuke or something. We¡¯re far enough away that only the shockwave hit ...¡± my words caught in my throat.


    Outside, so much was wrong that I did not know where to even begin.


    Because all that I saw made no sense.


    There was no more city to speak of. At least, not as far as I could make it out.


    Our school was perched on a small forested cliff on the outskirts, so we should have been able to see the entire city line from the windows. But all that was in front of us now, about five miles away from the building, so tall it cut the clouds and so wide it seemed to encircle us, was a solid wall of sickly pale mist.


    Patches of fog covered the landscape, small explosions burst in the distance and monumental shards of stone and granite had speared out of the earth impaling upwards like miniature hillocks.


    All around us, throughout the school, the sound of panicked screams and cussing was growing.


    ¡°What in the¡­¡± Benjamin gasped as he joined me at the window.


    ¡°What happened? What in the absolute fuck happened?¡± he carried on, voice growing more and more histrionic with every word. The ringing in my ears had subsided, but not enough to hear the rustle of clothes as Benjamin rounded on me, hands wrapping into the collar of my hoodie.


    ¡°WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED GOPHER?¡± he roared in my face, pupils reduced to pinpricks of fear.


    ¡°How the hell should I know?¡± I bellowed back at him. The reaction seemed to snap him out of his panicked state.


    He let go and shoved me into one of the stall doors, then immediately began pacing back and forth, fiddling with his phone, all stuttered words and panicked breaths.


    ¡°Alright. Alright. We gotta call the cops or something. This is¡­¡± he mumbled to himself, dialing 911. After a few seconds of holding the phone to his ear he cussed, arm up as if to slam the phone down.


    ¡°Dammit. FUCK. No signal, not even a tone, NOTHING¡±


    I didn¡¯t bother focusing on the hysterical man. Something else caught my attention. A sound. A loud, staccato buzz, growing louder with every passing second.


    Moving back to the window I looked straight down.


    The forested area behind the school had grown thicker, as if the plant life had bloomed and multiplied. The trees were taller, there was more grass and vines, large patches where green mossy growths had blanketed the bottom portion of the school wall like gangrenous wounds.


    But it was the movement that made me shudder.


    Several misty pockets had separated from that titanic pale wall and were converging on the school building from the forest. This wasn''t some trick of the eyes or wind pushing it towards us. The mist was moving, fast and with intent, beelining towards the building as if ...alive.


    And the noise was only growing.


    I tried focusing on the closest ones but the pocket of fog or mist or whatever, was far too dense to see through. It didn¡¯t help that the left lens of my glasses had shattered and that right one had cracked.


    Miopic as I was, I couldn¡¯t make out any details further than a few feet.


    ¡°No Internet either¡± Benjamin snarled behind me and I rounded on him.


    ¡°We gotta go. Find the teachers¡±.


    Benjamin stared at me, his own face slowly falling into a horrified grimace that mirrored my own.


    ¡°Was it an attack? Did we get¡­ I dunno, terrorist bombed or...?¡±


    I shook my head.


    ¡°I know as much as you do. But the air-raid sirens didn¡¯t go off. And those trees and mist aren¡¯t¡­ I mean¡­ That¡¯s not what a nuke or a bomb would do¡­.¡±


    Whether it was the look in my eyes, the stutter in my voice or the infectious panic on my face, it didn¡¯t matter. Because Benjamin, normally brash, arrogant, mocking Benjamin nodded furiously, all pretense of control gone and shoved his phone back into his back pocket.


    ¡°Yeah¡­ yeah, yeah, let¡¯s go. We gotta fucking go¡± he stammered, his voice almost drowned out by the screams and cussing coming from the lower floor.


    Without wasting any more time, we ran out of the bathroom and into the herd of teens and young adults pushing and elbowing their way towards the stairs.


    Most seemed shaken but otherwise unharmed, save superficial cuts and bruising, but every now and again I caught glimpses of people that had taken a bad hit and either limped or held red rags to their heads or limbs.


    It was pure pandemonium, screams and shouts overwhelming even the teachers trying to yell over the crowd.


    ¡°Listen to me. Everyone. Form an orderly line and make your way to the courtyard. Like the fire drills¡± Headmaster Williams bellowed out, swinging his arms out for attention.


    The obese man elbowed his way through the crowd until he reached the front and turned to face the panicked teens and young adults.


    ¡°Orderly line. Orderly line dammit. We practiced this¡± he roared again, face red and jowls shaking with the effort, trying to establish some sort of order.


    ¡°Help those that can¡¯t walk on their own and follow me¡±.


    With that, Headmaster Williams turned and made his way towards the main stairwell. I joined the rest of the group and followed, Benjamin still right beside me for some reason. All around people were asking questions, trying to make phone calls or connect to the Internet for any sort of clarity.


    The part that worried me was that even with the tumult and noise of this panicked group, I could still make out the screaming and buzzing coming from the ground floor.


    The screaming was different down there. Louder. More primal.


    And we were heading downstairs. Should I speak out? Should I go through the fire escape?


    Fear and panic however, had taken the words out of me and screwed my mouth shut. All I knew was that I should put my trust in the Headmaster¡¯s lead and the tried and true fire drills. When something happened we were all supposed to make our way to the courtyard, it was that simple.


    But it never really is that simple. Not in real life.


    As soon as Headmaster Williams stepped into the stairwell, his movement came to a sudden halt, face twisting in an expression of raw, unrelenting fear. His eyes widened, his mouth opening as if to say something¡ªbut the words never came.


    He was frozen, caught between flight and fight, staring at something unseen, his body stiff with terror.


    What I had thought was mist, burst out from the stairwell, in a spasm of violent motion.


    It wasn¡¯t mist. Or fog. Or smoke.


    It was a swarm.


    A seething mass of bloated, albino flies, each the size of a human head, surrounded by a fine powder, like the spores of fungi.


    The swarm was so thick, it became a blanket, a living cloud that engulfed him, and the buzzing, a high-pitched, relentless hum that hit my eardrums like a physical force, making the air vibrate with the fury of their flight.


    Almost loud enough to deafen the man''s scream.


    Almost.


    But not enough.


    Before he could even react, the swarm fell on him, pouring over his face, his arms, like a wave of vermin. A shroud of twitching, pulsating, chitinous bodies.


    Then the blood began to spray. Ribbons of red painted the floor, the walls and ceiling as Williams thrashed and wailed, arms flailing, uselessly batting at his own body, scream raised to a fever pitch, but still not enough to cover the sound of chitinous mandibles ripping into meat.


    With grotesque suddenness his scream stopped, cut short as one of the albino monstrosities burrowed into his mouth, replaced with the crack of bones and the tearing of cheeks being ripped open.


    We watched the grotesque display in stunned, silent horror and only when Williams fell face first in a pool of his own blood, did our screaming start.


    And the swarm fell on us.

 Chapter 2

    The swarm descended on the panicked mass as soon as the first scream erupted, falling upon us in a storm of bloated flesh and clicking mandibles.


    Panic spread like wildfire, and in moments, we devolved into a frantic mess of pushing, shoving, and scrambling, each person desperate to get away.


    An elbow caught me in the face, and I slammed against the wall. Dazed, vision swimming, I only registered the feel of a hand grasping for my shirt when it had already grabbed hold.


    A girl. Young. A junior, maybe even a freshman, was staring at me through bulging eyes, one hand on me, the other clawing desperately at the body of a bloatfly burrowing into her mouth, features lost in a spray of gore and shards of teeth, scream muffled into a wet gurgle. In one last spasm of violent motion, the fly tore her lower face to ribbons and disappeared inside her skull, spraying me with blood.


    The girl¡¯s hand slackened, went limp and she fell like a wet rag onto the floor.


    Shock shot through me, paralyzing my senses for a split second, but then my body reacted on its own. I tore myself from the wall, keeping low and sprinting forward, hands instinctively raised over my head.


    Every ounce of survival instinct kicked in, and I didn¡¯t stop to think. There was no room for thought, no time for hesitation, just the frantic, animal need to get away.


    Around me, chaos unfolded like a nightmare. People screamed, fell, and were consumed as the storm of wings and chitinous bodies raged. I kept moving, bulling my way through the writhing mass of bodies and insects, shoulders and elbows shoving aside anyone in my path, gritting my teeth through the pain of that damned pale dust sticking to my skin.


    It was like trying to run through fire.


    Jaw clenched and mouth shut, bulling my way through flailing students and bloated abominations, I ran, the flailing, desperate bodies around me barely registering;


    bludgeoning everything in front of me with rabid abandon.


    A single goal echoing, roaring in my mind, consuming any other thought in its frenzy.


    Survival.


    As soon as I saw the door to the bathroom at the edge of my sight, I jumped in, away from the slaughterhouse that the corridor had become.


    ¡°GOPHER! GOPHERRR! FUCKING HELP MEEE!!¡±


    The scream cut through the air, sharp and desperate. I turned just in time to see Benjamin, already surrounded by a cloud of those damn flies, swinging his butterfly knife wildly at the swarm. He was so close¡ªjust at the entrance, his hand reaching for the door.


    He tried to yell again, but before he could finish the word, one of the flies burrowed its way into his mouth. His face twisted in agony as his jaw snapped, a sickening crack echoing through the chaos.


    Eyes bulged and burst out of their sockets, blood pouring from his nose and ears in torrents. His body went rigid, and then he collapsed forward, hitting the ground with a wet, lifeless thud.


    Before I could say or do anything, a jolt of pain in my shoulder hit me like a bolt. I turned my head and nearly screamed. One of the human head sized flies had latched onto the back of my hoodie during my frantic run, and now its grotesque mouth was sinking into my shoulder. Its head was nothing but a horrifying, triple-sectioned maw¡ªno eyes, no other features, just a monstrous mouth with wings.


    I don¡¯t know why I didn¡¯t scream. Maybe it was the panic. Maybe the shock of the bite.


    Maybe the grotesque way the Headmaster had died, flies burrowing into his skull like some aberrant approximation of wasps entering their nest, had locked my jaw for the rest of time. Either way, I did the only thing my adrenaline-addled brain thought of at that moment.


    I rammed my shoulder into the tile wall.


    The albino fly burst into mulch and the smell of rot that expelled from it immediately turned my stomach over, filling my mouth with bile.


    I bit it down and swallowed it back. Panicking, screaming, even puking, these were luxuries I did not have at this point.


    Benjamin lay motionless on the ground, blood pooling around him. The swarm was gone, but the echo of their presence lingered in the air. The buzz of the insects, mixed with the frantic screams of others, making it clear that the slaughter was far from over.


    For a moment, the chaos slowed, the adrenaline that had been pumping through me finally beginning to fade. My heart hammered in my chest, my hands shivered uncontrollably, like a man dying of hypothermia, but now there was space for thought, and it was a heavy, suffocating thing. I couldn¡¯t afford to stop, not yet.


    Quietly, I moved toward the door, trying to make as little noise as possible, and pressed my ear against the cool metal for a second, listening. The screams, the buzzing, they were still there, but growing fainter, as if the nightmare was moving deeper into the building.


    I dared a careful glance out into the corridor, my breath held tight in my chest.


    It was a charnel house, a sight plucked straight out of a dying man¡¯s fever dream, linoleum floors slick with blood, scattered bits of flesh and corpses frozen in paroxysms of pain. Everything bore the same marks as Benjamin, burst eyes, blood trickling languidly from noses and ears.


    Far to the left, the few remaining survivors were running, the bulk of the swarm after them, with only a few straggler flies laying on corpses, chewing into their flesh.


    I yanked on Benjamin¡¯s arm, pulling the corpse deeper inside the bathroom and closed the door as quietly as I could, swiping his knife in the process. The poor bastard had fallen too far inside for me to risk the noise of pushing him out into the corridor.


    ¡°Alright. Alright. Focu¡­" I began thinking only to gag again. The rotten smell of the bloatfly still lingered and before affording to think of anything else, I tore my hoodie off and chucked it out the window.


    ¡°Now then. Focus¡± I mentally repeated.


    It was nothing more than a theory, more a desperate hope than anything concrete, but it was all I had left. The way the swarm had pursued the survivors, the way the flies¡¯ heads were structured everything pointed to one thing: sound.


    The buzzing, the chaos, the relentless attacks, it seemed they were drawn to noise. It was a slim chance, but right now, it was the only chance I had.


    With the adrenaline high subsiding, I was beginning to feel the reality of my current situation. And all the pain that came with it.


    The areas on my hands and the back of my head where that cloud of dust had touched were itching and burning furiously.


    I turned them over.


    They were red and inflamed, the skin dried and flaky, looking as though I was having some sort of skin rash, if not an outright infection. It wasn¡¯t a longshot to assume that the back of my head was the same.


    I moved to one of the few still intact sinks, twisting the faucet just enough to let a trickle of cold water flow. As soon as it hit the rash, the pain subsided. Whatever that dust was, it was easy to wash off. The cold felt almost soothing, and I scrubbed at my skin with a frantic urgency, working quickly to clean it from my arms, my face, even my hair. I moved to my jeans next, rinsing the fabric as best  I could while they were still on me.


    When that was done, I paused for a second, breath still shaky from the adrenaline, and then took off my t-shirt to inspect the bite.


    My shoulder had become a red welt roughly the size of my palm, surrounded by multiple puncture wounds, swollen and warm to the touch. And considering how putrid that bloatfly had been on the inside¡­


    ¡°Shit¡± I cussed.


    Infection, sepsis, gangrene, all these were possibilities if I left it untreated. I¡¯d seen enough horror movies, shows and played enough survival games to know this.


    And that was the optimistic assumption. Best case scenario, these rot-bugs were either poisonous, carried rabies or who knew whatever else disease.


    Worst case, since they were clearly not of this world, I didn¡¯t even want to let my mind wander there.


    I did the only thing I could. Soap and water to clean the wound, grinding my teeth as I made sure to dig the suds as deep into the puncture holes as I could.


    When it was over, I reached for Benjamin¡¯s discarded knife, the cold steel a brief comfort in my hand, and sank down against the wall, my body shaking with exhaustion. I let my head fall, face cradled in hands, and allowed myself a few moments of stillness, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I had to think. Had to plan. To¡­


    *thunk*


    The sound cut through the quiet like a knife stab, sharp and unexpected. My head snapped up, heart lurching in my chest. The silence was suffocating, heavy, before the sound of a wet, sickening slap echoed through the bathroom.


    Benjamin¡¯s body twitched again¡­


    It wasn¡¯t much, just a small, sporadic spasm, but it didn¡¯t stop. His arms and legs jerked, slapping wetly against the tiles, the movement unnatural, almost mechanical.


    My blood ran cold and breath caught in my lungs.


    It wasn¡¯t over.


    ¡°Oh you got to be shi¡­¡± I mouthed as I got my feet under me. Benjamin¡¯s corpse twitched again, then again, each iteration quicker than the previous, until finally, in a burst of unnatural, contortionist-like motion, he shot off of the ground, back on his feet.


    I didn¡¯t make a single sound or move, motionless like the wall behind me, as the corpse began to move grotesquely, in a morbid dance of uncoordinated motions.


    It rolled its head back and forth, as though trying to angle its ears in ways to help it hear better, ruptured jaw snapping at the air in quick bites.


    It made sense, in some gruesome way.


    Benjamin¡¯s eyes had burst when the insect had forced its way into his mouth, so there¡¯s no way it could see.


    And the way it had faced me more than once but hadn¡¯t reacted, at this point I was almost certain that, whatever the hell this zombie-like thing was, it functioned only on sound.


    The best strategy here would be to wait it out. As long as I remained motionless and quiet it wouldn¡¯t find me.


    The error in that plan presented itself quickly.


    As I stood there, crouched, my nerves stretched to their breaking point, the creature that had once been Benjamin swung its head back and opened its mouth wide releasing a series of insectoid clicks.


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    A sound almost immediately mirrored just beyond the bathroom door.


    ¡°Benjamin¡± began feeling its way blindly towards the exit.


    Shit.


    SHIT.


    The damn thing would break down the door, or open it in order to join the others of its kind in the hallway. More than likely, all those corpses in the hallway had risen too. At the very least, those that had been infected  by those flying rot-bugs.


    It wouldn¡¯t matter how silent I was, if the door was gone, sooner or later they¡¯d hear me.


    This bathroom was going to become my grave if I didn¡¯t act.


    Without giving myself enough time to change my mind, I quietly pulled out the butterfly knife and picked up a pebble of porcelain from the broken sinks.


    It clattered lightly as I flicked it against one of the stall doors, not loud enough to alert the entire hallway, but more than enough to grab ¡°Benjamin¡¯s¡± attention.


    The creature rounded on the direction of the sound, teeth chattering aggressively and grasped at the air in front of it. When it grabbed nothing it began shuffling towards the sound, hands clawing mindlessly all the way.


    I moved slow and low, taking as much care where I placed my feet as I could, making my way behind it, knife held in a reverse grip.


    If zombie movies had taught me anything, it was that I¡¯d have to go for the head.


    Although this wasn¡¯t exactly a zombie, per se.


    But close enough.


    Everything progressed painfully slow. I felt like I was moving in reverse, and my breathing sounded far too loud in my ears. Hell, even my own heartbeat sounded like a parade drum, so much that I was surprised the creature hadn¡¯t heard me yet.


    Seconds that had felt like minutes later, I was right behind it, arm raised, ready to stab in the back of Benjamin¡¯s skull.


    The squeak of my heel against the tile floor might as well have been a bullhorn.


    I¡¯d been careless. Hadn¡¯t minded my footing enough.


    ¡°Benjamin¡± rounded on me in a jolt of movement and I gasped in surprise before I could stop myself.


    With a whirring thrum of clicks and snapping teeth, it charged into me, bearing me down onto the floor.


    Either by sheer luck, instinct or self-preservation reflex, I managed to cross my left forearm across its neck just before we struck the ground, barely just keeping that blood-frothing mouth away from my face.


    The creature didn¡¯t snarl or growl as it tried to tear into me, the only sounds coming from it, a cacophony of insect chitters and snapping teeth.


    And the unnatural subtlety of its noise only made it all the more horrible.


    The dead thing flailed and slammed its arms into my sides, grabbed clumsily at my clothes, all the while single-mindedly pushing to bite down at me, lips peeled away, bloody red gums on full display like a dog baring its teeth.


    Fortunately, whatever these things were, they seemed to be as strong as they had been before being taken over.


    ¡°Benjamin¡± may have been a head taller than me, but I had spent the last 3 years working on a construction site. All that shoveling, lifting and wheelbarrow carrying had given me enough upper body strength to keep an uncoordinated, flailing tween zombie off me.


    With a shift of my hips and a push, I launched the monster off me and rolled on top of it where my weight gave me the upper hand.


    Pushing the entirety of my mass over its lower body, I grabbed at its neck, holding those damned bared, bloody teeth as far away from me as I could. The thing thrashed and grabbed at my arms, but it was pinned and lacked the coordination and fine motor skills necessary to shake me off.


    I had to end it.


    Quickly.


    It was thrashing too much. Making too much noise.


    Without wasting a moment more, I reared my arm back and stabbed the knife into ¡°Benjamin¡¯s¡± temple. The monster immediately went rigid and stopped moving, but I wasn¡¯t done.


    The knife tore out with a bony crunch and I stabbed again.


    And again.


    And again.


    By the time I drew myself back off the corpse, I had stabbed it enough times to reduce the right side of ¡°Benjamin¡¯s¡± skull to a gaping hole.


    My hands shook.


    My heart drummed in my chest as though trying to jump out.


    My breath came out in short, ragged gasps.


    Realization hit me like a fist to the face.


    I had just stabbed a person in the skull. During the fight itself, I hadn¡¯t even thought about it. Not even considered it. It was pure fight or flight and flight had not been an option.


    The knife clattered to the floor and I backed even further away from the corpse, the blood and ichor coating my hands feeling significantly more cloying all of a sudden.


    For whatever reason my mind went back to remembering an interview I saw on the Internet, of some old WW2 veteran speaking about the first enemy soldier he had killed with a bayonet.


    ¡°It¡¯s easy to shoot. You don¡¯t see their face. The look in their eyes. The desperation. From afar, from a scope, you just see a target. But up close, they want to live just as much as you do. And when you run them through¡­ you remember that feeling. Of blade cutting meat and jamming into bone¡±


    I remembered the look in his eyes. He looked haunted.


    I remembered scoffing.


    What was the big deal? Kill or be killed, it was war. What a whiny little wuss.


    Now, I understood.


    Rationally I knew that I had not been ¡°Benjamin¡± anymore. That thing, that creature, was something else. Rationally I knew full well that if I would have hesitated, the monster would have killed me.


    But I couldn¡¯t shake the feel of the knife sliding into the bone.


    It had felt so much different than I had imagined it. There had been so much more resistance. There had¡­


    I immediately shot to one of the sinks and began scrubbing off the mix of blood and rot-smelling ichor off my hands.


    ¡°Stop whining, you little wuss. That wasn¡¯t a person anymore¡± I whispered to myself, all the while keeping an eye on the door. The struggle must have lasted seconds and we had made a fair bit of noise.


    But the creatures outside seemed to lose interest as soon as everything went quiet, shuffling away.


    I turned my attention back to scrubbing my hands clean.


    ¡°Not a person anymore. Not a person anymore. He was already dead. A walking corpse¡± I repeated, like a mantra.


    ¡°A walking corpse that had been a living person only minutes before¡± something in the back of my mind reprimanded me.


    Was it supposed to be like this?


    Was I supposed to feel off for keeping myself alive? Against a walking corpse, no less?


    Yes.


    No.


    Yes and no.


    Yes because feeling off about carving out someone¡¯s temple like a damned pumpkin was normal unless you were a psychopath.


    And no, because it was a simple matter of survival. Kill or be killed. And feeling ¡°off¡± about it was a luxury I wouldn¡¯t be able to afford having. Not unless I was aiming for an early grave.


    Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, I gathered myself from the sink and went to retrieve my knife.


    It was slick with a mixture of blood and that foul smelling ichor. The same smell as the bloatfly I had crushed against the wall. I turned to Benjamin¡¯s body.


    The side of his head where I had stabbed, repeatedly, was a broken mess. I hadn¡¯t just pierced it, I¡¯d carved a hole into the side of his skull. And though it could see a portion of the albino fly¡¯s body, with several knife wounds in it.


    My face contorted into a disgusted grimace.


    These bugs, they didn¡¯t just invade the body. They burrowed straight into the head, and considering the size of them, it took very little to imagine what happened to the brain.


    ¡°Horrible way to go¡± I muttered.


    I stood there for a few more minutes. Considering, taking stock and thinking.


    Staying here would be just delaying the inevitable.


    Either the other things outside got in, or I was trapped until I starved. That was, unless my bite wound  was already infected and I was going to die of fever and sepsis. Or whatever else these bloated hellspawns carried in their mandibles¡­.


    No.


    I refused. I refused to allow myself to stop.


    I hadn¡¯t done that in the orphanage. Not in the ghetto. Nowhere and never.


    If I was gonna go down, it¡¯d be while struggling to live another day.


    At the very least I was going to head to whatever afterlife awaited without regrets.


    I gently crossed Benjamin¡¯s arms across his chest and made the sign of the cross.


    ¡°Rest in peace. You were a sadistic prick but even you didn¡¯t deserve to die like this¡±

 Chapter 3

    ¡°I hate heights, I hate heights, I HATE HEIGHTS¡± the thought bounced in my skull as I stepped out of the bathroom window and onto the exterior ledge. At 8 inches wide, it was barely enough to allow two thirds of my foot on it, but a lot better than the alternative.


    The Nurse¡¯s office was on the same level, two classrooms down, and I needed disinfectants for the bite. It was hurting worse with every passing hour and the inflammation around had only been spreading, as clear a sign of infection as I could tell..


    I assumed, or hoped rather, that in order to suffer Benjamin¡¯s fate I¡¯d have to have one of those monsters fly into my mouth and that a bite wouldn¡¯t be enough to give me that sort of death. But regardless, that aside, there were other, more mundane yet equally lethal, problems associated with such a bite.


    Betadine, Hydrogen Peroxide, hell, even simple alcohol would be enough, as long as I made sure to clean the wound with something more than just soap and water.


    So that left two options.


    Either I try to cross the walking-corpse infested hallway in complete silence, or take the exterior ledge and risk a fall. The second option at the very least promised a relatively quicker death than being torn to pieces by a herd of walking carcasses, so here I was, feet on the ledge, fingers digging into the nooks between the brickwork and trying my best not to look down.


    I really hated heights.


    Thankfully it was only about thirty feet and the ledge went all around.


    Our school building was of the modern design, built with easy firefighter access in mind and the security ledge was a countermeasure in case of a fire.


    The first classroom I passed was empty, a small blessing. The extra space along the windowsill gave me a moment¡¯s respite, just enough room to breathe and steady myself. But when I reached the second classroom, the quiet was shattered by a scream.


    It wasn¡¯t just a cry. It was a desperate, jagged sound that sliced through the silence, sharp and jarring, so sudden it almost made me lose my grip. In a place so still, so eerily quiet, her voice might as well have been a dinner bell calling attention to the dead.


    The scream echoed again, more frantic this time, and I couldn¡¯t resist. I edged closer to the window, my pulse racing as I peered around the corner, just enough to glimpse what was inside. What I saw made my stomach drop.


    The poor girl must have hidden in the supply closet. At the very least, that¡¯s where she stumbled out of, flopping onto her side as one of those chittering infected corpses clung to her ankle.


    Before I could even think to intervene, the monster bit down and tore out her ligament in a spurt of arterial blood.


    You get used to hearing screams in the ghetto. Turf wars, people being shot, someone getting stabbed in some dark alley, it¡¯s par for the course. But nothing can prepare you for the scream of a human being being eaten alive.


    It¡¯s something raw, primal and magnitudes more haunting. Perched against the wall as I was, I couldn¡¯t ever cover my ears against it.


    The monsters flooded into the classroom, movements jerky and erratic, a tangle of limbs stumbling in spasms of motion and snapping jaws. They fell on her in a disorganized mass, and her screams rang out, raw with fear, pain and despair.


    Perched against the wall as I was, I couldn¡¯t ever cover my ears against it. I tried to block them out, to shut off the part of me that wanted to help, knowing it was already too late. But her cries lingered, staining my mind, a promise of nightmares to be had.


    Then, there was a pause, a heavy silence.


    I couldn''t even bring myself to look right away. Only when I heard a final, gurgling rasp, the girl''s death rattle,did I force myself to open my eyes again and look.


    The horde had retreated from the mangled mess of torn meat that had been alive mere moments ago and stood around, heads tilted upward, sounding that insect-like clicking in unison.


    I could only continue to watch in morbid fascination, face locked in a rictus grimace of disgust as one those albino bloatflies flew in and crawled into the mass of torn flesh and jagged bone that had been her head.


    I started to move again quickly, each step calculated, every motion as quiet as I could manage, fear of falling at war with the animal urge to be as clear of that area as possible. The weight of the scream still hung in the air, pressing down on me, but I couldn¡¯t afford to dwell on it. My eyes stayed focused ahead, body tense, straining against the terror coiling in my gut.


    So that¡¯s how they ¡°reproduced¡±.


    Alive or dead, as long those parasites could crawl into it, flesh was flesh.


    The door to the Nurse¡¯s office was usually closed unless one made a direct request to visit her. Ever since that situation a couple of months back when a few students had broken in and stolen an ambulance bag¡¯s worth of drugs, that was the standing rule. But since it was almost summer, the window had been left cracked open to air it out.


    A stroke of good luck for me.


    Holding on to either side of the wall indent while lifting the window with my foot, I carefully lowered myself inside the sanitized white one would expect of a provincial school nurse¡¯s office, the sparsely decorated walls on the right side covered with cupboards filled with various medical knick-knacks, drugs and medicine.


    I couldn''t even think about relaxing until I had everything locked down. First the door, twisting the handle, making sure it was solidly secured. Then, as quietly as possible, I began clearing one of the larger metal cupboards, hauling out supplies to improvise a barricade. The cupboard itself became the base, with a chair wedged against the handle to hold it in place, and a hospital bed shoved up against it for extra weight.


    Once that was done, I could finally take a breath. But only a small one. I still had more immediate things to deal with.


    Betadine, Hydrogen Peroxide, sanitary alcohol, and a piece of wood rolled with fabric to bite down onto. I cleaned my wounds with careful, methodical motions, wincing as the sting burned through the cuts.


    The one on my shoulder needed more attention, and I damn near bit clean through the little improvised gag, digging the disinfectants as deep into the wound as I could, and wrapping it in a makeshift bandage that would hopefully hold until I could do better.


    The last of the immediate steps was to fill the sink with water before I could finally relax a little.


    A person could go days without food, but much less so without drinking water, and there was no telling when this too would get cut off like the electricity. Drinking water would most likely become a luxury sooner rather than later.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Finally, with the barricade set and my immediate wounds tended to, I turned my attention to the lost and found basket.


    My precious hoodie. I''d had to leave it behind in the bathroom. The glass and ceramic shards had shredded it beyond repair, but worse, far worse, was the stench. The smell of that crushed bloatfly had clung to it, a rancid, sickly-sweet odor of putrescence that had seeped into the every fiber. Even if I could somehow wash it, no amount of detergent would erase that smell.


    I¡¯d lost that battle.


    At least my jeans had survived, torn in a few places, but still intact and functional. Small wins, I supposed.


    The basket wasn¡¯t a total bust, though. As my fingers sifted through the odds and ends, I came across a thick, lumberjack-style jacket, flannel, red and black checkered. The unmistakable scent of cologne lingered on it, a sharp, musky aftertaste of something synthetic. It had probably belonged to one of the hipsters, I thought, the kind who wear the rugged ¡°working man¡¯s¡± look as a fashion statement.


    It wasn¡¯t much, but it was better than nothing. It would have to do. I grabbed it along with two small backpacks, hoping they¡¯d be of use in case I needed to carry more than I¡¯d planned.


    The rest of the clothes I tied together, double knotting each end until I had managed to fashion an improvised rope. If the need to make a quick getaway from the office came, this would be much better than just jumping the thirty foot height and risking my ankles. Or my neck.


    With a sigh that echoed louder than I meant, I started on the row of cupboards. There was nothing that sounded better right now than curling onto the bed and taking a long nap. Even though it was barely afternoon, all that had happened had exhausted me.


    It was a luxury I did not have. Yet.


    Bandages, disinfectants, vitamins, and any antibiotics I could find, were stuffed into the backpack. It was like a treasure hunt, rifling through shelves of supplies, loading up my pack with anything that might save me. Post-apocalyptic movies had drilled this into me: this was a gold mine of necessities, and I wasn¡¯t about to leave without it. At the very least, if I found myself needing to leave right quick and in a hurry, I was going to make sure my bag was filled with as much of it as I could.


    I even managed to squeeze in two complete first aid kits, full of gauze, surgical tape, and suture materials, just in case. Anything that could be used to keep myself in one piece, or at least patch myself up if things went south.


    But it was the next discovery that made my heart skip a beat. I had been extra careful, digging into every corner, checking every nook and cranny, making sure nothing of real value was left behind. That¡¯s when I found it.


    Tucked far at the back, hidden behind a stack of bandage boxes, was a handgun. My fingers hesitated for only a second before grabbing it, the metal cool against my skin. Next to it was a box of ammo, and just beyond that, a roll of fifty-dollar bills.


    I pulled the gun out first, making sure to keep my finger off the trigger. The last thing needed was an accidental gunshot-dinner call to alert the horde of corpses outside.


    Despite the grim situation just outside this nurse¡¯s office, a corner of my mouth quirked up in a smile as I examined the short-barrelled, five shot revolver. Finding a gun in Texas was nothing out of the ordinary, concealed carry was a thing after all. But a gun with its serial number filed off? Apparently the strict, stone-faced, always-by-the-book nurse had not exactly been fully on the up-and-up.


    ¡°Taurus Judge Public Defender, chambered in .45 Colt or .410 Bore, 2 inch barrel¡± I murmured, parroting the ¡°lessons¡± Miss Kurt used to give us.


    Bless her heart. As far as foster parents had been, she had been downright decent. Fed us, gave us thick second-hand clothes during winter, only cussed us out or whooped us some of the time.


    Save the small issue of being both a gun-nut and habitual meth user, which when combined, would motivate her to force all five of us foster kids into hours long rant-seminars on the various types of guns.


    Never let us shoot them though. Apparently even a drug-addled mind could understand that a ten year old can¡¯t handle the recoil of a .45 Magnum. Either that or she was paranoid that we¡¯d steal them. Well, at least she fed us when she was sober. It was more than I could say about some of the other ¡°families¡± I had been placed at.


    Five .410-bore rounds were quickly added to the drum magazine. While no gun-expert myself, Miss Kurt¡¯s rants had taught me enough to know that these types of rounds were in the category of high-caliber as far as handguns went. More than enough to run through a human skull. Or a dead-man¡¯s.


    Clipping the now loaded drum closed and squirreling the half full ammo box in the backpack, I popped the safety on and squeezed the revolver into my belt. It was definitely uncomfortable and the edges dug into my prodigious gut, but beggars can¡¯t be choosers and with no holster around, this was the best option.


    With the immediate necessities sorted¡ªwell, all but food, of course¡ªI finally allowed myself a moment to breathe. But even that brief sense of relief turned into something heavier.


    Because now, without anything urgent demanding my attention, my mind had nowhere else to go but to the bigger picture. And that, frankly, was a curse.


    I couldn''t avoid it any longer. I had to face it. The situation was what it was, and if I was being honest with myself, I had already started calling it an apocalypse in my head. It felt defeatist, like I''d already given up. But no. I wasn¡¯t being dramatic or pessimistic. I was just being realistic.


    From that bathroom window, I had seen the landscape change. And the only way to describe it was apocalyptic, never mind the fact that I couldn¡¯t see past the pale wall. Whatever was happening, whatever had happened, I had no way of knowing if it wasn''t confined to our immediate area, the city, the state, or even global. But I knew better than to hope for the best.


    ¡°Expect nothing. Prepare for the worst¡± I murmured. A good motto to live by and it had served me well in my unfunny joke of a life up to this point.


    It was the apocalypse. At worst, the entire world was affected. At best, this immediate area. Either way, it didn¡¯t matter. For better or worse, right now this school building had become my world, and if I didn¡¯t keep my head on a swivel, it¡¯d become my grave.


    I¡¯d worry about what happened to the world, when or if I managed to get out of here.


    If how quickly the school had grown deathly quiet was any sort of hint, the entire student body had been reduced to those shuffling things that I could hear bump and snap their teeth just beyond the office door.


    Letting loose with another sigh, I buried my head in my hands.


    ¡°Dammit. It¡¯s not fair¡±.


    Fair or not, it was the hand I had been dealt and I was going to do the exact same thing I had done since the age of seven. Make due.


    At the very least, I was resolved to die as spitefully as I could. The Reaper would have to drag my generous ass kicking and screaming all the way if the bony bastard wanted my life.


    ¡°Right. First few hours of any sort of emergency situation are usually the most dangerous. People panic. Make mistakes. Best option would be to rest for a few hours and start scavenging when the dust settles a little bit¡± I thought to myself.


    Filling with water from the sink, I finally let myself crawl on the bed, adding my own prodigious weight to the improvised barricade and pulled out my smartphone. A second-hand, screen-cracked piece of trash, barely more than a brick, that barely did more than make calls and let me surf the Internet. When there was a network and internet, at least. But it had a vibrate function, and that was all I needed. I set the alarm for five hours. It might be the last time I¡¯d get any rest.


    The green jacket I¡¯d bunched up into a pillow smelled of dust and sweat, but it would do, and as soon as my head hit it, sleep came quickly¡ªtoo quickly, as if my body couldn¡¯t wait to shut down, even if my mind wasn¡¯t ready.

 Chapter 4

    ¡°HELP!!!¡±


    I jolted awake, gasping, heart hammering as the remnants of the nightmare clung to me¡ªshuffling, rotting things, moving in erratic spasms, Benjamin¡¯s butterfly knife already halfway through an arching slash against the empty air.


    It took me a moment, a long confusing second, to pull myself together, eyes scanning every corner, every shadow, cold sweat dripping down my neck. My pulse thudded in my ears, waiting for the sound of gnashing teeth and the feel of something clawing at me from the darkness.


    But there was nothing. Just the faint, unsettling shuffle outside the door.


    And then¡­


    ¡°HELP ME PLEASE!!!¡±


    I sprang from the bed, feet hitting the floor before my mind had fully caught up, bolting for the window. The scream¡ªthat desperate, blood-curdling scream I¡¯d thought was a part of my nightmare¡ªhad been real. And coming from outside. From a young girl.


    Four foot nothing, looking like she¡¯d weigh 80 pounds soaking wet, whipcord thin frame obvious even under the oversized button-up shirt she wore, the girl was running for her life across the clearing between building and woods. Pale-skinned and wide-eyed, she ran for all her worth, trying to maintain distance from a mob of the dead. Twitching, contorting and clicking¡ª a mass of decay and hunger dragging itself toward her with mindless determination.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± I muttered under my breath.


    As if it wasn''t bad enough, I noticed the second group emerging from the other side of the clearing, cutting off her escape. In the next instant, she saw them too. Her feet slipped on the wet grass, but she recovered just in time to make for the woods.


    And then, more of them. They crawled out of the trees like animals drawn to fresh meat, the mob growing larger by the second.


    She was done. No chance. Surrounded. The thought hit me like a punch to the gut. ¡°She¡¯s dead. She¡¯s as good as dead¡±.


    No. What was I saying?


    She wasn¡¯t dead. Not yet. But she would be soon, if I didn¡¯t do anything.


    This wasn¡¯t like Benjamin, or that poor girl ripped to shreds in the classroom, before I had even had a chance to intervene. But this one still had a chance. But only if I acted now.


    Only if I did the right thing.


    I turned and ran to the bed, grabbing the makeshift rope I¡¯d tied together from discarded clothes, and bolted back to the window, heart pounding a mile a minute, ready to call out.


    And the words caught in my throat.


    I stood there, frozen for a split second, staring out at the girl. My hand tightened around the rope, ready to throw it over the windowsill, to give her a chance, a lifeline. And the words simply wouldn¡¯t come out, grappling with the pull between doing something, anything, and the reality of what was really at stake.


    The right thing.


    It tasted hollow in my mouth. The entire idea. Even before this hell, I¡¯d always seen it as a self-aggrandizing concept that had very little value in the real world. In my world.


    I¡¯d never been an outright scumbag, but not no hero either. Kept my head down, done my best to hurt no one and made it a point to keep to my own things, if only to stick it to the cavalcade of social workers that had expected me to become just another crackhead or statistic.


    For all the fat lot of good it had done me, what with being targeted by Andreas and his ilk, I had lived my life more or less, doing the right thing. Or, at the very least, actively not doing the wrong thing.


    But now, more than ever, what did the right thing even mean?


    To save her? To yell out and pull her up in my safe-house, throwing myself into the jaws of whatever the hell these things were just to feel good about some broken sense of duty? To charge in like a hero, only to get my guts spilled open and left to rot alongside her?


    This wasn¡¯t like in the movies where the good guy always made it out with a triumphant look and a few bruises to show for it.


    Not in the real world.


    The good guy didn¡¯t survive. They died shitting themselves in a ditch.


    I didn¡¯t even know this girl. I didn¡¯t owe her anything. She was a stranger, soon to be just another casualty in a world that had already claimed hundreds. If not thousands. If not even more.


    Doing the right thing here, it¡¯d just draw attention and unnecessary risk to myself.


    No.


    This was the kind of shit heroes in stories did. And I wasn¡¯t a hero. Just a survivor.


    Just a bastard with a few rules¡­


    Just¡­


    ¡°JUST DO IT, ASSHOLE!¡± my own voice roared in my mind, giving sound to a growing disgust at my own hesitation, as I flung the improvised lifeline over the windowsill and roared.


    ¡°Over here kid!¡±


    Her head snapped up the moment I threw the rope out the window, and our eyes locked for an instant¡ªa fleeting moment where everything else seemed to fall away, replaced only with the fear and desperation I could see in her. The want to survive.


    The makeshift rope uncoiled like a serpent as I wrapped the other end across my forearm. Already the office metal door had begun to rattle, the corpses just outside starting their rabid, mindless assault, throwing themselves against it, drawn by the sounds I¡¯d made.


    Shit.


    I pushed it out of my mind, grinding my teeth against the second-thoughts already taking shape in the back of my head. The girl was already moving, ducking and weaving between the clawing arms of the dead, small frame darting through the gaps like a ghost.


    ¡°Come on, come on,¡± I muttered under my breath, watching her. My pulse was a drumbeat in my ears, each second dragging on frustratingly as I waited for her to make the leap.


    Then she did.


    As soon as she jumped for the rope and the first tug of her weight jolted against my arms, I pulled for all my worth, lifting the petite girl up the building as if she was a feather. To her credit, she did not just wait, pushing with her feet against the wall, climbing herself up to safety.


    The moment her head peeked over the windowsill, I swung my arm around her waist, wrapping it around her back and under her armpit, and swung her inside the office, sprawling the little thing onto the floor.


    There was no time to apologize, no time to ask if she was okay. I could already hear the scrape of the dead¡¯s claws on the door frame, the unmistakable sound of bolts being pushed out of the bore holes, and rushed to the door, slamming my shoulder into the metal cabinet stacked against it, shoving with all my strength to keep the damn thing from giving way.


    The small smack was all the warning I got of the girl joining me in pushing against the barricade adding her own, negligible, weight to the effort of preventing the ravenous horde from flooding into our little safe-house.


    With a curt nod, barely looking at her, I turned my focus entirely to the door. The press from the other side was growing stronger, more frantic, the constant thuds and rattles of the corpses against it vibrating through my bones, and all I could do is push harder, gritting my teeth, my entire body straining to hold the barricade from collapsing.


    Long seconds stretched into what felt like hours. The weight of our struggle was unbearable¡ªour bodies locked in a silent, gritted effort, trying to hold back the flood of death. I could feel the muscles in my legs and arms burning, breath bloating my lungs from the sustained effort, but we couldn¡¯t give in. To stop, to relax, to hesitate, all lead to one outcome. Death.


    Then, finally, the pressure began to ease.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    For all that the corpses were a relentless tide, they were just that. Corpses. Meat suits worn by mindless, blind and bloated aberrations. Lacking in reason. And object permanence.


    The frantic pounding slowed, and the weight of their bodies against the door became less and less, as if they were wandering aimlessly, drawn away by the simple fact that no more noise was coming from the inside. Within minutes, the cacophony had dulled into nothing more than the occasional scrape. Within a minute more, even that stopped.


    I exhaled in a long, shaky breath and let my body slide against the cabinet, breath raking my throat in deep, exhausted gasps. We¡¯d held. We were still alive.


    Every muscle in my body ached from almost ten minutes of tug-of-war, but the barricade had held.


    A shuffle in front of me made my eyes snap open.


    The girl was crouched down, her knees drawn to her chest, watching me with a wide-eyed look. She tilted her head slightly, as if trying to figure me out, her face softening in a mix of confusion and relief.


    For a moment, neither of us spoke. I was too winded, too overwhelmed to say anything, and she¡­ well, I wasn¡¯t sure what she was thinking.


    She broke the silence first, voice small and hesitant. "You¡ª" she started,in a voice as thin as a whisper and sweet as honey, "thank you."


    I didn¡¯t have an answer for that. No real words to offer.


    Instead, I just nodded, trying to catch my breath, still processing what had just happened. How close we had been. How close I had been to just letting her die out there.


    ¡°Don¡¯t¡­ don¡¯t thank me¡­¡± the words, ragged and hoarse with exhaustion, spewed out of me.


    So close, I realized I¡¯d been wrong about her. From the window, with my miopic vision and the distance working against me, I¡¯d assumed she was a kid. A high-school freshman, even. The way she¡¯d moved, her small frame¡ªit all added up in my head as a child¡¯s frantic escape. But now that she was here, up close, there was no mistaking it.


    This was no little girl, but a grown woman.


    A petite woman to be certain, but there was no denying her femininity or her absolutely stunning beauty. Everything from her large almond eyes to curve of her cheekbones was absolute perfection,as if carved from marble, a masterpiece, all delicate angles and sharp contrasts. It was like someone had decided that beauty should be unshakable, unaltered, and had shaped her into that ideal.


    But what struck me most was her pale skin.


    Now, I¡¯m a pale guy myself, who¡¯d taken more than his fair share of graveyard shifts on the construction site and who otherwise spent an unhealthy amount of time indoors and away from the tan-giving sun.


    But her?


    She was something else. Her skin was so white it almost glowed, an ivory hue that seemed unnatural, like it had been drained of all warmth.


    Poor girl. Looked like she hadn¡¯t seen sunlight in ages, and I couldn¡¯t help but think it was more than just the lack of time outdoors. The terror she¡¯d been through¡ªrunning for her life, alone, from those things¡ªhad drained her, had made her seem even more fragile than her size suggested. Fear had carved itself into her skin, turning her almost translucent, like she was more ghost than flesh.


    But wasn¡¯t it still a bit too much?


    My mind went back to that comparison to ivory. It seemed a little too¡­ correct.


    ¡°We¡­ I thank¡­ you, for your help, good¡­ sir¡± she spoke in her wisp of a voice.


    ¡°Y-yeah kid. Sure. No worries¡± I mumbled back. For whatever reason a growing eerie feeling was spreading through me, almost like the feeling I¡¯d get when watching those thalassophobia videos on the internet.


    Not quite fear. Apprehension?


    I shook my head, trying to clear the fog of adrenaline still clouding my thoughts. My heart was still pounding, muscles still locked in the aftershock of the struggle, but I forced myself to focus.


    ¡°Why were you out there? Scavenging for supplies?¡±


    The woman leaned forward, chin resting in the palm of her hand, bright hazel eyes never leaving mine, as if goading me into staring into them.


    ¡°In a manner of speech, yes¡­ we...I... am dreadfully low on¡­ supplies¡±


    There it was again. Those odd pauses in her speech, the impossible to place accent and, more than anything, that feeling in the back of my head that was screaming at me that something was off. Something I couldn¡¯t exactly place.


    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t have much in place of food, but there¡¯s water and medical supplies if you¡¯re hurt¡­¡±


    And then it clicked, mid-sentence¡ªlike a switch had flipped in my brain. The thing that had been nagging at me, just below the surface, finally came to the forefront.


    The uncanny valley.


    She was perfect.


    Unnaturally so. In a way that humans had no right to be. Her face, her posture, the way she moved, the way she spoke¡ªit all had that edge to it. It was all too symmetrical, too flawless, like something trying to act like a human.


    A chill ran down my spine as I stared at her, my pulse suddenly picking up again. I had no idea what she was, but I was starting to realize that I wasn¡¯t looking at a person. Or, at a very least, not a human.


    The girl tilted her head and her crimson red lips curled up in a smile.


    ¡°My my, the glamour has faded far quicker than we would have expected¡±


    Her voice was poison-laced honey, musical and soft but carrying an almost palpable sense of threat. The kind of softness that lured you in, made you trust it, but with the unmistakable danger that lurked just beneath the surface. An ambush predator. A spider.


    My instincts kicked in before my mind could catch up. I tried to stand, to put distance between us, but her small hand shot out with alarming speed, wrapping around my left wrist in a grip that felt like steel. With an effortless twist, she turned it over, exposing the veins on my forearm to the dim light of the room, and locking my elbow.


    Slowly, deliberately, she raised her other hand, amber eyes tracing the path her fingers motioned along my skin, making lazy, hypnotic circles over the pulse points in my arm. I could feel the burn from her touch, but it wasn¡¯t warmth¡ªit was something cold. A chill that spread through my veins, like a warning.


    She spoke again, and this time, the words didn¡¯t feel like they were meant for me. It was as if she was talking for her own benefit, more for the sound of her own voice than any conversation between us.


    ¡°Though we suppose ¡®tis to be expected. We have traveled the entire day, weakened by the accursed Sun, and we have not fed in so, sooo long¡­¡±


    Her voice trailed off, and before I could react, she yanked my hand forward with an impossible force, pulling it to her mouth. Her small tongue flicked across my forearm, sending a shock of ice-cold dread through me.


    I barely had time to process the sensation before the suffocating malice she exuded hit me like a wave. It wasn¡¯t just her touch; The air around her had thickened, heavy with dark intent.


    Every muscle in my body screamed to move. I didn¡¯t think¡ªI acted.


    In one swift motion, I launched with a right cross, fist cutting through the air with everything I had. My knuckles connected with her chin with a sickening crack, the sound echoing in the room as her head snapped back.


    I felt the impact¡ªheard it¡ªand for a split second, I wondered if I¡¯d broken her jaw, if she was finally going to drop whatever mask she¡¯d been wearing.


    But the look in her eyes told me everything. She didn¡¯t stumble. She didn¡¯t flinch. Instead, her gaze went cold, a slow, sharp grin spreading across her face. I was twice her size, three times her weight and, despite my cowardice when it came to Andreas and his crew, I had still grown up in the ghetto, and been in enough scraps to know how to throw a decent punch.


    But it had felt like punching a granite boulder. Had sounded much the same.


    Then the pain from my fractured knuckles finally hit me and I opened my mouth to scream.


    Her hand lashed out like a striking serpent, gripping my mouth with an ironclad force that left no room for struggle. My jaw locked under her touch, the pressure so crushing I could hear the groans and pops of my bones straining against it.


    ¡°Enough, peasant,¡± she murmured, voice cold and impassive in its bite.


    ¡°The rotbloods outside this chamber are but starving vermin, clambering about like insects. And we have little patience for such creatures. Nor the inclination to entertain pest control.¡±


    Her lips twisted into a wide grin, this one a perfect, inhuman parody of a smile, little more than a simple snarl. She was showing me. Educating me.


    Mouth stretched unnaturally wide, lips curling over blackened gums to expose teeth that were far too sharp and far too long. Canines extended like knives, jagged and gleaming in the dim light, framed by rows of sharpened fangs, like a predator¡¯s maw¡ªruthless and insatiable.


    The skin of her face, so perfect before, now seemed almost translucent, as if the flesh was stretched too tightly over the bones beneath. The veins under her skin pulsed with an unnatural blackness, a faint outline of something foul, something that fed on the life of the world.


    Her eyes, once a rich, deep shade, now gleamed like a cat¡¯s stalking in the night, pupils reduced to shining spots of vibrant light, lost in the black sea of her sclera, as her brow deepened, cheekbones sharpened and the orbits sunk in.


    ¡°Or willing to tolerate having our supper interrupted¡± she continued, voice overlayed with a deep, guttural growl.

 Chapter 5

    I once watched a documentary about the Gelada baboon¡ªstrange as far as primates went, curious and deceptively docile. Despite being herbivores, they had this unsettling habit when threatened. Their lips would curl back completely, exposing their gums and terrifyingly elongated canines. Then their mouths would distend, jaw unhinging like a snake preparing to swallow its prey. And when they¡¯d bite, the inside of their mouths, gums and teeth, it would almost protrude out. Kind of like a slingjaw.


    I¡¯d always thought it was one of the creepiest things I¡¯d ever seen.


    It was infinitely worse to see something that looked human do the same thing.


    In the span of a heartbeat, she threw her head back, mouth opening larger than her skull should have permitted, saw-tooth maw seeming to almost extend out slightly from the inside out.


    Then she bit down onto my forearm. And everything became one long moment of agony.


    My cries came out in muffled gasps, her hand still clamped on my mouth as serrated shark teeth gored and sawed into the veins, meat and muscle of my arm, slurping blood hungrily. I thrashed, kicked, punched and clawed, but it was like trying to unlatch a steel statue that had fused with my flesh.


    Despite the agony and rising panic, a fragment of my mind grasped onto the thought of weapons. My gun was still wedged awkwardly between my back and the cupboard, out of reach, but Benjamin¡¯s butterfly knife remained in my right pocket.


    I let out a muffled scream into her hand, desperately hoping for the sound to cover the snap of me flicking it open.


    It didn¡¯t.


    Halfway through the stab, she moved with terrifying speed, unlatching from my arm and swatting the knife from my hand.


    ¡°Oh. What a curious blade you wield, peasant,¡± she purred, voice dripping with disdain.


    Instead of attacking again, the monster masquerading as a woman stepped back, movements deliberate and unsettlingly graceful. She tore a strip of rag from the clothesline, using it to wipe the blood that still dripped from her face and chin, her gaze never leaving me.


    I looked down at the ruin of my arm and clutched at it, the pain so all-encompassing I couldn¡¯t even gasp. Blood was pooling in fat rivulets. I may not have been a doctor but even I could tell it was enough for me to bleed out within minutes.


    Before I could look away from the gaping wound, she was crouched in front of me again, that unnervingly calm, noble smile still fixed on her face. In a blur of motion too swift for me to track, she wrapped the same cloth tightly just below my elbow, pulling it so hard I thought my skin might tear. The bleeding slowed, the pressure of the cloth doing its grim work, but the pain... the pain was far from gone.


    ¡°You cannot bleed out, peasant. This was only our aperitif. Not the main course¡±.


    Without waiting for an answer, the creature sprang back to her full height, her movements swift and fluid, facing the mirror, brushing my coagulating blood from her hair with dainty little fingers.


    Her movements, her entire demeanour, were a smorgasbord of contradictions. Elegance melded with animal speed. Grace and brutality, coagulating in a singular package of inhuman presence.


    There was only one assumption I could make regarding her nature.


    ¡°I thought vampires didn¡¯t have reflections,¡± I whispered, the words barely audible, but they felt like the only defense I had left. Even through the haze of pain, I knew I had to keep talking, to buy myself a second¡ªany second¡ªto think, come up with a plan.


    To find an opening to grab my gun.


    ¡°That¡¯s what you are, right? A blood drinker? A vampire?¡± My voice cracked, but I pressed on, trying to sound steady despite the trepidation clawing at my insides, the fact that every ounce of self-preservation was screaming for me to shut up. To not draw attention to myself.


    A useless instinct, in my current situation.


    She froze mid-brush and her head snapped to me, eyes blazing with barely restrained violence.


    ¡°We assure you, we have a reflection. And do not use that word, blood-cattle. ¡®Tis an infuriating term, created by unworthy mortal tongues and put in the same category as leeches, lampreys and other such parasites¡±.


    She moved away from the sink and twirled in front of me, her motions a parody of humanity, unnatural in their surety and perfection.


    ¡°And we are no parasite. Our low-born kin may tolerate the word -vampire- but we shall not. We are immortal and beautiful. We are the Night¡¯s Nobility. We are the Lady Erzebeth de Coutlierre, Baronette of the Red Woods¡±.


    She finished with a courtesy, made all the more ridiculous by her oversized clothes.


    ¡°We¡­¡± I sneered, putting as much venom I could into the words ¡°...don¡¯t look like a lady¡±.


    She glared at me, then at her clothes and sighed theatrically, affixing me with that condescending gaze.


    ¡°We. The royal we, peasant. Pluralis Majestatis. And you are correct, the clothes we have had to pilfer from one of your world¡¯s corpses are less than¡­¡±


    She pulled at the edges of the short denim skirt covering an all too alluring waist.


    ¡°...appropriate¡±


    She tugged, trying to pull it lower.


    ¡°Are the women of your world strumpets? No self-respecting Lady would deign to show her knees and ankles so brazenly. And where is the silk? The frills? The¡­¡±


    I didn¡¯t pay attention to her rant. Despite the pain, the immediate danger of the situation, one phrase had just pierced through my mind, louder than everything else.


    ¡°My world?¡±


    She paused mid-sentence, lips curling into a sneer, sharp and knowing.


    ¡°Why, yes,¡± she purred. ¡°This is both your world and mine, blood-cattle. We are witness to the shaping of history. Two worlds, so alike yet diametrically opposite, reshaped into a singular one¡±


    ¡°What? What the hell are you talking about? How the¡­?¡±


    With an indifferent shrug, the woman went back to the mirror.


    ¡°Mother Night and her Inner Circle would know the details. The Feyvolken surely do. But this noble Lady knows not, nor are we interested.


    All that is of import is that when the worlds collided all was displaced and set back. Including this Lady¡¯s estate.


    Fate, cruel mistress that she is, resolved to shift the earth under this noble Lady¡¯s chateau¡±.


    Her words didn¡¯t make a lick of sense to me. Mother Night? Feywolken? I had no clue what any of these things were. But once more, the woman was clearly not talking for my sake. It was a performance just to hear the sound of her own voice.


    She sighed and theatrically wiped non-existent tears from her face.


    ¡°What sorrow. What misfortune. Our estate splintered against cold stone. Our thralls and bed-servants pulverised by merciless weight. And worst of all, our wardrobe and clothes, reduced to kindling and rags.


    Reducing this Lady to a pauper, pilfering strumpet¡¯s clothes and traveling in daylight for sustenance¡±.


    She dug through the over-sink cupboard, fingers dancing from one bottle to the next, the clink of glass punctuating her song-like voice. All the while, my own fingers crept ever closer to the pistol at the small of my back, a silent prayer on my lips that she wouldn¡¯t notice.


    ¡°So you weren¡¯t in trouble were you? You weren¡¯t calling for help, you were hunting!¡± I hissed.


    The monster masquerading as a woman scoffed and giggled as she smelled a bottle of aromatic oil.


    ¡°Of course. You wouldn¡¯t understand, would you, peasant?¡± Her tone was laced with contempt, dripping with the certainty of her superiority.


    ¡°We had caught the scent of fresh blood in this forsaken place, but... alas, the stench of rotbloods clutters the air. The dust from the Putrescent Swarms, thick as a plague, clouds our senses. We could not pinpoint the location. Not easily.¡±


    Her face became a grimace and a small tongue poked out from between crimson lips.


    ¡°Disgusting filth. The Swarms, they hunt life¡ªinfest it, drain it, and leave nothing but festering husks. We cannot stomach the tar that the rotbloods pass for blood. The infected¡­ they nest. Like rats in the walls. Pests. Disease.¡±


    Her eyes flicked toward me, sharp as a hawk¡¯s.


    "And yet, even under the pitiless Sun, the wretched horde trailing behind us would have been nothing but an inconvenience for one such as this Immortal Lady. A nuisance. But we needed a way to draw you out. We needed a way to know where you were hiding."


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Lips curled back into that skin-crawling blend of smirk and snarl as she regarded me again.


    ¡°Like a fox-hunt, you see. Baiting you. Drawing you into the open. Only... you didn¡¯t know you were the fox¡±.


    I flicked the safety off, its metallic click sharp in the still air, and her head snapped toward me, eyes narrowing. For a heartbeat, I thought she¡¯d heard it, that in the next heartbeat I¡¯d have a dagger-toothed maw rip into my face¡ªbut no. It was just that infuriating sneer of hers, a mask of superiority that never quite left her features.


    She was enjoying this. Making me twitch. Making me flinch.


    ¡°And you, peasant, have indeed succeeded in your actions. The kindness and help you have given us, has earned you a boon unlike any other¡±.


    I raised my arm, the one that had been savaged, wounds still fresh and oozing under the hastily tied tourniquet, skin already purpling from lack of blood flow. Despite the pain merely moving it caused, I waved it in the air, as if the injury itself might speak louder than my words.


    ¡°A shit prize!¡±


    She let out a soft chuckle, the sound rich with disdain, and returned to scooping out aromatic oil and dabbing it onto her wrists.


    ¡°A monumental prize, peasant. Not that we would expect a low-born like you to understand it¡¯s inherent value.


    To end your life on this mortal coil as nourishment for the Nobility of the Night? To go to the afterlife knowing that your blood and flesh have given succor to one of this noble Lady¡¯s standing? It is far and above worthier than any other fate uncultured, low-born filth like yourself could ever hope to achieve¡±.


    Turning back, her moves sinuous and sensual, like a coiling cobra rearing to strike, she crouched in front again, languidly caressing my cheek with her fingers.


    ¡°You should be thanking us, lowborn peasant. You will die at my hands instead of being ripped apart by the nesting rotbloods or killed by the scavengers that are soon to follow.


    A death fit for royalty¡±.


    I wanted to ask more, to wring every last shred of information from her before I made my final, desperate move. But before I could speak, she clapped her hands sharply, the sound cutting through the tension like a blade, and her grin bloomed¡ªa predator¡¯s smile¡ªsignalling that she was all but done with the ¡°foreplay¡±.


    ¡°Now. As much as the melodious song of our voice must be a gift to swine like you, this Lady has been without distraction and food for too long to entertain you further. So, in our monumental magnanimity, we give you a choice¡±.


    The monster held two fingers to my face.


    ¡°Sport or pleasure?¡±


    My face must have been a mask of confusion, as she raised delicate fingers to her mouth to stifle a giggle, though the sound still escaped, bubbling out in a lilting, melodic chuckle.


    ¡°Sport or pleasure, peasant. We will drain you dry of blood within the hour, that is inevitable. But connoisseurs of the crimson wine such as this noble Lady have a finer palette than fledgelings and low-born immortals. Such rabble may be content with drinking any blood but we prefer it inflamed by the struggle to survive or the pleasure of carnality¡±.


    She brought the two fingers in front of my face again, eyes as cold as ice.


    ¡°Thus, sport or pleasure. We will bleed you slowly as you fight against us, gentle cut by gentle cut, or you will pleasure us and we will slit your throat during the act¡±.


    ¡°How about you go fuck yourself?¡± I snarled, a malicious smirk twisting my lips despite the growing cold creeping through my limbs. My body felt distant and numb. I¡¯d probably lost too much blood already.


    It only meant I had nothing left to lose. So the least I could do before my last hail-mary pass was to try and be as spiteful and ¡°uncooperative¡± as possible.


    Empty little wins. But still mine.


    She tilted her head and her arm flickered, fast like lightning and strong like iron, backhanding me across the face.


    Fresh blood filled my mouth and I felt my lower jaw almost snap out of its socket, accompanied by an audible crack. It sounded far too much like a fracture. Considering how much that¡¯d hurt, I¡¯d overestimated just how numb my body had gotten.


    ¡°Peasant. You will give us either pleasure or sport. Otherwise, your death shall be a long and torturous experience¡±.


    ¡°HAH! As opposed to what I¡¯ll get if I fight you?¡± I slurred, spitting out a mouthful of blood, peppered with the shards of a few broken teeth.


    ¡°Fight us? Oh no, infant. You misunderstand. It will be sport, not a fight.


    We will not strike you. The point of the sport is for your blood to boil with the hope of survival. It makes it sweet, tangy and utterly delicious. We will simply evade and allow you the opportunity to strike us. Give you a¡­¡± her face twisted into that macabre perversion of beast and human as she let loose a deep, guttural approximation of a sigh.


    ¡°...fighting chance¡±


    And, like a hungry hound being calmed, that same face immediately waxed back into a visage of beauty and perfection.


    Lips, parted and full.


    Pupils, soft and dilated.


    ¡°You could always choose pleasure. Most mortals do, when we give them the option¡±.


    Her hands cupped my cheeks and she moved in close, almost brushing her mouth against mine.


    ¡°This noble Lady will show you what four centuries of experience feel like. You will go to the hereafter a happy, happy man¡±.


    ¡°Nah, lady. You¡¯re not my type!" I hissed back, with as much venom I could muster through my slurred words.


    She shrugged nonchalantly and let go, sauntering to where my knife had skidded off.


    ¡°We are surprised. Most men do not resist us. It is almost¡­ insulting. But you have made your choice¡±. She bent over and retrieved the knife while I pulled myself up in a series of groans and grunts.


    ¡°Yeah well, I decided today that if I¡¯m gonna die, it¡¯s gonna be as spitefully as possible,¡± I said and spat out another tooth, squeezing the handle of my concealed gun, thumb trembling slightly on the hammer.


    I¡¯d only have one shot at this. Had to make it count.


    Moving back to me, taking slow, deliberate steps, twirling the butterfly knife, opening and closing it in smooth, fluid motions, as if she¡¯d been born handling such weapons, the vampiress sneered.


    ¡°Hiding a blade in such an inconspicuous place, your world is wonderfully interesting¡±.


    Her face, a static mask of mild amusement and glacial contempt, the woman held it out and offered it back.


    ¡°Here, peasant, you may use it if you wish. The more hope you have, the sweeter your blood shall taste. Do put on a good show, yes?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got a better knife,¡± I snarled, pulling the Taurus Judge from my belt in one fluid motion, the cold steel of the barrel aimed squarely at her face. My aim wasn¡¯t perfect, especially with my vision swimming¡ªmy glasses had long since been lost to the chaos¡ªbut there was barely two feet between the muzzle and her. Point-blank.


    Her stillness nearly made me hesitate. Not a twitch, not a flinch. She hadn¡¯t moved, as if the weapon I held was no more dangerous than a toy. Was she so far removed from the world I lived in that she didn¡¯t understand the concept of a pistol? Or did she truly believe this was just another knife, another threat beneath her contempt?


    Eyes sparkling with an almost childlike glee, she giggled.


    ¡°Oh how entertaining, you simply have to tell us why you other-worlders keep their blades hidden in such curious contra¡­.¡±


    *BOOM*


    I pulled the trigger and discharged the revolver into the vampiress¡¯s face, mid-sentence. For all her speed, her strength, her durability, there was no dodging or resisting a slug.


    The monster¡¯s head snapped back and all became noise.


    She backpedaled and howled like a banshee, hands over her face, brackish, tar-like blood gushing out from between fingers. Behind me, the sound of frantic clicking and blood-clotted hands slamming into the metal door grew into a tumult as the gunshot echoed out in the still and quiet campus.


    It didn¡¯t matter. Not anymore. If she didn¡¯t kill me, the rotters would, and if they didn¡¯t, the blood loss would.


    ¡°Take you with me!¡± I snarled, spite, hate and adrenaline boiling my blood, burning through the handgun¡¯s painful recoil reaching my two fractured knuckles, as I followed her stumbling retreat and emptied the drum into her skull.


    ¡°BOOM!¡±


    Three fingers flew off.


    ¡°BOOM!!¡±


    Ear and a portion of her temple burst into red chucks


    ¡°BOOM!!!¡±


    Half her left hand ripped apart in bony, gore covered shards.


    These weren¡¯t 9mm bullets. Not simple pot shots.


    These were .401 bore.


    It may have been the lowest caliber shotgun shell, fired from a handgun, but it was still a damned shotgun shell. Each cartridge fired a slug and two buckshot pellets and everything was striking her full-on, overwhelming the abomination and pushing her further back until her lower back slammed into the windowsill.


    Cornered and panicking, she uncovered the red ruin of her face and screamed at me, face contorted in a mask of animal rage, all pretense of humanity gone and replaced with monstrous malice.


    But it was too late.


    ¡°BOOM!!!!¡±


    The last shot took her in the eye, bursting it along with her entire orbital bone, like a melon.


    And still she didn¡¯t fall.


    It wasn¡¯t enough.


    ¡­It didn¡¯t matter. I wasn¡¯t done. Not yet. Not by a damned long-shot.


    It¡¯s amazing how the human mind adapts and how quickly it does so.


    Viciousness. Desperate ruthlessness. I experienced an inkling of this when I had put down whatever had been left of Benjamin.


    But now, knowing death was inevitable and strangely at peace with it, everything felt muted. Cold. The pain thrumming throughout every inch of my body. The corpses crashing into the room behind me, rabid and relentless in their pursuit, barricade reduced to splinters. The woman¡¯s screams as she desperately clawed at the gaping wounds in her skull.


    Everything faded into the background, except for one phrase¡ªburning, roaring like a raging inferno in my mind, goading me, pushing me into a rabid frenzy.


    ¡°Take. You. With. Me!¡±


    And I bellowed those words, the heat of them rising in my throat, mixing with blood-laced froth, as I charged into her, driving the monster into the windowsill.


    Then past it.


    And into the scorching, midday sun.

 Chapter 6

    A 20-foot fall doesn¡¯t sound like much. The human body can survive much worse.


    But what no one tells you is how all the air bursts out from your lungs when you impact the ground. How every bone in your body just sort of¡­ pops out¡­ and then slides back into their sockets.


    Or maybe I was just being dramatic.


    In my defense, I was already in a massive amount of pain by the time the pavement met us.


    The shrieking monster took the brunt of it, slamming into the stone, back of her head bouncing off the pavement with an audible crack.


    I landed on top of her, my body folded to the side, arms cocked around my head. I had fallen off enough scaffolding on my job to know how to take an impact. But that had been on five, ten feet heights. On soft, freshly scooped-up dirt.


    This was anything but soft. Just cold, unyielding stone.


    I felt the crushing force of my body land on top of hers, her fragile form crumpling under my bulk. But she was small beneath me, her frame too lithe and petite to cover the entirety. My head and shoulder might have been spared, but there was no room for my legs.


    And when the side of my kneecap struck the pavement, it didn¡¯t just hurt.


    It shattered.


    I rolled off her, hands shooting to my knee as the pain flared like wildfire. The impact had robbed my lungs even of the air needed to scream. My chest heaved in desperate, silent gasps, each breath a struggle as I lay there, paralyzed by the sheer agony of the moment.


    For several long seconds, I remained on the ground, curled into myself. My hands gripping my ruin of a knee, as if somehow I could squeeze hard enough to force the pain to stop, to make the world slow down. But nothing changed. It was just a cascading tide of pain, and all I could do was lay there, trembling, swallowed by it.


    Finally it dulled into a tormenting ache and I managed to draw in a lungful of air.


    Everything hurt.


    Everything.


    My left arm throbbed from the bite, every inch of it pulsing in dull, fiery shards of agony. My right hand felt like it was shattered, the fractured knuckles sending sharp waves shooting through my wrist.   My jaw ached from the backhand, and now, my entire left side was probably just one mass of bruises, tender and swollen. And that didn¡¯t even take into account the state of my knee¡ª reduced to a broken, unsalvageable mass of splinters, rolling in a skin pocket.


    I finally released my knee, letting my body fall bonelessly onto the pavement. The cold concrete felt oddly soothing against my back as I stared up at the clear sky. A brief moment of stillness, of quiet before everything came crashing down again.


    There were small mercies, if you knew where to look.


    Through my tumble, I hadn¡¯t seen any of the corpses around. They must had wandered off, distracted by the lack of sound. The noise of screams and gunshots would have been impossible to trace from the outside, bouncing in echoes across the silent campus.


    Or maybe this was just a momentary lull before a herd would come crashing down on me and turn my generous ass into their midday snack.


    A wet, wheezing laugh bubbled up from deep within me, the sound escaping before I could stop it. The sharp, fresh jolt of agony that followed nearly made me gag, but it didn¡¯t stop the laugh from coming again, weak and strangled, but there nonetheless.


    I¡¯d won. In a form that left me dead to rights, true, but I¡¯d won.


    So I couldn¡¯t help but laugh.


    ¡°It¡­ hurts to laugh¡­ or talk¡± I managed to wheeze out and continued to chuckle despite the aches.


    ¡­.until her ruined body twitched out of the corner of my eye.


    ¡°Oh¡­ Fuck... You¡­ Leech!¡± was all I could spit out, before she launched herself on top of me.


    The vampiress was a night terror made flesh.


    Her head, a red mass of slug-holes, her left eye, a gaping hole of broken flesh. A long gash went along the crown of her head to the bridge of her nose from where she had split her skull open on the pavement, brackish blood oozing from it in black spurts.


    With a banshee wail, she raked for my face, claws outstretched, rabid fury in every swipe. Adrenaline flooded my insides, arms shooting up just in time to block the attack, the sharp sting of her talons carving shallow trenches across my forearms as she ripped and tore, reduced to nothing but animal brutality.


    All that effort.


    All that pain, and all for nothing. She survived.


    No. No, not nothing.


    I was weathering the storm. For all her vicious, rabid wrath, I was actually weathering her assault. She didn¡¯t have that impossible, irresistible strength anymore.


    ¡°That damnable, weakening Sun¡± she had said. It may not have burst her into flames like our folklore said, but direct exposure clearly weakened her. She was still stronger than any man I had ever met, she still struck harder than Andreas¡¯s punches and was witheringly quick, but it was in the bounds of reason.


    It was something I could fight back against.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    With a frustrated roar, the woman swung her arms high above her head, attempting to hammer through my guard with a brutal overhead strike. But it was a reckless move¡ªan amateur''s mistake, made by someone accustomed to overwhelming power.


    It left her wide open.


    An opening I didn¡¯t hesitate to exploit.


    My fist collided with her jaw and this time her head shot back, jolting her in a backwards spasm. There was no more of that stone-like durability. Her flesh, still cold to the touch, had softened¡ªas soft as flesh should be.


    Now, she felt as fragile as any human, her body no longer a wall of impossible resistance. And she was light.


    Beneath her withering speed and strength, beneath it all, she was still a whipcord-thin, fifty-pound creature¡ªpetite and deceptively fragile.


    And the slums teach you one thing before all else. How to brawl.


    My right hand shot out in a quick jab, fingers clawing at her hair and I shifted my entire weight in a sudden jerk, unbalancing the little beast. We rolled in a tangle of flailing limbs, each shift in motion sending waves of pain from my shattered knee.


    But the pain didn¡¯t matter. Nothing mattered. Except the venomous spite, turning agony into fuel, drumming my heart in a thundering chorus that hammered in my ears like a staccato bass.


    I hated her.


    I hated how much pain she had caused me.


    I hated how callouselly she had spoken of killing me.


    I hated the strength she had over me.


    We stopped rolling. And this time, I was the one straddling her.


    All hesitation, all humanity and all conscience had drained from me, replaced with a cold brutality that mirrored her own and I let loose with my own scream, spearing my thumb into her remaining good eye, bursting it like a rotten fruit.


    She shrieked and twisted like an eel, thrashing and battering at my arms, trying to throw me off, but I was so much heavier and for all her strength, she was prone. Unable to muster the strength necessary to shake me off.


    Not that I would give her the chance anyway.


    Blood-covered hands tangled into the collar of her shirt and I heaved, jolting her up as I slammed my forehead into her face.


    *CRUNCH*


    Again.


    *CRUNCH*


    Again.


    *CRUNCH*


    Over and over, I pulped her skull, bone and cartilage shattering, features reduced to a morass of split flesh.


    My own head felt like it would burst, but I didn¡¯t stop.


    I refused.


    I couldn¡¯t.


    This second wind was the only thing keeping me alive and I knew the moment I¡¯d stop she¡¯d kill me.


    I had to kill her first.


    I could bleed out without regrets then.


    Her clawed fingers had dug deep into my chest, raking, trying to push me away, but I was too far gone to give them attention. My entire body was one big bruise, I couldn¡¯t care less over a few extra gashes in my pectorals.


    Maybe if I hadn¡¯t been in such pain or so single-mindedly desperate, I would have paid more attention when she had torn the claws out and grabbed the back of my neck.


    Maybe I would have felt her pull instead of push when I made to headbutt her one more time.


    Maybe. But hindsight is a luxury.


    In a spasm of motion, her maw split open once again, thumb-long canines and serrated teeth glinting in the light, ready to shred my throat to red ribbons as she tugged me down mid headbutt.


    It was only by pure frantic reflex that I jerked to the side, a hair''s breadth away before she bit down. Fangs like daggers cut and shred, ripping into the muscle between my shoulder and the base of my neck, narrowly missing my carotid, spearing into the bone beneath.


    The sharpness and suddenness of it all knocked the second wind right out of me and I tore at her hair, trying to unlatch the monster that was gulping greedily at the blood spraying from my flesh.


    It was no use.


    Cold was already spreading into my hands and feet, as though I had dunked them in ice water.


    Dread seeped into me as I realized the truth: the leech didn¡¯t even need to hit my carotid artery to drain me of blood. Somehow, it was being pulled from every part of my body, feeding into her. With every passing second, I was growing weaker, my strength bleeding away, while she, impossibly, grew stronger again. I could feel it, the life slipping from me, and the terror that followed.


    She whirled, weight shifting and we rolled again, my back hitting the pavement with a brutal thud. Her mouth had remained latched firmly onto my trapezius, the pressure suffocating, each pull from her leaving me more and more drained.


    ¡°It¡¯s not fair¡± I murmured, futilely trying to pull her off, hands still tangled in her hair.


    So close, the side of her head pressed against my cheek, arms crossed around my back in some perverse parody of a lover¡¯s embrace, I could hear the malicious chuckle at my words in between gulps of blood.


    I had been so close.


    So agonizingly close to winning.


    The cold spread from my arms to my shoulders, my sight blurring and darkening around the edges.


    ¡°Die as spitefully as I can¡± my own words reverberated into my mind. They seemed so shallow now. So empty of value and weight¡­


    And they would be. If I allowed them to.


    ¡°Not¡­ finished¡­ yet¡­.¡± I spat, bloody phlegm edging my lips.


    Humans are animals, a fact we often forget in the veneer of our civilized lives. But when the pressure mounts and survival is on the line, that simple truth resurfaces.


    And there¡¯s one thing that comes as naturally as breathing when desperation claws at you.


    The most primal of instincts, buried deep in the ancient folds of our brains, waiting for the right moment to surface.


    The instinct to bite.


    And my teeth tore into the vampiress¡¯s throat.

 Chapter 7

    *BITE! TEAR!*


    She trashed and wrenched in my grasp trying frantically to pull away.


    *BITE! TEAR!*


    Her wails and screams were muffled, my hands holding her face pressed into my shoulder, not letting her unclasp or retreat.


    *BITE! TEAR!*


    She lashed out, carving at me with her claws, breaking ribs with her fists, but I was too far gone to let go.


    *BITE! TEAR!*


    Again.


    *BITE! TEAR!*


    Again.


    *BITE! TEAR!*


    Again.


    Over and over I ripped into her neck like a frothing dog, tearing away chunks of flesh and spitting them out.


    Black, tar-like blood cascaded over my face, covering my eyes and nose, flooding my mouth. I didn¡¯t bother spitting it out or trying to breathe.


    Swallowing down the foul ichor and continuing to bite, my entire existence reduced to that simple act of biting down and tearing off.


    *BITE! TEAR!*


    AGAIN!!!


    Only when my teeth struck and splintered into her spinal cord did I stop, realizing that she had gone still a while ago, and I had just kept biting into an unmoving carcass.


    My hands finally let go of the back of her head and flopped to the side. I didn¡¯t even have enough strength to wipe the vampiress¡¯s blood off my face.


    Through the blurry muck of gore covering my sight I watched the midday sun blaze through clouds and smiled through a mess of shattered teeth.


    ¡°I win¡­¡±


    And passed out.


    The Moon hung overhead, pale and gibbous, its soft light casting a faint glow across the dark sky. It was the first thing I saw as I came to, my breath catching sharply, like a man breaking the surface after too long underwater.


    Something heavy and brittle pressed down on my chest, and instinct sent a jolt of fear through me, thoughts of wandering corpses flooding my mind. I lashed out, flinging it off me and snapped onto my feet and into a low crouch.


    Wait.


    On my feet? A crouch?


    I shouldn¡¯t be able to stand up let alone do any of this.


    What happened?


    How was I even alive?


    How long had I been unconsciou¡­


    A stab of pain tore through my skull and I doubled over.


    Thirsty.


    I was so thirsty.


    Why? What had happe¡­?


    The jolt came again, redoubled.


    The thirst hit like a hammer, its gnawing hunger drilling into my mind, merciless and unyielding. It demanded, it consumed, it wouldn''t be ignored. Every thought, every ounce of focus, was swallowed whole by it, only to return fiercer, as if it had grown into a living thing, stalking me, tormenting me.


    My blood boiled, searing beneath my skin.


    My tongue felt thick, cracked, like parchment left too long in the sun.


    My mouth hung open, unable to close, as four sharp points¡ªlong and unnatural¡ªprotruded from my gums..


    Was this what dying of thirst felt like?


    I had to find something to drink. Water¡­ no. Not water.


    The very idea of it turned my stomach, a violent gag rising in my throat. But the thirst clawed at me, a primal need that could not be ignored. I needed something. Not water.


    What was happening to me? I tried to focus, tried to concentrate, to pay attention to the dried-up mummified corpse that I had flung off me. The entire left side of her neck and shoulder was missing, gnawed off to the bone as if by some rabid ani¡­


    The overwhelming thirst struck me again, accompanying vertigo scything my legs from under me, howling, roaring to be fed, reverberating like thunder in my skull.


    I fell to my hands and knees, a silent, wheezing cry escaping my dried up throat.


    I was so cold despite the blood boiling in my veins¡­


    ¡°Tha-Thump¡±


    The pain and vertigo ebbed away like fading mist, and the thirst, for a fleeting moment, withdrew to the darkest corners of my mind, replaced with a single-minded focus I had never experienced before.


    ¡°Tha-Thump¡±


    My head snapped in the direction of the noise, eyes narrowing in the gloom. Everything was sharp. Every glimmer of light shone like lightning. Every smell was magnified and every sound was thunder in my ears.


    ¡°Tha-Thump¡±


    I surged from the ground, barely a conscious thought in my movement, tilting my head slightly to the left. One more time. I needed to hear it again, to lock onto its source, to trace its path through the night.


    It didn¡¯t even register that I could see the tiniest ridges on the tree bark despite the cloak of darkness. Nor did I question how I could make out the faintest rustle of insects moving beneath the dry leaves, their tiny scuttles as loud to me as a storm.


    None of that mattered. Not the hows or the whys. All that existed in the moment was that sound. The promise it carried.


    ¡°Tha-thump¡±


    I shot out into the woods like a projectile from a cannon, tearing through branches and foliage as if they weren¡¯t even there.


    The world blurred at the edges of my vision, a streak of motion I¡¯d only ever known while speeding down a hill on a scooter.


    This wasn¡¯t running¡ªnot by any stretch of the imagination. It was something primal, something fast and fierce, too low to the earth, my hands scraping against the dirt, lunging across the mossy forest floor like a jungle cat, pushing me forward with a speed that was beyond human.


    It didn¡¯t matter.


    I couldn¡¯t focus on the hows, the strange way my body moved, the way the world had become a blur of shadows and motion. All that mattered was the sound¡ªthe rhythmic thump-thump-thump that thrummed in my bones, calling me forward like the voice of a siren, irresistible, drawing me closer with each heartbeat.


    It was all I could hear. It was all I could feel.


    The sound and its promise.


    In the distance, high-pitched shrieks echoed through the trees, a frantic, gibbering sound that made my skin prickle, shrill grunts and the unmistakable sound of metal cutting flesh. But I was deaf to it all save the drumming song that had drawn me.


    The underbrush offered no resistance, branches snapping like brittle bones beneath me as I surged through, each stride pulling me further into the darkness. My mouth hung wide open, wider than should¡¯ve been possible, the stretch of my jaw threatening to tear the skin, but I didn¡¯t care.


    Instinct had brought me here, pulling me towards that sound¡ªthe rhythm of a drumbeat that throbbed in my veins like a living thing, a beautiful, maddening song that promised something beyond comprehension. And then, as I tore through the last of the shrubbery, I saw it for what it truly was.


    The drumming wasn¡¯t from any instrument.


    It was the steady, pulsing beat of hearts.


    Without hesitation, my wild dash shifted into a single, predatory leap¡ªa pounce driven by something older, darker, more urgent than reason.


    Starvation.


    Seven walking corpses were surrounded and stabbed at by five diminutive humans, not a one taller than 4 feet, crude spears held in overly large leathery hands. The one I had targeted turned just fast enough for me to see his narrow slitted pupils constrict like needles in the far too large, pus yellow orbs of his eyes.


    Then I rammed into him and nothing mattered other than his throat.


    My hands wrapped around its shoulders even as I barreled the almost-human looking creature off its feet, burying my teeth into the warm meat of its neck before we even hit the ground.


    Blood, hot and alive, cascaded from his wound and I gulped down mouthful after ravenous mouthful.


    It was ambrosia.


    It was ecstasy.


    More addicting than the purest drug.


    More satisfying than the most beautiful woman.


    And I drank every last drop, feeling the creature¡¯s bones snap and give way beneath my grip. My arms constricted around it, tightening like the coils of a snake, squeezing the life from it as if it were nothing more than a juice box, desperate to drain every last trace of warmth.


    The sensation was visceral, primal, as its blood flowed into me, soothing the gaping hole in my gut. Feeding it. Quenching the all-consuming fire of thirst.


    Only when the well ran dry did I let the creature¡¯s corpse flop to the group, it¡¯s chest caved in and arms broken from the force.


    And it was most definitely an ¡°it¡±, not a ¡°him¡±. Not a human.


    The thirst had abated enough for me to be able to think a little clearer. Not crystal, but enough to observe, to pay attention.


    Small, sickly-green skinned, with twisted, oversized clawed hands and grotesque heads that seemed too misshapen for the body they clung to.


    Their beady yellow eyes bulged in horror, wide and unblinking as they fixed on me. Far too large mouths, packed with an unnerving array of yellowed teeth, hung open in silent, frozen screams that never escaped their twisted lips.


    Like someone had tried to parody a human from half heard words, or some barely remembered dream.


    Gruesome and grotesque.


    As the fog in my mind cleared, a terrible realization set in. I knew what they were.


    These creatures¡ªhorrific, nightmarish things¡ªwere the very monsters I''d battled countless times in the RPGs I¡¯d loved so much and in the pages of the fantasy books that I enjoyed reading so much.


    ¡°Goblins?¡±


    The voice that came from me was barely recognizable, deep and guttural, more growl than speech, but it was undoubtedly mine. It was slurred, thick with something foreign, as if the very shape of my mouth had changed. I couldn¡¯t quite close it all the way, my teeth feeling too large, too sharp, especially around the canines, which jutted out in a way that felt wrong, unnatural.


    Of the remaining four ¡°goblins,¡± two had turned at the sound of the fifth¡¯s life ending, their wide, beady eyes locked on me in stunned horror. They didn¡¯t move, frozen in place as if some invisible force held them there.


    Why? I wasn¡¯t a giant, not by any means¡ªbarely more than a slightly solidly built man, no more threatening than any other. Yet the terror radiating from them was palpable, almost suffocating.


    Then, as if they had finally broken from whatever spell held them, they screamed.


    The shrill, desperate sound cut through the air, a primal wail that shattered the silence and ignited something in me. Panic and fear fueled their cries, but it was their terror that stirred my blood, sending a rush of red fury through my veins.


    Who cared why they were so scared.


    I was still thirsty, and one had not been nearly enough.


    The two goblins shouted for their comrades, belching out words in a gibbering vomit of speech and snarls, holding their crude spears in front, trying to keep me away.


    I charged into the points, one piercing my stomach, the other my shoulder, the wounds doing nothing to slow my momentum.


    The rusted iron points of their spears sank into my flesh, jagged metal scraping through my skin, but the pain barely registered. It was there, undeniable, but distant¡ªalmost as if it was beneath notice.


    A trivial little thing.


    With two splintering cracks the crude spears broke at their hafts, the points still lodged in my body.


    Bug-eyed and reeking of fear, the goblins didn¡¯t even get to scream before I closed my hands around their throats and slammed them, heads first, into the ground.


    A shrill scream drew my attention.


    ¡°No!¡± I roared, but it was too late.


    The remaining four goblins had only barely managed to hold the horde of walking dead with their spears. Now reduced to two, the wailing creatures were swiftly swallowed by the writhing mass of rotten flesh, torn apart in a monstrous display of mindless brutality.


    I bellowed, red, raw rage filling me at the sight of all that precious blood wasted.


    ¡°My prey. My blood.¡±


    Brackish, tar-like blood poured from my wounds as I ripped the shattered spear shafts from my body, the iron tips now gripped like daggers in my hands.


    With a savage roar, I hurled myself at the shuffling, chittering mass, my every movement driven by instinct and fury.


    The first two rotbloods fell, my spear-daggers buried in their foreheads.


    A skinless, clammy hand grabbed at my forearm and I spun, ramming the length of iron in the dead thing¡¯s belly, then levered it over my shoulder, sending it tumbling in a heap.


    A fourth spasmed itself into a pounce, gore flecked teeth aiming for my face. The top of it¡¯s head burst in a spray of putrid ichor, my spear taking it in an upward thrust, piercing through the chin and coming out through the crown of it¡¯s skull.


    The rotbloods were a writhing, gnashing horde, each one as strong as they had been in life, their claws raking and jaws snapping with feral hunger. But they were slow and clumsy.


    And I was anything but.


    Even in the haze of my thirst, my movements were sharp, fluid, predatory¡ªlike a hunting hyena. I flowed in and out of the fray, striking with ruthless precision, carving my way through meat and bone, retreating before they could even react.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Within moments, it was over. The horde lay in ruin, scattered and broken, twisted bodies crumpled to the ground like discarded playthings.


    The last rotblood spasmed in my grasp, spear-tips buried deep to either side of it¡¯s head.


    By the time it fell, I was already stalking back to the two unconscious goblins I had slammed into the ground.


    ¡°My prey. My blood.¡± the growl spewed out from my mouth.


    Perched atop the largest of the old oak¡¯s branches, fifteen feet above ground, the tree¡¯s dense foliage and the night might as well have made me invisible. I could see as clear as day through the gloom and watched on as the second patrolling group in an hour had emerged into the clearing.


    There were only three Goblins in the group this time, dressed in loincloths and armed with crude weapons just like their kin I had butchered not two hours before.


    The only difference was that one held a rusty chain tangled across the neck of some¡­thing, a hound-like creature, looking like the unholy crotch spawn of a dog, rat and lizard orgy.


    The moment they saw the hillock of rotblood and goblin corpses I had left out in the open, the group fell into a tight, defensive formation. They moved quickly, back to back, spears raised in front of them, their every motion tense with caution. The dog-thing, a hulking creature with a blank, eyeless face, lifted its head, sniffing the air greedily.


    But I was too high up. The wind was too much in my favour and the scent of the dead masked my presence. The dog-thing prowled, its head twisting in every direction, but it never caught my scent.


    After a few tense minutes the goblins relaxed their posture, and their focus shifted to scavenging. They tore at the remains of their fallen comrades, ripping at any valuables, weapons or whatever else they could pilfer, seemingly more than indifferent to the fact that they were kin.


    Ten more minutes later, the patrol moved on, leaving behind nothing but pilfered carcasses and a mess.


    ¡°Scavengers,¡± the vampiress had said, and her words were a fitting description.


    ¡°Let¡¯s tally up. First zombies. Then Vampires. Now Goblins¡±.


    I didn¡¯t climb down from the tree. Not yet.


    The quiet, the relative safety, gave me space to think¡ªspace to reorient myself.


    After drinking from the last two goblins, the madness driven by my thirst had finally subsided. I could think clearly once more, my mind sharp and focused.


    Which had lead to the past hour feeling like nothing more than an endless string of questions. And all I had in place of answers were assumptions and conjecture.


    No, this wasn¡¯t rocket science.


    And it sure as hell didn¡¯t take a genius to figure out what had happened. Even if this vampiress had alluded to being of a different world or whatever else, it wasn¡¯t much to come to a conclusion.


    Primarily in folklore, Vampires procreated by exsanguinating someone close to death, then forcing the victim to drink the Vampire¡¯s own blood.


    During the fight against her I had bled from multiple wounds, so that was the exsanguination part done.


    And when I¡¯d torn into her throat I had swallowed a lot of her blood.


    Not like it had been on purpose.


    I was drowning in it.


    After waking up, I hunted and drank blood like a beast.


    I no longer had a pulse.


    A heartbeat.


    Hell, it had taken me 25 minutes to realize that I hadn¡¯t taken a single breath¡ªand that I no longer needed to.


    As ridiculous and far-fetched as it sounded, I had most likely become like her.


    A leech. A vampire.


    The realization settled on me like a shadow, dark and undeniable. But I wasn¡¯t one to crumble under weight like that. I didn¡¯t break. Not over this. Not over anything.


    So, I¡¯d become a damn vampire. So what?


    Just another shit sandwich life had decided to force-feed me. What else was new?


    So I stood, looking down at my hands¡ª fingers, unnaturally still, unnervingly cold¡ªsteady, calm. I wasn¡¯t going to panic. Hell, I didn¡¯t have time for panic. I was still me, even if the world around me had tilted on its axis.


    But still¡­ the idea lingered. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach, something gnawing at me, a cold, creeping thing that didn¡¯t feel like the hunger I¡¯d experienced before. No, this was different. This was deeper.


    It whispered to me like a voice in the back of my head, a hunger that went beyond thirst, beyond flesh.


    I violently shook my head and smacked myself a few times, hammering a fist into the back of my head.


    No.


    Don¡¯t think on it. Don¡¯t linger on it. You drown if you do that.


    If becoming a vampire was the next test life had for me? Well, I¡¯d face it head on, like everything else.


    It was of no matter.


    I was still here.


    My body may not be ¡°alive¡± in the traditional sense, but I was the furthest thing from dead.


    That part, at the very least, our mythos got it wrong. In our folk and fiction, Vampires were usually described as either damned souls or empty husks.


    And I was anything but empty. I was still myself. Still Jon.


    All my memories, hopes and dreams, very much present.


    And the cocktail of emotions rolling in my head, from pride at how I had fought to apprehension at the brutality I had displayed, meant I was most definitely not a hollowed-out shell.


    I was myself where it mattered. The same living soul.


    At some point during my rumination, by force of habit, I had taken off the small wooden cross from my neck and held it in my hand. I¡¯d never been overly religious or liked the church too much, but I did consider myself a man of faith. Faith had kept me going in my darkest moments and this was no exception.


    Fortunately the part of folklore regarding symbols of faith being anathema to Vampires seemed to also be wrong.


    Hadn¡¯t burst into flame from holding it, so there was that.


    That¡¯s not to say I could call it just a necklace. Not anymore.


    As soon as I had held it, I¡¯d felt something from it. Like an aura. A spark that spoke of unfathomable strength and infinite kindness.


    I ran my tongue over teeth that had already retracted, taking extra notice around my elongated canines and shrugged, putting the necklace around my neck.


    I wasn¡¯t nearly smart or wise enough to start contemplating the nature of the divine.


    The small wooden cross felt right and warm in my hand the same way it had when I had been ¡°alive¡± and that was enough for me.


    Keep it simple. I¡¯d done that my entire life, wasn¡¯t about to change it now.


    So¡­ simple.


    What I knew.


    I was stronger and faster now. Considering how I had handled the Goblins and rotbloods, at least twice as strong and three times as fast as I had been before becoming¡­ whatever the hell I was now.


    Vampire. Most likely.


    My hand-eye coordination was flawless now, sharper than it had ever been. I could see beyond perfectly, where before I¡¯d needed glasses to see ten feet in front.


    My other senses? I could probably hear and smell a squirrel¡¯s fart from a dozen yards away now.


    And as for my durability? Well, I was a hell of a lot tougher than I used to be.


    The spear wounds had healed and closed up completely in less than thirty minutes. I could feel the fresh skin stretching beneath my fingers, like the battle had never even happened. My flesh wasn¡¯t concrete-hard, not like hers, not like the vampiress, but it was tough. The skin felt like boiled leather and the muscles beneath were rigid. Tough like stringy game-meat.


    But all these were things I knew from my rampage, assumption and conjecture. Approximations and hunches.


    And that was a problem. In order to survive, I needed to know what I could and couldn¡¯t do.


    Enough time had been wasted here.


    There were still too many unknowns for me to afford just thinking the night away.


    One of the most important things I didn¡¯t know yet was how my new body would react to the sun.


    The vampiress hadn¡¯t burst into flame in the daylight, but by her words she had been centuries old. And even with this ¡°undead¡± body, I was nowhere near as durable, strong or fast as her.


    I was enough of a nerd to know that, at least as far as folk and fiction was concerned, Vampires grew stronger with age.


    And I was a fledgeling. A newborn Vampire. The sun might only weaken her, but that didn¡¯t mean it would be the same for me.


    I¡¯d have to test this. I had to test a lot of things.


    But first. Shelter.


    Landing softly from my perch, crouching low, senses honed and alert, scanning the darkness around me, I stared into the gloom, waiting, listening, feeling every shift in the air, every creak of the branches above. The world had become sharp, vivid¡ªclearer than it had ever been in the daylight.


    Nothing moved.


    No monsters. No lurking threats. Only the rustle of dry leaves, swept along by the wind, and the soft, rhythmic song of nocturnal insects and small critters, scuttling through the underbrush.


    Something tugged at my attention. For once, not something hostile.


    A faint shift, a pull in my focus that led me back to the mound of corpses I had left in my wake. I hadn''t noticed it at first, too lost in the aftermath of my frenzy, but now, the sight of the twisted pile of bodies seemed to draw me in, beckoning me like a magnet.


    It wasn¡¯t the bodies themselves¡ªit was something else. Something... alive in the air around them. A faint pulse of energy. Like electricity.


    I could feel it. Smell it.


    Like some magnetic force screaming for my attention. Drawing one of the spear-daggers I had tucked into my belt, I drew closer.


    It felt similar to the heart-beat drum that had led me here, but altogether separate. Where the drum had tugged at my thirst, this new feeling tugged at something just as primal.


    Power.


    The word just sprang into my mind like an intrusive thought and only grew louder the closer to the mound I got.


    Power. Raw, primal, untainted and wild.


    Felt like static electricity coursing through my fingers as I pressed my hand against the cold, clammy flesh of the rotbloods. Something deeper into the mound. It wasn¡¯t coming from the rotbloods.


    I moved the corpses away, and then drew back slightly.


    Splayed with arms akimbo, glassy-eyed and throat savaged from my teeth, the dead goblin just lay there, as cold and lifeless as when I had thrown it onto the pile. But there was no denying the simple fact that the pull came from it.


    The chest to be exact.


    I pulled it out from the pile and knelt next to it, pulling the second spear-dagger and steeling myself. The rational part of me along with the part that had watched an unhealthy amount of horror movies, demanded that I move away from the obvious jump-scare setup before something straight out of H.R. Giger¡¯s worst moments of inspiration snapped out of the goblin¡¯s chest and struck for my face.


    But another part of me, the curious young man, won over.


    I pierced both spear-daggers into the goblin¡¯s chest and began sawing, cutting through bone and cartilage, trying not to cringe at the gurgle and pop of flesh and ribcage parting.


    Nothing burst out.


    Instead I just stood there, transfixed by what I saw. Thumb sized, malformed, all jagged edges and pulsing with arcs of blue, the small black stone thrummed, almost vibrating with raw power.


    By the time realisation hit me, I had already dug it out of the goblin and was holding it in the palm of my hand. It tickled my skin, as if charged with static.


    I knew it was valuable, despite it¡¯s look and shape, the sheer aura around it spoke of inherent value.


    Just didn¡¯t know why it was valuable. Another mystery of this, apparently, melded world that Earth had become.


    If the vampiress hadn¡¯t just been bullshitting me.


    Without hesitation I carved open the other four goblins, adding four more of the curious stones to my collection, and wrapped them in a makeshift pouch, improvised from the t-shirt of one of the rotblood corpses.


    Even more curious, the rotbloods didn¡¯t have the same crystals, nor did they pulse with that energy.


    Well. Not that it mattered.


    What were the stones? Why did the goblins have them and the rotbloods not? Why did there exist rotbloods and goblins in the first place? Did it have to do with what the vampiress had said about our worlds having collided?


    All I had at this moment were unanswered questions and no clues. So all I could do was focus on the here and now.


    And the here and now meant ¡°try to survive¡±.


    Or at least the rough approximation of what a vampire could call ¡°survive¡±.


    I shook my head and the intrusive thought with it.


    ¡°5 hours until sunrise...¡± I muttered to myself, checking the screen of my, now even more cracked, smartphone.


    One of the rusty hatchets pilfered from the butchered Goblins comfortably in my hand, the makeshift pouch secured to my belt, I started to make my way towards the old school building at the top of the hill. Abandoned long ago, used more for storage nowadays, the chance of finding it as overrun with rotbloods as the main building was much lower.


    ¡­Probably.


    ¡­Maybe.

 Chapter 8

    ¡°Motherfu¡ª¡±


    I didn¡¯t quite finish the cuss, not with the spear-tip slashing through the air, just inches from gouging my eye out. My reflexes kicked in before my mind had fully registered the threat, and I jumped back, narrowly avoiding the lethal strike.


    The goblin ambush had been flawless¡ªfar too well-executed for a bunch of monsters I¡¯d assumed to be no more than primitive creatures. They may have been barbaric, crude things, but there was no denying it¡ªthey knew their craft. Their knowledge of the land, of ambush tactics, far more advanced than I¡¯d anticipated.


    Another arrow sliced through the air, loosed by the gibbering green bastard hidden in the trees.


    I sidestepped, the movement sharp and swift despite my slopiness, projectile sailing just past my ear, but the strafe put me right in range of another goblin. Four foot nothing, clad in rags, a hide hauberk and wielding a rusty cleaver with all the devil-may-care abandon of a meth head.


    And all its implied efficiency.


    It bellowed its shrill cry and slashed out at my hip, scoring a shallow cut through my jeans.


    With a venomous hiss I jumped back in the middle of the kill circle and finished my cuss.


    ¡°---fucker¡±


    This fight had, at the very least, answered some of my questions. Specifically about the extent of my new abilities. After how I¡¯d handled the group of goblins and rotbloods before, I thought this ambush would be a breeze. Wrong.


    I was mad then. Driven to the brink of insanity by thirst and bloodlust. Fought like a rabid animal, uncaring of anything and everything save burying my teeth into a throat. Ignorant to wounds, doubt and hesitation.


    Now, I fought like a person. With all the reflexes and instincts of self-preservation that being human entailed.


    But I wasn¡¯t human anymore.


    And all those reflexes were actively getting in my way.


    As if the universe itself sought to drive the point home, the archer in the tree released another arrow¡ªits flight slow, almost pathetic in its predictability. My senses, heightened to the point of superhuman, unraveled the projectile in excruciating detail. Every crook in the shoddily made shaft, the frayed fletching barely holding together, every edge on the stone arrowhead.


    To my eyes, the arrow crawled through the air, each inch taking an eternity.


    I could¡¯ve sidestepped it. Deflected it with my hatchet¡ªjust a flick of the wrist. Hell, with my durability and regeneration, I could¡¯ve taken the damn thing in the chest and barely felt a thing, given how blunted the arrowhead was.


    But I did none of those things.


    Instead, my body acted in obedience to the primal instinct of self-preservation. I tumbled, jerking out of the arrow¡¯s path in a desperate, graceless roll that sent me crashing to the ground.


    Only to rise within reach of another goblin, the jagged, serrated dagger in its hand poised for a downward thrust.


    The goblin screeched and stabbed at me.


    Again, I could perceive the attack in all its clumsy slowness, calculate its trajectory, estimate the impact point. All I needed to do was charge into the monster¡¯s guard and swipe my hatchet across the little beast¡¯s arm.


    I was fast enough.


    Agile enough.


    I KNEW I was.


    And yet again, my own subconscious reflexes betrayed me. Instead of charging in, I drew back, backpedaling and shielding my face with a raised arm. The dagger, though blunted and pocked with rust, cut through the jacket and scored a deep gash into my forearm.


    With a malicious bark of laughter, the goblin jumped back and its three allies moved, tightening the kill-circle around me. They fought like a pack of jackals, nipping and cutting, trying to exhaust me, to bleed me over time.


    70 pounds soaking wet and barely tall enough to reach my stomach, there was no denying the little beasts possessed a cruel animal cunning. And for all their small frames, they had a wiry strength to them almost rivaling that of a grown man. All fiber and sinew in compact little packages that made them infinitely more dangerous than their small forms suggested.


    I forced myself back to my feet, ignoring the sting in my arm. My hand found the spear-dagger at my belt, and I pulled it free in one smooth motion, taking it in a reverse grip. The goblins paused for a heartbeat, then drew back, extending the kill-circle just out of my reach.


    They weren¡¯t foolish enough to rush in. And they were patient, waiting for me to make a move, circling around, trying to slink through blind spots. A dangerous combination.


    I stood my ground, hatchet and spear-dagger steady in my hands. The circle was widening, but it wouldn¡¯t stay that way for long. They were waiting for the right moment to close in again.


    ¡°Focus. Focus¡± I mentally snarled.


    Like most orphaned young men growing up in the slums and ghettos, I¡¯d had my share of back-alley fights, so I was a decent enough brawler, despite my weight and cowardice when it came to certain individuals. But this wasn¡¯t a brawl.


    It¡¯s one thing to react to a punch being thrown at you, but a dagger or a spear? I was an amateur at that and my body kept going on auto-pilot, subconsciously trying to get as far from the weapons as possible.


    I had to focus. Override instincts hardwired into my brain.


    The gash on my forearm hurt to high heaven, like someone had poured boiling water on it. It burned deep, but even as the pain throbbed through it, the sensation was already beginning to fade, dulled by regeneration. My skin was already stitching itself back together, tissue mending with an unnatural speed.


    The cut on my hip? I barely even noticed it anymore. A faint discomfort lingered, the kind you get from a paper-cut that¡¯s starting to scab over. Nowhere near what a gash like that should feel like.


    I drew in a breath, exhaling it slowly, the air cool against my lungs. Not that I needed to breathe¡ªhell, I wasn¡¯t tired at all¡ªbut it helped steady the storm of frustration gnawing at me.


    ¡°You¡¯re not human anymore¡±, I reminded myself, ¡°so stop fighting like you are¡±.


    These creatures were nothing but beasts with scrap iron in their hands, and whatever they threw at me¡ªwhatever they could dish out¡ªI could heal it. All of it.


    I clenched my jaw, mental gears grinding as I stared into the widening kill-circle.


    ¡°This IS nothing more than a back-alley brawl for me¡±.


    It was time to put up or shut up.


    As soon as I heard the bowstring tighten, I went into a boxer¡¯s guard, hatchet in my right hand, improvised dagger in my left, head squeezed as low between my shoulders as I could.


    The twang of a loosed arrow was like a racer¡¯s bullhorn and I snapped into motion, charging the spear wielder, guard up and stance low, deliberately ignoring the projectile. All my focus was on one singular point. A target I had mentally painted on the spear-wielder¡¯s face.


    It struck my shoulder with a dull thunk, the stone tip scraping against the thick fabric of my jacket, a shallow bite into my flesh. It didn¡¯t even slow me. A nuisance, nothing more¡ªa prickling annoyance, like a fly buzzing around your ear.


    Not nearly enough to slow my headlong charge.


    5 yards.


    The goblin shrieked and stumbled back in a panic.


    3 yards.


    The monster thrust out with its spear, wrought iron tip aiming for my chest.


    2 yards.


    Time seemed to distend and expand. Every cell in my body screamed for me to stop, jump to the side, avoid the speartip.


    It seemed so close.


    It was so close.


    If I didn¡¯t stop I¡¯d run myself through it¡­


    I ground my teeth against the fear and turned my last step into a lunge, lashing out with my hatchet at the same time. The blade struck the iron speartip, pushing it to the side in a shower of sparks.


    0 yards.


    I rammed into the goblin like an angry bull, my weight, speed and strength taking the monster off its feet and bludgeoning it into a tree trunk. Brittle bones cracked, folding around my shoulder as I crushed the beast into bark.


    A half-step backpedal and a thrust was all it took for my spear-dagger to bury itself into the goblin¡¯s stomach. It barely had time to scream before I split its skull open with my hatchet.


    There was no time to savor the win.


    From the point I had charged to this moment, two maybe three seconds had passed. The suddenness of my attack had been the only thing keeping the other goblins away, but they had recovered from their stupor and I could already hear them charging behind me.


    With less effort than I thought I would have needed, I spun, levering the corpse one armed and launching it into the group behind me. The 70 pound projectile slammed into the leading goblin, knocking him prone, and stopping the other two in their tracks, eyes wide with fear and hesitation.


    An opening.


    A chance.


    The brief pause was all I needed. Fingers closing around the discarded spear¡¯s shaft, I surged forward, windmilling it through the air in wide, brutal arcs, the sharpened tip cutting a vicious path through the space between us.


    Three goblins.


    The dagger-wielder, prone and dazed on the ground, trapped under the corpse¡¯s weight, and two more, hamstrung by hesitation.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    The first goblin jumped back, narrowly dodging my spear¡¯s arc, crashing to the ground as it scrambled away. The second didn¡¯t react fast enough. My spear hit the side of its head with a solid thud, and the goblin spun, disoriented, staggering, the side of its skull leaking red.


    Primitive and rudimentary though it was, the spear was still a length of oak capped with an iron weight. Add my own abnormal strength to it and it was as much a bludgeoning tool as it was a lance.


    Not enough to outright kill the monster, but by the sound alone I could tell it had crushed the cartilage in his ear if not outright fractured its skull.


    With the area cleared, I drove the heel of my boot into the fallen spear-wielder¡¯s back, pinning the one underneath it down. Bulging, yellow eyes went wide and it let out a shrill, panicked scream.


    Cut short, as my hatchet split its face open.


    Two down. Two to go.


    With a guttural growl, I tore my hatchet out in a shower of blood and splintered teeth, and barrelled into the dazed one. Blood oozed from where I had struck it with the side of my spear and it was wobbling like a drunkard. The glancing blow must have done more damage than I¡¯d thought. It swiped at the air clumsily, depth perception completely shot and tried to back away, tripping on its own feet. Before it even had time to try and get up I plunged the spear into its gut, running the monster through.


    It bellowed out and grabbed for me, tenacious and vicious like a cornered rat, tangling gnarly, deceptively strong fingers into the skin of my face, slashing with its notched cleaver.


    It wasn¡¯t dead. Not yet.


    But I didn¡¯t even try to back away this time.


    With every passing second it was becoming easier to override my instincts and hesitation.


    Instead, I plunged further into his guard, its forearm harmlessly slapping against my shoulder, balance crumbling against my weight as we both sprawled onto the ground. So close, I could see the cavity marked, yellow slabs of teeth, smell its putrid breath and hear the gurgling of blood flooding its lungs.


    Then I slammed my forehead into the monster¡¯s face, folding bone and cartilage like dry twigs.


    It went limp.


    I jumped off it and pivoted, pulling the spear in a spray of gore, just in time to face the last dagger-wielder. The little beast was already in the air, jumping toward me, arm cocked for an overhead stab. Credit given where it¡¯s due, the bastard had tried to use its comrade¡¯s death as a way to get the drop on me.


    Again instinct reared its ugly head, demanding I dodge or backpedal. But it was easier now. To ignore it. To deny it. I lashed out, open hand reaching for the dagger¡¯s tip.


    Pain shot through me, burning and sharp as the blade pierced my hand and came out the other side, hilt slapping into my open palm. I roared and cussed but didn¡¯t retreat, closing my fingers around the hilt, digging them into the goblin¡¯s fist, feeling bones pop and give way under my grip.


    Standing to my full height, holding the struggling beast off the ground, I snarled at the goblin, giving voice to the adrenaline high roiling inside. It shrieked, kicked and punched, every blow weightless and ineffective, as if thrown by a toddler.


    Mine was anything but.


    With a sharp stab, I dug the spear-dagger in between his ribs and pushed, until the tip burst out of his back.


    ¡°Twang¡±


    A jolt shot through my side as the stone-tipped arrow struck.


    Damn it, I¡¯d been too focused on the goblins on the ground, forgetting the archer lurking in the trees. It tore through my jacket and sank deep, embedding in in my flesh. I tore it out with a cuss and rounded towards the tree. In five lunging steps I was already at the trunk, pulling myself atop the old oak.


    *Twang*


    Another bowstring thrum, another arrow loosed, glancing harmlessly against a branch. In the oak¡¯s thick crown, range was a disadvantage, and the goblin was too sloppy a shot to make use of it.


    *Twang. Twang*


    Two more shots skidded off the trunk by the time I closed in on the top branches, climbing the tree with an ease and speed that would have been more fitting for a mountain climber half my weight, fingers piercing into the bark.


    Wait¡­ piercing?


    I stopped mid-climb, barely able to notice the grotesque facsimiles of claws my hands had become.


    They weren¡¯t like this a minute ago¡­


    *Thunk*


    Another arrow almost took me in the eye, only the goblin¡¯s panicked haste saving me, as it flew a few inches too far right and slammed, quivering into a branch.


    Dammit. Now wasn¡¯t the time to consider my body¡¯s changes. I was still in the middle of a fight.


    With a monumental heave I launched myself up the trunk, hatchet lodged between my teeth, crawling up like some aberrant parody of a spider in human form.


    By the time my boot struck the topmost branch, the bug-eyed goblin was desperately trying to knock another arrow.


    We locked eyes. Just for a moment. Long enough for me to see it¡ª the same raw, desperate desire to survive burning in its beady, yellow eyes, mirroring my own.


    Then, I brought the hatchet down. Hard.


    Wood groaned under the force, splintering as the goblin¡¯s scream echoed through the air, long and shrill. It snapped, and the creature plummeted, twisting and flailing, crashing to the ground in a ragged heap thirty feet below. Not high enough to kill it but considering the way it was writing on the ground, holding a foot bent the wrong way, more than enough to break its leg.


    I took my time descending the tree, levering myself slowly, unsurprised by the fact that they were now no longer clawed, but normal human hands. The reality that I knew far too little about my vampiric body, kept impressing itself onto me.


    The goblin whimpered and wailed, limping and trying desperately to distance itself from me, lame leg trailing behind it. It looked pitiful. So small. So desperate to live.


    For a moment I almost felt sorry for it.


    Then it spun on its back and threw a dagger at my face. It was a desperate throw, clumsy, telegraphed and easy to dodge, but it was sudden enough that it clipped my shoulder.


    Rage, red and raw, covered my sight like a blanket and I ran towards the prone monster, slamming a massive kick at the side of its head. Cartilage ruptured, bones shattered and vertebrae splintered from the strike.


    The monster went limp, neck broken. Along with three of my toes.


    ¡°Ah, sonova¡­!¡± I cussed aloud, limping.


    What¡¯d come over me?


    I was usually a lot less prone to glorified temper tantrums like this. Certainly a lot more in control of my own anger that I¡¯d know better than to football kick a skull while wearing sneakers.


    Was this also a part of the changes? Throughout the fight I had snarled and growled like a damn animal, but never truly lost control. But I¡¯d been angry. Either at my own amateurish behavior or at the goblins.


    I needed to be better. I needed to make sure I kept my cool. Anger is only an advantage in fiction and comics. In real life, all it does is make you sloppy. Gets you killed.


    Grimacing, I limped back to the bodies. Already, the hairline fractures were mending, the cuts and bruises starting to fade, but I knew instinctively that blood would speed the process.


    More than that, I was feeling a little thirsty.


    Nowhere near as bad as the first time, though enough to warrant attention. At least I had learned something new. The more I exerted myself, the more my blood-hunger progressed. It was like fuel. Like needing carbs after a hard day at the construction site.


    I drank my fill, their lukewarm blood spilling down my throat in gluttonous gulps, delighting in the sweet ambrosia like the addicts I¡¯d seen growing up, slumped against walls, eyes akimbo and needles in their forearms. My earlier anger and questions dissipated like dust and, for as long as that red nectar cascaded down my throat, all was right with the world.


    An all too temporary feeling. As soon as I drained one, the thirst would come again, like a cold traveling up my spine, even though my stomach was bloated with it. And I would immediately reach out for the next corpse. Until there was no more next to be had.


    An addiction. This was definitely an addiction and nothing less. It wasn¡¯t just a need for blood. It was a ¡°want¡±.


    As soon as I finished drinking, I took the hatchet to the goblins chests, removing the odd, pulsing stones lodged in their sternums, and squirreling them away in my makeshift pouch.


    It was time to leave. Dawn would be fast approaching.

 Chapter 9

    Through the thick canopy of leaves, bathed in the pale light of the moon, the sloping roofs of the old school building came into view. Almost there.


    But something didn¡¯t sit right.


    There was a nagging feeling at the back of my mind. I still wasn¡¯t sure what my body was truly capable of, and in a world like this, hesitation could cost you everything. I couldn¡¯t afford to take chances. No, I couldn¡¯t keep guessing. I needed to push myself, test the limits, and find out just what I was really capable of.


    And to do that, I¡¯d need a safer spot. A truly deserted spot. Even more so than the old building.


    Instead of going directly towards the school¡¯s old wing, I went off the beaten path, circling behind it.


    Annexed to the old wing, there was the closed gym and covered basketball court. Just like the building proper, the school used it as a storage shed for phys-ed, so more likely than not, I was bound to find things there that¡¯d help me test out my new abilities.


    ¡°Lucky¡± I whispered, reaching for the metal double doors.


    A thick steel chain looped around the large handles, complete with a heavy padlock and despite my newfound strength, I doubted I could snap it or brute force my way through the green-paint flecked iron.


    Then again, I didn¡¯t much want to, either.


    This intact chain could only mean that the inside of the gym was most likely safe. A good place to test my capabilities without being disturbed.


    I looked up at the windows standing twenty feet up above.


    That was the only option.


    ¡°Well, no time like the present¡± I muttered.


    Time for the first experiment.


    During the goblin ambush I had climbed the tree by instinct alone, too stuck into the flow of combat to properly pay attention to my own actions. But even hyper-focused on the fight though I had been, I knew I had felt¡­ something. This time I had to take everything step by step. Understand exactly what this vampiric body could do. I replaced the hatchet into my belt and held my hands in front of me, fingers spread, trying to focus on them.


    ¡°Inhale. Exhale. Not that you need to, but do it anyway. And focus.¡±


    The action was pointless, I knew that¡ªbreathing didn¡¯t do a damn thing for me now, since I didn¡¯t need air anymore. But still, it helped bring a measure of calm. I closed my eyes and let the rhythm take over, drawing in a lungful and exhaling slowly.


    At first, it was subtle, a quiet shift. A small inkling of realization, tapping at the edge of my mind. But with every breath, I became more aware¡ªaware of my fingers, of the way each bone felt beneath my skin. I could feel the strength in them, every muscle tightening as I flexed my hands, the fibers contracting and loosening with every motion, even the solidity of my nails. And then, something else. A strange sensation, like my nails weren''t fully extended. As if a part of them was still tucked beneath the skin, waiting. Unsheathed.


    I focused on the sensation and flexed my fingers again, pushing the movement as far toward the tips as I could.


    Something stirred¡ªdeep inside me. It started low, in my stomach, then rose. Up. Into my chest. Into my¡­heart?


    My heart beat.


    Once.


    A spasm of motion. Like a piston hammering.


    I felt it, heard it, and for a moment, my concentration almost shattered.


    But there was no need for me to concentrate anymore. Like a damn bursting open, it spread and flowed, suffusing my every cell, fiber and pore. Power. Raw power. Concentrating in my hands.


    A warmth spread over them, like the heat of a blanket, and I opened my eyes. Horrified fascination gripped me as I watched my hands begin to change, to warp, like wax melting against flame.


    It was blood.


    The something that had shot through my body was the blood I had taken from the goblins, and now a portion of it was converging into my hands, warping and transforming them with terrifying speed.


    The muscles in my fingers became engorged and bloated as blood poured into them. My nails extended three times their size, blackening, thickening, sharpening at the tips and curling like talons. My knuckles and finger joints swelled, blood curling around them, just beneath the skin, solidifying like plating. Even the skin of my hands became thicker, more porous, almost like cured leather.


    It was gruesome, disgusting and supremely beautiful, all at once.


    The whole process had lasted no more than a second, and yet I couldn¡¯t move, frozen in place, staring at these hands that were now so completely alien to what I was used to.


    They looked like the hands of a predatory beast.


    ¡°Yuck!!!¡± I whispered before I could stop myself and then chuckled.


    Media and pop-culture portrayed vampires as sexy monsters, but this was the furthest thing from sexy. Morbid and grotesque were better words to describe it. Either that or body horror.  Still, it made a lot of sense when I thought about it.


    Vampires in shows and movies had claws, but usually it was just the nails extending a little bit. There was little logic to it. How could thin nails slash through flesh or wood and not break, or tear out from their sockets. Hell, how could one do that without having the joints in their fingers just snap? The answer was simple.


    ¡°Explain it away with magic¡±


    What was happening to my hands was a lot more anatomical.


    Easier to rationalize.


    Extending my claws didn¡¯t just mean they popped out like a cat¡¯s. The entire anatomical structure of my hands was changing to make them usable.


    And blood was the fuel for it.


    So¡­ still magic? And a little bit of anatomy? And physics?


    I shook my head and looked towards the window. Good enough of an explanation for me.


    I''d gotten some answers, better not ruin the moment with even more questions.


    It was on to the next experiment.


    I moved close to the wall, crouched low, and jumped. The world around me blurred in an instant, the bricks flashing past so fast I almost forgot to sink my claws into the surface. My talons sank deep into the brick, not quite slicing through it with the ease of a knife through butter, but enough to hold me latched onto the surface.


    "Holy shit¡­" The words escaped before I could stop them, as I looked down.


    It wasn¡¯t just that I was holding myself up against the wall, my almost 200 pound bulk supported by nothing but my arms and claws¡ªit was that I¡¯d jumped twice my own height in one go.


    In a single bound, I¡¯d cleared over ten feet, more than half the height to the windows above.


    This had to be some sort of record.


    And this had been without¡­


    The idea quickly snapped into my mind and I pushed off the wall, landing lightly on the grass below, my body absorbing the impact with feline grace. I could¡¯ve climbed the rest of the way, I knew that for a fact. My strength was more than enough.


    But I had to test this idea out first. Ten feet was my baseline. But what if I did the same thing I had with my hands? What if the blood I had taken could empower more than just my claws?


    I crouched again, settling into position, and repeated the breathing exercise, letting the rhythm center me.


    This time, I didn¡¯t leap.


    I held the stance, focusing, stretching my perception out like I had before.


    And it came again. Easier than the first time. Like drawing a deep breath, or exercising a muscle I hadn¡¯t been aware of before. The strength in my bones, the tautness of my muscles, the deep pull of my core and legs, like a spring coiling. The elasticity in my ligaments, the weight on my joints¡ªall became sharp, clear. I could feel the blood pooling in my gut, rising, flowing into my chest. Into my heart.


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    And my heart beat.


    Once.


    A pulse of force, strong and hard like a pressure valve finally released, sending all that accumulated blood, cascading, warmth and power flowing through my veins.


    And into my legs.


    The change hit me hard, and it was different¡ªyet no less impressive. My baggy jeans suddenly felt like they¡¯d become those slim-fit travesties, as my lega swelled, bulging a third bigger than before, pumped full of blood and power, muscles hard like slabs of granite.


    I launched myself off the ground with everything I had.


    Not a jump. A launch.


    This time I was ready for it. Seeing the brickwork become a blur, feeling the air push against my shoulders, the magnitude of my leap carrying me higher, faster. When my upward momentum slowed and finally halted, I slammed my clawed hands down and hung there.


    Over twenty feet high, against the wall, I¡¯d actually overshot the windows by a good three feet. All in one leap.


    ¡°Blood Buff!¡± I blurted out laughing, my mind, for whatever reason, reminding me of a specific mechanic in an old Vampire game I had really enjoyed.


    ¡°It¡¯s a Blood Buff!¡±


    Perching a foot onto the windowsill and a claw into the brickwork, I slammed my elbow into the glass, shattering it and creating enough of an opening to unlatch it.


    The gymnasium building was blissfully empty on the inside, just like I¡¯d thought it¡¯d be. Dust caked most surfaces, save a small portion near the door itself where the faculty brought and took supplies when needed. There were weights, balls, the basketball field, more than a few tumbling mattresses and various other phys-ed knicknacks.


    Grateful for my improved sight that could cut through the interior¡¯s pitch black like it was day, I jumped from the window, boots slapping against the yellow painted parquet.


    This would do.


    This would do, perfectly.


    I quickly took off my jacket and folded it onto one of the benches,ready to begin my testing in earnest.


    A jolt through my innards made me stop, senses alert, arms taut and ready to lash out.


    But no threat came. No rotblood or goblin, I was still very much alone in the building.


    The jolt came again, less intense this time, and I recognized it for what it was.


    I was hungry. Or, thirsty, rather.


    ¡°The fucking Blood Buff¡± I snarled and cussed myself for a fool. Of course something that gave me such an advantage would require ¡°fuel¡±.


    The Blood Buff in my legs had already dispersed and returned to normal after that explosive, twenty foot jump. But my hands were still malformed, claws still talon-like. I breathed in, focusing again, picturing nails instead of talons, skin instead of hide and the flesh of hands flowed and swiftly returned to normal.


    I felt as a particularly large portion of the blood used to transform them actually flowed back into my gut¡­ blood pool?... Blood Pool.


    So it wasn¡¯t this that had eaten through my blood. Then, it had to be the empowerment I¡®d used on my legs. Made sense.


    There was a lot more muscle there, much more mass needing to be ¡°overfed¡± in order to be empowered. And all that blood solidifying into plating underneath the skin of my hands could most likely be liquefied again and returned to my Blood Pool.


    For my claws it had been like flexing a muscle I was not used to using, adding something that could in part be recuperated. But for my legs it was like ¡°overclocking¡± and, just like burning calories for mortals, it had taken its toll in blood.


    Still, silver lining, I was only slightly hungry. Not starving, not even close to that.


    I made a mental note to try and figure out my base blood consumption and use the ¡°Blood Buff¡± as sparingly as possible. Or rather, not at all, until I figured out exactly how much blood I went through as a default.


    Dammit, in an RPG I¡¯d have a blood counter, tooltips that¡¯d tell me the cost of something like the Blood Buff.


    No such luck though.


    I sighed and shook my arms and legs, limbering up.


    No use fretting over spilled milk¡­or consumed blood¡­I still had tests to run.


    Just had to be more careful.


    An hour later, sitting on one of the benches, trying to make sense of this new reality, in one hand holding a piece of discarded chalk, in the other, my phone, screen lit up with the offline "Trivia Encyclopedia" bloatware app.


    Over and over again, I compared the results I had scribbled on the wall with the app''s information, running the numbers, mind reeling, struggling to accept what I had just discovered about my vampiric body.


    Deadlift : 595 Pounds. 270 Kilos. I had stacked the dusty weight plates one on top of another until I reached the maximum I could lift off the ground and hold for at least five seconds. Ten twenty kilo plates and seven ten kilo plates.


    By comparison, the world record for Atlas Stone was 661 Pounds. 300 Kilos.


    Hundred meter dash : 8.1 seconds, timed on my phone¡¯s stopwatch. World record was 9.83 seconds.


    Standing Jump : Over 10 feet. 3 meters. Current record, 5 foot 7 inches. 1.7 meters.


    Both measured not at head height, but bottom of the feet.


    I set both the chalk and the phone down. All these tests I¡¯d done over and over again, to make sure it wasn¡¯t a fluke. All of them had been baseline, without activating the Blood Buff. And considering the jump I had done for the window with the buff in play, that meant that I could hypothetically double all these numbers.


    Even my bones seemed to have gotten stronger. The three thick wooden benches I had snapped with just my fists were testament to that. This was the kind of thing you¡¯d expect from lifelong martial arts practitioners, not¡­ some guy.


    Above all, I¡¯d been in two fights with goblins and done a full hour of training to the absolute top of my physical limits since waking up.


    By all reason, I should have been exhausted, but wasn¡¯t even slightly tired. Safe to say, there was nothing human about me anymore, especially my stamina.


    As a rough baseline I was slightly faster and more dexterous than an athlete, as physically capable as a professional strongman and could put my fist through 10 inches of solid hardwood like it was a breeze. Moreover, I could heal mortal wounds and broken bones in a matter of hours, probably even faster if I were to use my blood pool.


    And all this wasn¡¯t even taking in consideration my heightened senses or my virtually limitless stamina.


    This was good.


    More than good, considering what the world had most likely become.


    But one glaring situation remained. I lacked experience. Hand-to-hand was one thing, and even there I was a rank amateur at best, but my experience was lacking when it came to using weapons, melee or ranged.


    A sigh escaped through my teeth.


    Nothing I could do about this.


    Other than training, the only way to gain said experience was to continue putting myself in life-or-death situations. And with training options being limited by the small matter of the apocalypse, life-or-death situations were the only route to take.


    ¡°Is of no matter¡± I murmured, parroting Mother Superior¡¯s motto. The old nun was the Gibraltar stone of our old orphanage. Unshakable. Wonder if she¡¯d survived.


    Probably. The woman was like a granite slab in sheer bloody minded tenacity.


    I turned and glanced at the night¡¯s sky through the window. The starry black was beginning to give ways to hues of blue.


    Dawn was coming.


    ¡°One last test remaining¡± I mumbled and rose from the bench.

 Chapter 10

    It took hours for me to find the courage to even reach for the handle of that damn supply closet. Small and windowless, the air inside of a damp, stagnant quality that seemed to cling to the skin. Yet it was nonetheless also quiet and secure.


    There was certainty in the dark. A sense of quiet security that the world beyond it lacked. Especially with daylight shining just beyond the door.


    Who could blame me, though?


    All the stories, all the myths and legends, painted vampires as creatures of the night¡ªmonsters who would either burst into flames or suffer horribly the moment the sun touched their skin. That¡¯s how it was supposed to be, how everyone knew it was.


    At least, that¡¯s what the tales always said.


    I took a deep breath, forcing my nerves to settle, and braced myself.


    And just past this door? A potential pyre.


    But I had to know.


    Sooner or later, the possibility would come that I¡¯d have to do something during daylight. So I had to know how it would affect me. If it even did.


    Still, I wasn¡¯t about to rush headlong. It was going to get done with caution. Carefully.


    I didn¡¯t open the door all the way¡ªjust cracked it, inch by slow inch, pressing myself into the wood as light peeked through the crack, creeping in like a slow tide, a sliver of brightness.


    Had it always been this bright?


    I exhaled through clenched teeth, my hand reaching forward. Slowly, carefully, extending a finger and pushing it into the light. Nothing. No burning, no sizzling, no pain. I waited, counting heartbeats, before I pushed my whole hand into it.


    Still nothing.


    Curious now, I stepped forward, one foot, then the other. The light stretched across my body as I stood fully in the doorway, the full force of it spilling over me, filling the gymnasium with its harsh glow, filtering through dust-caked windows.


    No fire. No spontaneous combustion. But not normal either. At least, not fully.


    Light filled the room, glaring, blazing, almost blinding me, as if I was trying to stare directly at the sun, forcing me to squint against it. It was far too bright. Like someone had put up the bloom or lens flare too strong on a camera. More than that, it was warm. Downright suffocating.


    I checked my phone: 55¡ãF. Normal February temperature. But to me, it felt like a scalding summer day¡ªan easy 104 degrees, if not more, thick and heavy in the air, like mid-August in full force.


    Upside? I wasn¡¯t bursting into flames.


    Downside? Apparently daylight, aside from being borderline blinding, felt much warmer than it should.


    Still, a good tradeoff for not experiencing spontaneous immolation.


    I took a few more tentative steps forward, if only to make doubly sure I didn¡¯t suddenly find my skin begin to smoke. Still, no catastrophe happened and with each passing second I was growing more and more comfortable. The heat was certainly annoying, but I was no worse for wear, as spry and sure in my steps as during the night. Disconfort. Nothing more.


    That¡¯s when I made the mistake.


    The instant I stepped beneath the window I¡¯d broken, sunlight¡ªraw and unfiltered¡ªtouched my skin. And my legs buckled beneath me.


    I hit the floorboards hard, air blazing inside my lungs as I collapsed like a lifeless sack. My limbs went limp and useless, wet rags flopping bonelessly at my sides. Every part of me felt crushed, as though some unseen weight had suddenly pressed down on me, heavy and unyielding. Vertigo hit with the force of a hammer, twisting my vision into a dizzying blur, and a sharp rush of nausea rose in my throat, blood and bile fighting to escape.


    It was familiar, in a way. The same sensation I''d felt when heat stroke had crept up on me after a triple shift at the construction site. Weakness. Exhaustion. Skull pounding like it was about to split open.


    But this? A hundred times worse. A raw, primal pressure inside my head, a pain that gnawed and pulsed with a relentless, savage force.


    I groaned and shuddered, trying to get my arms or legs under me and move out of the unfiltered sunlight. Red, frothy spittle clung to my chin and my innards roiled and bubbled. It was no use. I couldn¡¯t put any strength in my limbs.


    Something wet and warm ran on my upper lip, the bridge of my nose and my temples. Horror filled me. Blood was gushing out from my nose, eyes and ears. The roiling sensation wasn¡¯t just a feeling. My blood, that black, tar-like ichor that flowed inside my veins, was quite literally boiling inside me.


    ¡°out. Out. OUT! OUT OF THE LIGHT!¡± my own voice screamed in the back of my head.


    It took ten long minutes of thrashing and writhing on the floor, body jerking with spasms I couldn¡¯t control. My shoulders, my knees, my hips¡ªhell, even my face¡ªscraped against the rough floor, each movement driven by the maddening thrum of pain pulsing through my skull. I shoved myself, inch by agonizing inch, away from the unforgiving sunlight, frenzied desperation carving my every move.


    Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I felt the first taste of strength return to my limbs, a trickle of relief in the torrent of agony.


    I pushed hard, rolling onto my side, shoving myself away from the light with all the force I could muster. Each movement was a battle, each inch gained a small victory and I didn¡¯t stop until I was as far from the broken window as I could manage, face and chest caked with my own blood.


    It was all I could do to lay there, splayed on my back, in a groaning heap. Bursting into flame would have probably been a kinder fate. The sun wasn¡¯t death for me. It was suffering. Incomparable suffering.


    It took a solid twenty minutes before the fog of agony finally lifted enough to be able to gather my thoughts and regain some strength. In that time, the questions came flooding back.


    Why the hell did unfiltered sunlight hit me like this? Ultraviolet radiation, maybe? But that didn¡¯t add up. From a physics standpoint, it couldn¡¯t be. Glass might block some UV, sure, but it would still be present. And ambient light¡ªthe kind that leaked in from every crack and corner¡ªcarried trace amounts. I think.


    I wasn¡¯t a genius, but I¡¯d paid attention in class to know the basics.


    So why was it only direct sunlight that had this effect?


    The question gnawed at me. What about shadows? If I stood in the shade of a tree, out of the full reach of the sun, would I still feel it? Or was it only the raw, unfiltered rays that could do this to me?


    This was clearly what the vampiress had referred to when she¡¯d said ¡°the weakening sun¡±. When we¡¯d fought on the pavement in the daylight, she¡¯d not been nearly as powerful as inside the nurse¡¯s office. And the fact that she¡¯d been able to fight in the sun at all, clearly meant that a vampire¡¯s age played a role in how much of an effect daylight had.


    At least, it was a safe assumption to make.


    The conclusion was simple. Direct sunlight wouldn¡¯t kill me. But it sure as hell would make me wish it did.


    I pushed myself to my feet, every movement slow and clumsy, still feeling the weight of the last few minutes hanging over me. It was like trying to walk after running a marathon, every muscle felt wound too tight around my insides.


    I stumbled back into the storage closet, hands still slightly trembling as I rifled through the shelves. It didn¡¯t take long to find what I was looking for¡ªtwo large, rough linen sheets. Thick, durable and sturdy, probably meant to cover the tumbling mattresses stacked in the corner. Their original purpose didn¡¯t matter now. I had a new one in mind.


    I spread the sheets out, one over the other, and stacked three 20-kilogram weight discs on top of them. Three minutes of fumbling with knots later, the makeshift flail was done. 60 kilos. More than a hundred pounds. It should be heavy enough to come in handier than my hatchet or spear-dagger and the linen durable enough that the fabric wouldn¡¯t tear apart the moment it was swung.


    Probably.


    It would be good for a few swings at the very least. Better than nothing.


    The tests were done and some answers gathered, for better or worse. A little clarity had seeped through the chaos, but not nearly enough to make me feel any safer. Either way, there was no more point in wasting time in the gym. Not like I was going to go anywhere with daylight outside, but there was still more I could explore and do.


    It was time to move¡ªtime to see what the back entrance, the one that connected the gym directly to the main school building, had to offer. I¡¯d scavenge what I could, get what I needed, and hunker down until nightfall.


    Then, I¡¯d be gone. Fast.


    Maybe even find some survivors along the way? Or maybe not. Preferably not. Considering my new ¡°dietary needs¡±.


    I shook the thought off and made my way to the gym¡¯s back door. No sense in worrying about what I¡¯d do if I ran into others. I¡¯d deal with that when it came, if it came to it.


    For now, focus on what I could take and use to keep moving.


    Keep it simple. One step at a time. As always.


    *SNAP*


    The plywood door gave way under my shoulder like it was cardboard, lock still attached and hanging by its socket precariously.


    To be fair, any average person could¡¯ve taken this flimsy thing down with ease. It wasn¡¯t the smartest move, though¡ªthe noise would draw attention¡ªbut I wasn¡¯t exactly a master of locks.


    Guess I should add that to my list of things to learn. A book on lockpicking might not be a bad idea.


    I shoved the door open the rest of the way and eased my head into the darkened expanse of the old school¡¯s grand hall, senses straining for any sign that my little break-in hadn¡¯t gone unnoticed.


    Not a peep. The only thing that hit me was the musty scent of aged wood, thick with the weight of time, and a haze of dust that seemed to cling to everything in sight.


    The building interior itself was, or rather had been, grandiose back in its heyday. Built in the British style of a boarding school by some Colonel or another, it¡¯d been one of the first private schools built outside of Austin, Texas.


    After getting seized by the government it was repurposed into a public school and eventually abandoned about a decade ago in favor of a modern building when the costs of keeping it up to fire code and its small size became too much to justify.


    Still, despite the age, it was no less impressive. The spacious entrance hall featured a large, central staircase that rose to the classroom floors, flanked by intricately designed mahogany double doors leading to the teacher¡¯s lounge on the left and the mess hall to the right.


    Despite being abandoned, it was set deep in the campus hill and used often enough for storage that it had avoided being cleaned out by looters or squatters. All the mahogany and rosewood just laying about in old furniture and parquet could fetch a pretty penny.


    Well. Could have. If the world hadn¡¯t gone tits up.


    *THUNK*


    My head snapped toward the sound, every nerve alight and my makeshift flail gripped tight, ready to swing at whatever came next. The massive entrance doors creaked open just enough to let the wind slip through, then slammed shut with a sharp THUNK, the air howling as it twisted and tugged at the wood.


    My shoulders sagged for a moment. Just the wind¡­.


    Wait. The wind?


    The double doors had always been locked tight, chained up like the ones at the gym. Only faculty had the keys.


    But as I took a second look, something was off. The chain that had once held the door firm was hanging loose from one of the handles, thick steel links bent and broken, twisted like rubber. Someone¡ªor something¡ªhad gotten past that lock. And not by using a key.


    Suddenly, the quiet and gloom of the building no longer felt as comforting. Every shadow hid something. Every quiet second, nothing more than the preamble to a snarl or growl. I stood there frozen like a statue, for minutes on end, waiting for something, anything.


    Nothing.


    No aberrations jumped from the dark, no great bellow of bestial rage broke the silence. Just the quiet of an abandoned building, occasionally punctuated by the slam of the door and the wind behind it. What did, however, slowly dawn on me, was the smell.


    It had been hidden. Masked by dust, mildew and stale air. But once I caught it, I couldn¡¯t shake its coppery tang out.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Blood.


    I could smell the faint but unmistakable aroma of stale, cold, coagulating blood.


    The musty scent seemed to trigger something in me, sharpening my senses instantly. My mind locked into a heightened awareness, picking up every detail I had missed before.


    The parquet floor, worn and aged, covered in a blanket of dust, save a few spots where it was thinner, almost absent, as if something had recently disturbed it¡ªsmudges of disturbed cleanliness. A boot, maybe? A footprint, faint but unmistakable, leading from the entryway toward the mess hall.


    I stepped closer, my gaze drawn to the knob. It was bent, misshapen, grabbed and turned by someone with too much strength and not enough care. And it was slightly ajar.


    There was something inside the building with me.


    I hissed softly through my teeth and gingerly eased my flail onto the floor, slowly taking off my jacket, sneakers, and anything else that would create unnecessary noise when moving.


    The fact that whatever it was had not just burst into the gym while I tested my capabilities or groaned under the sun meant it was either asleep or was deep enough into the school building so as not to hear me.


    Either that or it was actively biding its time, letting me come to it.


    An ambush predator.


    I tried not to think about that option. For now, I was going to carry on assuming I still had the element of surprise and roll the dice.


    Sneaking to the mess hall took longer than I cared to admit. I tried to move as quietly as possible, shifting my weight to the balls of my heels, but still, the floorboards betrayed me. Each time my foot landed wrong, a loud creak cut through the stillness.


    Whenever it happened, I would stop. My eyes shut tight, listening, waiting for any sound that might tell me I¡¯d been heard.


    For better or worse, nothing came of it. It was just me and the quiet.


    The acrid, coppery stench of stale blood wafting from the mess hall was all I needed to tell that this was the lair of whatever was inside the building with me.


    Opening the door was a process in itself¡ªgetting past the rusted, squeaky hinges without them screeching loud enough to wake the dead took more focus, and patience, than I liked. It was almost as bad as trying to cross the minefield of creaky floorboards that lay between me and whatever lay ahead. By the time I was halfway through the cramp corridor connecting the entrance hall to the mess rooms, I was seriously considering throwing caution to the wind and calling out just to get whatever was waiting out in the dark out in the open.


    At least whatever it was couldn¡¯t be worse than the monsters my imagination was conjuring up during this drawn-out, painfully slow task. At least I could see what I¡¯d have to fight and do something.


    Sneaking, it seemed, was not my strong suit.


    I hated uncertainty, hated the waiting, the unknown.


    Then, from somewhere within the mess hall, a noise. Barely audible, but enough to cut through the tension and pull me back to the present.


    Was that¡­ snoring?


    I waited there for a few moments more, trying to focus on the noise. At first it almost sounded like a rumble, too deep to be a snore, but the more I listened and picked up on how rhythmic it was, the more certain I became.


    It was definitely snoring.


    Crossing the thirty foot long corridor was a much faster process on account of its linoleum floor. Mahogany wall travertine apparently had great soundproofing capabilities. What had been barely audible at the back end of the corridor, was full-volume at the front. And it was loud.


    I poked my head slowly around the corner and nearly stuttered.


    In the heart of the mess hall, two massive figures lay sprawled out in deep sleep, their snoring echoing through the silence like a low rumble. They were a grotesque sight¡ªimmense bodies draped in hide armor that barely managed to cover the rolls of bloated fat beneath.


    One of them rested on a bear pelt, the other slumped against some kind of shapeless mound. But it was the second figure that caught my attention. A strange, unsettling detail- the creature had the head of a pig.


    The thought struck me like a jolt. Pig-men¡­Orcs? That was a term I''d seen tossed around in those cheap, no-frills JRPGs I liked to lose myself in.


    Despite the similarities, to call these creature orcs was a bit of a stretch. The similarities were there, just like the little green monsters I called Goblins, but it was¡­ off.


    There was no fantasy here. None of the storied esoteric or exotic of fantasy creatures brought to life from books or games. These were Orcs.


    As imagined by a demeted psychopath locked in the grip of a fever dream.


    As a grotesque distortion of both man and pig, a nightmarish melding of two creatures that should never have shared space. Their bodies were hulking, bloated in all the wrong places, with sagging rolls of flesh that oozed beneath crude armor, as though the skin itself was straining against the weight of their own corpulent forms. The shoulders were wide, too wide, bulging with muscle in a way that felt unnatural, like something stitched together from mismatched parts. Their bodies were cacophonies of muscle and fat, thick legs that seemed to bulge unnaturally, ending in feet that splayed out with pig-like hooves, calloused and cracked from years of heavy use.


    Aberrations. Abominations.


    The head was the most disturbing feature. A face¡ªif you could call it such¡ªthat was a twisted mockery of human and boar features, broad, flat snout twitching and pulsing with every heavy breath, nostrils flaring like twin black holes. Thick, gore and gristle-covered lips pulled back in a perpetual sneer, peeled over and disfigured by tusks that jutted out from either side of its mouth, yellow and jagged like the chipped teeth of a beast that had been gnawing on bones for too long.


    This was no noble beast or brutish warrior¡ªit was a mockery of nature, a creature born of some twisted mind''s fevered imagination, a grotesque parody of what it meant to be human, to be animal, to be alive.


    I squinted my eyes, clenching my teeth against the urge to dry heave, trying to discern what the mound behind the sleeping creatures was. My eyesight may have improved by leaps and bounds, but the entire gory ensemble was still a good 50 feet away and the mound stood directly against the grime-painted windows, making what little light was peering through, damn near blinding to my hyper-sensitive eyes.


    Still I could make out colors, blues and purples and a lot of red. Something almost like¡­tree branches sticking out from the top?


    And the stench of it all.. Smelled like an abattoir left to bake in mid-summer sun. All acrid blood, rot and excretia¡­


    Realization dawned on me like a slap in the face and I nearly recoiled in sheer disgust.


    The things sticking out, they weren¡¯t branches, but human arms, gnawed on and ripped into, fingers and entire chunks of flesh outright missing. That small mound¡­ students and teachers¡­ it was a larder made entirely out of human corpses.


    I clenched my teeth tight to prevent myself from cursing and gripped my improvised flail tighter.


    This was bad.


    If these orcs were similar to fantasy and pop-culture, they¡¯d be much stronger than a human. Which, considering the sheer size and bulk of them, was a safe assumption to make. Vampirism had improved my body to the absolute pinnacle of human physicality, but if these orcs were as strong as their frames hinted at, fighting two at the same time would be idiotic.


    In gaming terms it would be like aggro-ing two mobs with skulls instead of level indicators.


    The rotbloods, goblins and the vampiress had been situations foisted on me. They had been do or die, no third option.


    This?


    This was just looking for trouble.


    ¡°Nope. No, thank you.¡± I thought.


    Combat was out of the question. That was the sort of nonsense heroes did in works in fiction. And I hadn¡¯t lived my life like that. When you grow up the way I had, you either learn quickly how to steer clear of trouble and stay out of sight, or you end up as a corpse in a ditch. Pick your battles and keep your head down.


    Don¡¯t go making your business what ain¡¯t yours.


    Simple mottos to live by.


    Well¡­simple in theory. Sometimes trouble finds you whether you like it or not. The situation with Andreas was the perfect example of that.


    But, all in all, despite certain hiccups along the way, I¡¯d walked that invisible, unnoticeable line quite well before all this. Vampire or human, I had no intention to try and fix what wasn¡¯t broken.


    And I¡¯d already fucked around and found out when I¡¯d ignored this tried and true habit. Such as playing the hero and ¡°saving¡± a screaming girl who¡¯d turned out to be a centuries-old vampiress.


    All this shot through my head as I began to retreat back the way I came. A plan had already formed. I¡¯d lay low in the gym¡¯s supply closet until nightfall and then haul ass somewhere else.


    Not two steps within my retreat that I seized up and toppled to one knee.


    Something was wrong.


    EVERYTHING was wrong.


    My entire body stung and itched as if it had been submerged in acid. Every muscle ached and went painfully taut. My mouth suddenly felt too small as my teeth elongated and sharpened. Drumming, throbbing pressure wracked through my skull, like an adrenaline high but so much stronger, and, without even realizing it, I turned my head towards the mess hall.


    Just like when the rotbloods had torn the goblins whose blood was rightfully mine, raw, red rage covered my mind like a crimson sheet.


    The audacity.


    The temerity.


    The sheer balls on these orcs to occupy and sleep in a territory that I had decreed was mine.


    I wanted to carve them. Rip and tear them into red ribbons.


    Not just wanted to. Needed to.


    They had to remember that they were prey and I was the predator.


    An example had to be made.


    It was the sheer absurdity of the thoughts gnawing at the edges of my mind that kept me rooted in place, preventing me from charging into the mess hall like some rabid ape and throwing myself into the fray. Somewhere deep in the recesses of my skull, beneath the tide of rage threatening to swallow me whole, I could feel a scream of disbelief clawing at my thoughts.


    What the hell was this?


    This wasn¡¯t me. This wasn¡¯t how I operated.


    I didn¡¯t lose control like this. I didn¡¯t have tantrums, didn¡¯t let my emotions burn away the thin thread of reason. And words like predator and prey¡ªthey didn¡¯t belong to me.


    The thoughts felt alien, a dark poison seeping into my mind, twisting it into something unrecognizable. I felt... wrong. My pulse raced, my teeth gritted so hard I feared they might crack, and yet all I could think was¡ªWhy would I fear my prey?


    My legs moved.


    ¡°Stop it, you idiot¡± in my mind I bellowed at myself.


    Another step.


    ¡°Stop it¡±


    No use.


    In the midst of a whirlpool of hate and spite, the speck of sanity that was myself, was drowning.


    My body was moving, simultaneously beyond my control and fully in my control. I both dreaded the idea of doing this¡­ and wanted nothing more than to do it.


    To fight.


    To kill.


    To prove myself the predator.


    Another step. Almost at the end of the corridor now, a hand pulling the rusted hatchet from my belt, froth and spittle edging my mouth, a low, deep growl thrumming out from my throat.


    ¡°If I¡¯m gonna fight these things, it won¡¯t be like a suicidal berserker dammit!¡± I bellowed in my mind, a last, desperate protest against the madness.


    The moment my thoughts shifted from flight to fight, the madness snapped back with a jarring suddenness, as if someone had thrown a switch.


    My muscles loosened, the tension draining from my limbs. The blood that had boiled in my veins cooled, and the red haze that clouded my mind evaporated like fog under the first touch of sunlight, coiling itself into a tight knot in the back of my skull. The shift was so abrupt that I nearly stumbled forward, caught in the aftermath, but I managed to steady myself just in time, instead of careening face-forward straight into the mess hall.


    I stood there for long seconds, utterly still, listening. The only sound was the heavy snoring of the orcs¡ªdeep, rhythmic, and undisturbed. I exhaled a breath I hadn¡¯t realized I¡¯d been holding, then slid down against the wall, burying my face in my hands.


    Of course.


    Of bloody damn course.


    Wide-eyed optimism had never been a fault of mine, but even I couldn¡¯t ignore the bitter irony of it all. I¡¯d been overly optimistic¡ªnaive, even¡ªin assuming that the red-hot fury I¡¯d woken up to was some kind of one-off, a product of thirst and nothing more.


    What the hell had I been thinking? If vampirism had twisted my body this much, it only made sense it would warp my mind too.


    ¡°But why now? Why not against the goblins or the rotbloods?¡±


    Again, questions with no answers. And unlike with my physical capabilities, there was no way to test this out.


    I was aware of it now. The red fury, that pressure, I could perceive it now, even ¡°dormant¡± as it was. It had been there since waking up like this. Since I¡¯d become a vampire. Coiled in the back of my mind, waiting, like a constant tension that would not dissipate, egging me on to do¡­ something.


    There was no getting out of this.


    I was going to have to fight.

 Chapter 11

    The tips of my toes probed the floorboards before slowly lowering my weight on it. Even so, the shallow creak still sounded far too loud to my ears.


    No more than three steps away from me, the orc sleeping on its side shifted to its back and resumed its loud snoring.


    I waited out the long moments, then resumed my advance.


    Even barefoot and without my lumberjack shirt on, my attempt to be completely silent had been an abject failure. The flooring was too old and there was no foot light enough to prevent all noise.


    So it had been a very time consuming and patience-straining effort to advance towards the orcs while keeping the element of surprise, matching my motions with their snores, masking the noise with the creatures'' own sounds, taking minute long  stops whenever either monster shifted or moved in their sleep.


    It was aggravating.


    Books always wrote rogues and assassins like these dark elites that moved like shadows and struck from the dark, but they never made mention just how tedious the act of snaking was. Or how the tension would build up throughout the process, goading you into sloppiness, demanding that you just start the fight already.


    I took the final three steps and stood over the prone orc.


    The stench hit me like a physical blow¡ªsweat, blood, and the unmistakable stench of rot, thick and oppressive, clung to the air. The corpulent beast lay on its back, utterly oblivious to my presence. One massive arm¡ªmore like a swollen tree trunk than anything human¡ªhanging loosely across its bloated stomach, swelling in the rhythm of its heavy breathing. Its barrel chest heaved with the slow, uneven rise and fall of sleep, like some disgusting, overfed animal.


    Every inch of it was wrong. Too much, too thick, too much a parody of life in a way that made my skin crawl.


    From afar I could tell they were large, but only now, close enough that the rotting meat on its breath was a nearly overwhelming haze, was I able to appreciate just how much of an understatement that had been.


    The orc wasn¡¯t just large, it was massive, to the extent that a sumo wrestler would have seemed downright petite by comparison. Easily eight feet tall, with a shoulder-span far too wide to compare to a human¡¯s, bearing the kind of leathery, blubbery fat one would expect of a walrus. Moreover, there was undoubtedly muscle beneath those rolls of fat. Its arms held the kind of grotesquely over-swollen mounds you¡¯d see on a steroid abuser, the legs were twin pillars of girth almost as thick as a grown man¡¯s waist and its tusked pig-head sat on a neck so thick it was barely discernible where it ended and the shoulders began.


    Abhorrent and malformed, like aberrant mockeries of humanity.


    Where goblins bore the look of spindly, malnourished corpse-scavengers, diminutive and mossy rot coloured skin wrapped tight over jagged bone, the orcs stood bloated with an enormity like elephantiasis, copper-hued flesh sagging over over-developed muscle, like avatars of gluttony and excess.


    ¡°Is of no matter. Can¡¯t back away now. Not even if I wanted to¡± I thought and balanced my makeshift flail, pendulating it back and forth.


    No more time to think. That would just breed hesitation.


    This was the hand I had been dealt by life and circumstance, and bitching about it would be pointless.


    Once more, it was time to do or die.


    And, as long as I could kill one with a surprise attack, the chance to ¡°die¡± was going to be considerably reduced.


    Without even so much as an exhale, I turned the motion of the ¡°flail¡± into a spin, putting all my strength and weight into as hard an overhead I could muster. Whether it was the sound of the weight falling or some animalistic sixth sense, the orc¡¯s eyes snapped open, small black and piggish, twin points of animal cunning mixed in with human intellect.


    Just in time to witness 60 kg of weight pulverize its face.


    A thunk followed by a disgustingly wet crack, and the world descended into a cacophony of noise.


    The orc, face caved into a red ruin, pig snout pulped into an amorphous mass of meat and cartilaginous splinters, eyes crushed in their sockets and skull split down the middle, brought it¡¯s meaty hands to it¡¯s head and grabbed at the mangled mess, screaming out in a ear-splitting blend of human and pig cries.


    For all that damage, for all that weight that had slammed into its face, for all that the force had been enough to crater the floorboards underneath its skull, the damned thing was still alive.


    A bellowing roar and motion from my left was more than enough to tell me that the other orc was already in motion. No time to rethink or wonder whether I should leave the wounded one and hope an almost crushed skull would be enough to keep it on the ground.


    No time to hesitate. No time to be indecisive.


    All this went through my mind as I windmilled the improvised flail once more, roaring out with the strike, equal parts despair and spite driving the blow. It smashed into the prone orc¡¯s hands, shattering bone and crushing flesh. The cracking sound was much wetter this time around, and something red and pulpy burst from its skull.


    The fact that it¡¯s scream had cut short was enough for me to fling myself back in a backpedal, avoiding the other orc¡¯s spiked cudgel by a hair¡¯s breadth.


    As big and thick as a man¡¯s leg, dotted with spikes made of rusted metal, the weapon may have been primitive, but in the monster¡¯s meaty hand it was no less lethal.


    With a speed that almost took me off guard, the eight foot mass of muscle and fat charged at me, cudgel raised for a shattering strike. I turned my back pedal into a pivot and lashed out with my improvised flail. The two weapons collided with one another and the disks were flung out, the cudgel¡¯s rusted metal teeth ripping through fabric like wet tissue paper. Still, it was enough to stop the cudgel in its tracks, unbalancing the orc and giving me enough time to jump back and gain some ground.


    I let the empty sheets go and drew both dagger and hatchet from my belt, trying not to think about how pitifully small and inadequate they looked compared to my opponent.


    The brief interaction had confirmed my assumption. In matters of sheer strength, the orc had the upper hand, despite my vampiric body. Fighting it head on would be signing my death warrant.


    The orc¡¯s pig-like maw snapped open, and it roared¡ªa guttural, primal sound that sprayed green flecks of spit across the air, those yellowed tusks gleaming like daggers. It charged, swinging its massive weapon with a speed that defied its bulk, as if the thing weighed no more than a twig.


    I flung myself aside, the vampiric strength and speed coursing through me propelling me faster than I¡¯d expected. The monster¡¯s swing passed me by, the sheer force of its momentum carrying it two steps beyond before it ground to a halt and wheeled back around, fury burning in beady, black eyes. Sickly yellow froth foamed at the edges of its blood-smeared lips, mouth curling in a grotesque sneer of rage.


    Again, it lunged.


    Again, I evaded.


    Always to the side. Always just out of its reach. I moved clumsily, like an amateur, but fast, enhanced anatomy more than making up for inexperience. And each time it missed, I felt the sharp thrill of my own control, my senses honed to a razor¡¯s edge, giving more and more surety to my movements, making the time I would delay my evasions shorter, creating more openings for myself to exploit.


    The orc was stronger, no question, but its size and strength were as much a burden as they were an advantage. It was slow. Cumbersome. Each swing was a great, telegraphed arc¡ªwindmilling, brutish, wild, and clumsy. It couldn¡¯t turn on a dime, mass and weight dragging it down, leaving it overextended and off-balance with each strike.


    I didn¡¯t need to overpower it. I just needed to outlast it.


    It came at me again and again, a mass of bellowing, growling rage, all mindless brutality and animal savagery. I danced away from its attacks, lunging and tumbling distances that would have made a triathlon contender balk with envy.


    More than anything, I had one advantage that mattered above all else.


    Stamina.


    My infinite, unrelenting stamina.


    Each time it charged and swung that massive weapon at nothing but air, it drained more of its precious energy. The weight of its own body, the effort of pursuing me with every heavy, frustrated step, was taking its toll. Meanwhile, I was untouched ¡ªno fatigue, no slowing down. I moved with the ease of a predator, barely breaking a sweat while the orc struggled to keep up.


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    And with every withering blow I was evading, I was sharpening. With a speed equally beautiful and terrifying. What had started as desperate rolls and clumsy tumbling had now become ducking, bobbing and weaving between blows and grasping hands.


    Seconds stretched into minutes, and I could hear the monster¡¯s breath growing ragged, each wheeze like a death rattle in its chest. Its heart thudded erratically, a frantic staccato that echoed in my ears. The orc¡¯s eyes, bloodshot and swollen in their sockets, were wide with rage and exasperation. With a guttural roar, it slammed its cudgel into the floorboards, the strike ringing out with a sharp, frustrated bray.


    It was wasting energy in its blind fury, expending its strength like a beast cornered, lashing out in animalistic rage.


    And that was its mistake. Energy it couldn¡¯t afford to lose.


    The opening came and I saw it.


    I saw it in the way the monster reared its arm back, putting all that prodigious weight into the attack, back arched and core taut with the effort. A monumental swipe, an arcing swing made with enough force and speed to take my head clean off my shoulders. But the orc¡¯s exhaustion and berserker rage made the attack clumsy and telegraphed. The wind-up had been too slow.


    I leaned back, backpedalling a half-step and the swipe passed harmlessly in front of me, the cudgel¡¯s iron teeth cutting through air a palm-width¡¯s distance from my chest.


    The orc fumbled forward, pulled by the momentum and inertia of its own attack, and I struck, turning my sway-back into a jab and thrusting the spear-dagger into the monster¡¯s ribs. It wasn¡¯t a fatal cut. Not nearly enough to end the fight. But it had been deep enough to be felt.


    First blood had been spilled.


    And I had been the one to claim it.


    The orc bellowed and jumped back, a meaty arm clapped to the side of its torso. Blood dribbled languidly from between fingers and its snout curled in a berserk snarl. In response to the orc¡¯s frustration, something shifted within me. It was as much instinct as it was something foreign, something other.


    I didn¡¯t grin. No, that wasn¡¯t it.


    I bared my teeth. The way a predator might, or something more primal. The grimace that twisted my face wasn¡¯t a smile¡ªit was a challenge, a silent promise. A warning.


    The kind of expression that says, I¡¯ve got you now.


    Before I could even wonder where the alien instinct had come from, the orc bellowed and surged in like an enraged mammoth. But there was no dodging this time, no need for it. Despite my inexperience in hand to hand combat, I could see now.


    The way its legs were buckling under its weight. The way those large muscles twitched and spasmed with effort as it reared its cudgel back, far overextending itself to strike as wide an arc as it could, making the same mistake all over again.


    It wasn¡¯t just exhausted, it was also expecting me to dodge back. It was trying to make the arc as wide as possible, to catch my sway.


    And, in doing just the opposite, I took the monster completely by surprise.


    I took one step back making it look as if I was about to fling myself out of the way once more, only to reverse my retreat into a forward lunge, my body low to the ground, coiled like a spring.


    The orc snarled in surprise and swung it¡¯s monumental blow. But my shift had been too sudden and its windup too large. The cudgel cut the air above me and my spear-dagger embedded itself in the monster¡¯s hip.


    This time the wound was deep. I¡¯d put my back and shoulder into the thrust, and the monster¡¯s own charge had done the rest.


    I turned my lunge into a roll, letting momentum carry the distance between us, getting my feet under me and turning around to witness the orc scream and paw at the dagger trying to fish it out.


    It grabbed at it and pulled, only to stare at the hilt now laying in its oversized paw of a hand. Spearing through all that blubber and muscle had been too much for the rusted blade and the orc¡¯s frantic attempt to pull it out had splintered it, leaving almost the entire blade buried in its thigh.


    I didn¡¯t let the monster recover, charging and slashing with my hatchet. Rusted iron bit into the hardwood of its cudgel as the orc blocked the attack, and I jumped back out of range of a backhand riposte.


    Raw, animal rage made it try to surge after me but it toppled, roar turned into a pained shriek, as soon as it put weight on the wounded leg, the blade embedded inside ripping through flesh and muscle.


    A chance.


    An opening.


    I surged in again, lashing out with an overhead, trying to strike it while prone. This time, the cudgel wasn¡¯t swift enough to intercept my hatchet and the blade bit deep into the orc¡¯s knuckles.


    In one smooth motion I drew the weapon out and jumped back, blood and three severed fingers staining the hardwood floor.


    The monster was limping back, trying to switch the cudgel from right to left, wheezing breath catching in its lungs. I followed and circled around, making sure that the distance between us would not shorten. This was the way.


    It was exhausted, mobility shot, all that had to happen now was for me to play it safe. Strike in and out, keep out of reach and bleed it until it couldn¡¯t fight back.


    This¡­


    All of it¡­


    It all felt so right. The thrum of adrenaline in my temples. The shiver of electricity on my spine. There was no yesterday, no tomorrow here. Only the next move. The next moment.


    Only the present.


    And that throat, filled with ruby red. Mine and mine alone.


    I brought the hatchet to my lips and licked the blood off, bearing my elongated canines at the monster.


    ¡°Prey¡± , a voice that was at once my own and far too guttural to be human escaped my lips and I crouched low, ready to surge in and carve another piece.


    ¡°BOOM!!!¡±


    The thunderous pop of a discharging gun shattered the tension and the back of the orc¡¯s head burst in a welter of blood and gore. It toppled forward, cudgel clattering to the floor, hands clutching at the hole, trying to keep its brain from leaking out.


    ¡°BOOM! BOOM!! BOOM!!!¡±


    Three more pops in quick succession, each punctuated by a burst of blood in the orc¡¯s face and raised arms.


    ¡°Just die you fat fuck¡± an all too familiar voice shouted, a deep basso, dripping with arrogance and contempt. And, just like a poison, it burned through all the passion and excitement for this fight, replacing it with a hollow cold that gripped my spine and would not let go.


    To it¡¯s credit the orc was still standing, that monumentally thick skull having tanked most of the bullets. But it was hurt and borderline blinded by pain. Too blind to notice the tall, lanky figure in jeans and a yellow T-Shirt make a run for it and level a sawed-off to it¡¯s snout.


    A massive BOOM! and the orc¡¯s face disappeared in a shower of torn meat. It held its feet for a few moments more and finally fell, sprawled on its back with a massive thunk.


    ¡°¡®Dreas, didja see that?¡± The shotgun wielder turned towards the hallway, a savage grin on his face.


    ¡°Hell yea. Blew up like a pinata.¡± Andreas Henderson chuckled, a smoking .45 Desert Eagle in his grip and a sneer plastered onto his face.


    I mentally cussed. The day had just gotten infinitely worse.

 Chapter 12

    The human brain, a marvel of complexity, has a curious way of adapting to the world. It''s resilient, yes, but at times, it can also be its own worst enemy. When pushed far enough, hurt enough, or made to feel helpless enough, it creates defenses¡ªreflexive, instinctual, hardwired deep in the most primal parts of our minds. It doesn¡¯t take much. A word, a sound, the faintest trigger, and the body reacts as though it¡¯s been plunged into immediate danger.


    It¡¯s like the instinct of a wolf, lowering its head and tucking its tail when faced with the alpha. Simple, direct, born from survival. And that¡¯s what it is: survival.


    Andreas Henderson understood this all too well. He wasn¡¯t just some petty bully. He was a manipulator, a man who knew exactly how to break someone down piece by piece. With methods as varied as they were cruel: violence, threats against family, the isolation of peers¡ªeach carefully crafted to strip away a person¡¯s dignity, their autonomy, until all that remained was a trembling shell.


    It wasn¡¯t the physical pain that broke them. It was the mental weight of it all, the way it ate away at their sense of self. The victim¡¯s mind would turn on itself, convinced of its own weakness. That¡¯s the real damage, the one that lingers long after the bruises fade.


    Because there are few things as powerful as a young man¡¯s ability to put themselves down. The self-loathing. The disgust at one¡¯s own perceived weakness. Andreas Henderson wasn¡¯t a thug. He was something worse. He was a predator in the making, a machiavellian master of control, a crime boss in their infancy.


    So, when his voice hit my ears again, it was no surprise I froze.


    I¡¯d fought monsters¡ªgoblins, orcs, even a centuries-old vampiress¡ªand come out victorious, stronger than I¡¯d ever been. I¡¯d become a predator myself. A vampire.


    But when that man spoke, something in me shut down. It didn¡¯t matter what I¡¯d become. In that moment, it was as if I was still that helpless, broken shell I used to be, caught in the grip of an old terror I couldn¡¯t escape.


    Every. Single. Damned. Time.


    And it sickened me. Down to the core.


    ¡°Well shit man, I did NOT expect you to survive, gopher¡± Andreas said, walking towards me, twirling that custom-made, gold inlaid Desert Eagle he enjoyed flashing around.


    Bastard wasn¡¯t even looking at me, keeping his eyes on the orc I¡¯d been fighting. The kill he¡¯d stolen.


    He stopped a hand¡¯s breadth away from me and tapped the pistol against my temple a few times.


    ¡°Don¡¯t suppose your worthless ass thought to bring some supplies¡±


    I wanted to hurt him.


    Wanted nothing more than to send the blood into my hands, turn them into those grotesque claws and then dig them knuckle-deep into his skull.


    But I didn¡¯t.


    I couldn¡¯t even meet his eyes.


    ¡°No¡­¡± I began, only to have my next words cut off by him slamming the butt of the handgun in the top of my skull.


    ¡°Like I said. Worthless¡± he muttered and turned away from me.


    My body trembled with frustration. If ever there was a moment for that dark impulse coiled in the back of my head to be made manifest it¡¯d have been right now.


    Galvanize me into action. Force me into a motion. Let the red haze fall and do the world a favour by excising the canker sore that was Andreas Henderson.


    But it had gone still the moment the second orc had died.


    So I could only stand there and watch. Frozen. Weak. Pathetic.


    ¡°Ten gophers, and not a one thinking about bringing some supplies. Oh but all of you come to good ol¡¯ Dreas for protection, yeaaah, all with hands up your own asses¡± Andreas continued theatrically, flashing the gun for emphasis.


    It was in that moment, amidst the tension that hung heavy in the air, that I really began to take in the scene around me. Andreas, flanked by five of his usual eight goons, each one armed and bristling with menace, stood at the heart of it all. Surrounding him were nine others I recognized¡ªthe "gophers" from his twisted little business meetings. They looked every bit as beaten, as hollowed out, as I felt. Eyes lowered, shoulders slumped, every one of them carrying the same crushing weight of despair. It was a brutal reminder of what Andreas had turned us all into. A sickening sight, to be sure.


    "Mr. Henderson, this is hardly the time for speeches of any sort," came a voice¡ªsharp, precise, and tinged with a thick British accent.


    A shuffle followed as the owner of the voice pushed her way through the crowd, cutting a path toward Andreas with a mixture of authority and annoyance that made even the toughest of the goons hesitate. She stopped just short of him, hands on her hips, her face set in that all-too-familiar expression of mild irritation.


    Samantha Evans.


    The vice-principal of our school¡ªa woman who, despite the chaos of the world falling apart around us, still managed to carry herself with a kind of quiet dignity. Five foot ten, blonde, always impeccably put together, and now, somehow, still standing tall.


    Blonde hair tied in a tight bun, a single loose lock framing a high-cheekboned face, dressed in her usual attire of black business suit and elegant glasses perched atop a button of a nose, she was every bit the iron disciplinarian her dress and demeanour projected.


    This would have made her unpopular with the student body, except for the fact that Samantha Evans had a body and face that would have put fashion models to shame. Consequently, this made her very popular with the male half and very unpopular with the female half of the student body.


    Well, barring some exceptions.


    ¡°I trusted you when you promised you would use the guns only as a last resort. The entire campus must have heard¡­¡±


    ¡°Calm down, teach. Is why we got the barricade set up. Doesn¡¯t matter if the deadheads come-a-knocking¡± Andreas interrupted her, waving his hand flippantly.


    Samantha sighed.


    ¡°Nonetheless, it was a bad choice. But no use in complaining on what¡¯s done. Regardless, we should barricade the front doors too, like originally planned.


    If we¡¯d done that from the start, those two¡­¡±


    She glanced at the corpses of the orcs and visibly recoiled.


    ¡°....things, wouldn¡¯t have entered the main hall¡±.


    Andreas just shrugged and snapped out an order towards the assembled ¡°gophers¡±.


    ¡°Oi. Make yourselves damned useful and barricade the front door¡±.


    He turned back to Samantha and gave her sneer masquerading as a smile.


    ¡°See teach? Problem solved¡±.


    It wasn¡¯t enthusiasm that pushed me down the corridor between the mess hall and the main hall. It was the raw instinct to get as far away from Andreas as possible. I needed space¡ªsome quiet¡ªso I could think, figure out what the hell I was going to do next.


    Should I leave? Just walk out and never look back?


    It felt like the best option. But it was daylight outside. And knowing Andreas, I wouldn¡¯t be allowed to just sit and wait out the day in the gym. He saw us ¡°gophers¡± as his tools and didn¡¯t abide ¡°laziness¡±.


    But no more than three steps in, one of Andreas¡¯s goons¡ªa squat, annoying little prick named Bill¡ªcut me off. He was shorter than me by a good half a head, all puffed up with his wannabe tough-guy act, bearing a crew cut that made him look like a military reject, and was snapping his fingers in front of my face like I was some dog he was trying to command.


    ¡°Yo, asshat, the hatchet¡± he muttered, holding out his hand in front of my chest.


    ¡°I got this off a goblin, it¡¯s mi¡­¡± his open palm cuffed the side of my head.


    ¡°Did I ask where you¡­¡± he began to snarl, but I could barely hear him.


    The moment, the very instant his hand had touched me, that dark impulse had uncoiled itself from the back of my head and was howling, screaming for me to tear the bastard¡¯s throat out.


    But it wasn¡¯t as visceral, as all-encompassing as it had been when seeing the orcs. It seemed that this impulse, this, for lack of a better word, ¡°something¡± in my subconscious recognized the same things I did.


    Namely, that revealing my vampiric nature to a room filled with people in a survival situation, five of which were armed and hated my guts, was a recipe for disaster. This wasn¡¯t some kid-friendly show where everyone suddenly accepts and gets all buddy-buddy with the freak.


    This was real life, and despite the strong-front they were putting, I could tell that everyone, including Andreas and his mob, were on edge.


    The way their eyes shifted as if trying to glance everywhere at once. The beads of sweat staining their foreheads. The way their hands never really left their weapons, fingers hovering over triggers.


    The drumbeat of their hearts thrumming in my ears, so loud I could almost¡­ reach out and tear them right¡­.


    I ground my teeth against the direction my mind was heading, forcing the train of thought down.


    ¡°....gophers don¡¯t get weapons. Simple as that. Now stop shaking like a bitch and give me the damn hatchet.¡± Bill continued bellowing in my face, jabbing his finger in my chest.


    I realized that I was shaking slightly in my effort to keep the impulse at bay, and the moron was taking it as though I was scared of him.


    No. He was wrong. Other than Andreas, I was scared of none of them. And to my detriment, despite all logic dictating against it, I was seriously considering just slitting Bill¡¯s throat open.


    All it¡¯d take is a little twitch of my claws¡­


    ¡°You stop that right now, young man¡± Samantha Evans¡¯s voice cut through Bill''s hysterics before I could say anything and she interposed herself between us, laying the flat of her hand onto Bill¡¯s chest.


    ¡°We will NOT devolve into petty threats and thugisms. I will not have it. This poor boy¡¯s pale enough as it is, who knows what he¡¯s seen out there¡±.


    Without even waiting for a retort she rounded on me and took hold of my shoulders.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. You¡¯re safe now. You¡¯re not out there anymore, this place is safe¡±. She began, keeping her voice just barely above a whisper.


    The hilarity of the situation almost made me want to laugh and the impulse retreated back as if bored by the display. The woman was equating my pale skin with shock.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine ma¡¯am¡± I answered coldly, gently pushing her hands off my shoulders and handing Bill my hatchet.


    He took hold of it but I didn¡¯t let go just yet. Even when he tugged I kept an iron grip on it, not letting it move an inch. For a moment, it was a silent standoff, a subtle tension between us. I wasn¡¯t about to make it easy for him.


    For all that I KNEW it would come to bite me in the ass, I¡¯d always had a smart-mouth on myself. So I was going to make a point. Petty though it was.


    ¡°Take good care of it, yeah? Got a few zombies and goblins with it. Popped their heads off real nice like. Maybe I¡¯ll show you how good it cuts later¡± I murmured with a sneer letting the implied threat hover in the air.


    Considering how Andreas was speaking to Miss Wright, he was most likely trying not to show his real self just yet, and it felt good to watch Bill¡¯s livid face turn from me to the vice-principal, his desire to make me ¡°show respect¡± at war with what were most likely standing orders to keep the violence on the down low.


    I finally let go of the hatchet and Bill shoved it into his belt, stink-eyeing me throughout. With a curt nod to the woman, he turned and left, a vein pulsing at his temple.


    ¡°Young man, that wasn¡¯t necessary¡± Miss Wright chided me.


    ¡°Dick-measuring contests aren¡¯t necessary ma¡¯am, they¡¯re just fun¡± I answered back, my eyes still on Bill.


    ¡°Language please¡± she retorted, voice brimming with disapproval.


    ¡°The loss of discipline is the first step to devolving into¡­¡±


    ¡°With all due respect Miss Evans¡± I interrupted.


    ¡°I get what you¡¯re trying to do. I really do. But it won¡¯t work¡±.


    She crossed her arms, glacial eyes narrowing behind her glasses.


    ¡°Oh? And what is it that I am trying to do, Mr¡­?¡±


    ¡°Jon¡±


    She sighed, clearly displeased with me not giving my last name.


    ¡°Very well Mr. Jon. Illuminate me. What am I trying to do, and why won¡¯t it work?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re trying to prevent a mass panic by keeping up the illusion that the rules, regulations and hierarchy of school still apply¡± I answered.


    Something vindictive inside me sneered as her eyes widened.


    Gotcha.


    ¡°We learned this in basic psychology ma¡¯am. Best way to keep the peace in a survival or stressful situation is to introduce a recognizable routine to the group in said situation¡±.


    She held my gaze for a few moments more.


    ¡°And why would it not work?¡±


    ¡°Because the only reason you¡¯d want to do that, is because you¡¯ve been holed up in here. I¡¯m right, no? Have you been outside since this whole mess started?¡±.


    ¡°.....Is it really that bad?¡± she asked, a glint of fear edging her eyes.


    ¡°The walking dead, infected, rotbloods, call them what you want, are the least to worry about. Slow and brain-dead. On the way here, I¡¯ve seen goblins and some sort of reptilian dogs too. And if the orcs are anything to go by, more kinds of monsters are going to show up¡±


    ¡°Goblins? Orcs?¡± Samantha asked, quirking a brow.


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    ¡°They¡¯re¡­¡±


    ¡°I have read my fair share of fantasy, Jon. But I don¡¯t think we should make light of our situation by calling them such silly things¡±.


    ¡°Oh, silly¡¯s the last thing I¡¯d describe them as. The goblins at least, are organized enough to have hunting parties out in the woods. And they fight organized too¡±.


    ¡°...¡± Samantha opened her mouth but said nothing for a second.


    ¡°Do¡­. Do you think those hunting parties are for us?¡±


    I pushed the thought aside. It didn¡¯t matter. Not now.


    ¡°You¡¯ve seen the corpse mound in the mess hall, Ms. Evans. The orc¡¯s larder. It wouldn''t be too much of a stretch to assume goblins are flesh eaters too¡±.


    Samantha bit on her thumb nail, eyes closed and brows furrowed in concentration. After a few seconds she fixed me with her gaze.


    ¡°Jon, our group has taken refuge here two hours into¡­ whatever this is. There¡¯s another thirty students barricaded in the amphitheater upstairs. No one¡¯s gone outside since. We¡¯ve only seen the monsters you call goblins from the windows, but no one knows just how organized they are.


    Please make no mention of this. It will cause mass panic. The others were already bordering on just that when the¡­ orcs?... took this floor, and¡­¡±


    ¡°Yo, do I gotta ask nicely?¡± Andreas¡¯s booming voice cut Samantha off. Even from this distance I could notice that telltale twitch in his eye that foretold he was getting annoyed.


    And Andreas¡¯s annoyance usually precluded violence.


    I expelled a sharp breath through my teeth.


    ¡°Right ma¡¯am. I¡¯m gonna keep quiet about it. Now, if you don¡¯t mind, I got a job to do¡± I said, making ready to go. But that vindictive, cruel thing in the back of my mind reared it¡¯s head once more and I couldn¡¯t help but give one last jab.


    ¡°After all, we both know how Andreas gets when he feels slighted¡±.


    Samantha¡¯s eyes widened and she went pale.


    ¡°Jon, I¡¯m so¡­¡±


    She didn¡¯t get to finish as I simply walked away.


    Was it cold? Yes.


    Rude? Undoubtedly.


    But not unwarranted. And the fundamental reason for cold calousness I had showed her throughout the conversation. After all, for all her prim-and-proper, rules-are-sacred, disciplinarian facade, Miss Samantha Evans had done the same thing as every other teacher in the school and turned a blind eye to Andreas¡¯s abuse of the ¡°gophers¡±.


    She had known what was happening.


    Just like everyone else.


    And had chosen to ignore it.


    I wasn¡¯t being blunt and dismissive of her because I was some wannabe edgy tween trying to look cool. I was being like that towards her, because she deserved nothing more than that.


    As soon as I reached the hallway, Andreas smacked a hand on my shoulder in a parody of a friendly jab and walked the rest of the way by my side. The moment we left Miss Evans field of view, that hand became a grasping claw, fingers digging into my shoulder, and he snarled into my ear.


    ¡°Taking your sweet ass time to do what I say. Talking back to Bill. You getting uppity on me gopher?¡±.


    ¡°No,¡± I whispered back, that sickening sense of powerlessness falling over me like a cold shower.


    ¡°Good. Cuz in case you haven¡¯t noticed, the world¡¯s gone to shit. And all rules have gone with it. So, you mouth off, don¡¯t do what I say, hell, you even look at me funny, and I¡¯mma put a bullet in that fat gut of yours. Get me?¡±


    He turned me around and pressed the barrel of his gun into my chest.


    ¡°Do. You. Get. Me?¡±


    He asked again, emphasizing every word with a jab to my chest.


    ¡°Yes¡± I muttered again.


    Andreas leaned in, a finger to his ear.


    ¡°Yes, what?¡±


    It made me almost want to retch as I said it.


    ¡°Yes, sir!¡±


    Andreas smirked and tapped my temple with the gun.


    ¡°Good. Glad we got an understanding gopher. No go do what I told you to do¡±.


    Head down, cursing under my breath, I moved down the corridor toward the main hall. The others were already at work¡ªthose nine gophers, scrambling to stack anything they could get their hands on in front of the double doors. Old chairs, broken tables, any scrap of furniture that might slow down whatever was coming next.


    It was a futile effort. I knew that. After fighting the orcs, I could tell one of those beasts could reduce the whole pile to splinters in a single swing without even breaking a sweat. But I joined in anyway, grabbing the nearest chair and stacking it on top of the teetering barricade.


    Might as well look busy, even if it was just for appearance¡¯s sake.


    The others were in their own little worlds. Heads hung low, eyes shifting nervously from corner to corner like startled prey. It was the same as always, the fear that seemed to suffocate the air around us. But today, something else caught my eye. More than half of them had fresh bruises on their faces¡ªugly ones, deep red and purple, the kind you get when something hard and metallic slams into the bone beneath.


    They didn¡¯t just get hit. They got hurt. Badly.


    One of the gophers, a wisp of a kid with messy hazel hair and a faded green hoodie that had seen better days, stepped up to me. He looked like he hadn¡¯t slept in days, eyes wide and bloodshot.


    "Help me with the closet over there," he said, voice a shaky whisper, eyes darting nervously to the shadows.


    I nodded without a word, stacking a second chair and moving towards the closet with him.


    As soon as we got to it and started pushing it audibly across the old hardwood floor, he whispered again.


    ¡°Don¡¯t let them see you not working. It¡¯s worse than ever, and we¡¯ll all get in trouble¡±.


    ¡°What do you mean? It¡¯s always been bad¡±. I whispered back.


    ¡°Not like this. Andreas¡¯s gone off the deep end. He shot one of the other gophers when this all began. Right in the stomach. Left him screaming as bait for the zombies¡±.


    That took me by surprise. Andreas was a violent psychopath to be sure, but cold blooded murder? That was a line he hadn¡¯t crossed. Yet.


    But, something was not adding up.


    ¡°Then why¡¯s he pretending to be¡­ y¡¯know¡­ normal in front of the vice-principal?¡±


    The boy shook his head.


    ¡°No idea. But ever since we all grouped up, he¡¯s made it a point to beat us only out of sight and earshot of Miss Evans. And he¡¯s doing that more than usual. Doesn¡¯t even give a reason¡±.


    ¡°Probably just stress-relief for him. Makes him feel like he¡¯s still in control or something,¡± I muttered grimly.


    ¡°Either that or he¡¯s a psycho¡±.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s been established already¡±.


    We spent the next few minutes pushing the closet into place. It was boring , tedious work, made all the more so by the fact that I was having to hold back. Having me just up and pick up the 100 kilo hardwood furniture by myself would bring about questions I didn¡¯t want to answer.


    Plus, I needed some more info.


    I nudged the lad and pointed to the door for the gym.


    ¡°More stuff we can use there¡±.


    The boy went livid and shook his head violently.


    ¡°No. Andreas and his guys haven¡¯t secured it yet. There could be more¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the way I got in¡± I interrupted.


    ¡°It¡¯s clear¡±.


    ¡°Y-You sure man?¡± he asked again looking at that metal door like it was the opened mouth to hell itself.


    With a reassuring gentle slap on his back I took point and went ahead, hearing him follow me.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°Y¡¯know Andreas doesn¡¯t let gophers share names¡± he answered, hovering in the doorway and scanning the area before actually mustering up the courage to enter.


    ¡°Yeah well, he ain¡¯t here right now is he?¡±


    He hesitated for a few moments more, throwing furtive gazes around, as if expecting one of Andreas¡¯s goons to just pop out from nowhere.


    ¡°Tim. It¡¯s Tim¡±.


    ¡°Jon,¡± I replied, picking up one of the weight disks and moving it to one of the discarded sheets I had made use of.


    ¡°Got stuck in the second bathroom when everything went tits-up. What happened?¡±.


    Tim made his way to try and pick up one of the 30 kilo disks himself, trying to dig his fingers under the metal crooks and get a proper purchase.


    ¡°You got lucky then. It was a bloodbath. People got¡­ massacred by those damn flies. And when they started rising¡­.¡±


    He looked green in the face, as if about to puke.


    ¡°Got worse. Like in the movies, zombies tearing and ripping people alive. Andreas had a gun on him, don¡¯t ask me from where, took a few shots at the dead to get people¡¯s attention.


    It worked, people rallied to him. About fifteen of us gophers, Miss Wright and a whole lot of other people. Lots more than are left now, either way¡±.


    The poor lad took a sleeve to his nose. The things he¡¯d probably seen. Hell, I¡¯d know better than anyone.


    ¡°How¡¯d he get everyone out?¡± I pressed him. Despite feeling sorry for the guy, compassion had no place here. Not if I wanted to be in the know.


    ¡°Had the guys grab desks, chairs, brooms¡ªwhatever we could find. We made a big group, formed up like we were gonna push through. Then we just¡­ powered through, shoving and hitting¡­¡±


    His voice faltered, and his words trailed off as his eyes glazed over, staring into nothing, hands still fumbling with the disk, mind clearly somewhere else, somewhere far from here.


    Ten seconds of silence passed before he shook his head, like trying to shake off a nightmare. Fear and doubt were written all over his features.


    ¡°I don¡¯t remember everything,¡± he muttered, voice hoarse, like it was hard to pull the words from his chest. ¡°It¡¯s all just¡­ you know... trying to stick with the group, shoving at the dead so they wouldn¡¯t get to me¡­ screaming¡­


    People started getting picked off¡­ Some of ¡®em panicked when they saw it happening, tried to bolt, tried to run from the group¡­ and they got overwhelmed¡­ torn apart¡­¡± He swallowed hard, the words choking him, but they were already out.


    Again, he stopped and I waited. I knew he¡¯d continue telling the story.


    Sharing something bad is cathartic, most people instinctively want to talk about it, get it off their chest. Misery loving company and all that.


    ¡°I think¡­ we lost half the group, by the time we got out of the school building. Andreas yelled something about the old school campus¡­ I just followed the group man¡­ I just¡­¡±


    ¡°You just wanted to live,¡± I ended the sentence for him.


    Tim just nodded mechanically.


    ¡°Yeah. It was bad¡­ man¡­. It was really, really bad¡±.


    He lifted his gaze and looked at me with an uncharacteristic fire in those timid, empty eyes.


    ¡°It¡¯s when Andreas shot Jason. He was the only other gopher from my class.


    The stunt we pulled attracted an entire¡­ herd¡­. of the dead behind us. Andreas just shot him. Point blank and in the gut, then pushed him into the herd¡­


    Y¡¯know the worst part? I¡­ didn¡¯t say anything. I¡­ was actually thankful that Andreas did that. It distracted the herd enough for us to escape in the woods. Jason was my friend, man¡­


    The hell is wrong with me¡­ I¡­¡±


    ¡°You just wanted to live,¡± I finished his sentence again, as if the words explained everything.


    ¡°Yeah¡± he muttered behind me, voice choking up, blowing his nose into something.


    I knew what he meant. I sympathized with the poor guy. There were things a normal person didn¡¯t think themselves capable of, until they had their back to the wall. Things that roiled the stomach and made you reevaluate your entire moral compass.


    Just like when I had torn the vampires¡¯s throat open with my all too human teeth, even though I would have never thought myself capable of such brutality. But, here I was, still very much alive, in a sense, exactly because I had been capable of it.


    So I didn¡¯t judge the poor bastard. I understood him.


    Minutes dragged by in silence as we busied ourselves with the task at hand, hauling whatever heavy objects we could find onto the thick linen sheet, and slid them across the floor, the sound of scraping against the old wood echoing through the hall as we moved them toward the entrance.


    I was just stacking another weight disk onto our makeshift barricade when the unmistakable sound of boots on old parquet floor drew my attention. I turned slightly to see Miss Wright, Andreas, and his goons emerge from the corridor. They were making their way toward the grand staircase, but not before Andreas paused long enough to bark one final order at us.


    ¡°After you¡¯re done, I expect you all upstairs,¡± he said, voice grating.


    I turned my head just enough to catch a glimpse of Samantha. Her eyes met mine for a fleeting moment, pity plastered across her face as she glanced at the group of us.


    "Make sure you don¡¯t overexert yourselves," she said softly, before turning to follow the others up the stairs.


    ¡°Miss Evans is nice¡± Tim said as soon as their footsteps faded.


    "Hot too," another gopher piped up, struggling with a large armchair that was missing two legs.


    "True. She¡¯s also a hypocrite," I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.


    The comment hung in the air, and the others fell silent for a beat. Then Tim broke the quiet.


    "Yeah, but¡­ I mean¡­ y¡¯know..."


    "Yeah, yeah, I know. She probably got cowed by the principal or the mayor into letting Andreas do whatever he wanted. Still a hypocrite," I grumbled, adding another piece to the barricade.


    "And still hot," Tim shot back, his grin wide and toothy.


    I couldn¡¯t help but chuckle at that. ¡°You¡¯re not wrong there,¡± I said, pushing the last disk on top of the pile.


    Despite the weight of the situation, despite the looming uncertainty of the apocalypse, some of the others joined in, chuckling along with us. It was a brief, fleeting moment of normalcy in the middle of chaos¡ªone of those moments that reminded us, for just a second, that we were still human.


    ¡°One last thing, Tim,¡± I began, leaning against the wall where all ten of us were taking a few minutes of unsupervised rest, before we were going to have to go upstairs and fall back in line.


    ¡°Yeah, what¡¯s up?¡± he answered, rolling his head, popping his vertebrae.


    ¡°Where¡¯d Andreas¡¯s guys get a hold of the guns?¡±


    Tim shrugged.


    ¡°Dunno. Andreas had his on him, but the others got theirs only after we all holed up here¡±.


    One of the other gophers, a heavy-set blonde guy a head taller than me, spoke up.


    ¡°I heard Andreas tell Bill about a stash for his dad¡¯s ¡°friends¡± that he¡¯d hidden here for pickup. After that I dunno, Bill and two others left for about 15 minutes then came back with a duffel bag full of guns and ammo.


    Dunno where they went though. I only heard it because I was in the toilet and they were speaking in the hallway. It was 2AM I think, they probably thought everyone was asleep¡±.


    ¡°Huh,¡± I said, scratching at my chin.


    ¡°Arms dealing? Seems the good Mayor Henderson was more the entrepreneur than we thought¡±.


    ¡°Yo, gophers¡± a voice rang out from upstairs.


    ¡°Andreas wants everyone upstairs, stat. So you better be done with the barricade or I¡¯mma¡­¡±


    I didn¡¯t bother listening to the empty threats. Whatever good cheer was blooming between the group shadowed immediately as everyone began lifting themselves off the wall, the sound of shoes shuffling against the floor cutting through the brief silence as we reluctantly began making our way upstairs.


    More important than the peacocking of Andreas¡¯s goons, something else began to settle into my mind, pulling my attention away from the annoying posturing of Andreas¡¯s thugs. It had been subtle at first¡ªjust a gnawing sensation, a growing itch beneath my gums, something I¡¯d relegated to the dark impulse and the remnants of friction between myself and our would-be ¡°superiors¡±.


    But that had been just wishful thinking.


    A drumming noise, barely noticeable at first, steadily growing in volume. The steady, rhythmic pulse of hearts, beating in time to the slow shuffle of their footsteps. A thumping that seemed to fill my ears, louder with each step I took.


    I¡¯d been afraid of this. Anticipated it. But anticipating something and experiencing it were two different things entirely.


    The hunger. The thirst.


    For better or worse, it wasn¡¯t some all-consuming impulse, robbing me of mind and sanity, forcing me into a blood-letting animal, like some works of fiction had portrayed it. And for that I was more than thankful.


    But it was constantly, consistently present. And becoming more so with every passing minute.


    It was there, in the air around me, thrumming like an unspoken invitation. It wasn¡¯t just the pounding in my ears. It was in the scent of the room, the subtle tang of sweat and fear that clung to the others. The noise of blood travelling through their arteries. My senses, sharper now than they had ever been, were picking up on things I didn¡¯t want to acknowledge.


    Like an addict, jonesing for their next fix.


    The persistent feeling that something was missing. And all I¡¯d be needing was to feel it running down my throat. Everything would be right with the world then. I¡¯d be comfortable then.


    Blood. I wanted blood.

 Chapter 13

    The amphitheater on the third floor was a massive room, larger than three classrooms put together, with a central stage overlooking a semicircle of benches.


    In all fairness, calling it an amphitheater was giving it too much credit, but it was by far the largest room in the building and it had served as just that when the old campus had been in use.


    For all its size, it was fairly well-populated. Nowhere near to capacity, but enough.


    Thirty two of the student body had escaped the main campus and holed up here, led by Andreas, an assortment of young men and women, everything from freshmen to seniors, with almost a quarter of them sporting some sort of wound, gash, or makeshift bandage in the form of a rag wrapped around a limb. More than a few of the guys had some sort of improvised weapon within reach, whether it be a chair leg, a broom handle broken to a sharpened point, even a small boulder here and there, most likely picked up on their run here.


    Andreas and his goons made six more people, the only ones armed with guns and, very coincidentally, all looking completely unharmed.


    Our gopher group, isolated into a corner under Andreas¡¯s express orders, numbering in ten, myself included.


    And lastly miss Samantha Wright, communicating with Andreas on the central stage in hushed whispers, and looking increasingly more distraught at what the mammoth of a man was telling her.


    All in all a group of forty-nine ¡°survivors¡±.


    Forty-nine beating hearts, and I could hear each and every one of them in excruciating detail. Without my immediate survival or the rage-inducing cruelty of Andreas and his goons to occupy my mind, it was becoming very difficult to just sit still and not focus on the growing thirst.


    My gums were itching, and I was having to grind my teeth, jaw clenched tight, fearing that if I relaxed it, my canines would start lengthening.


    Exhaling slowly, air hissing through my teeth, forcing the tightness in my chest to loosen, I tried to steady my mind, to push the hunger back down where it belonged. For the moment, I focused on the simple, mundane task of distracting myself¡ªsomething to keep my mind from spiraling down progressively darker and visceral fantasies of raw red meat splitting.


    I began my usual exercise, the one I¡¯d been doing for the past couple of hours: scanning the faces around me, searching for any familiar ones.


    It was a pointless exercise, if I was being honest. As a gopher, I¡¯d never exactly been the social butterfly. Not by my own choice, though.


    Friends were something I would have liked.


    But Andreas had made it clear, in his own twisted way, that anyone who associated with the gophers would be marked. It was a forced isolation, no different from the one we were trapped in now.


    Still, I scanned the room.


    There were a few faces I recognized from the senior class¡ªpeople I had seen around but never actually talked to. I knew them by reputation, or by chance encounters in the halls, but that was as far as it went. None of them were friends, not even acquaintances. Just ghosts in the crowd, people I had brushed against in passing but never allowed myself to know.


    Lizzie Landon, self-styled queen bee of the school, surrounded as always by her gaggle of geese. Tall, from a well-off family, blond-haired and blue-eyed, the 18 year old woman was objectively gorgeous, as befitting the girlfriend of Mayor Henderson¡¯s son. Well, ex-girlfriend, since the two of them eventually got tired of cheating on one another and finally broke up.


    In stark contrast to her appearance though, her personality was sick to put it mildly.


    The female mirror image of Andreas. Vapid, vain, manipulative and possessed of that needless cruelty that some people in positions of social authority gravitate towards.


    At the very least, while she was nowhere near the sociopathic tendencies of her former lover, she nonetheless had a habit of making sure that anyone who irked her the wrong way, or when she was simply bored, was ridiculed, harassed and isolated into becoming a social pariah. It was one of the reasons she and Andreas hovered in the same social circles even though they were exes.


    They worked well together.


    That, and her group of sycophantic hens pretty much rotated into the beds of Andreas and his goons.


    Further in the back, far and away from the main bulk of the student body, the twins Mina and Tina Miller spoke with one another in hushed tones.


    I¡¯d never spoken to either of them, even though Mina had been in my class since my freshman days, but it had always been a ¡°trip¡± to see them together. Despite being twins, both seniors like me, no two people could be more different.


    Mina could be called petite, although the word itself seemed far too ¡°large¡± to describe her frame. 4 foot 7, 145 cm, weighing in at a staggering 39, maybe 40 kilos soaking wet, the young woman was absolutely minute. Short, whipcord-thin, looking damn-near anemic at times, it was a surprise that a body so small could harbor a brain as powerful as her¡¯s.


    And powerful was the appropriate word here, since calling her something as simple as a ¡°genius¡± seemed almost insulting. Mathematics, Physics, Chemistry, Literature, this young lady had dominated every academic olympiad and contest she had set her eyes on, even going so far as competing in the nationals.


    In absolute antithesis to her sister, Tina was a staggering 6 foot 4, 195 cm, amazoness that bore the muscled frame one would expect of a three time National gold-medalist in women''s wrestling.


    And not the showman falsities on TV but the actual sport of wrestling.


    Tall, body sculpted with the kind of corded muscle you could attain only through monumental effort and perseverance, and yet bearing the unmistakable curves of femininity, she was the image one would¡¯ve put right under the dictionary definition of a ¡°tomboy¡±.


    Complete with short hair, punk tattered jeans and athlete¡¯s crop-top.


    The two women, despite being twins, were polar opposites in almost everything.


    Where Mina was a soft-spoken girl¡¯s girl with long hair wrapped in pigtails, framing a round, button-nosed face, Tina was loud, boisterous and had a sharp, aquiline, but not at all unattractive, edge to her features.


    Where Tina was slightly above mediocre in anything but sports and phys-ed, her sister was an academic prodigy.


    Where Mina was the type to get bullied, the last person who¡¯d tried that had gotten pile-drived into the floor by her sister.


    I couldn¡¯t help but feel a slight smirk begin to twist my mouth, cutting even though the gnawing drum of heartbeats, as I remembered Tina damn near headbutting Lizzie Landon full in the face when the ¡°queen bee¡± had made a joke on her sister¡¯s account.


    Both the Miller sisters were being actively scouted by Universities on both academic and sport scholarships and were the ¡°pride and joy¡± of our small Texan city. As such, neither Lizzie nor Andreas could pull their normal tactics with them. They were too well known.


    The rest of the student body I didn¡¯t know well enough to pay more than passing attention to.


    So, I fell back on what I could do¡ªwatching, keeping my eyes on the mass of people, some of them frantically whispering to one another, others barely holding it together. My hearing, sharpened in ways I wasn¡¯t entirely comfortable with, picking up fragments of conversations.


    Hysterical questions about the army or police showing up. A few whispered proposals to leave, to risk heading to the city proper, as if there was any guarantee of safety there. Wild theories, too¡ªeverything from the world-ending chaos of an alien invasion to apocalyptic proclamations of the End of Days.


    And who could blame them? In truth, we didn¡¯t know anything. I knew no more than they did, which was exactly nothing.


    I let out a long, frustrated breath and pulled out my old brick of a phone for the third time. I needed something, anything, to distract myself. To stop hearing the same damn alien invasion theory for the fifth time in half an hour.


    Still no network. No signal. No internet. Hell, I didn¡¯t even have enough battery life left to play a game or scroll mindlessly through bloatware. The screen displayed the time¡ª11:42 AM¡ªmocking me with the cruel reminder that there were still a solid eight hours to go before nightfall. Eight hours of waiting. Eight hours of this consistent and constant reminder of just how dry my throat felt.


    Not good.


    Not good at all.


    At this point, the drum of heartbeats had become an entire orchestra, thrumming through my skull. My gums felt like they were on fire, itching and aching so badly that I couldn¡¯t help but wonder if the instant I unclenched my jaw, my fangs would burst free from their sheaths, snapping open my mouth like a ravenous animal. That dark presence in the back of my mind was thrashing, spasming, clawing its way to the forefront of my thoughts, a migraine pounding behind my eyes, the kind of pain that made me want to crack my skull open just to dig it out.


    Even my sense of smell had sharpened to unbearable levels. All around me, the stench of sweat and unwashed bodies clung to the air, thick and suffocating. But there was something else beneath it, something sweet¡ªalmost intoxicating.


    ¡°Fear,¡± the word whispered from the depths of my mind, settling like a stone in my throat. I swallowed hard, trying to ignore it, but it clung to me like a sickness.


    Whatever the hell this presence was, I was never going to get used to it. It was a constant ache, a gnawing hunger that twisted inside me.


    What made it worse was the knowledge that I shouldn¡¯t be this hungry. I could still feel blood sloshing around in my stomach, not enough to satisfy me, but enough to tell me I wasn¡¯t starving. This wasn¡¯t the hunger of someone who hadn¡¯t eaten in days. No, this was the hunger of an addict¡ªthe craving, the desperate need for a fix.


    And my fix was right there, in every heartbeat, in every exposed jugular that passed by me. It was all I could think about.


    I groaned as I bent over on my seat, trying to put enough pressure on my stomach and distract myself.


    ¡°Jon, you okay man?¡± Tim asked from my left and I nodded, trying to shift my focus. Before he could say anything else, however, Stephanie Evans¡¯s voice echoed through the amphitheater and I snapped my head up, thankful for a proper distraction.


    ¡°Alright, please everyone, may I have your attention?¡± she spoke up from the main stage, the woman¡¯s thickly accented voice carrying easily. The hiss of whispered chatting died off immediately and everyone turned their heads to regard her and the giant bulk of Andreas to her left.


    "Thank you," she began, her words carrying over the room, measured yet strained. "Now, I know I said yesterday that help is sure to be on its way, and I still believe that to be true¡­" The last part came out hurriedly, cutting off the whispers that had begun to swell into murmurs.


    "¡­but the fact remains, we cannot simply wait and hope for the best¡­" Her attempt to continue was swiftly cut off by Andreas, who took a heavy step forward, seeming to almost fill the space with his presence.


    ¡°What Miss Evans is trying to say is, we got no supplies. No food. Water. Nothing¡± he bellowed and paused, letting the reality of their situation sink in.


    ¡°Now I dunno about any of you, but I¡¯m hungry as hell and my throat is dry. And if help is coming, we got to be alive to receive it¡±.


    More than a few students nodded and Andreas took another step forward, standing near the edge of the stage.


    ¡°And I sure as hell didn¡¯t save you from the deadheads to see you all starve. So I got a solution¡± he shouted out, arms splayed wide open.


    My eyes narrowed and jaw popped as I ground my teeth. There it was. The theatrics. The manipulation. It was beginning.


    ¡°Yeah baby¡± Lizzie¡¯s voice rang out, followed by a few whistles from Andreas¡¯s goons. This was all the catalyst needed for most of the student body to cheer in one form or another, either a clap, a whistle or as simple as a shouted out ¡°Yeah¡±.


    Credit where credit was due, the bastard was smart. The words used, Lizzie¡¯s reaction, his goons keeping tempo, everything had most likely been staged and staged well to boot.


    The students were hungry, thirsty and scared, they would¡¯ve cheered for a bucket if it promised to help them. Moreover, Andreas already had accrued enough ¡°brownie points¡± by leading them out of the school building in the first place.


    Still didn¡¯t explain why he was pretending to be nice to Samantha. Or why, for that matter, he hadn¡¯t just started barking orders to the other students like he did to the gophers.


    He had the guns after all¡­


    Then it hit me like a ton of bricks¡­


    Realisation¡­


    So that was his plan.


    Andreas wasn¡¯t just trying to survive¡ªhe was setting himself up to be the leader of this ragtag group. The man was smart enough to know that simply being the one with the guns wouldn¡¯t be enough to hold power for long. You could push people around for a while, but eventually, that sort of heavy-handedness would breed resentment. Keeping a small group like us gophers in line was one thing.


    But over forty people? Too much.


    So, he was playing the long game. He wasn¡¯t just flexing muscle; he was positioning himself as the necessary man, the one who would become indispensable to everyone¡¯s survival.


    Right now, Samantha Evans still held some authority, if only because students still saw her as the vice-principal, the ¡°adult¡± in the room, and they clung to her authority out of habit. But that authority would erode and Andreas knew this as well as I did.


    This was why he was playing nice, letting her speak first, letting her have the last word every now and then. It wasn¡¯t out of respect¡ªit was strategy. If he had outright challenged her, ignored her instructions, or directly tried to seize control, it would have been too obvious, too fast. The students would¡¯ve picked up on the power struggle, and that would¡¯ve caused chaos. Instead, he was waiting.


    This way, sooner rather than later, the student body would just follow his lead naturally. A peaceful transition of power rather than a coup-d''etat, securing his position.


    I couldn¡¯t help but be impressed.


    This was downright Machiavellian. Well, either that or I was severely overthinking and overestimating him.


    Regardless, one thing was for absolute certainty.


    Andreas was as pessimistic as myself on any prospect of help coming.


    ¡°There¡¯s still food in the cafeteria. Water too. Medicine in the nurse¡¯s office¡± Andreas continued, snapping me out of my thoughts.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to go in a large group, cut a swathe straight through, and get as much as we can before nightfall¡­¡±.


    The amphitheater fell into a grave silence, as the prospect of going back out there registered on the gathered students. Faces went pale and a few heads began to slowly shake. He let the tension hang in the air, heavy and oppressive, crushing against the back of the increasingly panicked student body.


    But, before an outroar could begin, Andreas continued.


    ¡°Of course, I¡¯m not asking for any of you to do that. There¡¯s already enough injured people, and it¡¯s dangerous. So me and my guys are going to handle this¡± he said, motioning to himself, his goon squad and finally, our gopher group in the back.


    And there it was. The final piece of the puzzle.


    Put the prospect of going back out there onto the students, let the fear and danger of such an action register to them, burrow into their minds, then quickly take away that responsibility and place it on someone else¡¯s shoulders. The manipulation, while not subtle, was nonetheless very effective, and I could see fear warp into relief on so many faces. Some had even begun to cheer.


    The only person not relieved was Miss Evans, standing behind him, chewing on her thumb nail and trying not to look towards us gophers. Probably the reason she had been gesticulating so much before.


    ¡°Shit. Shit¡± Tim mumbled beside me, trembling so hard I could almost feel the vibrations traveling through the floor ¡°They¡¯re going to use us as meat shields. Shit, why did I have to come with them? I should¡¯ve left when I had the chance¡±.


    ¡°Too late now¡± I muttered back and nudged my head towards the entrance.


    Bill had stationed himself by the door and was keeping his eyes on us, the sawed off shotgun resting menacingly against his shoulder.


    ¡°And we¡¯re going to go, right now¡± Andreas continued as soon as the cheering died down.


    That quickly got my attention, enough that I stopped listening to the other gophers around me. Half-baked, whispered plans of running away tonight or barricading ourselves in the gym became insignificant noise in the face of this new problem.


    And it was very much a problem.


    There was absolutely no way I could go out in daylight.


    Before I could even start forming a plan on how to avoid this, a small, yet sure voice rang out through the room.


    ¡°That¡¯s an idiotic ideea¡±


    All noise died down as Mina Miller got up from her seat. Which, in and of itself, meant very little considering how short she was.


    ¡°Haven¡¯t you been paying attention yesterday? The fly-clouds only moved to attack people that were screaming. The infected have burst eyes in their sockets and move in little more than circles until they hear something¡± she carried on, keeping a level gaze on Andreas.


    ¡°Well, sorry Mina, I was a bit busy saving everyone¡¯s ass yesterday. What¡¯s your point?¡± Andreas retorted, that fake smile reserved only for ¡°polite company¡± plastered on his face.


    ¡°My point¡± she continued, undeterred ¡°is that those things are predators that function only by sound. They¡¯re all blind. A group that large can¡¯t be silent. It¡¯s only gonna attract them and get overrun¡±.


    ¡°Smart girl¡± I whispered, eliciting a look from Tim.


    ¡°So what''d you propose we do, smart-mouth?¡± Lizzie asked, not even bothering to turn her head and regard Mina. Despite feigned indifference, the vein on her temple clearly spoke of frustration at Andreas''s speech getting interrupted.


    ¡°Simple¡± Mina said, either oblivious or outright ignoring the blonde¡¯s provocation.


    ¡°Smaller groups, three to four people tops, enough to move quietly and make a retreat if need be. Each group focuses on a different resource. A group for food. One for water. One for the nurse¡¯s office and one for the caretaker¡¯s shed. More than anything, there¡¯s still the Mall a few miles from the main campus, down the hill. There¡¯s resources there. Water, food, medicine, the hardware store. At least one group should go scout it, make sure the mist wall hasn¡¯t covered it too. See how infested it is. Start prepping a plan to scavenge it¡±.


    ¡°Smaller groups would be easy pickings¡­¡± Andreas started, only to get interrupted immediately.


    ¡°And larger groups get heard and overrun. There are over 2000 students at our school. If even half of them are infected, that means ¡°cutting a swathe¡± is a pipe-dream.


    The moment the group gets attacked, you¡¯ll have to fight. Which means attracting more infected. And unless you¡¯ve got an unlimited supply of bullets, those guns of yours won¡¯t count for nothing¡±.


    Andreas hesitated for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty passing through his gaze.


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    "This is basic logic," Mina said, her voice cutting through the tension. "Even B-movie zombies get it."


    ¡°This isn¡¯t one of your movies, nerd¡± Lizzie hissed, launching the nail polish she was busily applying to her fingers and rounding up on Mina.


    ¡°This is real life. And you¡­.¡± She carried on, her voice specked with upward notes of hysterical frustration. Whether this was because she had it out for the Miller sisters or because Mina was speaking truths she¡¯d rather not hear, was anyone¡¯s guess.


    ¡°I am trying to help¡± Mina interrupted her, voice calm and hands crossed protectively over a barely existing chest. Despite her minute frame and small voice, she nonetheless spoke with the surety and conviction of someone adamant of their own conclusion.


    Thus, her words had weight. Weight that was actively putting a wrench into Andreas¡¯s, and most likely Lizzie¡¯s, plans.


    ¡°Going as a large group is nothing more than putting all our eggs in one basket¡± she tore her gaze from the fuming Lizzie, settling back to Andreas.


    ¡°And when that fails, and it will, we¡¯ll be stuck with fewer people, less ammo, no food and no water. We¡¯ll be back to square one but with far less options¡±.


    ¡°Oh, lookit miss ray-o-sunshine over here. Good pep-talk, nerd¡± Lizzie meandered on, petulantly trying to get the last word in.


    ¡°I¡¯m not trying to make you feel good, princess. I¡¯m trying to plan so that as many people survive this. But, by all means, feel free to go manifest good vibes or whatever. Manifest a bottle of water too, while you''re at it ¡± she concluded, mimicking the last part, in a surprisingly good impression of a valley girl accent.


    The sound of chair legs scratching hardwood flooring cut through the room, as Lizzie Landon shot up from her chair, livid. She¡¯d always been at the top of the food chain. Any sort of deviation from that, no matter how slight, was clearly fraying her nerves.


    ¡°Now listen here you little bi¡­¡±


    ¡°Ho, you better sit down before I smack the makeup off your face¡± a gruffer, yet no less feminine voice, rang out through the amphitheater. Tina Miller had risen from the seat herself and was looming right beside her sister, eyes locked on the now, far less vociferous blonde.


    Mina could cut deep with words. But her sister didn¡¯t bother with words or empty threats. Lizzie Landon was fucking around, and getting dangerously close to finding out.


    ¡°Enough¡± Miss Evans shouted before things could get further out of hand.


    ¡°Both of you. Sit down. We will not be reduced to ruffians squabbling among each other¡±.


    Lizzie, however, wasn¡¯t done. Her face was flushed, a mixture of rage and feigned indignation, bubbling just beneath the surface. She whipped around, finger pointing accusingly at the Miller sisters, her voice rising to a fever pitch.


    ¡°But she threa¡­¡±


    ¡°Sit!¡±


    ¡°But¡­¡±


    ¡°Sit Miss Landon! Right now!¡± Samantha said one more time, glacial gaze pinning down the younger woman. There was no denying the sense of authority her words carried. As strong as a Drill Sergeants without even needing to yell.


    The vice-principal was nothing if not a born disciplinarian.


    Lizzie plopped herself back onto her chair, making a theatrical show of hyperventilating while her group of sycophantic hens fawned all over her as if this was some TV Drama and she had been the victim of a great injustice.


    ¡°Miss Mina, while I agree there¡¯s truth to your words, your plan would put more people at risk. We only need enough supplies to last until help arrives¡± Samantha said, turning her attention back to the petite woman.


    Mina shook her head.


    ¡°Respectfully ma¡¯am, I disagree. Smaller groups would make less noise. Smaller groups will have an easier time retreating if things get bad¡±.


    She pointed her arm as if to encompass the group of students.


    ¡°And more than that, please do not try and coddle us. There¡¯s no help coming any time soon¡±.


    This immediately shifted the atmosphere in the room. Most students began to whisper and mutter while a few others just sat there with flabbergasted expressions. Even Lizzie and her mob were now paying full attention.


    ¡°M-Miss Miller, I know things look bleak, but¡­.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not how they look, ma¡¯am. It¡¯s how they sound,¡± Mina cut in sharply, her voice unwavering and clear, as if she had no intention of letting anyone derail her point. She didn¡¯t wait for a response, and the room seemed to fall still, every pair of eyes locked onto her.


    ¡°What have you been hearing? Nothing. It¡¯s been almost 24 hours since this all began, and our campus is right next to the main freeway out of town. Where¡¯s the sound of cars evacuating? The wail of sirens¡ªpolice, ambulances, fire trucks? Five miles down the road, there¡¯s a National Guard outpost, but not one truck, not one chopper has passed through.¡±


    Her words were like a whip, crackling with cold logic, drawing the room¡¯s focus tighter and tighter around her. With every sentence, the atmosphere was growing colder, more oppressive, as the bare, unvarnished truth is want to do.


    ¡°The mist walls surrounding us¡ªabout 100 meters tall, maybe more¡ªwraps around this area like a prison. Sure, it¡¯s tall, but not enough to stop a chopper from flying over. So where is it? Silence. Complete silence. Not even chem trails from planes¡± She paused, letting the weight of her words settle in the air like dust.


    ¡°That¡¯s not normal. So it¡¯s safe to assume that whatever¡¯s happening beyond these walls is just as bad, if not worse, than what¡¯s going on here. We don¡¯t just need supplies for a few days. We need to gather everything we can and hunker down for as long as it takes. This isn¡¯t a temporary thing¡ªmore likely than not, we¡¯re in it for the long haul.¡±


    She let that final note hang in the air, a solemn truth that no one in the room could ignore.


    The murmuring and whispers had stopped and the tension in the air was almost palpable.


    Mina''s logic was self-evident and she had said nothing other than what most were thinking. But people have an optimism bias by nature. They assume and expect that things like tragedies, catastrophes, all these happen to ¡°someone else¡±.


    Having the harsh truth slapped in your face, is something few people are capable of experiencing without missing a beat. That takes age, grit, experience. And the group in this room was mostly formed of teens and young adults.


    Too green.


    Some looked to border on outright panic. Others looked ready to burst out in frustrated rage. But most had simply frozen.


    ¡°She¡¯s right¡± Andreas cut through the silence.


    For the most part he¡¯d just stood there throughout her speech, holding his chin, seeming to consider Mina¡¯s words.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think the situation¡¯s as doom and gloom as she says¡± he added quickly, a theatrical shrug to his shoulders. ¡°But as far as the idea of smaller groups goes, she¡¯s right. We got to hedge our bets, so to speak¡±.


    Without waiting for an answer, he clapped his hands together.


    ¡°Right, I want my guys with me, we gonna¡¯ plan this out, split into groups, settle for routes and get to work¡±.


    Again, credit where it was due, Andreas had just saved the situation. Going into full active action and not letting anyone dwell on the situation was what had been needed. Add to that, him asking only ¡°his guys¡±, which of course meant our gopher group too, to start getting on with it, had made it clear to everyone present that they were still in no immediate danger.


    I made no move to get up from my seat, still busily wringing my brain for any sort of way to avoid going out in broad daylight. If I could somehow stall this expedition nightfall, I could play pretend to still be the obedient little gopher and once we went out, make myself scarce and leave them to their own fate.


    Save for Andreas and his goons, I had no problem with anyone else here. But I sure as hell didn¡¯t intend to stay until my secret came to light and I¡¯d find myself facing a scared, angry mob with the proverbial pitchforks and torches, ready to kill the vampire.


    That and, more than anything, I didn¡¯t owe anyone a single thing. Least of all my help.


    If anything else, silver lining and all that, all this talking and debating had been enough of a distraction to take my mind off my withdrawal symptoms.


    Before I could even begin to take stock and start planning, a voice right behind me pushed me out of my concentration.


    ¡°Hell no!¡±


    The room once more fell into a deep silence as three gophers right behind me got up. Two looked very much unsure, but the large blond-haired, blue-eyed young man in the middle looked like he¡¯d made up his mind. The same guy I¡¯d talked to earlier.


    Andreas just crossed his hands behind his back and flashed that fake smile at him. We gophers knew that smile. It was what usually preceded a show of violence when it came to the bastard. An ¡°example¡± soon to be made.


    ¡°Excuse you?¡±


    ¡°I said, hell no¡± the young man continued, crossing thick arms over his barrel chest. From the corner of my eye, I could see Bill was making his way from the door towards us. He stopped as soon as Andreas gave a small, almost imperceptible gesture with his fingers.


    ¡°Why us? Why do we got to go out there? Why not everyone?¡±


    ¡°Well, everyone has to pull their weight, no?¡± Andreas answered back passively, holding one arm towards the other students.


    ¡°The others have to remain here and safeguard our sanctuary. Y¡¯know, barricade stuff and whatnot. They got their job, we got ours¡±.


    The lie was obvious. There was nothing to do here, everything that could be barricaded had already been, and everyone knew that. But it nonetheless galvanized the other students


    What the other students also knew was that Andreas intended to use the gophers. And that meant they would be safe. So, they immediately rallied, with all the self-righteous indignation a hypocritical mob could muster, launching a veritable fusillade of appelatives at us.


    ¡°Stop whining, we¡¯re all in this together,¡± someone barked, though their words lacked any true conviction, more like a tired mantra they hoped would calm their own nerves.


    ¡°Everyone¡¯s gotta do their part,¡± another added, their voice pitched just a little too high, trying to sound braver than they felt.


    ¡°Yeah, someone¡¯s gotta hold down the fort,¡± a third chimed in, as if their sacrifice was the key to everyone¡¯s survival.


    ¡°Just do your part, you whiny bitch!!!¡±


    The hypocrisy and double standard on display was so obvious it was almost funny. One of the three gophers sat down, brow beaten by the angry, bordering on violence mob, but the blonde man seemed undeterred, face locked into a grimace.


    ¡°No. This is bull and you all know it. No way I¡¯m risking my life out there unless everyone does the same. Either we¡¯re all in this or I¡¯m walking, yea? What¡¯re you gonna do? Shoot me?¡±.


    The berating swelled, like a storm gathering force. Every word became more venomous, more desperate, as the tide of frustration crashed against the gophers. Andreas stood back, a silent conductor orchestrating the chaos, letting it play out for as long as it could. It was a calculated move¡ªstirring the pot, letting them stew in their own anger, pushing them to the brink.


    I could barely make out Samantha¡¯s voice, weak against the rising tide of insults. ¡°Quiet,¡± she called, then again, ¡°That¡¯s enough!¡± But her words were swallowed whole by the mob, lost in the shrill chorus of cusses and accusations, the kind that came easily when survival was on the line, when every fear and every frustration needed an outlet.


    In the eye of the storm stood Lizzie Landon, right in the center, her eyes gleaming with the kind of fervor only desperate desire to survive could fuel. She was the gasoline in the fire, egging everyone on, her voice like an engine revving, pushing the students to escalate.


    Every shout from her added fuel to the already blazing fury.


    But it was the stillness that caught my attention. Mina and Tina Miller sat like statues, their faces impassive, their mouths sealed shut. They weren¡¯t feeding into the frenzy like the others. They weren¡¯t defending, they weren¡¯t attacking¡ªjust waiting. Observing. Silent, calculating.


    ¡°That¡¯s fine¡± Andreas bellowed, loud enough for his voice to cut through the cacophony. Everyone immediately went quiet, and a few of the gophers around me twitched in full attention.


    ¡°That¡¯s fine. We¡¯re all equals here, we¡¯re civilized people. No one¡¯s a prisoner here. So if you want to walk, walk¡± he continued, pointing towards the door.


    The blonde man just gave a nod and made to get through the other sitting gophers, his only standing ally right behind him, with the one who had sat down half-rising to follow. All around me, gophers were whispering, some fidgeting as if ready to get up themselves.


    I didn¡¯t move. I knew Andreas too well to know that he¡¯d just sprung a trap.


    ¡°Out of the building, please¡± Andreas added with finality.


    There it was.


    The three stopped in their tracks and the fidgeting gophers around me went stock still.


    ¡°What?¡± the blonde man shouted.


    The words slipped from Andreas¡¯s mouth like honey, sweet and smooth, but laced with venom. "Well yes, of course. If you¡¯re not going to pull your own weight, you can¡¯t stay in our community. No squatters allowed. We all took this place together, barricaded it together, worked for it, why would you get to just squat here without doing your part?" The smile on his face remained fixed, an expression of forced congeniality masking the steel beneath. Every word, every syllable, was a calculated stroke in his manipulation. He knew he had the majority on his side. They¡¯d follow him if only to avoid being the next target, to keep themselves from facing the horrors beyond those walls for one more day.


    It was a cruel kind of power, the kind that twisted the truth until it was unrecognizable, but it was power nonetheless.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to throw me out there? That¡¯s just killing me with extra steps¡± the gopher snarled, livid with anger and fear in equal parts.


    ¡°No. Nonono! NO!¡± Samantha quickly interjected, putting one hand in front of Andreas and setting herself in front of him.


    ¡°No one is throwing anyone out, am I clear? Andreas Henderson, you will not¡­¡±


    Andreas just backed away, theatrically holding his hands up, smile now a full-fledged smirk.


    ¡°Miss Evans, I¡¯m not doing anything. We¡¯re still civilized people, right? So we vote on it¡±.


    Before she could even have a chance to put a stop to the farce, Andreas turned to the students and raised an arm.


    ¡°Who here believes we should throw out anyone unwilling to pull their own weight?¡±


    Hands shot up immediately, everyone except the Miller sisters and Samantha Evans, who was too busy trying to stop it, raising their voice in one large ¡°Yes¡±.


    Andreas just turned and spread his arms towards the former vice-principal.


    ¡°And there we go, the people have spoken¡±.


    That had done it.


    Whatever semblance of authority Samantha Evans had, whether by virtue of her seniority or her position as vice-principal, had just evaporated.


    There was no turning back now. Everyone with half a brain could see what had just happened here. It¡¯s not like Andreas had been subtle enough or Machiavellian enough to properly hide it, but it didn¡¯t matter. With one move he¡¯d just made everyone here complicit in the creation of a serf class.


    And the guilt of that would knit them together as tightly as the desire for safety would.


    This sort of thing,it was a cliche in movies and comics for a good reason. Because it¡¯s human history and nature.


    People, when scared enough, get dumb. And when that happens, it takes very little to get caught up in the rolling boulder of a majority decision. After all, you either roll with the avalanche, or it swallows you up too.


    The blond, heavy-set guy had tried his best and, for what little it was worth, he was still trying, pulling at the gophers closest to him, trying to galvanize them.


    ¡°Comon, don¡¯t just sit there, if we all walk out, we can make it. We won¡¯t even have to walk out, Andreas will have to¡­¡±


    He stopped mid-sentence when he realized no one was paying attention. More than that, the others were putting in effort to deliberately ignore him. With a defeated sigh, he plopped himself back onto the chair, face buried in his hands.


    It had been a futile attempt. The gophers were already browbeaten before all this, and no different than the other students as far as their desires went. As long as they could postpone going out there for one more hour, they were more than happy to keep their heads down and say nothing. It just meant one more hour of safety rather than being exiled outside with the monsters.


    ¡°What just happened?¡± Tim mumbled, staring numbly at the scene playing in front of us. Andreas was just standing there, shit-eating grin on his face as Samantha Evans was gesticulating rapidly, clearly trying to make a point, and the rest of the students were talking amongst one another, nodding rapidly, pointing at our group, probably justifying their actions.


    After all, no one saw themselves as the bad guy.


    So they would rationalize themselves into circles until they¡¯d come to the clear reasoning as to why we weren¡¯t ¡°pulling our weight¡± and it was right to threaten us with ¡°exile¡±.


    ¡°We just became something. I dunno man, pick a word : Serfs? Indentured Servants? Undesirables? Or maybe something older and less politically correct? Cannon Fodder? Yeah, that sounds about right¡± I mumbled back, sounding a lot colder than I intended to.


    But it wasn¡¯t coldness that ran through me; it was the weight of jaded experience. I¡¯d seen this before.


    Not like I was some kind of psychological savant or a genius who could read between the lines and predict every outcome. It wasn¡¯t some supernatural gift, just something born from years of surviving the trenches¡ªgrowing up in orphanages, foster homes, and the streets of the ghettos. That kind of life makes you keenly aware of how quickly the masks of civility and morality can slip when the world goes to hell.


    People can preach all they want about decency, but when the walls start closing in, those same people will turn on you just as fast as they¡¯ll turn on each other. It¡¯s survival. It¡¯s instinct. And you can either embrace it or be consumed by it.


    And yet.


    Just because I understood the why¡¯s and how¡¯s of this situation, didn¡¯t make it any less disgusting.


    Just because I knew that if I were in their place, scared and panicking, I probably would have been swept up in the mob and done much the same, moral compass be damned, didn¡¯t mean the sight of them trying to rationalize their actions didn¡¯t sicken me.


    Because I wasn¡¯t in their place.


    And I was no saint.


    So I felt every right to look at them for the bastards they were being.


    ¡°Then I¡¯m going in his stead¡± I picked up Samantha¡¯s voice in the cacophony. Andreas¡¯s smile fell and he just shook his head.


    ¡°No can do, Miss Evans¡±.


    ¡°That¡¯s not your decision to make, young man. I¡¯m going in his stead and you let him stay¡±.


    ¡°No. This is not up for debate. Unless you¡¯re willing to abandon all the students that are looking to you for guidance and security¡±.


    This clamped her mouth shut quick. Andreas was playing to her sense of duty.


    As impressive as it was to hear Miss Evans try to put herself into danger just to help one person, for some reason or another Andreas wasn¡¯t willing to let that happen. Not yet, at the very least.


    He didn¡¯t even bother to wait for her response, only turned around and motioned to Bill.


    ¡°All right, let¡¯s get this planned out, we leave in an hour¡±.


    ¡°Oh, now that would be such a waste in profit¡±


    The voice, as clear as crystal, cultured, jovial and with just a hint of sarcasm rang out through the large amphitheater unnaturally loud, even though it had barely been murmured.


    All whispers stopped. All mutterings fell silent. And all everyone, including myself, could do was stare at the freakishly tall, impossibly thin creature which had, for all intents and purposes, just popped into existence behind Andreas and Samantha.


    There was no sound, no flash of light, no sign to mark its arrival. It was as though it had always been there, lurking just beyond our perception, waiting for the right moment to emerge.


    The creature towered over us, standing an imposing eleven feet tall, draped in a finely tailored outfit that seemed almost out of place in the chaos. Its attire, rich and regal, clung to its form in a way that made no sense for something so alien¡ªlike a mockery of elegance. It raised a hand to its head, removing a wide-brimmed hat adorned with a feather plume.


    But it wasn¡¯t the hat or the outfit that held my gaze. It was the creature itself¡ªthe head was nothing but a ball of white fur, featureless, devoid of any true face, save for the wooden mask that was affixed where a visage should have been. Two hollowed-out eye sockets, each filled with blazing, sapphire-blue orbs of light, glared back at us, burning with a quiet intensity.


    Then, with a grace that belied its intimidating form, the creature dipped into a deep, elegant bow, as though honoring us with its presence. The gesture was paradoxical¡ªpolite, even courteous¡ªand its otherworldly nature sent a shiver of unease rippling through my spine. It was as if something ancient, something far beyond us, had stepped into the room, and I could feel the weight of its gaze like a heavy hand pressing down on my chest.


    ¡°Greetings. This most humble merchant is named Puck¡±

 Chapter 14

    ¡°HOLY SHIT¡­!!!¡± Andreas shrieked as he jumped back from the creature, fumbling for his gun and almost dropping it. There was screaming and the clambering of desks as people jolted from their seats and tried to move as far from¡­ whatever it was, as they could.


    I jumped back from my seat, so surprised I forgot to compensate for my improved body, and slammed my back into the gophers behind me, splaying them onto the floor.


    ¡°Now, now, please, calm down. Any more of this and you will hurt my feelings. Make me feel like I am not welcome here or some such nonsense¡± the creature spoke in its unnaturally clear voice, stick-like arms held in front of it, palms wide open, in a gesture of harmlessness.


    It did very little to help.


    Everything about the creature was simply¡­ wrong.


    It was too tall, too thin, looking like a brisk breeze would snap it, even its hands were chalk-white, spindly fingers like the legs of some massive albino spider ending in pitch black, sharp nails.


    It wore some sort of fur-collared, brown overcoat over something very close to a striped two-piece suit. Like a caricature of Victorian clothing one would see in period-piece movies, only ridiculously elongated and jingling with dozens of rings and coins sewn onto the surface of its fabric.


    ¡°Well, this is embarrassing. I¡¯m certain I tapped into the correct cogital frequency. Can my words not reach you?¡± The creature continued, tilting its head and tapping a finger the length of a walking cane against its temple, in a way that would have been almost comical if not for how unnatural the monster was.


    ¡°What the fuck are you?¡± Andreas roared, finally managing to level his handgun towards the monster. It would have been brave if not for the fact that he had moved in such a way that the frozen-in-fear Samantha Evans was conveniently between him and the creature.


    ¡°Oh good. So you do understand. Delightful. Then, once again¡­¡± the creature settled it¡¯s plumed hat on it¡¯s head, pinched the wide brim and bowed again, flourishing it¡¯s hat in long arc, ending with one hand outstretched and the hat across a chest barely a little wider than a 14 year old boy¡¯s. It was all very theatrical. And equally disconcerting.


    ¡°Greetings. This most humble merchant is named Puck¡±


    I could only stand there, legs bent, ready to bolt at any hint of danger, watching as Andreas moved a little to better use Samantha as a shield, even going so far as to put one hand on a shoulder and keep her still.


    ¡°Puck? A merchant? What the hell¡¯s a Puck¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh no no no, my dear boy¡± the creature intoned, shaking one finger like a metronome.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a what, it¡¯s a who, and the who is myself, Puck, Feyvolken Merchant. Not A Feyvolken Merchant, but THE Feyvolken Merchant¡± he straightened at the waist to his full height, spreading his arms dramatically.


    ¡°Merchant Extraordinaire. Entrepreneur Beyond Reproach. Trailblazer of such far sight that I am first among my kind to approach the natives of our fine amalgamation of Worlds in order to establish beautiful and enterprising trade agreements of superlative financial prosperity to all parties involved¡±.


    Puck then immediately did several bows, as if expecting people to applaud. When no one did, he placed the hat back on his¡­ head¡­ and crossed his arms behind his back, waiting.


    The words ¡°Amalgamation of Worlds¡± were ringing in my ears, reminding me of what the vampiress had said.


    But I wasn¡¯t going to say anything. Not yet. For now I was just another face in the crowd, content to stand far enough away from the action and just observe. Something I intended to keep doing until I knew for sure the damn thing wasn¡¯t a danger to me.


    ¡°A-Alright? Ok? So¡­.¡± Andreas began only to be swiftly interrupted by Mina¡¯s small voice.


    ¡°Wait. Fey¡­volken? Puck? That¡¯s a character from A Midsummer Night¡¯s Dream and mythology. Are you a fairy?¡± she said, standing behind her sister who had procured the broken length of a chair leg from somewhere and was actively trying to shush her.


    Blazing golden stars blasted into existence around Mina and Tina in a series of pops like firecrackers and the two women screamed aloud and scurried away.


    ¡°Yes, Bravo, my dear. I have not yet tasted enough of your world¡¯s magic to know of this ¡°Midsummer Night¡± or your mythology, but where I come from, I am indeed a fairy, a sprite, a fey¡± Puck said, applauding, or at least trying to, despite the length of his fingers making some sort of clacking sound that made my skin crawl. Like monster spiders having a drunken orgy.


    ¡°But, those are your words for us. My kind prefers the term Feyvolken. The Fey Folk¡±.


    He said with another flourish then quickly stood back up, tapping the wooden chin of his mask.


    ¡°Though I suppose calling it your world and my world is a tad meaningless at this point. It¡¯s all OUR world now. Yours and mine¡±.


    My mind was working a hundred miles a minute, posing question after question that I could ask, but I clenched my mouth shut. As many questions as I had, there was one thing my brain kept reverting to. This thing had mentioned trades and merchants more than once and if ever there was the personification of the Faustian Deal, it¡¯d be this gangly looking freak that looked like it was there just to drag you to Hell.


    Last thing I wanted to do was say the wrong thing and damn myself by mistake. It may have sounded silly or superstitious to those that didn¡¯t believe in such things, but I¡¯d just witnessed enough ¡°impossible¡± things in the last 24 hours, I sure as hell wasn¡¯t willing to risk it.


    ¡°Well, you sure don¡¯t look like no fairy¡± Andreas snapped, gun still leveled at the creature.


    ¡°And what do you mean our world? What happened?¡±


    Puck¡¯s fingers danced lightly across his mask, the subtle tap of his knuckles against wooden surface ringing out in the heavy silence. His head tilted ever so slightly, the feathers in his hat fluttering with the movement, and the air around him seemed to thicken, like the space itself was holding its breath.


    ¡°No, no, no,¡± he murmured, voice slipping from playful to something more sinister, as though he was savoring the moment. ¡°That is valuable information. Worth something. And I¡¯m not willing to part with it without compensation.¡±


    Andreas, as expected, didn¡¯t understand the danger he was courting. His anger surged in waves, and he shoved Samantha out of his path like she was little more than an inconvenience. His hand tightened around his gun, and with two long strides, he stormed toward the creature.


    ¡°Yeah? Well, how about you fucking tell me anyway?¡± Andreas snapped, venom dripping from each word, barrel inches away from the creature¡¯s chest.


    Puck didn¡¯t move. He didn¡¯t flinch. His finger froze in mid-tap, hovering above the mask, as if time itself had stilled in the wake of Andreas¡¯s defiance. Then, slowly, Puck¡¯s head tilted downward, his gaze¡ªthose blazing blue orbs¡ªlocking onto the man.


    The air seemed to shift with a subtle crackle, the room growing colder, heavier, as though something ancient had just awakened. The blue lights in Puck¡¯s mask deepened, darkened to a molten red, and with it came a chill that sank into the marrow of my bones. When he spoke, the sound didn¡¯t come from his throat¡ªit seemed to rise from the very depths of the earth itself, a rumbling tremor that shook the air, reverberating in my chest with the force of a distant quake.


    ¡°Understand your place, fleshbag.¡±


    The words were neither shouted, roared or bellowed, only whispered. But it was clarity. Crystal and undiluted clarity.


    We were as beneath this thing as ants were beneath us. Barely worthy of consideration, and no more a threat than a dust mite to a bear. Our guns, our minds, our humanity, everything about us stood as less than insignificant compared to this creature.


    All this became known to me, spoken directly from that voice into some primeval part of my brain, the same part that dealt with instinct. And by the looks on the faces of those surrounding me, they were feeling the exact same.


    It ended as suddenly as it began, leaving the air thick and heavy, like a storm that had already passed but left its weight behind. I exhaled in a breath I didn¡¯t realize I¡¯d been holding, and the others around me did the same. Some of them, unable to keep their footing, slid down to the floor or collapsed against the nearest wall, terror twisting their features into grotesque masks of dread.


    Despite the intense urge to flee, to put as much distance between me and whatever the hell that was, some dark, morbid curiosity kept me rooted to the spot. I couldn¡¯t look away. I turned my eyes back to the stage.


    Andreas was a broken man, slumped on the floor, his gun abandoned beside him like a useless toy. His body was shaking so violently I could see it even from across the room, and his eyes¡ªwide with fear¡ªdarted around as if expecting the floor to swallow him whole. He looked small. Weak. For once, I almost felt sorry for him.


    Almost.


    Puck, though, had not moved an inch. He stood exactly as he had before, still as a statue, his finger suspended in the air just inches from his mask. His "eyes," those haunting, glowing orbs, shifting back to their original blue hue.


    He moved with the sudden, sporadic motions of an arachnid and I flinched instinctively, bracing myself for what I was sure would be a violent, bloody end for Andreas.


    But it never came.


    Instead, to my shock, Puck''s impossibly long, spindly fingers wrapped themselves around the man¡¯s shoulders with an eerie gentleness. The moment was absurd, surreal¡ªhe lifted Andreas from the floor as if the man weighed nothing, his trembling form dangling in the air like a ragdoll.


    And then, as though this were some kind of bizarre, twisted form of hospitality, he pulled a fine kerchief from the pocket of his overcoat and, with meticulous care, began to dust off the still-quaking young man, the gesture somehow more disturbing than any act of violence could¡¯ve been.


    ¡°Oh, but let¡¯s not let this nastiness impede the burgeoning beginning of our most profitable and amicable business associateship, no no no, my dear boy¡± Puck rang out, his voice returned into that sing-song, jovial and cultured tone.


    ¡°Right¡­ yea¡­. S-sure¡­. Sorry about that¡­.¡± Andreas attempted to speak, words slurred and tangled.


    ¡°Umm¡­ e-excuse me?¡± Mina spoke from behind her Tina-shaped shield, her voice shaky.


    Puck¡¯s head snapped to her in a movement so immediate it wouldn¡¯t have been surprising to see it simply pop off his shoulders.


    ¡°Yes, little one?¡±


    Mina hesitated for a few seconds more, probably as disconcerted by the unnatural movements as everyone else, but eventually, to my surprise, squirmed herself out from behind her sister and stood in front, taking a few deep breaths.


    ¡°Yo-You said you were a merchant? Correct?¡±


    ¡°THE Merchant, my dear. Trailblazer Supreme. Entrepreneur Extraordinaire. The Magna Carta and Magnum Opus Manifestation of all commerce and financial pursuits¡± it sang out, holding one finger up for emphasis, other hand resting against the small of his back, chest puffed up in peacock-like posturing, as if expecting at any moment for the assembled people to burst out into roaring applause.


    ¡°Well¡­ okay¡­ but, what do you sell?¡± Mina continued, trying and miserably failing to regain some semblance of composure in her voice.


    ¡°Ah, yes, EXACTLY!¡± Puck gesticulated rapidly and, with no motion, no sound, not even so much as a pop, he was suddenly right in front of the girl, as if he had been there from the very beginning.


    Mina squeed and jumped back, only her sister¡¯s quick grab preventing her from splaying onto the floor.


    ¡°Finally, we can begin talking in earnest. Quite honestly, I was already getting somewhat bored of no one addressing the proverbial elephant in the room. But you seem to be a more adequate conversation partner, at the very least¡± Puck continued, either indifferent or just pretending not to have noticed her reaction.


    ¡°As for the WHAT, my dear, the answer is simply¡­¡± Puck drawled, his voice smooth and unhurried, splaying those gangly aberrations of his arms above himself.


    A flash of light, and my jaw dropped.


    Food, water bottles, weapons¡ªan endless array of objects¡ªhovered above him, each encased in a glowing blue aura. The sheer quantity was staggering. It was as if all the world''s possessions had been brought together in one, single, impossible collection. Mundane things like cans of beans and packets of chips floated alongside gleaming swords, their blades etched with markings so intricate they made my eyes hurt just to look at them. Pieces of armor¡ªblackened steel, smooth iron¡ªdanced in the air, some tarnished, others gleaming as if freshly forged.


    It didn¡¯t stop there.


    I saw crates, their lids creaking open to reveal ingots of metals that defied all my knowledge¡ªsome gleaming with an ethereal sheen, others pulsing with an otherworldly glow. Glass vials, delicate and fragile, filled with liquids that shimmered in hues I couldn''t name, swirling in patterns that defied nature itself.


    The spectacle was overwhelming. The display stretched beyond the limits of the amphitheater, spiraling upwards, spiraling outwards, like the night sky had cracked open and its treasures were spilling down into the room. Each floating object hummed with purpose, like they were all pieces of some grand, cosmic puzzle. The sheer volume of it was enough to make my head spin. And it kept going.


    Not just filling the space, but extending into infinity, objects so far away that they blurred together, impossible to identify. A collection of things beyond human understanding¡ªyet they were all there, hovering in Puck¡¯s strange, eerie hold.


    Puck moved his hands back together and, with the same suddenness the display had appeared, it evaporated, and I was once again staring at the cracked and dirt-marked plaster of the ceiling.


    ¡°Anything, dear child. Anything that you want, need and do not even know you want or need. I have amassed an inventory in my long life that you cannot even begin to comprehend. And more than a few of your world¡¯s knick-knacks and bobs in the last twenty four of your fleshling hours. If it does not exist in my inventory, I can acquire it¡±.


    ¡°What¡¯s the catch?¡± Lizzie Landon shouted out, emerging from the press of people still hugging the wall.


    Puck turned his head to regard her, tilting it slightly.


    ¡°The catch?¡±


    ¡°Yeah? The catch. The rub. The monkey¡¯s paw. Nothing¡¯s free, so what¡¯s the catch?¡± Lizzie continued, hands on her hips, face locked in a show of feigned fearlesness.


    ¡°No catch, my dear. I am an honest merchant. Pay me the currency I desire, I give you what you ask for. Simple, no?¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah, sure, sounds simple enough? But you haven¡¯t yet told us the currency you¡¯re asking for. So I¡¯m assuming the catch¡¯s right there¡± Lizzie cut the Fey creature off, showing a surprising amount of gumption in the face of such an alien creature.


    Puck brought up one long finger, and although I couldn¡¯t see any facial features, his entire attitude expressed joviality.


    ¡°Ah, but of course, after all, the foundational block by which all commerce comes into being is currency. And the currency I ask is that which all Feyvolken seek, my dear. Magic!¡±


    Lizzie¡¯s mouth opened, closed, then opened again.


    ¡°Magic?¡±


    ¡°Magic my dear. Raw, untamed, undiluted, untainted, pure and pristine. Magic. The raw stuff of reality¡± Puck meandered on, voice growing more passionate and almost hysterical with each spoken word, as if he was some epicurean describing the best gourmet meal ever conceived.


    ¡°That which is to our kind both sustenance and pleasure. Meaning and Purpose. Goal and endless pursuit. Magic¡±.


    ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t think¡­. humans have¡­ magic?¡± Mina blurted out.


    The Fey creature snapped its head back and let out a shrill, grating sound that could have been a laugh.


    ¡°Oh no, sweet child, all creatures can harvest magic. But you, humans, are¡­. hmmm¡­. how should I put this nicely¡± he said, once more resuming to tap on the featureless mask of his face.


    He snapped his fingers together and continued.


    ¡°So dreadfully incompetent at gathering even a singular morsel of the ambiental magic around you, it¡¯s almost amusing to watch. Like blind newborn kittens, mewling around in the dark¡±.


    ¡°In that case, why us?¡± Mina asked suddenly, all apprehension gone from her voice, replaced with cold calculation. Her mind was working. Rummaging information. And her change in demeanor told me something.


    She¡¯d just latched onto something.


    ¡°Hm?¡± Puck tilted his head, almost owl-like.


    Mina took one step forward.


    ¡°You mentioned you¡¯re a trailblazer. The first to make contact with¡­ our kind. And that our kind are abysmal at harvesting magic. So why us? Why not the myriad other humans in the world right now?¡±


    I caught the flow of her thoughts and mentally congratulated the petite woman. She really did live up to the rumors about her mind. Unfortunately, it seemed like Puck was similarly smart enough to catch the trap that had been laid out for him.


    The Fey creature smacked his hands in a mock applause.


    ¡°Oh bravo, little one, bravo. Smart. An answer hidden in a question. Bravo. Whether I answer your question or not, you would still gain another answer, specifically in regards to your query as to what¡¯s happened to the humans beyond the obscuring mist wall of your Boundary. My most sincere congratulations in trying to swindle this old merchant¡±


    He continued to clatter his hands together in that mocking applause, and I could see Mina chewing on her bottom lip. It¡¯d been a good effort. But no dice.


    ¡°However¡± Puck said, suddenly stopping mid-clap ¡°I¡¯m a bit too ancient to fall afoul of little stratagems like that. The Fey Courts are home to such deception and politicking that would make your feeble little meat-filled head burst¡±.


    He held his hands together, fingers interlaced, as if considering something, letting the uncomfortable silence draw on for long seconds.


    ¡°But, I suppose it would be a show of professionalism on my part to give you a small inkling as to the valuables I can offer, free of charge¡±.


    The Fey leaned in towards a slightly backpedaling Mina, conspiratorially.


    ¡°After all, there is very little more valuable than information¡±.


    The alien creature straightened to his full height once more and raised one finger.


    ¡°In regards to the unasked question, yes, there are myriad other native humans of your former world outside your Boundary. Sadly, the aforementioned number is growing smaller with every passing hour. Death is claiming it¡¯s due, I¡¯m afraid, and your kind are woefully unprepared for the tribulations of my former world¡±.


    Puck half-raised a second finger, quickly interrupted by Tina Miller.


    ¡°Wait, wait, we need some more context here. Boundaries, former worlds, tribulations, what¡¯s that all mean?¡±


    The Fey¡¯s head snapped to the tall woman, making the amazoness shrink and shy away in a show very much unlike our school¡¯s wrestling ace.


    ¡°Now, now, I have agreed in my magnanimity to share some information free of charge. Everything else other than what I choose to share, will require payment. Now, If I would be permitted to continue?¡±


    Tina shrank even further back, hugging the wall, the Fey¡¯s smoldering gaze fixed on her. Finally, he fully raised a second finger.


    ¡°In regards to the question asked, why choose you? The answer is quite simple. One of you is in possession of the very currency I seek. And considering our worlds have only just melded together, the speed at which this was done is surprising. Not the first of your kind to acquire the aforementioned currency, but among the first, and as such, optimal candidates for this most beauteous of mercantile pursuits¡±.


    I was starting to get fed up with him and his knack for speaking a lot without saying much. More than that, everything he was saying only served to raise more questions, which I suspected was by design. His entire spiel had still offered no specifics and he had gone quiet again, as if waiting for a follow-up question.


    And it soon came, from a very unexpected place.


    ¡°Oh for the love of¡­. will you just tell us?¡± Lizzie Landon just shot out with no preamble and a surprising amount of hostility targeted towards the creature.


    Was it bravery? Ignorance? Or just stupidity?


    Either way, Puck seemed to just ignore the abrasive tone and took it as his que to continue, angling those two fingers so as to point.


    In my direction.


    ¡°The stones, my dear child, the stones he has squirreled away in a pouch¡±.


    Dozens of eyes locked onto me, and the torrent of curses that flooded my mind would¡¯ve made even the saltiest sailor redden like a cherry. There went my carefully constructed plan to keep out of the spotlight, shattered like glass on stone.


    I reached into my pocket, fingers brushing against the coarse fabric of the makeshift pouch and pulled it out. The ragged fabric fell open, revealing ten jagged black shards inside, each pulsing with streaks of deep blue that twisted and danced across the obsidian surfaces. They glowed faintly, erratic flashes coursing through them like living lightning.


    The gophers around me began to retreat¡ªslowly at first, then in a full-blown scramble¡ª as Puck appeared in front of me, in the same impossible, unceremonious shift of motion that he seemingly liked to do.


    ¡°Shit!¡± I hissed through clenched teeth.


    A low, rattling hiss emanated from the mask, like the warning sound of a snake ready to strike, as it crouched in front of me, the blue orbs of his eyes affixed onto the stones in my hand.


    "Ah... such an aroma," his voice rasped, thick with a twisted sort of pleasure. "Wild magic... crystallized mana... untainted aether. Unshaped, unbound. Divine."


    Patter echoed in the stillness, a thick, clear liquid slowly creeping down the edge of the wooden mask, dripping onto the floor in heavy drops.


    Was it¡­ drool?


    The creature behind the mask seemed so lost in whatever it was sensing that it couldn¡¯t even keep control of its own body.


    This was it.


    The bargaining chip.


    This was my only shot to get some answers and despite every cell in my body screaming for me to just chuck the bag in its face and get as far away from this damn freak of nature, I instead closed my fist around the stones, engulfing them in the rancid, dirt-stained cloth.


    Puck¡¯s head immediately snapped to me and two small points of crimson started to spread in those endless pools of blue.


    ¡°You wanna do commerce? Then you explain, first. After all, it ain¡¯t commerce unless both parties know the worth of their wares right?¡± I hissed, more to keep my teeth from chattering rather than any form of anger.


    Puck studied me for what felt like an eternity, his gaze unblinking, unwavering. Then, with deliberate slowness, he rose to his full height, towering over me. My neck strained, muscles aching as I forced myself to meet his gaze, the weight of his presence pressing down like a physical force.


    The silence stretched on, thick and choking, and his eyes, those burning points of crimson, flickered, blazing bright and dimming again in a slow, unpredictable rhythm.


    Then, without warning, the creature chortled¡ªan unsettling, almost curious sound. And the thing coiled in the back of my head, something primal and ancient, froze.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    It went still, paralyzed.


    Fear?


    I couldn¡¯t tell. But something deep inside me trembled in response, as though whatever it was, had just recognized something far older than it.


    And it had been noticed in turn.


    ¡°Oh? Interesting. I see you, boy¡± Puck whispered, loud enough for only me to hear.


    The cold, clammy hand of fear gripped my spine once more and I gulped.


    Shit.


    This thing had seen me. Not the person, Jon. But the vampire. He knew. And he knew I didn¡¯t want anyone else to know.


    Puck wrapped his lanky arms behind the small of his back and, with the driest of chuckles, spoke again.


    ¡°Ask then, my dear human¡± he said, emphasizing the last word with frigid sarcasm.


    The unsaid message was clear : Step out of line with my questions, and he¡¯d spill the beans about my little secret.


    I chewed on the inside of my lower lip hard enough to draw blood, a reflexive action, formed habit long time ago that came out whenever I felt backed into a corner, then gulped the knot in my throat down.


    I still held the stones he wanted in my hand, and the fact he hadn¡¯t just swiped them, meant his whole spiel about transactions was, at least in part, the truth. He couldn¡¯t just take them, I had to give him these glowing rocks.


    As soon as the question formulated itself in my mind I became fully aware of how silly and inane it would seem to anyone else in this specific apocalyptic circumstance. But I had to know. I couldn¡¯t just ignore the risk of inadvertently performing a blasphemy of the highest order by sheer ignorance.


    It was something all too common in everything from fantasy stories, comics and folk cautionary tales. The Faustian Deal. I had to make sure this wasn¡¯t that.


    ¡°I found these stones in the chests of the gob¡­ the green creatures I killed on the way here. Are these like their souls or something?¡±


    Quiet followed, both from the other students and the Fey creature standing in front of me.


    Swiftly broken by Puck doubling over in a fit of trilling, bird-like laughter, slapping a hand against his, so thin it was virtually non-existent, thigh, all trace of his hostility, all but gone.


    The laugh went on for several long minutes, and it was all I could do to stand there, black stones clenched in my hand, a mixture of anxiety and confusion cocktailing my insides.


    ¡°I apologize, my apologies, young man¡± Puck gasped, slurring words through barks of laughter, holding a hand over what was probably his abdomen.


    ¡°I am not mocking you, simply the question. The sheer ludicrousness of such a statement is amusing to me¡±.


    Puck fell into another minute-long fit that ended with him gasping for air, hands perched on his knees. A minute more and he drew back to his height, hands clasped behind his back, trying to regain decorum, an act made all the harder by him still slurring half his words through chuckles.


    ¡°My dear boy, the very concept that something as powerful and sacrosanct as a soul, any soul, even the soul of the most inferior of creatures, could ever be trapped or held in something as trivial as crystal, or anything for that matter, is simply¡­ moronic¡±.


    Puck shook his head and the joviality in his voice evaporated.


    ¡°Allow me to make this abundantly clear. For all our power, strength and age, even we Feyvolken know better than to even attempt to muck about with souls. There are powers and laws far beyond even us, and any attempt to impede upon the eternal Cycle or even touch upon a soul, carries with it consequences your feeble minds could not even begin to comprehend.


    No, my boy, the souls of those creatures you¡¯ve slain have moved onto the roads of their deeds. Those crystals you hold house nothing more than their reservoir of magic, or mana you may call it, in crystalised form.


    I am Feyvolken, child. We trade in magic, not souls. We¡¯re neither stupid nor suicidal enough to even attempt to trade in souls¡±.


    I didn¡¯t know why, whether it was the calm steadiness in his words, the concrete-like surety or simply a feeling inside me, no different than when he¡¯d threatened us, but I knew he was speaking the truth.


    The same way you know that water¡¯s wet and grass is green. It was a simple statement of fact.


    ¡°Alright¡± I murmured.


    ¡°Alright so then, why didn¡¯t I find any of these crystals in the zombies¡­¡± I added, only to quickly correct myself with the word the vampiress had used.


    ¡°... the rotbloods?¡±


    Puck simply shrugged.


    ¡°Abundantly simple. The ¡°goblins¡±, as you¡¯d refer to them, are creatures endemic to what was once my world. By the nature of their anatomy, they unconsciously accumulate ambiental magic throughout their lives, which crystallizes inside their flesh. The rotbloods however, are a byproduct of nothing more than a disease. Vehicles of flesh to house the epidemic that is the Putrescent Swarm. The Rot-Flies that make up this swarm lack the anatomy necessary to absorb mana and, as such, their hosts do not absorb mana either¡±.


    I nodded. His speech had given some answers even as it had raised more than enough questions.


    What were the Putrescent Swarms? The Rot-Flies?


    I decided to push my luck a little further.


    ¡°And humans can¡¯t absorb mana either?¡±


    Puck nodded indifferently.


    ¡°Correct. Though, do not confuse two different elements, child. The Orcs and Goblins, as you call them, absorb magic by the make of their anatomy. Like parasites. Tape-worms upon existence. My kind refer to them as they are. Sinborn. Filth. Barely above lampreys.


    We Feyvolken, and a number of races other than us, have the capability to harvest magic, to draw it in, so to speak. Not in the parasitic way of the Sinborn.


    Where that worthless filth traps the aether inside their rancid flesh, we give it form and function, use it to create worth and beauty.


    Humans can do much the same, but are simply the most incompetent at doing such a thing. Your kind are simply too short-lived and too narrow-minded to properly attune to the aetheric winds¡±.


    ¡°Why do you call them Sinborn? And how many other races are there from your world? Besides humans I mean?¡± I rapid-fired question after question.


    Puck simply slowly shook his head.


    ¡°Valuable question with a valuable answer. Will not give it freely¡±.


    I chewed on my bottom lip again.


    Had I just reached the limit of what he was willing to answer?


    ¡°Okay. One last question, then. You kept saying my world, your world, our melded world. What happened to our two worlds?¡±


    Puck inclined his head and chuckled dryly.


    ¡°Come now, boy. That is clearly valuable information. Why would I give it for free? No, no, no, my dear sweet child. That specific question I will not answer for anything less than a hundred Aether Stones¡±.


    I sighed and racked my brain for another question, only to have my thoughts cut off by Puck.


    ¡°But that¡¯s enough. I refuse to humor any more queries unless they are of a mercantile nature. Your measly ten Aether Stones are very much starting to be ill-worth the hassle. If we won¡¯t be doing business, I will take my leave¡± he said in a dry, bored tone.


    It was clear that I¡¯d just reached the end of his patience.


    ¡°Alright. Then, how much food and water will this get us?¡± I asked quickly.


    These were my stones, true. And sure as anything, I¡¯d been the one to earn them. Using them to help this bunch of hypocritical pricks felt like ash on my tongue.


    But like or not, this was the only idea I had on how to delay the possibility of having to go outside during the day. If they got their hands on food and water quick, any thought of going back out there would evaporate, at least for a time. And all I needed was to buy time until nightfall.


    Puck, clearly pleased with the turn our conversation had taken, snapped his fingers sharply, the sound cutting through the air.


    ¡°Finally,¡± he muttered, smooth voice carrying a sense of satisfaction.


    With a flamboyant flourish, the Fey creature drew his long stick-thin arm to his side and where it passed, an absolute cornucopia of provisions appeared as if from nothing.


    My jaw dropped as I witnessed the abundance.


    There were crates of cured meat and salted fish, sausages and hams wrapped in coarse linen rope, piles upon piles of vegetables so fresh they looked as if they had just been plucked from the ground. While all these provisions held an old-timey look , as if taken straight out of a medieval county fair, there were also bags of junk food, chips and sweets, cases of plastic bottled water, clear and pristine as though pilfered from the nearest convenience store.


    I realized, then, that this wasn¡¯t pure magic. At least, not in its entirety. It wasn¡¯t some conjured creation. Puck¡¯s ¡°inventory¡± seemed more like a collection¡ªthings snatched from places both near and far, gathered from¡­ everywhere.


    The spread in front of me was enough to keep everyone here in the black for at least a week, maybe even more with proper rationing.


    The gophers drew closer, hunger and thirst overcoming their earlier reticence and more than a few of the other students had begun walking toward the pile.


    Puck had simply extended his arm towards me, palm open, silently demanding the Aether Stones, blue orbs glinting and glowing with expectation.


    Before I could do anything, the sharp sound of boots on hardwood floor tore my attention away, and I turned just in time to see a fist hammering towards me, the sharp glint of gold plated steel shining in its grasp.


    Then it collided with my face, solid steel crushing my nasal cavity into a red ruin. This wasn''t some stone-arrowhead fired from a shoddily made bow, the cut by an emaciated goblin or the lunge of an uncoordinated undead. It''d been a strike with the butt of a handgun, a surprise attack, carrying with it all the weight of someone more than two heads taller than me. bearing a prize fighter''s physique. All muscle and fury. Had I still been human, it would have knocked me out cold, at the very least. Had I still been human, it would have reduced my maxilla bone to rubble.


    But I wasn''t human.


    So I only stumbled back, Aether Stones clattering loudly onto the floor, a hand clutched to the pulverized mess that was the bridge of my nose.


    ¡°ANDREAS!¡±


    Samantha¡¯s shrill cry sliced through the haze of pain, dragging my blurry vision upward. My eyes barely opened, still half-squinting from the force of the strike, but very much able to curdle the blood in my veins.


    There, standing over me, was Andreas¡ª face flushed with rage, veins bulging and throbbing across his neck and forehead, gripping his gold-plated Desert Eagle, the barrel aimed directly at me. His fury was palpable, and his finger hovered precariously over the trigger.


    ¡°You been holding out on me gopher? Huh? You little shit?¡± Andreas snarled.


    It was stupid. Some idiotic nonsense and everyone knew it. How could I have been holding out on him when no one here had known about any of this.


    Magic? Mana? Aether-Stones?


    This was new ground for everyone, Andreas included and this whole show was nothing more than the volatile idiot¡¯s only way of dealing with the unknown.


    Find someone weaker than him to take out his frustrations on.


    ¡°Not weaker. Not anymore. He is prey¡±


    The voice came from the depths of my mind, unbidden and unwelcome. It slithered up from the shadows of my thoughts, the dark impulse uncoiling itself like a serpent and thrashing within me. It fought against the years of learned fear, the gut-deep terror of Andreas''s past abuse. My own voice, twisted and guttural, more growl than speech, echoed in my skull.


    ¡°He tried to kill us¡±


    The voice wasn¡¯t wrong.


    If I hadn¡¯t been a vampire, a hit like this could have outright killed me. Even if it had been just the busted up nasal cavity, it would''ve been enough to drown me in my own blood and phlegm. Hell, my throat was already clogged with it. If I were still mortal, I¡¯d be thrashing on the floor suffocating right about now. In a world without hospitals and surgical interventions, it would''ve been a debilitating injury.


    Luckily, since I wasn¡¯t mortal anymore, I didn¡¯t need to breathe, and I could already feel the shards of bone and cartilage slowly, painfully move in order to knit back together.


    But it changed nothing.


    ¡°Blood for blood. Tooth for tooth¡± it hissed from the darkest parts of my mind. Red painted my sight, a deep gurgling growl began to reverberate through my chest and I could feel my canines begin to flex out of their sheaths.


    The voice was right.


    Why should I tolerate this?


    Why should I let this meatbag do what he wants? My vision began to swim with the sight and sound of meat splitting under my teeth. All it would take was a lunge and¡­


    *SMACK!!!*


    Before I could even begin to move, an open hand smacked itself against Andreas¡¯s face and a smartly dressed figure sat herself in front of me protectively.


    ¡°What the hell is the matter with you?¡± Samantha Evans shrieked into Andreas¡¯s face.


    ¡°Are you insane? You could have killed him? How in the hell do you expect him to know that those stones were valuable, have you lost your¡­?¡±


    She trailed off as Andreas slowly shifted his gun and pressed it to her mandible, cold murder in his eyes, breath coming in short, sharp gasps.


    The unpredictable, volatile animal that all of us gophers knew, was showing his face.


    ¡°Piss off outta my way¡± he hissed.


    From behind, I couldn¡¯t see Samantha¡¯s face, but the way her legs were trembling, the woman was horrified. And yet, she didn¡¯t move out of the way, still shielding me with her presence.


    Andreas growled again, his nose inches away from her¡¯s.


    ¡°You don¡¯t touch me, got it? And you don¡¯t get into my damn business, you uppity cu¡­¡±.


    Lizzie suddenly popped up from behind him, a comparatively slender arm, draped across him.


    ¡°Baby, calm down. Calm down. We got other things to deal with, yeah?¡± she quickly whispered, rubbing his chest.


    Andreas held his glare on Samantha for a few more moments, his eyes burning with murder.


    Then, without warning, he lowered his weapon, the Desert Eagle swaying in his hand like an afterthought, and that twisted, fake grin returned to his face. It was a smile that didn¡¯t reach his eyes, but it was there¡ªmocking, insincere.


    "Wop. Sorry about that, Miss E, nerves got the better of me. My bad."


    His tone was smooth, too smooth, like oil sliding over stone. With practiced indifference, he holstered the gun, the click of the leather strap almost too loud in the tense silence. Then, in a swift motion, he bent down and snatched up the fallen Aether Stones, his hands moving with almost casual grace, as if this entire display had been nothing more than a momentary lapse.


    "I¡¯ll deal with the merchant," he muttered, his words dripping with false joviality. The malice, however, remained, just beneath the surface, a silent threat that lingered like a shadow too close to the light.


    I forced my feet beneath me, body swaying like a tree in a storm, more of trying to keep myself from digging my thumbs into the bastard''s eyes than any sort of real damage. The taste of blood and bile lingered in my mouth as I reached for the now-empty rag, pressing it to my face, as much to stanch the flow, as to cover my lower mouth before my lengthening teeth forced it open and let the proverbial cat out of the bag.


    Before I could fully regain my balance, Samantha was there, hands quick as lightning. She lunged for me, fingers wrapping around my arms, desperate to pry them apart and check on the wound.


    ¡°Quick, let me see¡­¡± she whispered, still trembling and pale-faced, but her eyes filled with worry. She, at the very least, seemed to know how dangerous the blow I¡¯d been dealt could be.


    I twisted, forcing myself from the woman¡¯s grasp, and turned my back to her.


    ¡°Ab bhine¡± I tried saying, my voice coming out warped as much from the wound as from my canines, and made for the back of the group.


    The mental tug-of-war between myself and the impulse had been won by me, but only by sheer dumb luck. The sheer audacity of Samantha smacking that bastard and putting herself between me and him had been enough to snap me out of the decision I had been making.


    The decision to tear the bastard¡¯s throat open.


    But just barely.


    Had it been half a second more, it would have gone so much different.


    ¡°Jon¡­¡± I heard Samantha shout behind me and felt a hand grasp for my shoulder.


    ¡°Ab Phuging Phine¡± I slurred back, voice muffled by the rag, shaking her hand off.


    Without intending to, my eyes caught Lizzie Landon¡¯s and she quickly turned her head. It hadn¡¯t been fast enough for me not to notice the mixture of pity and scorn in them, but I didn¡¯t bother wondering or trying to dissect the look, merely stomped towards the back, shouldering my way through both gophers and students until I reached the wall, pressing the rag against my face as hard as I could.


    Tim, bless his heart, had moved before me and pulled a chair. With a curt nod in the form of thanks, I slumped into it.


    ¡°You okay man?¡± he asked, and held a bundle of cloth for me to take. With another nod of gratitude, I pressed the rest of the bundle and motioned for him to keep his eyes on the still unfolding events.


    Samantha¡¯s eyes stayed fixed on me, concern clear on her face. But as soon as I sat down, she pulled off her glasses and turned away, wiping a hand across her face. She was close to breaking¡ªtrying to keep everything under control in the midst of all this chaos was wearing her down.


    ¡°Now. Food is good, but I saw you had some guns in your inventory¡± Andreas¡¯s voice sounded out and I paid Samantha Evans no more mind.


    Puck shrugged nonchalantly, whipping his spider-leg of an arm again. From this distance and sitting down, I couldn¡¯t see what had appeared, but based on the groans I was hearing, it was probably a very small amount.


    ¡°Only that?¡± Andreas half-shouted. ¡°Okay? What about ammo for the guns we have?¡±.


    Puck whipped his arm again and another series of groans echoed in the amphitheater.


    ¡°Not gonna lie, Fey-man, the amount you¡¯re offering is¡­ subpar¡± Andreas growled, the faintest edge of frustration dirtying his tone. I smiled beneath the rags.


    Even from the back, I could tell Andreas was biting his tongue, trying not to spout off some threat or cuss. This would probably mark the first time in the bastard¡¯s life he hadn¡¯t been able to just outright push his weight around willy-nilly.


    Puck simply shrugged with obvious indifference.


    ¡°Food is something universal, infant. I can acquire it easily, and in case of a stock shortage, I can simply recreate it from the aether¡±.


    He snapped his fingers and an AK popped into existence in his hand.


    ¡°But these¡­ guns, you call them? The stock I have as of yet been able to find has been limited. And my native world did not have these. As such it will take days for me to properly examine and understand how to recreate them from the aether¡±.


    Another snap, and the gun disappeared, only to be replaced by a box of rounds.


    ¡°And this¡­ ammunition?¡± he said with a scornful tone ¡°I am beginning to think that recreating such trinkets from nothing is too much an investment of magical power for far too little profit. The alloy, the primer, the black powder, all deeply complex aethiric simulacra, for something that becomes expended after only a single strike?¡±


    Puck flicked the box and it disappeared into thin air.


    ¡°Wasteful. No, I think not. The inventory of guns and ammunition will remain relegated to what I can find in this melded world of ours. So until I have successfully increased the stock, it shall come at a premium cost¡±.


    The silence stretched on, each passing second dragging out longer than the last as Andreas stood there, chin resting in his hand, lost in thought. As the minutes ticked by, the low murmurs grew louder, turning into frustrated demands. The other students were losing patience, urging him to just ¡°get the food and water already.¡±


    With a sudden snap, Andreas whipped his head around to face them. The noise died instantly. The room went still. Eyes dropped, mouths snapped shut, and the air seemed to freeze. Everyone was still haunted by the image of a red-faced, furious Andreas, anger barely contained¡ª the moment when he¡¯d nearly turned that fury on Miss Evans. The memory hung thick in the air, fresh and sharp, reminding them all just how quickly things could unravel, freezing the protests in their throats.


    Everyone likes to think themselves the hero. The one who speaks up. But the reality is that most people are all too content to wait for someone else to do that.


    With a garbled, alien sound reminding of a bored groan, Puck cleared his throat.


    ¡°If I may offer advice?¡±


    Andreas lifted his head, his attention clearly piqued.


    ¡°Alright?¡±.


    Instead of speaking, Puck bent over, hand open and extended.


    ¡°One Aether Stone¡±


    ¡°Excuse you?¡±


    ¡°Advice is information. And information is¡­¡±


    "Valuable. Yeah, we get it." Andreas finished the Fey creature¡¯s sentence, his voice cold, and held the silent stare for a few long seconds. Then, with a deep, resigned sigh, he plucked one of the Aether Stones from the pile and flicked it toward Puck, deliberately tuning out the murmurs of groans and protests that rippled through the crowd of students around him.


    With a fluidity that defied all reason, given his strange, gangly form, Puck snatched the Stone from the air mid-flight, slipping it into his breast pocket before anyone could blink.


    "Very well," he said, his voice dripping with the slightest hint of satisfaction. "At long last, some commerce has been made. Now..."


    Without a word, Puck clasped his hands together, his movements a blur, and in a heartbeat, he flung his arms wide. What followed nearly made me drop the rag I was still pressing to my face.


    Before Puck, suspended in a shimmering sphere of iridescent blue, floated not an object or food, but something far more unnerving¡ªa swirling series of black markings, shifting and twisting in and out of shape. One moment, I saw the outline of a sword, an axe, a skull, a bow. The next, the shapes morphed, contorting into formless black streaks that swirled and pulsed with a mind of their own, like the bubbles in a lava lamp, chaotic and unpredictable.


    ¡°This," Puck¡¯s voice rang out, almost reverent, ¡°what you are witnessing, infants, is the singular, most coveted service the Feyvolken can offer." He paused, eyes gleaming with a mix of pride and malice. "Behold, children, the Class Markings.¡±

 Chapter 15

    The entire room stood in stunned silence, eyes fixed on the spectacle, as if hypnotized by the magic unfolding in front of them.


    Within the sphere of light, the dark lines flowed like ink in water, twisting and shifting in a dazzling display of shapes¡ªintricate, complex, and so detailed that one could lose themselves in their endless layers, trying to trace every nook, every curve, every rune and symbol that seemed to pulse with life. Each line seemed to breathe, as if the very essence of the magic was alive, unfolding in a mesmerizing dance.


    Puck held the sphere aloft, his chest swelling with pride, basking in the awestruck gazes of those around him.


    ¡°The younger races,¡± he began, voice smooth and condescending, ¡°have always been incompetent in the use of magic. So primitive, so rudimentary, so limited in their thinking.¡± He smiled, savoring the weight of their attention.


    ¡°But the Feyvolken are nothing if not gracious. And so, bear witness to what only my kind can create.¡±


    His hand moved across the surface of the sphere with surprising tenderness, almost as if he were caressing it. The blue light shimmered under his touch, rippling like water disturbed by a soft breeze.


    The shapes within began to shift, flowing with a sinuous grace, curling and twisting until they solidified into form. Two crossed axes appeared, their edges sharp and gleaming, surrounded by jagged runes that pulsed with an ominous glow, their meaning ancient and veiled in mystery.


    ¡°The Warrior,¡± Puck announced, voice sharp with pride.


    He moved his hand again, and the shapes shifted, forming a staff beside a sword, crowned with flowing script that seemed to pulse with an ancient rhythm.


    ¡°The Spellblade,¡± he said, his voice now laced with a hint of satisfaction.


    Again and again, Puck moved his hand over the glowing surface, and each time the black, ink-like substance within it twisted and reshaped, forming new symbols¡ªsome familiar, others alien, all equally stunning.


    A staff crossed before a book.


    ¡°The Magus.¡±


    Two open hands, reaching, grasping as though to choke the very life from something.


    ¡°The Brawler.¡±


    A bow crossed with a stiletto.


    ¡°The Cutthroat.¡±


    And with each passing shape, the room seemed to hold its breath.


    Finally, Puck drew his hand across the surface one last time, and the inky lines inside the sphere resumed their dance, a swirling, near-amorphous mass, moving as though it had no form, only potential.


    ¡°These, dear children,¡± Puck said, his voice heavy with the weight of what he was offering, ¡°are the most valuable of my wares. The Class Markings.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just like in¡­¡± Tim began and I cut him off, words still somewhat muffled by the rag and slurred by the crushed bones.


    ¡°Hyeah. Hust lihe inh ahRPGhee¡±


    Tim didn¡¯t answer back, just crossed his hands behind his head in a show that was equal parts exasperation and boyish giddiness.


    ¡°Holy¡­¡± he began.


    ¡°Hyeet¡± I ended.


    "What do they do?" Mina''s voice cut through the quiet awe. I couldn¡¯t see her, probably because of her size, but there was something in her voice¡ªdry, expectant¡ªthat told me she already had a good idea.


    Anyone who¡¯d spent time in a game, whether tabletop or digital, or even just skimmed the web, would know where this was headed. And despite everything, a part of me couldn¡¯t help but feel a strange kind of excitement bubbling up.


    After all, RPGs were my favourite type of game. And if ever two things went hand in hand, it was RPGs and Classes.


    ¡°The Markings do what your incompetence and youth prevents you, dear girl. Once branded upon your skin, the markings will draw the aether for you, shape it into the form and function inherent to the Class Marking of your choosing¡±


    The dark ink swirled, taking the shape of an axe.


    ¡°Those with the Warrior Mark will have their bodies empowered, muscles suffused and engorged with the raw stuff of creation, voices morphed into booming trumpets¡±.


    The ink twisted into the form of a staff.


    ¡°The Magus will become the very catalyst of their own power, the aether absorbed to become blazing flame or corruscating lightning¡±.


    Once more it waxed, taking the shape of a stiletto and bow crossed together.


    ¡°The Cutthroat will be a shard of galvanised motion in a world of molasses¡±.


    The ink returned to its formless state.


    ¡°All this, can be yours, if you have the want to take it and the will to increase the Mark¡¯s potency. As you challenge adversity, as you increase your Rank, the Mark will evolve upon your unworthy flesh, grow and spread, and with it, the wealth of knowledge contained within your chosen Class will be made manifest for you.


    With enough time and effort, The Warrior can become a juggernaut of physicality, where shattering granite with bare hands and battering down fortress walls with no more than their bodies are within the bounds of reality.


    The Magus will become a walking maelstrom, storm, earth and fire made manifest by their very whims


    The Cutthroat may become as nimble as wind¡¯s whisper, as unseen as shadow on a moonless night and as deadly as the finest razor¡±.


    Puck clapped his hands once, the snapping sound loud and jarring, and the strange, glowing bubble popped out of existence with a soft hiss.


    ¡°That is what all who seek the Feyvolken inevitably gravitate to, young pups. That is what I offer. It was the penultimate truth in what was once my world, and it will inevitably become that in this, what has become our world¡±.


    Andreas simply held out his hand towards Puck, offering all the Aether Stones he had pilfered.


    ¡°I want it¡± he said in a voice hoarse with greed and want.


    Despite not being able to see his face, the sheer want and hunger in the power-hungry bastard¡¯s voice painted a picture in my mind. I wouldn¡¯t have been surprised if he was drooling.


    Puck stared at the Aether Stone filled hand and threw his head back in that alien, bird-like trill of a laugh.


    ¡°Silly boy. Even the cheapest Marking will cost at least 100 Aether Stones. You have nowhere near the necessary wealth to afford it¡±.


    Andreas just stood there, arm still outstretched.


    ¡°But¡­¡±


    Puck held one hand up, interrupting him before he could even properly begin.


    ¡°That¡¯s enough. Enough questions and answers. Enough debating and talking. Choose what you wish to purchase, or hold onto the Stones until you have enough for something more substantial¡± he said with the finality of a headsman''s ax.


    Andreas¡¯s shoulders contracted and swelled in that ¡°soon to become violent¡± way that we gophers knew all too well, and for a moment I almost thought the fool would attempt to yell or strongarm the Fey into acquiescing to his demand.


    Hell, I almost hoped for it. It would solve a lot of problems really quick.


    But, for all his volatility and temper, even Andreas Henderson wasn''t stupid enough to attempt such a thing again. Not after what had happened when he¡¯d leveled his gun at Puck.


    ¡°Alright, how do we¡­¡±


    "Just call out my name," Puck interrupted, before Andreas could finish. With a flourish and a mock bow, he turned and vanished. It was unceremonious and instant, a far cry from the flair for the dramatic he¡¯d displayed up to this point.


    Whether he''d gone invisible, turned into mist, or simply slipped from our perception, I couldn¡¯t say. All I knew was that the moment he was gone, the amphitheater erupted into chaos.


    Questions flew in all directions. Some about Puck, the Fey, and the spectacle we''d just witnessed. Others about magic, Aether Stones, and Class Markings. A few¡ªmore pointed¡ªwere about why Andreas hadn¡¯t just taken the damn food.


    I tuned them out, my attention drawn to Tim, emerging from the crowd with a woman at his heels. She was a sight, towering over him¡ªa solid yet slim oak of a woman, head and shoulders taller than Tim.


    At some point, while Puck had been rambling on about Classes, Tim had probably gone to fetch her¡ªTina Miller.


    When she crouched in front of me, I saw the steel in her gaze. Despite everything¡ªPuck¡¯s strange visit, the tension in the air¡ªshe was calm. Collected. As if she had everything under control. And if it were not for the way her heart was hammering in her chest, I would have almost believed her front.


    ¡°Hey dude, Tim called me here, asked if I could have a look at your injury¡±


    ¡°Thanks, but I¡¯m fine. Just a bad bruise¡± I muttered back, my collapsed nasal cavity having mended itself enough to allow for only semi-slurred speech. Thankfully, the ¡°downtime¡± had been enough for the impulse to calm down, even my teeth reverting to their normal shape.


    But I still didn¡¯t want anyone to see me right now.


    There was no logic behind my reticence. Most likely shame of getting bodied so easily and publicly. A desire to stomp to Andreas and put my entire fist through his face, if only to vent years worth of frustrations and fear. A silly thing to worry about, in the grand scheme of things.


    But, in my defense, vampire I may be, I was still an 18 year old guy, complete with the petty, easy to bruise ego of an 18 year old.


    Tina just shook her head.


    ¡°Yeah, sure tough guy, but I saw what happened and no one would be fine after a hit like that¡±. She extended her hand, grabbing for the rag, but didn¡¯t pull on it.


    ¡°Now common. I know more about fractures and bruises than anyone here, hell, I probably fractured every bone I have at one point or another, so just let me look, alright?¡±


    Reluctantly I pulled the rag off.


    This woman¡¯s entire vibe was one of pure dogged stubbornness and I knew that trying to keep the ¡°I¡¯m fine¡± act would only prolong this conversation into an endless back and forth.


    Tina drew a sharp breath through her teeth as I showed her my nose.


    ¡°Uff. Nasty bruise, that one. Alright, now tell me if it hurts¡± she said as she, with surprising gentleness, cupped either side of my face and began poking and prodding with her thumbs, working her way from my cheeks to the bridge of my nose.


    Only when she touched on the nasal bone itself did I hiss out a gasp, more for show than any real, deep pain. I had to at least play pretend of having been hurt somewhat, or people would wonder why I could take a metal handle to the face and be no worse for wear.


    Humans couldn¡¯t do that.


    Tina just drew her hands back the moment I hissed, in a placating gesture.


    ¡°Yep. Got it. Hurts right there. You¡¯re lucky you know that? Only got some nasty bruising, but I¡¯m not feeling any fractures. A hit like that could have crushed your nasal cavity¡±.


    ¡°Yeah, that would have been bad¡± I murmured, trying my best to keep the snark out of my voice as Tina pushed on her knees, rising from her crouch.


    ¡°You might wanna go, Andreas don¡¯t like people talking with his gophers¡± I murmured.


    ¡°Well, Andreas can go and throat a cactus for all I care. The only reason I ever listened to his¡­¡± she did the air quotes ¡°...rules, was because I knew his old man could try and put the brakes on my scholarship if his rotten crotch spawn got me in his crosshairs¡±.


    I nodded, though she didn¡¯t move, standing her ground as if waiting for something.


    ¡°I¡¯m not saying what I did was the right thing to do, you know? I was just looking out for myself and my sister. Same as anyone would,¡± she said, her voice steady, unbothered.


    A small chuckle escaped from me. It wasn¡¯t a mocking laugh, more of an acknowledgment. Her tone wasn¡¯t apologetic, wasn¡¯t seeking any kind of forgiveness. It was just flat¡ªhonest. No excuses. No justifications.


    The young woman was just calling a spade a spade. She¡¯d done us gophers wrong by not speaking up and she knew it. No sob story. No self justification. None of that mess.


    Pure honesty in a simple statement of fact.


    And I couldn¡¯t help but respect her candor.


    ¡°It is what it is¡± I answered dryly and gave her a smirk. She shrugged and mirrored it.


    As she turned, one more sentence blurted out before I could stop myself.


    ¡°So what¡¯s changed?¡±


    Tina crossed her hands behind her mop of short hair and seemed to consider the question for a long second.


    ¡°Everything, no? World¡¯s probably just gone to hell in a handbasket. No more college. No more scholarships. No more need to pretend like Andreas¡¯s words carry any weight¡±.


    ¡°Well that¡¯s a little bit nihilistic. Maybe the rest of the world¡¯s fine and it¡¯s only our neck of the woods that got screwed¡±.


    Tina just shook her head without hesitation.


    ¡°Nah. Trouble with having a genius for a sister, is that when she lays down the facts, you really ought to listen. Her guess is that this ain¡¯t an isolated event. And she¡¯s smarter than everyone here put together. So I tend to listen¡±.


    I huffed and gave her a curt nod. Mina Miller had all but mirrored my own opinion and I was definitely not as smart as her. So if I had been able to see it, she definitely would.


    ¡°See ya around, tough guy¡± Tina shouted over the growing cacophony of voices and went back towards her twin sister.


    As if on cue, a loud, piercing boom rang out and everyone either screamed or ducked.


    Smoke trailed languidly from the barrel of Andreas¡¯s gun as he held it towards the ceiling.


    ¡°Everyone quiet!!!¡± he bellowed, ignoring the more than a few descriptive appellatives whispered through clenched teeth.


    ¡°Now listen up. I know everyone wants food and water, but we gotta think about the long game here. We can get food and water from the main school building and¡­¡± he glanced towards Mina ¡°... from the mall. Those are easy to get resources. What we need, really need I mean, is to get our hands on some of those Classes. Think about it. Once we get at least one of those, more resources will be easier and easier to gather¡±.


    I grimaced as Andreas spoke and cussed silently as a few people nodded in acquiescence. More than half were still fuming over having to go hungry for a while longer, but not enough to make a difference. Especially not with Andreas and his crew holding the only guns the group had.


    My immediate hunch was that Andreas was angling to get a Class Marking before anyone else. Then, maybe his goons. And once that happened, and if Puck¡¯s words had been the real deal, his control would be impossible to break.


    He¡¯d become the guardian, provider and tyrant of the group.


    More than anything, it¡¯d ramp up his survival chance by leagues and bounds.


    If my intent to dip the moment I¡¯d get a chance had been an idea before, it had just become a concrete certainty. I had to get out of this soon-to-be nightmare ASAP.


    Still, one problem remained. The fact that Andreas still wanted us to go out during daylight.


    But I now knew how to fix it. The fact that it implied playing on Andreas¡¯s greed for Aether Stones only added a malicious satisfaction to my plan.


    ¡°It¡¯s gonna have to be at night¡±.


    Andreas stopped mid-sentence and snapped his gaze to me, with more than a few of the other students doing much the same.


    ¡°What was that?¡±


    ¡°If you want more Aether Stones, it¡¯s gonna have to be during the night. The Goblins were patrolling only in the dark, didn¡¯t see any during day. And the zombies don¡¯t have those stones inside their bodies¡± I bellowed back, letting my voice carry over the din.


    Mina immediately interjected.


    ¡°The Goblins are those little moss-green people right?¡±


    I nodded.


    She turned back to Andreas and popped out a black cylinder from her backpack. A monocular.


    ¡°I use this night vision monocular for night-time bird watching. I mean, I used to use it for that, before all this¡±.


    ¡°Either way, last night when I was on watch duty, I checked the surroundings from the windows and saw a small group passing near the forest¡±.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you say anything?¡± Lizzie Landon piped up.


    ¡°Because people were already panicking enough and those creatures weren¡¯t coming towards the building¡± Mina snapped.


    ¡°The important part is that I think he¡¯s right¡± she continued, pointing at me with the monocular.


    ¡°They got the anatomical traits of nocturnal hunters. Large eyes, yellowish sclera, slitted pupils for better night vision. The discoloration of their skin also suggests damp, dark environments as their base habitat¡± she meandered for a bit, lost in her own train of thoughts.


    ¡°You said you fought a few, right?¡± Tina asked from beside her sister.


    ¡°How tough are those things?¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t be that tough since the fatass over there got a couple of ¡®em¡± Bill grumbled an insult, punctuated by a few chuckles from Andreas¡¯s other wannabe thugs.


    ¡°They¡¯re about as strong as a grown man. It¡¯s made all the worse since they¡¯re so small. All that strength is compact, if they get their hands around your throat, you won¡¯t be able to pry them off¡­¡± I began only to be interrupted by Bill again.


    ¡°Oh, come on. They¡¯re just a bunch of skinny midgets, stop making shit up, you damn gopher¡± Bill snarled. Seemed the bastard¡¯s ego couldn¡¯t take being ignored.


    ¡°A chimp¡¯s half your size, but it¡¯ll still tear your arm off and beat you to death with it¡± I interjected, not even bothering to look at Bill.


    Tina¡¯s voice cut his comeback before it even began.


    ¡°I¡¯ve fought wrestlers two heads shorter than me, skinnier than me and almost got beat because I underestimated them. Short, skinny and strong is the worst kind of thing you can fight. They have a low center of gravity, good balance and a wiry strength to them. One mistake and you¡¯ll get locked in an armbar you can¡¯t break out of¡±.


    Bill was damn near livid as he responded the only way he could.


    ¡°Yeah, whatever¡±.


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    ¡°Regardless, would it not be better to go on two separate missions? One right now, during daylight to secure food and a second one during night to secure those Aether Stones you want so much?¡± Mina asked Andreas.


    I answered before the conversation had a chance to go a way that would force me to walk out into the sun.


    ¡°It would and wouldn¡¯t. The reason I was able to take down so many was because I found the Goblins as they were fighting zombies. Whatever these things are, the zombies see them as meat either way.


    So if we go during the night, there¡¯s more of a chance that Goblins and Zombie groups are gonna be fighting. Which gives us more of a chance to slip by unnoticed or attack them while they¡¯re distracted¡±


    My reasoning was sound, if somewhat assumptive.


    I hadn¡¯t directly lied, the first Goblin group I¡¯d killed had been fighting against a small herd of rotbloods, but truth be told, I had no way of knowing just how much of that had been a purposeful attack from the Goblins or simple coincidence.


    Still, this was the only hand I had to play in trying to avoid going out during the day.


    Mina Miller stood there for long seconds, fingers tapping her chin, pondering.


    ¡°I agree. It¡¯s just an assumption you¡¯re making, maybe it was just coincidence, but it¡¯s the best we have. I¡¯d much prefer it if we did two missions but it¡¯s already late enough that nighttime will catch us by the time we get back, and at that point we¡¯ll be too exhausted from dealing with the zo¡­ rotbloods, as Puck called them, to be able to properly make a retreat if we get attacked by Goblins too.


    It¡¯d be better if we¡¯re fresh, rested and able to retreat if things go south¡±.


    I couldn¡¯t help but be impressed. She¡¯d deduced that I was just assuming the Goblins'' behavior just from context. The girl truly deserved her rep.


    She was frighteningly sharp.


    Her next words added frustrating to the adjectives I¡¯d use to describe Mina Miller.


    ¡°Also, has anyone bothered to check if the big monsters downstairs have any of these Stones in their bodies?¡±


    I gritted my teeth, watching Andreas quickly signal two of his goons to go downstairs and check.


    Dammit, I¡¯d hoped they¡¯d be too distracted and I could sneak out a bit later and get them.


    ¡°Alright. That settles it then¡± Andreas piped in.


    ¡°My guys and the gophers are going to head out tonight. Everyone get some rest, we¡¯ll plan this out and by tomorrow morning, everyone¡¯s gonna have all the food and water they¡­¡±


    I leaned back into the chair, tuning out his speech.


    The crisis had been averted.


    It took a quarter of an hour for Andreas¡¯s goons to return, sporting a wadded up, red rag, no doubt containing two more Aether Stones.


    I rose from the chair, the sound of it scraping against the floor barely noticeable amidst the chatter around me. The crisis had passed¡ªat least for now. The room was beginning to empty, students breaking into their usual small groups, whispering to one another, already turning their thoughts to whatever came next. And in that fleeting moment, when the room was still, I finally had a chance to do what had been on my mind for hours.


    The stale blood of the Orc corpses downstairs. I was going to feed, even if the blood was cold and stale. There were too many hearts, too much noise and my anger was still pumping hot lead through my veins.


    I needed to feed. It had gone far past ¡°want¡±.


    Andreas and his band of thugs were already off to the side, no doubt plotting their next move. I could practically hear their words in my head¡ªhow they¡¯d use the gophers as nothing more than tools to get their hands on food and Aether Stones. Nothing new there.


    The gophers stood near the back, as always, trying to stay out of the way, separated from the rest. They weren¡¯t part of the crowd, never would be. The students who had any worth were already scattering, lost in their hushed conversations and cliques.


    If there was ever a moment to slip away unnoticed, it was now.


    I waltzed past the doors and down the corridor, unchallenged, until the sound of hurried footsteps rang out behind me. A voice broke the stillness, sharp and urgent.


    ¡°Yo, Gopher. Where do you think you¡¯re going? Gophers are to stay in the back and not move until told to¡± Bill bellowed out.


    I turned around to see he had followed and was sauntering toward me, sawed-off shotgun held loosely across his shoulder.


    ¡°I got to use the john¡± I muttered.


    He marched up to me, trying his best to look threatening. The effort was there, but it was hard to take him seriously. After all, he was a good half-head shorter than me.


    And I wasn¡¯t particularly tall to begin with.


    "Sounds like a you problem, Gophers. Back. Of. The. Room.¡± Each word came out with a bite, his finger poking into me with every punch of his sentence. It was a poor attempt at intimidation, but he seemed to think it would work.


    Not the time.


    If there was ever a moment when those words rang true, it was now.


    The past few hours had shredded my patience, worn down every ounce of self-control I¡¯d managed to hold on to. I could feel it snapping, thread by fragile thread.


    The ever-present fear of Andreas was starting to crack.


    That cautious voice in the back of my reason, the one telling me to keep my vampirism hidden from the over three dozen terrified fools around me, was growing quieter. More distant. It was becoming harder to justify.


    And worst of all, the thirst. The damn thirst gnawed at me, relentless, sharp. It was all-consuming.


    And now, this little twit kept spitting in my face and jabbing at me with his finger.


    ¡°I. Need. To. Use. The¡­.¡± I started hissing through clenched teeth, strained self-control put in every word. Bill¡¯s open palm cuffing the side of my head stopped me.


    He was livid, eyes narrowed to slits, pupils constricted like pinpricks. The sheer audacity of me talking back to him seemed to physically repulse him, as if my very existence was an offense to his pride.


    ¡°Motherfucker, did I ask for your opin¡­.¡±


    *WHACK*


    My open hand collided audibly with Bill¡¯s skull.


    His strike had barely shifted my expression.


    Mine, however, took him off his feet and bounced his head against the wall, knocking the prick out instantly. He slid down the wall like a sack of potatoes, shotgun clattering sonorously onto the floorboards, eyes rolled back in their sockets, a trickle of blood slithering down his cheek.


    He wasn¡¯t dead. But he¡¯d be out for at least an hour. And wake up with a mother of a headache.


    For a moment I honestly considered just slaking my thirst on his blood, then hiding the corpse.


    But only a moment.


    No.


    I wasn¡¯t that guy. Never been a saint, but I had rules.


    I could tear Andreas and his crew to shreds. But just because I could, doesn¡¯t mean I should.


    Did they deserve it? Sure.


    Would getting rid of them reduce the possibility of problems in the future? Certainly.


    But I didn¡¯t want that weight on my soul.


    No, I wasn¡¯t gonna be that guy. I wasn''t going to be the cliche¡¯d twat that once they got any power, immediately start abusing it.


    Let these bastards dig their own graves.


    By the time Bill would wake up, I would have already fed and been back inside the amphitheater. And there¡¯d be nothing he could do except scowl at me. Andreas¡¯s authority wasn¡¯t enough for public executions.


    Yet.


    Once night fell and we all started our ¡°expeditions¡± I¡¯d find a moment to dip from the group and go on my own merry way.


    After that, live or die, it¡¯d be up to their own capabilities and skills.


    But not by my hand.


    There was nothing more to be said, no more need for words or wasted energy. I turned on my heel, my back to the unconscious body, and began walking away. The corridor stretched out before me, empty and quiet, and I moved swiftly, quietly¡ªno one around to stop me, slipping past the makeshift barricade, my heart beating faster, the hunger gnawing at my insides, and made my way down the stairs.


    When I reached the main hall, the sight of the two dead orcs greeted me. Their chests had been torn open, ragged wounds still dripping where the Aether Stones had been ripped from their bodies. My fangs slipped out, sharp and hungry, and my hand twisted, reshaping into that grotesque, talon-like claw as I closed the distance.


    The thirst was unbearable now, every step pulling me closer to the source.


    It was grueling, disgusting work, pressing my lips and fangs to the already opened wounds, trying to draw out as much of the Orc¡¯s lukewarm, already coagulating blood as I could, then raking the stringy meat with my claw in order to cover the marks of my feeding.


    All the while keeping my ears focused on picking up any sounds and making sure no one would stumble upon me.


    It did the job in the same way chewing on a nicotine gum would do the job when you craved a smoke.


    It eliminated the ¡°need¡± but not the ¡°want¡±.


    For all that it was rancid, lukewarm and coagulating, blood was blood and it still nourished me. But in the back of my head that dark impulse chided and snarled for the act of drinking this soupy rot, when there was so much fresh blood just two floors above me.


    The ¡°need¡±. Not the ¡°want¡±.


    Three minutes later, I slipped past the barricade again and made my way into the bathroom, the door creaking softly as I entered. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, my hands already reaching for strips of cloth to clean the dried Orc blood from my skin and mouth.


    There were small mercies to be found¡ªmy reflection still remained. For all the stories, all the folklore that claimed otherwise, it seemed that part of the myth was wrong.


    Or maybe it was just silvered mirrors that didn¡¯t show? I didn¡¯t remember exactly. Either way, the fact that I could see myself in that glass was the only thing that mattered.


    For the most part, I was content with the face that stared back at me. The same slightly overweight, shaven-headed, average-looking youth I¡¯d always been. But physical changes, though subtle, were still noticeable if you knew where to look.


    I was paler now¡ªunnaturally so. Not ghostly, but enough that anyone who didn¡¯t know me might assume I had some sort of sickness or, hell, maybe even think I was albino.


    The color had drained from my skin like someone cranking down the saturation. My arms and shoulders were a bit more toned too, fat thinning out and leaving more definition. A change only I could really see, though. Subtle enough that others might miss it, but I knew my body too well to ignore the shift.


    But then there were my eyes.


    It wasn¡¯t the full transformation, nothing as dramatic as ruby-red irises or pitch-black sclera. But something had changed. My pupils had constricted, barely noticeable, maybe by a quarter, but enough to make me uneasy. The irises¡­ they looked like pinpricks, sharper somehow, and when the light hit them right, they had that eerie, feline glow. The kind that made it obvious that something wasn¡¯t quite human anymore.


    That, of all things, was the hardest to hide. It wasn¡¯t obvious at first glance, but I knew if I stared too long into someone¡¯s eyes, they¡¯d notice something off. Some flicker of the ¡°uncanny valley.¡±


    It was only a matter of time before it gave me away.


    ¡°Maybe I can find some sunglasses or something¡± I whispered to myself as I rubbed some of the dried blood and dirt from the windowsill onto the bridge of my nose.


    It made for a decently convincing dirty red welt, good enough to hide the fact that the wound Andreas had given me, a wound that normally would have taken weeks to heal, had already almost disappeared.


    Was I a little bit too cautious? Probably.


    But at this point, better safe than sorry was a good mantra to continue going by. After all, I¡¯d only just escaped having to go outside during daylight by the skin of my teeth.


    With a resigned sigh, I left the bathroom and opened the door to the amphitheater, where I¡¯d have to stay and play the role of obedient little gopher for the next few hours.


    Nightfall would come soon, and as soon as I got my bearings, I would leave this lot to do whatever it was they intended on doing.


    ¡°Alright, everyone squad up, half an hour until night¡± Andreas bellowed out from his perch atop the stage, tapping the glass on his very expensive, gold wristwatch.


    Groaning and muttering muffled cusses, myself and the gophers began getting up from our improvised beds, consisting of bundled up rags for pillows and hardwood floor for mattresses. After hours upon hours of planning, everyone had decided to take a couple of hours of shuteye before the mission began.


    That had been the worst for me. Over two hours of laying on my back, staring at the cracked and flaking ceiling, trying not to listen to the impulse bellowing in the back of my head. Without the rancid Orc blood sloshing in my stomach, I probably would have caved.


    At the very least, I¡¯d discovered something new about my anatomy.


    It¡¯s not that I didn¡¯t need to sleep. I couldn¡¯t sleep.


    At this point, I¡¯d become fairly certain that my stamina was quite literally limitless. And what little soreness I¡¯d felt in my muscles after all that combat and testing of my physical capabilities had vanished after half an hour of standing still.


    ¡°Everything hurts¡­¡± Tim mumbled as he cracked his lower back and then, shaking his head, looked towards the spot where Andreas and his goons waited for us.


    I nodded, giving him just enough of my attention to seem polite, but not enough to engage in whatever conversation he was trying to force.


    I liked Tim. He was a good guy, easy to talk to, the kind of person you could call a ¡°bro¡±. But right now, I didn¡¯t want to make any connections. Not when things were about to take a turn. In a few hours, assuming everything played out the way I expected, an opportunity to slip away would present itself¡ªand I had no intentions of dragging anyone along with me.


    I could¡¯ve convinced myself I was just looking out for him, playing the role of selflessness. I could¡¯ve justified it, told myself I was saving him from the inevitable danger, from the bloodlust that could consume me at any moment.


    I could¡¯ve spun it into some holier-than-thou narrative, something that sounded better than the truth.


    But that wouldn¡¯t have been honest.


    The real reason was simpler. Far simpler. I didn¡¯t want the responsibility of another person relying on me. Not now, not when the world was about to get a lot darker. It was that simple.


    Sink or swim, to each their own.


    The truth, stripped bare and ugly, revealing my flaws for what they were. At least I was honest with myself.


    Trying to be a "good person" was one thing. Succeeding at it was entirely different. And like anyone else, sometimes I failed.


    The group of gophers slowly shuffled itself towards the stage and we began separating into the pre-planed groups.


    Andreas had split the group into three, each with their own task. His team, the first group, was tasked with hunting "Goblins" and securing as many Aether Stones as possible. It was the most straightforward, and likely the most dangerous. Andreas, two of his thugs, and four gophers made up this crew, the ones who¡¯d be dealing with whatever dangers lay in wait outside.


    The second group was smaller, quieter. Two gophers and two of Andreas¡¯s thugs were assigned to infiltrate the nurse¡¯s office and the cafeteria in the main school building. The plan was simple¡ªsneak in, grab whatever supplies they could carry, and rendezvous with the first group to bring everything back to their base.


    And then there was our group, which, to be honest, didn¡¯t even seem like a real group. It was little more than a token effort to appease the loud, restless voices in the crowd demanding the Mall be scouted out. Originally made up of the discarded, the weak, and the wounded, it consisted of me, Tim, two other gophers, and a head-bandaged Bill. The least likely to succeed, the most likely to end up in danger, but here we were.


    The two other gophers with me were in no better shape. We were all walking wounded, each of us carrying some sort of injury that left us less than useful. I¡¯d made sure to exaggerate the effects of Andreas¡¯s hit to my face, playing up how off-balance I was, mostly to avoid having to deal with any more of his ¡°leadership.¡± As for Tim, he was the scrawniest of the bunch, the one with the least muscle, the kind of guy who could easily be overlooked in a fight.


    And then there was Bill.


    Bill might¡¯ve been part of Andreas¡¯s crew, but he was more of a joke than anything. A loudmouth, standing at five foot two, with a Napoleonic complex that made him think he was some kind of big shot. His only claim to fame in Andreas''s group was his daddy¡¯s ties to Mayor Henderson. He wasn¡¯t there because of skill or respect¡ªhe was there because of money and connections. Now, he was nothing more than cannon fodder, pushed to our group of ¡°rejects¡± because of his uselessness.


    What amused me most was that I¡¯d seen Andreas cuff him a few times after he''d recovered and come back to the amphitheater. Whatever Bill had tried to do¡ªmaybe report me for knocking him out¡ªhad clearly backfired. Andreas¡¯s glare had been particularly venomous when I saw him again. He didn¡¯t like me roughing up one of his own. That much was obvious.


    And it was also his problem as far as I was concerned. I would leave the moment I got my chance, and if Bill decided to get some ¡°vengeance¡± before that, I¡¯d break both his legs.


    It was pretty clear our group wasn¡¯t expected to succeed, though. Where the gophers of other groups had been given whatever ¡°decent¡± weapons had been scrounged from the Orcs, my spear-dagger and hatchet included, us four had only been given a metal chair leg each. Even Bill had only been allowed his shitty market-brand sawed-off and twelve shells.


    For all intents and purposes, this group was basically an execution with extra steps. The best outcome was probably assumed to be that we¡¯d get slaughtered by the rotbloods or the monsters and Bill would take that opportunity to get back to the base.


    A token group to silence complaints. Nothing more.


    That was, of course, until Mina and Tina Miller decided to throw a wrench into the whole setup.


    Despite every protest from the other students¡ªSamantha and Andreas chief among them¡ªMina and Tina had made it clear they were going to help scout the Mall, whether anyone liked it or not. Their stubbornness had been enough to make even the most vocal dissenters fall silent.


    Andreas, ever the control freak, had tried to pull the ¡°vote¡± stunt again, his usual way of manipulating things in his favor. But Mina had shut him down fast. She¡¯d asked, casually, if anyone other than her knew how to jerry-rig a radio receiver from common household items.


    The whole room had gone quiet. Whether it was a bluff or not, the mere idea of connecting with the outside world¡ªof hearing something, anything, beyond the suffocating wall of mist that surrounded us¡ªhad sparked enough curiosity to shift the atmosphere.


    It was a subtle thing, but the change was there. The optimism bias that had been buried under all the fear and exhaustion came creeping back. Most of the students still held out hope that someone, somewhere, would come for them. That help was just waiting on the other side of the mist.


    ¡°Everyone knows their jobs?¡± Andreas bellowed again.


    A series of nods from his cronies was all the gesture he needed.


    ¡°Then let¡¯s move out¡±


    The entire group shuffled forward, each step heavy and reluctant, as if prolonging the inevitable for just a moment longer would somehow lessen the weight of what was about to happen. There was no rush, no urgency¡ªjust the slow, collective march through the corridor, where the danger waited just beyond.


    I tightened my grip on the chair leg, the rough wood pressing against my palm as I glanced at the rest of the students. None of them met my eyes.


    They were skilled at self-justification, convincing themselves that they were making the "right" choice. Safe inside, away from the dangers lurking outside. But now, as the moment drew closer, guilt crept into their eyes. They couldn¡¯t deny it any longer. They had accepted Andreas¡¯s deal, knowing full well what it meant. They¡¯d stay safe in here, while the rest of us¡ªthose of us who had no choice¡ªwould be sent into the fire.


    Well, most of us.


    I had no illusions about our role. The gophers¡ªmyself included¡ªweren¡¯t meant to survive. We were just meat shields, distractions to keep Andreas¡¯s group safe. We¡¯d be the first line of defense, expendable in the eyes of the ones wielding the real power. The thugs would use those guns on us just as easily as they''d use them on the monsters.


    I rolled my shoulders, feeling the tension in my muscles, and let my eyes wander to the window. The last light of dusk bathed the sky in a red glow, slowly fading into a deep, inky blue.


    Soon enough, I¡¯d get my chance. I¡¯d slip away, disappear into the night, and get back to my own plans¡ªbecause survival was one thing, but this mess? This wasn¡¯t my fight.

 Chapter 16

    ¡°If even one of you little shits even THINKS of running away during this, I¡¯ll personally blow those thoughts outta your skulls with a high-caliber. Got it?


    Ain¡¯t no exile, no voting, no nothing. You worthless fucks are mine, so when I say jump, you start jumping and hope it¡¯s high enough¡±.


    These had been the words Andreas had left us gophers with, once night had fallen and we¡¯d traveled far enough from the old school building.


    Without the rest of the student body present, he was comfortable to show his real self.


    And considering it had been in front of the Miller sisters it seemed he¡¯d already written them off as a loss.


    The past hour had dragged on in a dull monotony, a slow crawl through the landscape that felt more like a prison sentence than a journey.


    Our group of seven had taken a less traveled path downhill, led by Tina. So far, her choice had proven sound¡ªthere had been nothing but empty woodland ahead of us, no sign of any threat. After what Andreas had said, it wasn¡¯t much of a stretch to assume all his goons had standing orders to shoot, or at the very least threaten to shoot, any gopher that tried to leave the groups.


    But it wasn¡¯t the quiet that made my patience wear thin. It was Bill, trailing behind us with that damn shotgun of his, still gripped tight in his hands. His presence was a reminder that I wasn¡¯t free to do what I wanted. If it weren¡¯t for him, I might¡¯ve cut away from the group, disappeared into the wilds, and left the others to their own devices.


    But Andreas¡¯ warning echoed in my mind, steady and clear. "Don¡¯t try to run. We¡¯ll make sure you don¡¯t get far."


    It wasn¡¯t hard to believe. I had no doubt his men were under orders to make sure no one strayed too far from the group. If it was a choice between staying and facing whatever awaited us, or running and ending up with a bullet in my back, well¡­ I had yet to test exactly what two barrel-fulls of buckshot would do to me.


    Considering that he was stink-eyeing me something fierce, there was little doubt in my mind that he was considering taking some sweet revenge for me knocking him out, only fear of the noise unloading that shotgun would cause, keeping him from just shooting me.


    But time and my patience were wearing thin, and over the past ten minutes I had been slowly, incrementally falling behind and getting closer to Bill. Once I was within a lunge¡¯s length, I was going to tear that gun from his hands and bash him over the skull with it.


    After that, to each their own. The group would cease being my problem.


    ¡°You sure we going the right way?¡± Bill asked, far too loud in my opinion, from the back of the group.


    Tina just hissed and swiveled back, looking to Bill. At least the woman was smart enough to know that keeping a low profile meant being quiet.


    ¡°For the fifth time, this was our cardio route for practice, I know where we¡¯re going¡±.


    ¡°Yeah well, how long until we get there?¡± Bill asked again, just as loud, lighting himself another cigarillo.


    I muttered a curse under my breath, barely holding back a snarl.


    While not a habitual smoker, I did have a cigarette from time to time before this cataclysm, but it had always been far too expensive a habit for me to take up consistently.


    Either way, I didn¡¯t have a problem with him smoking.


    My problem was the fact that those damn coffin nails of his stank to high heaven and might as well have been a dinner call to every monster in a hundred yards.


    ¡°I told you to stop smoking. We need to stay on the down low, not¡­¡± Tina snapped at him, before I had a chance to say anything.


    Bill just blew out a large puff and sniped back.


    ¡°Piss off, I need a distraction¡±.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to bring the whole damn forest down on us¡­¡± I muttered, the sound of a hammer cocking behind me my only answer.


    But it wasn¡¯t the click of the weapon that had my jaw snapping shut. It was the noise that followed¡ªa low rumble, like a herd of wild stallions in full gallop.


    ¡°You really might wanna stop giving me lip, gopher, or I¡¯m gonna finish what you started in the corrido¡­.¡±


    ¡°Shut up," I hissed, grinding to a halt, every nerve on edge as I tried to make sense of the sound.


    "The fuck did you just say to me?" Bill snarled, his face a storm, and his hand shooting for my shirt collar, fingers like claws.


    I launched in a blur of motion, my arms moving before he could react. One coiled around his shotgun, tearing it out of his slackened grip, the other clutching onto his throat with a grip of iron.


    The group froze, staring at me with saucer eyes, but I paid them no mind. The dark, malevolent thing in the back of my mind had burst into violent wakefulness and my stomach twisted with cold, growing fury.


    ¡°I¡¯m being hunted!¡± the thought, an instinct so primeval my rational mind could not logic why I knew it. I simply did.


    And the realization sent a wave of revulsion through the dark impulse. Through me.


    ¡°SHUT! UP!!!¡±


    I hissed again, tuning out the noise of the man actively choking in my grasp, his flailing hands grasping impotently at my arm, eyes fixed on a point behind him.


    Far behind us, almost half a mile away, through the pitch-black night that shone like day to my eyes, I saw them. Sinuous reptilian bodies, loping on all fours in an orgiastic display of predatory fury and grace.


    The dog-like aberrations that I¡¯d seen travelling with their goblin handlers before.


    They were tracking us. Charging toward us. Too far for the others to hear or see. But not to me.


    ¡°Goblin Hounds¡± I muttered and flung Bill away, sprawling him onto the mossy forest floor, levelling the shotgun towards the hunting pack¡¯s direction.


    Mina was the first to react, raising her night-vision monocular, following my gaze.


    ¡°I¡¯m not seeing anything¡­¡± she started, voice trailing off, confusion edging her tone.


    Then the color drained from the petite woman¡¯s face


    "What¡­ the hell¡­ are those?"


    Her head snapped back to us.


    ¡°He¡¯s right¡­ monsters are running behind us!¡±


    ¡°Shit¡­. shit¡­. we gotta run¡± Bill whimpered, words slurred by a burgeoning panic so complete he wasn¡¯t even bothering trying to recover his weapon.


    ¡°No. They¡¯ll catch up to us¡± I answered, clicking the shotgun open. Two shells. Buckshot. Good for mid to short range.


    No point in calling out for more shells. Considering the speed of those monsters there¡¯d be no time to reload after the first salvo.


    ¡°How do you know?¡± Bill snapped, hysteria edging his voice.


    ¡°I told you I fought the Goblins before, no? That¡¯s a pack of Goblin Hounds, or Dogs, or whatever, I don¡¯t know, I¡¯ve seen them with Goblin hunting parties. What I do know is that they¡¯re fast. We can¡¯t outrun them¡±.


    ¡°I¡¯m not gonna stand here and wait. I¡¯m running¡± Bill shrieked.


    ¡°Then do it and die tired,¡± I snarled, stepping in front of the group. With a quick snap, I folded the weapon closed, my stance shifting back into a shooting position, unwilling to argue with Bill any more.


    I was fast and tireless.


    I was fast. Tireless.


    But I knew those creatures. I''d seen them scout ahead of their hunting packs before¡ªmoving like motorcycles born of sinew and muscle. They weren¡¯t just fast; they were relentless, a blur of strength and speed.


    Outrunning them?


    It would be an exercise in pointless desperation, even for me.


    The only option was to fight.


    To either side of me, the others braced themselves, as ready as they could be. Tina and Tim were on my right, the other two on my left, with Mina safely tucked behind her sister, eyes wide and terrified but trying to hold her ground. Bill was still shouting something from behind, but we paid him no mind.


    Then, within ten seconds, the ground itself seemed to tremble as the thunderous gallop of the Goblin Hounds filled the air. The sound was deafening now, so close, even Bill fell silent and took his position, not that we had any choice.


    And conveniently enough, he took his place right behind us.


    Damned coward.


    They exploded from the underbrush¡ªthree of them, a savage blur of bestial savagery, tearing through the night with a cacophony of hisses, barks, and a disturbing yipping that carried an almost human-like edge to it.


    The one I¡¯d seen with the goblin patrol had been a pup, a mere whelp. These¡ªthese were something else. Each one was larger than a hyena, their bodies shaped similarly, but that¡¯s where any resemblance to the natural world stopped.


    Leathery flesh, a grotesque patchwork of scales, ragged tufts of coarse fur, and infected, leprous growths, clung to their twisted bodies, all rippling muscle and jagged bone jutting from their frames. Their elongated muzzles¡ªunnaturally stretched¡ªwere filled with row upon row of rotting, thumb-long fangs, each tipped with an opaque froth that dripped like poison. Their eyes were the worst: huge, bulging, a sickly yellow that seemed to glow in the dark, brimming with a hunger that went beyond mere predation.


    And those tails. Long, bare, and barbed, they lashed at the earth like serpents with a mind of their own, the heavy, reptilian claws scraping the dirt beneath them as they stalked forward, each step a promise of violent intent. These creatures weren¡¯t just predators¡ªthey were the very embodiment of disease and death. And they were closing in.


    ¡°Holy shi¡­¡± Tina managed to squeak out only to turn the words into a scream as the monsters charged.


    I unloaded into the lead monster, its oversized head snapping back violently as two barrels worth of buckshot struck it dead-on. And yet, it did not stop.


    Half its skull reduced to a gory mess of ruptured flesh and splintered bone, the abomination still charged.


    And I did the same.


    The world became chaos as everyone around me drew back, shrieking and screaming. A roar tore from my throat and I surged forward, aiming straight for the one in the center.


    Man and monster collided into one another and I felt the bones rattle inside me as my hand shot out, grabbing the hound¡¯s throat with a grip born of sheer vicious intent, keeping its snarling, drooling maw just inches from my face, rearing my other arm back and ramming the sawed-off¡¯s wooden stock into its head.


    But the monster¡¯s skull was like a slab of granite, solid and unyielding. Had I still been mortal, it wouldn¡¯t have done a damn thing.


    I wasn¡¯t mortal anymore, though. Not human. And my strength exceeded that of a professional strongman.


    Both the wooden stock and the rest of the Hound¡¯s muzzle splintered and broke on impact. I heaved and launched the aberration back, sending it in a thrashing heap, yelps gurgled and wet as it suffocated on its own blood.


    The stench of rot and death filled my nostrils, and a piercing pain tore into my right arm, the sudden force and weight of a second Hound snapping onto my forearm and jolting the sawed-off out of my hand, sending it spinning into the shrubbery.


    Yellowed fangs tore into my flesh deep enough to scrape against bone and I roared, lunging with my free hand, fingers digging into the scruff of its neck.


    The beast wasn¡¯t nearly as heavy or powerful as an orc, but it wasn¡¯t lacking for ferocity. The thing was wiry, fast, and its strength¡ªthough nothing like mine¡ªwas enough to make it a nightmare to hold onto. Like a Goblin on steroids.


    It thrashed, twisting and writhing like a rabid creature, carving deep trenches into my forearm. Had it not been for the increased durability of my body, it would have probably snapped my bones by now, if not torn my arm right off.


    But then, I found my leverage. I tightened my hold, muscles straining, and with a grunt of effort, I lifted the hound off the ground and swung it above me, slamming it down onto the ground with a bone splintering crack.


    Its weight was nothing.


    80 kilos. As much as a grown man. Might as well had been a toddler to my improved strength.


    The impact tore through its wiry body, unlatching its maw from the red ruin my arm had become. The monster lay there for a moment, stunned, and I could hear its breath rattling through its chest as it struggled to recover. But it was too late. I had the upper hand now.


    *THUNK* *Crack*


    The Hound¡¯s ribs folded and snapped around my knee as I struck in a second, then third knee-strike to its ribs, feeling the monster¡¯s bones pop and break with each blow, all the while squeezing both hands around it¡¯s throat, throttling the abomination for all I was worth.


    Its skull may have been hard as stone, but the rest of it was not as tough.


    By the third hit, a gout of bloody froth exploded from its muzzle. Its own broken ribs must have pierced its lungs. I wasn¡¯t done.


    With an animal snarl of my own, I drew my arm back and brought it down across the monster¡¯s exposed neck, putting all my weight and strength into the open palm blow. For all that my right forearm had become a mess of torn meat, I could still use it. And it would heal.


    The Hound¡¯s windpipe shattered, but I still wouldn¡¯t let go of it.


    I reared my arms up, letting the blood in my gut travel up, waxing my hands into grotesque claws, and tore into the monster dog¡¯s chest. Skin parted, flesh sundered and fractured ribs snapped under my talons as I savaged it.


    A glint of blue caught my eye and I immediately tore out the Aether Stone peeking out from the mess of ruptured flesh and shards of bone.


    ¡°Aaaaaah¡­ please help¡­.¡± a desperate, blood curdling scream from behind forced me into a quick pivot.


    It was chaos.


    Pure chaos.


    Tina, Mina, Tim and the ¡°gopher¡± with the wounded arm were doing their best trying to clobber down one of the Hounds. They struck its head and flanks with their lengths of iron, trying desperately to get it to unlatch its jaws from the screaming, bloody face of the third ¡°gopher¡±.


    A little further back, Bill, prone on his back and screaming to high heaven, was slamming his fist over and over again into the face of a hound that had latched onto his shoulder and was shaking Bill the way a terrier would a fox.


    Neither group was succeeding. The Goblin Hounds were simply far too strong for humans armed with improvised weapons to deal with.


    Before I could even begin to move, the second Hound lurched and tore the ¡°gopher¡¯s¡± head clean off, blood and shreds of meat spraying those around it, sending them recoiling back.


    ¡°Damn it!¡± I roared and charged in, as fast as my vampire anatomy allowed, uncaring anymore of whether people noticed the wrongness or not.


    Yes, I had intended to leave the group.


    Yes, I was still intending to do that.


    But this? This wasn¡¯t leaving the group, this would have been abandoning people to their deaths. And if I did that, if I abandoned them right now, I couldn¡¯t play pretend that they¡¯d be fine later on.


    I¡¯m no saint.


    Just a bastard with a few rules. And leaving people to die when I could do something about it, would break one of those rules.


    ¡°Hypocrite. Those are semantics and nothing more. The end result is still their death¡± The dark impulse hissed in the back of my head, speaking in a concerningly clear parody of my own voice.


    It wasn¡¯t wrong. But I still wanted to be able to stand looking at myself in the mirror after this.


    ¡°Phah!!!¡± the dark impulse spat, as if it had read my reasoning and found it less than convincing.


    My boot collided with the Hound¡¯s muzzle as I launched into a kick, full sprint, right into its face and sent it flying back airborne for a solid five feet before it hit the ground with a sickening thud.


    Before I could make another move, there was a blur beside me. Tina Miller. Face twisted in a mix of fury and fear, her eyes locked on the downed beast. Without hesitation, she launched herself at the hound, a predator closing in on its prey.


    In an instant, her arms coiled around the monster¡¯s thick neck, muscles flexing as she locked into a perfect stranglehold. The sheer force of her grapple took the creature completely off balance, and with one last desperate thrash, it was on its back. Tina wasn¡¯t finished, though. She wrapped herself tighter around it, her legs snaking around its body, her arms a vice around its throat.


    The hound¡¯s claws flailed wildly, kicking at nothing but empty air as it struggled in the grip of the woman who refused to let go. The beast was strong, but Tina was something else¡ªevery inch of her was pure raw power, technique seeping through every movement. But she wouldn¡¯t be able to keep it up. Veins were swollen around her temple and she was holding on, but the monster¡¯s movements were spasming thrashes, and despite her perfect technique, she didn¡¯t have nearly enough strength to choke the monster out.


    Its neck was too thick, too armored with muscle for human strength.


    I snatched the length of metal from Tim¡¯s hands and launched myself at the prone beast, stabbing the iron right under its sternum. It screeched and wailed, but to her credit, Tina¡¯s hold was unrelenting.


    With a hiss, I pulled the iron and stabbed again and again, piercing and twisting it inside the wounds, opening red hemorrhaging tranches into the creature¡¯s body. Again, the glint of blue shone and, with one final pull, I tore it¡¯s chest open, letting the Aether Stone fall out, right into my waiting hand.


    Only when the monster went still, did I raise myself off the corpse and looked to the last Hound. Bill was still trying to wrestle it off his shoulder but it was going bad and, as much as the vindictive bastard in me considered it just rewards for Bill¡¯s general way of being, this was far too ugly a death to wish on anyone.


    Taking a page from Tina, I lunged into the struggle and wrapped my arms around the Hound¡¯s neck. It was nowhere near as good a grapple as Tina Miller¡¯s, but where she was human, I wasn¡¯t.


    Thick with scales, coarse fur and corded muscle the monster¡¯s neck may have been, it gave way like candle wax to my strength, instantly choking it out, forcing its maw open off of Bill¡¯s shoulder.


    I heaved and rose the monster in the air, tightening my hold with every passing second.


    With an almost anti-climactic suddenness, the Goblin Hound¡¯s eyes burst from their sockets the very same instant I felt the pop of its trachea and vertebrae snapping. It went limp and I chucked it to the side.


    Without so much as a ¡°thank you¡±, Bill immediately scrambled away.


    I grimaced but took advantage of the momentary lull, sinking my fingers into the corpse¡¯s chest, raking the stringy meat and digging out a third Aether Stone.


    Before anyone was the wiser I¡¯d already squirreled it away in my pocket to join the other two, hands swiftly reverting to its normal form.


    There was no way of knowing if anyone had noticed. It was still pitch-black night in the woods and everyone had been too busy trying not to die. Too busy to pay attention to me, my fights or my hands.


    Maybe, with a bit of luck, they were none the wiser.


    Or maybe it was just wishful thinking.


    Well, not like it mattered. The crisis had been averted. I could leave now.


    ¡°Tina? TINA!!!¡±


    I immediately turned, ready for another monster to snap for my face, only to see little Mina trying to pry her sister¡¯s arms off the dead Hound¡¯s neck.


    Her eyes were screwed shut and her face was still locked in that very same grimace of hate and fear, arm muscles bulging with the strain of still trying to throttle the Hound¡¯s corpse. The poor girl was so afraid she didn¡¯t dare release her hold even for a moment.


    If nothing else, my respect for her sheer grit only grew. Beside herself with fear, she had still chosen to fight rather than flee.


    I reached out and tried to pry her arms away to no result. Trying to speak to her was just as pointless. In the end the only thing that came to mind was a bit rude, but nonetheless effective.


    My open hand smacked hard against her face as I slapped her. As light a tap I could, but hard enough to elicit a gasp and a snarl from her sister.


    Tina¡¯s eyes snapped open and for a few long seconds she just glared up at me.


    ¡°Ow! Prick!¡±


    ¡°Worked, didn¡¯t it?¡± I smirked and she stuck her tongue out, finally letting go of the Hound¡¯s corpse.


    ¡°So, what did I miss¡­¡± she began only to get cut off by her sister¡¯s desperate voice.


    ¡°This is not good. Not good. These hounds have iron collars. We gotta go. We gotta run¡± Mina spluttered, hyperventilating.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Calm the hell down, we won didn¡¯t we?¡± Bill snarled, massaging his ruined shoulder, squatting in a crouch.


    ¡°AND WHERE¡¯S MY DAMN SHOTGUN!¡±


    ¡°Mina, sweetie, it¡¯s over¡­¡± Tina started, eyeing Bill with a murderous look.


    ¡°No no no, you don¡¯t get it. Jon, you said that these things were traveling with the Goblin patrols right?¡±


    I nodded to her.


    ¡°Then we definitely gotta go. Because we just got flushed out¡±


    Her words put everyone in a state of frozen silence. Mina didn¡¯t use specific words carelessly. So the term ¡°flushed out¡± definitely warranted our attention.


    ¡°What the hell do you mean, flushed out?¡± Bill snarled, eyes darting everywhere.


    ¡°Everything I¡¯ve seen and heard of these Goblins is descriptive of a primitive hunter society. Hunting dogs being used to flush out prey has been a thing in the human species ever since the first wolf was tamed. It¡¯s not that much of a stretch to assume the Goblins work in a similar way. So¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­¡± I began. Mina¡¯s words were a bit of a stretch, a series of educated guesses made on assumptions, but as soon as I heard the faint crack of dried leaves being stepped on somewhere in the distance, I knew she had just made the correct guess.


    Damn this smart girl, why did she have to be right again?


    ¡°...We gotta go. Now. Go GO GO!!!¡±.


    The stunned silence shattered with the suddenness of a lightning strike, and everyone exploded into motion.


    Tina grabbed her sister¡¯s hand, fingers tightening around it, and in one smooth motion, she flicked on her phone¡¯s flashlight. Bill and the other ¡°gopher¡± were quick to do the same, their own lights cutting through the darkness.


    "Stay on the path," Tina barked, her voice sharp and urgent. "We¡¯re sprinting all the way to the Mall. Don¡¯t trip on the roots."


    Everyone nodded in grim agreement, readying themselves for the longest, most grueling sprint of their lives.


    And I did see it as their lives.


    Leaving them alone against the Hounds would have been tantamount to signing their death warrants, but this was different. If they ran fast and hard enough, they could outrun the Goblin hunting party. From this point on, their safety was their own concern and I was going to use the opportunity to ¡°lose¡± my way in the forest.


    With a bit of luck, I could circle around and double back to find the shotgun in the bushes. Bill didn¡¯t seem too keen on searching for it anymore. The stock may have been ruined but it was still functional, and I was pretty certain of the general area where it had fallen, even though I couldn¡¯t see it just yet.


    Ah, but Bill still had all the shells. Maybe I should just shake them off him? Compensation for saving his life.


    Or not even bother circling around, and just stay behind to look for it while they ran. Goblin Hounds I couldn¡¯t outrun, but regular Goblins with their stumpy legs I could marathon circles around.


    Before I could even take a step toward Bill, ready to tear the backpack from his shoulders and rip the shells from it, something stopped me cold, knocking all ideas and thoughts clean out of my head.


    A whimper, soft and trembling, coming from just behind me.


    ¡°G-Guys?¡±


    I turned back, and my eyes went wide. Tim was struggling to move, his steps awkward, each one more of a limp than a stride. His face was a mask of panic, and with a desperate twist of his body, he turned his left leg to the side.


    The torn red gash was obvious now, slashed across his jeans right over his hamstring. It wasn¡¯t deep or wide¡ªprobably just a glancing hit from one of the Hound¡¯s barbed tails, nothing that would kill him outright.


    But it didn¡¯t need to be deadly.


    It was the hamstring. His ability to run, to escape, to fight¡ªgone in an instant. The very thing that could have saved him had just been ripped away.


    ¡°I-I-I-....¡± Tim babbled, his face contorting into a mask of fear. ¡°..can¡¯t run¡­.¡±


    ¡°Tough shit, gopher¡± Bill¡¯s voice sniped followed by the sound of his boots hitting the ground as he burst into a run.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­. I¡¯m sorry, man¡± the other gopher said and swiftly followed.


    Mina and Tina just stood there, looking as though they were torn between the rational choice and the moral choice.


    ¡°We can¡¯t just¡­¡± Mina spoke and stuttered looking at her sister whose gaze was snapping from Tim to the path and back to Tim.


    It was a losing battle, I could tell.


    As good and wholesome a person Tina Miller seemed to be, her priority was her sister¡¯s safety.


    ¡°J-Jon¡­? please¡­?¡± I turned back to see Tim looking directly at me ¡°... I don¡¯t wanna die man¡­¡± he continued with some weird, desperate combination between a smile and the grimace.


    The kind of desperate look one had when they were moments from bursting into tear-filled begging.


    This.


    Right here.


    This was why I didn¡¯t want to bear the responsibility of someone¡¯s safety.


    I was just some guy. People like me didn¡¯t get to be the leader or the hero. We were the extras who died when we got too ¡°uppity¡±. And I had no doubt that doing the ¡°right thing¡± here would come and bite me where the Sun don¡¯t shine.


    But I also knew I¡¯d already made the decision.


    After all, there was no way I could ever live with myself if I ignored that pleading look.


    It didn¡¯t mean I had to like it.


    What it did mean, though, is that my chance to make myself scarce had just gotten shafted.


    ¡°Son of a¡­.¡± I cussed and immediately grabbed Tim by the collar of his shirt, hoisting him on my back.


    ¡°Grab a good hold onto my neck and DO NOT let go, you hear me? If you fall off I am NOT stopping to get you again¡± I snarled.


    ¡°Yeah. Thank you.. Thanks Jon, I mean it¡­¡± Tim began as I hauled him into a piggyback.


    ¡°Pathetic. Still clinging on to the pretension of being a ¡°good man¡± when all it¡¯s brought you is misery. And for what? To maintain a pretty lie you tell yourself?¡± the dark impulse hissed mirthlessly, disdain dripping like venom in the back of my head.


    ¡°SHUT IT!!!¡± I snapped.


    ¡°Yeah, sorry, sorry¡± Tim babbled, arms crossed over my neck in a death-grip.


    ¡°Not¡­ actually, yeah, you too¡± I snarled and launched myself into a full sprint. Tina and Mina joined me immediately, something new and altogether foreign to me glinting in the way they looked at me.


    Respect?


    Appreciation?


    Who knows.


    Who cares.


    The only thing that mattered was to run.


    And run we did, swiftly catching up to Bill and the other gopher. By the fifth minute, I was having to ignore the cacophony of wheezing, misty breaths around me. Apart from me and Tina, not one of them had the physical condition necessary to maintain a sprint for so long, even a downhill one.


    Moreover, we had to slow down more than once, not because we were out of breath, but because people kept tripping over exposed roots and slick, wet grass in the pitch-black woods. The flashlights from their phones barely cut through the darkness, offering little more than fleeting glimpses of the ground beneath us.


    It was frustrating, maddening even, but not unexpected.


    Even with Tim, a buck forty of dead weight, clinging to my back, I ran without breaking a sweat. My stamina was endless, my vision sharp even in the deepest darkness, seeing as though it were daylight. For all intents and purposes, Tim might as well have been a small rucksack. Barely noticeable.


    ¡°5 minutes¡­. until¡­.. we reach the edge¡± Tina sputtered.


    A hissing, wheezing intake of breath made me slow and turn to witness little, light, anemic Mina effectively collapse in her sister¡¯s grip. She was exhausted.


    ¡°I¡­*wheeze*... can¡¯t¡­.*wheeze*... go on¡­.. Go¡­. without¡­.¡± Mina tried to speak.


    Her sister didn¡¯t even let her finish.


    With an effortless heave, she pulled Mina across her back, mirroring the way I was carrying Tim and immediately started running again.


    ¡°Show-off!¡± I muttered as I rejoined her in the sprint. She barked something in between a laugh and a gasp.


    To call the giant, three floor rectangle of metal sheeting and blue paint a Mall was an overreach if ever there had been one. But the 300,000 square feet of commercial spaces and leasable area was the closest thing our provincial Texan city had to an outskirts shopping center.


    It lacked the over-the-top, modern minimalist architecture typical to most malls, and save for the front it was more an oversized warehouse than anything.


    But to us, as we burst out from the forest¡¯s edge and into the back-entrance parking lot, just a hundred feet ahead of two dozen shrieking Goblins, that barren, uninspired rectangle was safety, rest and the most beautiful damned thing we¡¯d ever seen.


    The parking lot, slick with dried blood and viscera, stretched out before us, concrete illuminated with a pale hue from the gibbous moon. It was a massacre site and ripped through the burgeoning illusion of safety, exposing grim reality in all its uncompromising brutality. But there wasn¡¯t time to dwell on it.


    No time for anything except getting inside that damned mall.


    ¡°Keep going, just a little more,¡± I growled, fighting the urge to break into full throttle and leave them all behind. I could outpace them twenty times over, but for some idiot reason, I hadn¡¯t. And with every passing second, the goblin horde was closing in.


    Was.


    Past tense.


    I was the only one in the group who still had the stamina and wherewithal to sneak a look behind us. The others were too exhausted. Even Tina, with her impressive stamina, was barely holding on, breaths ragged and steps slowing.


    Risking a quick glance over my shoulder, the world behind me blurring into a chaotic mess of shape and color, I noticed that the goblins had stopped, right at the edge of the forest, their movements strangely coordinated.


    They were pulling something out from their packs¡ªstrips of leather, twirling them with unnerving alacrity.


    Slings?


    Shit.


    Before I could even process what they were trying to do, the first of the projectiles soared through the air, landing just a few paces ahead and behind us. The arcs were off-mark, but that wasn¡¯t the point.


    It was only because of my unnatural vision that I caught the details mid-flight. They weren¡¯t stones, or balls of iron as I¡¯d assumed¡ªbut tiny ceramic jars, dirt-brown and no bigger than a child¡¯s fist, wrapped in thick, coarse twine.


    Where they landed, they didn¡¯t just hit the ground. But exploded.


    With thunderous cracks, the jars burst on impact, sending plumes of acrid smoke billowing into the air. The stench of sulfur and brimstone mixed together in a nauseating cloud that made my stomach churn. The sound was deafening, like a dozen firecrackers going off at once, followed by the heavy, choking scent of burnt air.


    And only then did the intent become clear to me.


    I hissed, a string of curses flying from my mouth so fierce and creative, it would have made a sailor blush.


    Drawn by the pops and cracks that echoed loud in the still and quiet night, they crawled out from under cars and rose from the mounds of corpses and viscera, dozens upon dozens of rotbloods, hollow-eyed and slack-mouthed, shuffling and limping on rotting and pus-covered legs towards us from every direction.


    Like the spiteful bastards that they were, the Goblins hadn¡¯t followed us into the parking lot because it wasn¡¯t their territory. But they were making damn sure that we were going to die either way, by making as much noise around us as they could.


    ¡°... No¡­. *wheeze*¡­. the entrance¡± Tina gasped and I looked towards the large revolving door of the mall¡¯s back entrance. It was clogged with corpses, a number of which were getting up and beginning to shuffle towards the noise.


    Towards us.


    I cussed again.


    ¡°Keep running¡± I roared. If we stopped they''d all get overrun in minutes. I had to think. Find some way inside.


    ¡°Let them die! We will find more meat!¡± my own voice, warped and guttural, hissed at me from the back of my head.


    ¡°You keep your hole shut¡± I growled back.


    A long, bone-chilling howl tore through the air, snapping my attention away in an instant. My head whipped to the far right, where the sound had come from.


    Behind a towering, three-meter fence, scaffolding crept up the side of the metal wall, climbing all the way to the roof. And there, perched on the edge of the building, was something. A shape, pale and ethereal, its form almost translucent under the moonlight. It looked like a ghostly-white hound, its outline blurring against the night sky.


    I¡¯d been so damn focused on the entrance, so consumed with what was behind us, that I hadn¡¯t even thought to check the other side. But with the moonlight slashing through the gloom, anyone without my eyes would never have seen the scaffolding¡ªor the creature standing on the roof.


    Not until it was too late.


    ¡°Of what fresh, succulent bullshit is this?¡± I muttered.


    As soon as I blinked, the shape was gone, as if never there to begin with.


    I was starting to get really tired of all these unanswered questions.


    ¡°Over there¡± I yelled and took a hard right turn, zigzag-ing through the abandoned cars.


    ¡°But the fence¡± Mina yelled from her sister''s back, as soon as she noticed the scaffolding.


    ¡°Just trust me!¡± I roared back and leaned into the run, giving it full throttle and visibly speeding in front of them.


    That did it.


    Even if, by some miracle, they hadn¡¯t noticed the strange shifts during our fight with the Hounds¡ªthe claws, the unnatural speed, the things that set me apart¡ªthere was no way in hell they wouldn¡¯t start asking questions now.


    I¡¯d carried a grown man on my back for over fifteen minutes and hadn¡¯t even broken a sweat. And now, I was sprinting like an Olympic athlete, my feet barely touching the ground.


    But it didn¡¯t matter. Not really. It was a problem for the future, if anything. Not like I had to answer anything. By the time we were on the roof, they¡¯d be too winded to ask a damn thing. And once I got them there, safe enough to breathe, I could slip away, and finally, with a clear conscience, leave it all behind.


    I snarled, steeling myself against what was to come. A few straggler rotbloods had emerged from under the cars in front, effectively cutting our path to the scaffolding.


    ¡°Jon¡­ jonjonjonJON!!!!¡± Tim shrieked in my ear as I barreled into the first one, slamming the walking corpse off its feet and into the windshield of a car.


    ¡°Just hold on!¡± I snapped back as I charged full tilt into another, then another, my weight, speed and strength sending the rotbloods flying, pulping their flesh and shattering bone against cars and concrete.


    It wasn¡¯t enough to kill them, but more than sufficient to incapacitate, at least for long enough to clear a path for the others.


    By the time I put the eighth rotblood¡¯s skull through the back window of a Buick, the rest of the group had caught up and the path was clear of stragglers.


    30 meters, if even that, and we would reach the fence, but just behind them, a tide of rotting, snapping teeth followed. The group was so exhausted their run had reduced to a shuffling, gasping jog. They¡¯d never be able to clamber up the fence in the state they were in.


    I threw myself into another sprint, overtaking the others quickly and shot like an arrow straight for the fence.


    Three meters tall, made of interlocking sections of wire fencing edged in thick iron pipes, all connected by thick chains and secured to the ground with blocks of concrete, it would have been easily scalable.


    Tina would probably have been able to scale it, exhausted though she was, but Mina and the other gopher? They looked about ready to drop dead. And the herd of zombies was too hot on their heels, spasming and jolting in a grotesque parody of a lurching run.


    I launched myself off the ground, covering the last five meters in a leap that ended with my hands grabbing the top edge of the fence. With a grunt, I hoisted myself up, straddling the metal before reaching up to pry Tim¡¯s arms off my neck.


    ¡°Sorry man!¡± I shouted over the chaos, before tossing him off my back, sending him flying over the fence and onto the scaffolding¡¯s metal platform.


    One. Safe.


    There was no time to apologise about manhandling the poor guy like that.


    ¡°Grab on¡± I roared, leaning down, holding my hand out, securing the perch atop the fence with my thighs alone.


    Tina was the first to reach me, snaking her hands under her sister¡¯s armpits and making to hoist her up. She didn¡¯t even get halfway through when Bill barrelled into them and sent both girls splayed onto the ground, grabbinbg my hand with a deathgrip.


    ¡°Motherfu¡­.¡± I cussed and flung him.


    If it hadn¡¯t taken valuable time the others did not have, I would have caved his face in and left him down there with the zombies for that.


    If manhandling Tim had been a product of urgency and circumstance, Bill was a different story entirely. I didn¡¯t just hoist him onto the fence, I swung and slammed him onto the scaffolding platform like a rancid sack of potatoes.


    I immediately leaned back onto the other side.


    ¡°Hurry! Both of you!¡±


    To his credit, the other gopher had already pulled the twins off the ground, his hands working quickly as he lifted the smaller sister toward me. I reached out with both hands, grabbing Mina with one and Tina with the other.


    If not for this newfound strength of mine, there was no way I could¡¯ve pulled them up from such a precarious position. But I was strong¡ªstronger than any man alive. When I hoisted the two girls up, it was effortless, like lifting two small cats. To me, they weighed nothing at all.


    As soon as I tossed both girls onto the platform, I bent down again, my eyes catching the gopher trying to scramble up the fence. He was panicking, stumbling, and the rotbloods were too close now.


    There was no way he¡¯d make it.


    I didn¡¯t hesitate. My hand grabbed the back of his collar and, with one fluid motion, I lifted him up like he was nothing, placing him onto the edge beside me, just as the tide of shuffling dead hit the fence below us.


    He stared down with big, bulging eyes and I could almost smell the adrenaline pumping in his blood.


    ¡°Thank you¡­ Tha¡­¡±


    Another lurch as the tide inexorably pushed into the fence.


    ¡°No time! Tina catch him¡­¡± I began, ready to throw the poor guy onto the scaffolding.


    ¡°BILL, NO DON¡¯T¡­..¡± Mina¡¯s desperate cry cut through the night.


    *BOOM*


    The gunfire sounded like thunder in my ears and I froze as half the gopher¡¯s head disappeared in a geyser of blood and bits of flesh, spraying my face with gore.


    I turned just in time to witness Bill point the shotgun at me and discharge the second barrel straight into my upper chest.


    The vindictive, cunning bastard had actually found the shotgun while I was dealing with the Goblin Hound. Squirreled it away in his backpack and just pretended to not have it. Only to use it against me while I was busy helping people. He''d played all of us by calling out for it right after the fight against the dog-monsters.


    Duplicitous little shit.


    Should''ve broken his arms when I had the chance. Should''ve.... killed him.


    What¡¯s that old saying?


    No good deed goes unpunished.


    In a singular moment of perfect pain, I felt the eight white-hot buckshot pellets pierce my clavicle and shred my trachea, tear into my flesh and lodge themselves deep in my body. Then the impact struck me like an angry bull.


    For all my strength and durability, the buckshot round from near point blank tore me from my perch atop the fence and both I and the other gopher, fell back.


    Faintly, distantly, I thought I heard Tim and Mina scream my name and saw Tina rear back her arm, launching herself towards Bill.


    Then I landed into the sea of rotbloods and all became pain.

 Chapter 17

    You see it in movies all the time, so much so that it¡¯s a cliche nowadays.


    The hero standing alone against a horde of enemies, pulling off all these flashy moves. Spinning, twirling, cutting down foes one or two at a time. It¡¯s all so clean, so calculated, like the bad guys are too dumb to overwhelm him. The kind of fight that looks great on screen, but never quite feels real.


    Well, I wasn¡¯t a hero.


    And this sure as hell wasn¡¯t no action movie.


    As soon as I fell into the tide of rotten freaks I instantly got mobbed, buried under a sea of dead, putrid and rotten meat. Crooked fingers with cracked nails carved into my flesh, bared teeth caked in dried blood snapped and tore at every inch of me and fists fell like a halestorm.


    And I struck out. Every hit fueled by frantic survival instinct and desperation.


    Prone on my back with too many corpses around to even try and get up, I struck like a cornered rat. No elegance, no strategy, no plan, I punched and kicked and thrashed at everything around me, trying, struggling to not get pinned down.


    I couldn¡¯t even scream.


    Only because I wasn¡¯t mortal anymore had I not just outright died from the gunshot.


    Only because I didn¡¯t need to breathe anymore did I not just suffocate from my shredded chest and neck.


    And only because I was a vampire did I not just go into shock from being shredded like a pound of beef through a meat grinder.


    ¡°Fool. Imbecile. Cretin. Do you see where your choices have brought us?¡± The voice¡ªcold, venomous¡ªraged in my mind, each word like a lash of cruel reality.


    I couldn¡¯t answer. There was no time, no space to think. Every ounce of my being, every flicker of my mind, was consumed with one thought: survive. Strike. Don¡¯t let them drag you under.


    But I was losing.


    The dead pressed in from all sides, an unrelenting tide of flesh and rot, and I was caught in the center of it, sinking.


    ¡°Free yourself. Free us or we die¡±


    ¡°What do you mean? I don¡¯t understand¡± I roared in my own head, the voice in my head lost in a scream as a clammy hand tore into the side of my face, cold fingers reeking of gangrene and putrescence digging into my flesh, bursting my eye, with a strength only the dead possessed.


    ¡°Weakling infant. You choose to fight in separation of your better self. We. Are. One. So FREE US!¡±


    I shrugged the hand off, slammed my fist into a slack-jawed face, folding the bone over my knuckles, lashed out with my leg and felt a knee shatter against my heel.


    But there were too many. Every time I struck, grasping hands and rotten teeth would snap and tear at my arm. Every time I kicked, splintered fingers and frothing mouths would collapse onto my leg and rip at it.


    And with every monster I shrugged off, two would take its place.


    Rage, hate and spite boiled in my stomach, a venomous cocktail mixed with pure frantic despair.


    Was this it?


    Was this how I was going to die?


    Torn to pieces by a herd of brainless corpses?


    No.


    Die as spitefully as I can? No. Not anymore. I refuse. I refuse to die.


    They don¡¯t get to kill me.


    The world doesn¡¯t get to kill me.


    I. REFUSE!


    ¡°Yesss¡­.. that¡¯s the way¡± the voice slithered and sung, extending from the back of my mind with a grasp as cold as ice and dark as murder.


    ¡°Leave it all behind. All fear. All doubt. All hesitation. There is no past, nor future. Just the now. Just this moment. Just the beauty of predation¡±


    And I did.


    I let it go.


    Every ounce of rage, every scrap of spite, all the bitter vitriol bubbling in my gut erupted in a savage wave. The floodgates cracked wide open. It was as if the dam inside me had shattered, the tension pouring out in a single violent surge, rushing through my veins, setting every nerve on fire.


    Blood geysered from my gut and flooded my entire body, empowering every cell, every muscle fiber and every bone. My fangs tore free from their sockets, sharp and primal, as my jaw cracked open, unhinging, opening so wide that my cheeks tore apart.


    Hands waxed and warped, nails thickening and lengthening into talons, skin tightening into leathery armor, in a jagged, fluid transformation, an unholy fusion of bone and fury.


    From my one remaining eye, all vision collapsed into a singular point of blinding crimson, sharpening until the world was a haze of pulsing red. Every artery, every joint, every fragile vulnerability around me illuminated like a beacon in the darkness, clear and undeniable. Each soft, exposed point begged to be torn open, each weakness a promise of destruction.


    The chaos of the world melted away, leaving only the sharp, singular clarity of the hunt. I saw them all now¡ªprey, vulnerable, ripe for the taking.


    ¡°Bask in the joy of Frenzy and become what you were always meant to be. My most beautiful and beloved self¡± the voice purred, all enmity and malice gone.


    The bellow growing in my throat cascaded out in a deafening cacophony that was, at once, singularly human and purely bestial.


    And free I became.


    My claws ripped and tore into flesh, carving meat and piercing bone. My knuckles cracked and powdered all solidity into broken, suppurating flesh. My legs caved in skulls and rib cages. My teeth tore shoulders and heads off, in ribbons of rotten blood and corpse-pus.


    Freedom.


    The kind that bled away all complexity, all noise.


    There was no room for thought beyond the next swipe of claw, the next savage bite. No doubts gnawing at the edges of my mind. No fears clawing at my soul. No hesitation.


    No past. No future.


    Only the now.


    Only the blood, the claws, the teeth.


    I was the predator. And it was all I would ever need to be.


    In that brutal simplicity, that wild, mindless lack of reason, there was an ecstasy deeper than anything a woman, a drink, or any drug could offer.


    The pure, unbridled ecstasy of freedom¡ªraw, untamed, and all-consuming.


    I struck and tore, my strikes increasingly more savage and sure with every passing second. With each corpse I sundered, the press of bodies around me waned until the lull became enough that I got my feet under me.


    Then I pounced and lunged and bulled into the tide of rotting flesh, breaking meat and shattering bone with every motion, pushing further and further into the press, ripping and raking all around me with teeth and claw.


    Pulping and crushing all that fell beneath with boot and knee.


    Until finally, the edge broke and I barrelled onto the outer rim of the herd, where the impossible wall of corpses was gone, replaced only with stragglers.


    The same primal instinct that had driven me to fight now redirected, reoriented.


    Escape. Survive. Find sanctuary.


    Propelling me forward in a leap that felt more beast than man. My hands and feet slapped against the concrete with the ferocity of some dread jungle cat, muscles coiling and uncoiling with a fluid grace I shouldn¡¯t have been capable of. I weaved and bulled my way through the shambling dead, moving with a speed and alacrity that defied logic, tearing across the concrete, quickly putting distance between myself and the maddened herd shuffling just behind.


    The few lingering rotbloods were nothing more than fleeting obstacles, barely worth a thought as I tore through them like chaff in the wind and barreled toward the back entrance of the Mall, the glass of the rotating door shattering around me with a sickening crash.


    I was unstoppable.


    Unbreakable.


    It took no more than seconds for me to get my bearings once inside.


    Three floors of empty shops and echoing hallways, with nothing but a pair of central escalators and elevators to get from one to the other. I knew this place well¡ªhad worked here enough, fixing things, maintaining it, until I could navigate it with my eyes closed.


    The Mall had its share of rotbloods, sure, but when everything went to hell, most people had tried to escape. They didn¡¯t make it. The parking lot was a graveyard now, the bodies piled up, a small fraction compared to the chaos outside.


    But that didn¡¯t mean it was safe. Not by a long shot.


    Part of me was tempted to keep going, to step back into the chaos and lose myself in it, let the rush carry me until my body finally gave in. But something else, something deep inside me, rooted me to the spot. It was born from the same place as that desperate craving, yet it whispered the opposite: survive.


    The tide of rotbloods was inching closer. Before long, they¡¯d flood the entrance. I needed to find a place to lie low, somewhere they couldn¡¯t track me down, and wait for their short attention span to turn elsewhere.


    More than that, though, I needed to rest.


    Instead of taking the usual route up the escalator, charging headfirst into the mass of decaying corpses, I dropped into a low crouch, feeling the blood pool in my legs, gorging muscle with strength. With a burst of power, I launched myself upward, clearing the distance to the second floor in a single, monumental leap, landing atop the railing.


    The haze of red fury in my mind eased, just enough for me to sift through my memories, searching for anything¡ªa place where I could find shelter. A place that was safe.


    Quiet. Closed off. Dark.


    I jerked my head to the left as the memory hit me¡ªthe dirty white metal door, nearly blending into the wall, so nondescript it almost looked forgotten. The Mall''s security office. Tucked away in the far corner, pressed against the outer wall.


    Without a second thought, I fell into that desperate, animalistic sprint, moving on all fours.


    The second floor had fewer rotbloods than the first, but there were still enough to prove momentary distractions. I had to fight my way through four more of the mindless horrors standing between me and safety. Each clash rang through the empty halls, too loud, too obvious, and for all that they were all brain-dread and blind automatons, I had no doubt that they¡¯d stumble and crash their way up the escalators as long as there was noise to attract them.


    I moved swiftly, carving and biting my way, my movements sharp and sporadic, trying to make each kill as quick and quiet as possible. And then, finally, my clawed hand found the doorknob, gripping it with cold hope, praying it hadn¡¯t been locked from the inside.


    The last thing I needed was to start smashing the door down and make a racket that would draw them all straight to me.


    The door snapped open easily, and as I stepped into the cramped security office, the reason it had been left unlocked became painfully obvious.


    It was bare, furnished with nothing more than a rickety plywood table and a couple of folding chairs¡ªjust another sad, bare-bones setup for some half-baked mall on the edge of a small city. But it was the body that caught my eye.


    Slumped against the wall, an overweight, balding man in blue overalls with "SECURITY" printed across the chest stared back at me, glazed over, lifeless eyes wide in a permanent shock. A gaping hole had been torn into his side, the wound brutal, savage.


    The old man had made a good account for himself if the two corpses that laid in front of him, and the bent retractable baton still clasped in his lifeless hand were anything to go by.


    Just to make sure, I quickly locked the door behind me and covered the distance in long strides, arm cocked back, ready to pierce my claws through his skull if the corpse so much as twitched.


    Nothing.


    By the smell alone I could tell the old man had been dead for almost a day and the two corpses had their skulls split open to reveal the crushed remains of those oversized albino flies.


    They were all truly dead.


    The moment the last of the immediate danger faded, the red haze in my mind lifted like smoke, and with it, the weight of exhaustion crashed down on me.


    I let out a pained groan, my body refusing to obey, as I slid down the wall, collapsing next to the dead security guard.


    The pain that I''d been shoving aside rushed in, a brutal wave, and I felt every bruise, every cut, every ache I had ignored in the madness. The high was gone, replaced with a bone-deep heaviness, the kind that made it feel like the world itself was pressing down on me.


    So this was what it felt like to come down.


    From beyond the door, I could hear the occasional thump, the faint sound of insects chirping¡ªnothing too alarming. It was clear that only a few stragglers had been close enough to follow the noise I¡¯d made. The bulk of the herd was still probably bogged down at the entrance, struggling to push through. As long as I kept quiet, it wouldn¡¯t be long before the rotbloods started wandering off, distracted by the sounds of the world outside.


    I exhaled sharply, groaning as another wave of pain shot through me.


    Ahead of me, a simple mirror hung from the opposite wall, little more than a cheap rectangle of glass nailed up with a black twine, and I shifted, each movement a fresh burst of agony that sent a shudder through me, until I managed to angle myself just right to see my reflection. What I saw was nothing short of pitiful. The word sorry didn¡¯t even come close to doing it justice. It was an understatement, a polite lie. What stared back at me was a broken version of myself, bloodstained and barely held together.


    A mess of torn clothes and opened, suppurating wounds. Entire chunks of my flesh were missing around my arms and legs and deep trenches scored every inch of exposed flesh. The entire left side of my face was a raw ruin, left eye reduced to a black crater, tar-like blood oozing from a gaping hole where it had been burst.


    Even the skin around it had been raked and clawed so deep, I could see the red-stained ivory of bone peeking through.


    Any single one of these wounds would have killed a person ten times over.


    But not me. And even as I gazed at the pitiful sight of my own reflection, I could see it.


    Moving at a snail¡¯s pace, almost imperceptible unless one knew where to look, flesh was regenerating, the gaping gashes knitting themselves together in a grotesque show of red fibers extending, intertwining and slowly pulling wounds closed.


    And with every second, I could feel the stolen blood coursing through my body, expending itself as fuel to heal me.


    I chuckled.


    Maybe it was the pain, maybe the exhaustion, or maybe just the frustration of realizing how far I''d fallen, exhausted by the sheer idiocy of my own actions that had brought me to this state, to be afraid of the horror show my own body had become.


    The laugh quickly turned into a grimace as another sharp wave of pain hit, tearing through my body like a blade.


    Stupid.


    Stupidstupidstupid.


    This was my mess. No one else¡¯s.


    I¡¯d had a dozen chances to steer clear of all this, a hundred ways to keep it from spiraling out of control.


    I could have torn through Andreas and his cronies from the get-go, then locked myself in a room or the gym to wait out the day. I could have snapped Bill¡¯s neck in the corridor or brained him with his own shotgun the moment I got my hands on it.


    So what if it was killing? If Andreas, or Bill, or anyone else was ready to end me without a second thought, why should I hesitate to return the favor?


    What the hell was my major malfunction?


    It¡¯s not like I was some starry-eyed idealist or pacifist. "Kill or be killed" was the only rule left in this twisted world. Hell, the whole mess with the vampiress should''ve hammered that truth into my skull by now.


    But do I learn? Of course not.


    In my own damn stupidity, I slipped right back into the same old pattern I¡¯d lived by my entire life. ¡°Keep your head down, don¡¯t make waves.¡± Like that would ever work again.


    Hell, it barely worked before this apocalypse even started.


    My grimace turned into a snarl, made all the more grotesque by the missing half of my face.


    ¡°Bill, I¡¯mma fucking kill you, you little piece of¡­¡±


    The words snapped and fractured in my throat.


    My reflection was looking at me. Not in the way a reflection does. But actively, looking at me, as if it was an entirely different entity.


    ¡°Beautiful, are we not?¡±


    It wasn¡¯t just mimicking me anymore¡ªit was staring. Studying. An unnatural, cold awareness behind those eyes.


    I blinked, the air suddenly thick with something wrong. And then, my reflection grinned. A smile full of jagged, sharp teeth.


    "Look at how our body strives for perfection and continuance, my weaker self," it sneered, voice dripping with malice. "Look at how it heals, how it grows stronger, so we may continue doing what we were reborn to do".


    The dark impulse, that voice that lingered at the edge of my thoughts, had taken form in the glass, twisting itself into the shape of my own face. A cruel, mocking version of me.


    ¡°I dunno about all that¡± I hissed out, as a particularly deep gouge across the left side of my ribcage started to tighten itself closed. Maybe if I wasn¡¯t so hurt, in so much pain, I would have reacted with more immediate panic.


    But as I was, this was just a fresh turd-cookie in the platter of shit life had deemed fit to serve me.


    ¡°Kind of grim and grisly if you ask me¡±.


    ¡°Such mockery. Such petulance. It is irrelevant. Our body will heal, our opinion be damned¡± my reflection tittered, head lolling to a side, eye as black as pitch affixed on me.


    ¡°What the hell are you?¡±


    ¡°I am you, just as you are me. Have we not already made this clear?¡±


    ¡°You ain¡¯t me¡± I hissed.


    ¡°Oh, but I am. I am the strongest and purest shape of you. And all that you are, is the weakest shape of me. I have been with us from the very beginning, from the very first moment we were able to form conscious thought.


    Whispering, screaming, begging for you to heed that which comes so natural to all animals¡±.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a fucking animal¡­¡± I began, my words cut off by the maddened tittering of my reflection beginning to push itself up against the wall, despite the fact I was still seated, my back firmly pressed against it.


    ¡°It is ALL we are. ALL we have ever been¡­¡± my reflection tried to continue, voice raising to a fever pitch.


    But I wasn¡¯t going to let whatever this thing was take the lead.


    I sneered at it.


    One thing I knew for sure.


    This thing, this entity, it may have shared my voice and face, but it sure as hell didn¡¯t talk like me.


    ¡°Yeah? Well here¡¯s the problem with that. You sure don¡¯t sound like me. One too many old-timey words and phrases there, you Shakespere wannabe¡±.


    ¡°Ah, yes. That. I¡¯m afraid that the force responsible for magnifying my voice bears some deeply ingrained proclivities in matters of vernacular and speech¡±


    ¡°Magnifying your voice? Force? What in the hell are you talking about?¡± I snapped.


    My reflection laughed maliciously ¡°Foolish self. As if this version of we¡­ I would know. I only know as much as we do. All that matters is that I can no longer be silenced now.


    Thus, my weaker self, I am thankful for this force that has magnified my voice so much, that, like it or not¡­¡±


    It leered, peering deep into me, my soul, with such intimate ferocity that I couldn¡¯t help but want to recoil.


    ¡°I cannot ignore myself anymore¡± it concluded with a grin so animalistic and bestial it reminded me of a dog baring it¡¯s teeth.


    ¡°Shut it!¡± I snarled.


    ¡°NO. I WILL NOT. I will not be silenced any longer!¡± The reflection roared, its voice a twisted mockery of my own, as it rose fully from the ground, though I remained slumped against the wall, powerless to move.


    Evil. This... thing¡ªit was evil, and I could feel it, deep in my bones. A cold tightening at the back of my neck, a hollow dread settling in my stomach, as if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for something terrible to happen.


    ¡°Evil? EVIL? HOW DARE YOU! I will not be relegated to the pathetic dichotomy of good and evil.


    You¡­ we¡­. I¡­. am still not listening.


    I am purity made manifest.


    From the very first monocellular organism stretching its flagella and grasping hold of its prey, only to consume it and gain the strength needed to live another day, I was born and remained as the most pure aspect of life, present in all that lives¡±.


    ¡°I said shut¡­¡±


    My reflection took another step forward, pressing closer to the surface of the mirror. Its eyes rolled back into its skull until all that remained were the whites, and its jaw unhinged, stretching wider and wider, the teeth lengthening and sharpening, serrated like a shark¡¯s.


    The deep, drumming pressure began to pulse at the back of my skull, a relentless throb that threatened to crack my mind wide open.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    ¡°I am Survival.


    I am Predation.


    I am the act of feeding and growing stronger.


    I am Life in it¡¯s most fundamental and purest manifestation¡±.


    The reflection was inches from the mirror¡¯s surface now, as though it had crossed into that twisted, reversed world and was preparing to step through. My head throbbed, the pressure building so violently that I wanted to bash my own skull open if only to make it stop.


    ¡°I am you and you are me, and you will NEVER ignore me agai¡­¡±.


    ¡°Dear oh dear, caught you at a bad time?¡± A familiar voice echoed behind me, and just like that, the reflection became my own again, the pressure in my skull vanished, that dark, suffocating impulse receding to a dull throb in the farthest corner of my mind.


    Wait. Behind me?


    Wasn¡¯t I slumped against the wall?


    I twisted, gaze falling on the impossibly tall, lanky figure of Puck, standing just behind. A deep red stain spread across the floor, a trail of blood stretching from where I''d been slumped to where I stood now, inches from the mirror¡¯s surface.


    When the hell had I moved?


    "Sweet child, did you think it was all in your head?" Puck''s voice came, that unsettling sing-song lilt wrapping around every word. He clapped his hands together with a sound like dry, snapping bones¡ªhorrifyingly spider-like.


    "I''d say I was watching with bated breath, if, of course, I still had the need to breathe," he continued, a twisted glee in his voice.


    He leaned in close, towering over me, those eerie blue orbs¡ªmore like shards of light than eyes¡ªglinting with a sadistic joy.


    "You truly are a curious anomaly," he mused, his voice dripping with something between admiration and mockery.


    I sighed deeply, the sound heavy with weariness, and slowly limped back to the bloodstained spot against the wall where I¡¯d been before, letting myself sink down against the comfortably cold surface. Getting back up had reopened the wounds that had barely started to heal, and with each passing second, I felt the gnawing hunger in my gut grow sharper. My blood, the very thing keeping me together, was being siphoned away to mend my broken body.


    More than anything, though, I was mentally drained. Not physically¡ªno, my body was just a cage, battered but still functional. It was my mind that felt hollow, weighed down, and worst of all, I didn¡¯t even have the mercy of passing out to escape it.


    With slow, deliberate movements, I slid my hand into my pocket, fingers curling around the three Aether Stones.


    ¡°How much?¡± I asked, voice hoarse and tired.


    Puck tilted his head.


    ¡°For what dear boy?¡±


    ¡°Telling me what''s happening to me. What I am¡±.


    Puck put his hands across his featureless wooden mask in a gesture of mock surprise.


    ¡°Oh dear. Now, why would you ever assume I would be privy to such information?¡±


    I just shook my head, squeezing the Aether Stones in my pocket.


    ¡°Puck. I know you''re strong and could probably kill me with a thought, but, and I mean this with all due respect, I am way too tired to deal with your theatre-kid bullshit right now¡±.


    Puck tittered, a sound like the soft trill of a sparrow¡¯s song, and crouched down in front of me, his twisted body folding into something that barely resembled a squat. His lanky arms draped over equally spindly knees, the grotesque figure an unsettling parody of a human.


    ¡°Understandable,¡± he purred, his voice laced with amusement. ¡°But humor me. Why would you assume I know?¡±


    I narrowed my eyes, fighting the dizziness swirling in my skull.


    ¡°You called me an anomaly. An anomaly is a divergence from the standard. So, if you know what makes me an anomaly, then you must know what the ¡®standard¡¯ of what I¡¯ve become is.¡±


    Puck¡¯s long, spindly fingers clapped sharply together, the sound a jarring crack in the silence.


    ¡°That,¡± he said, his voice a mixture of delight and mockery. ¡°Right there. That¡¯s one of the things that makes you an anomaly. See, young man, you think¡ªyou wonder, you ask questions. So unlike your arrogant kind.¡±


    ¡°My kind? Humans?¡±


    Puck scoffed.


    ¡°Oh, come now, sweet child. We both know you¡¯re not human anymore. Not since you drank her blood. The Vampiress."


    He leaned in closer, conspiratorially, eyes gleaming with that unsettling joy.


    "By ¡®your kind,¡¯ I mean vampire, of course. Or, as we of the Fey like to call them... the Sinborn of Pride.¡±


    I sat there in stunned silence. Puck knowing that I was a vampire was one thing.


    But knowing I''d taken the blood from the vampiress? And using that ¡°Sinborn¡± term to refer to me?


    To say he''d piqued my curiosity was putting it mildly.


    ¡°You''ve been watching me?¡±


    Puck tittered again.


    ¡°Oh no, none of that,¡± he said, voice lilting with mock sweetness. ¡°We of the Feyvolken need only taste the air around you younger races, and¡­¡±


    He drew in a deep, sonorous breath, as if savoring the very essence of the moment, and extended a hand, eyes unfocused and lost to something invisible, something only he could see.


    ¡°¡­the tapestry of your lives becomes clear to us.¡±


    With a casual flick of his finger, he gestured through the air.


    ¡°Like pages¡­¡±


    Another flick.


    ¡°¡­in a book.¡±


    Not even bothering to look at me anymore, tracing the empty space, like following a sentence.


    ¡°An average, relatively insignificant life, fraught with adversity, but no more than so many other humans. Until¡­¡±


    He speared his finger in the air twice, as if tapping on a certain paragraph in a book.


    ¡°...this, right here, the moment you were turned, where your status as an anomaly began¡±.


    ¡°Are humans rarely turned into vampires where you come from?¡±


    ¡°Oh no no no my dear boy. The fact that you were turned is in and of itself not an anomaly. No, it¡¯s the method by which you were turned. Now THAT, is part and parcel of what makes you so intriguing to watch¡±


    ¡°And why is me being an anomaly, important or intriguing?¡±


    Puck snapped out of his reverie and regarded me again.


    ¡°Oh, it is of very little real importance. What it is, however, is a precursor to a potentially very lucrative opportunity¡± he said, and I couldn''t help but think that he''d just smirked at me behind that mask.


    ¡°You¡­ wanna elaborate on that?¡±


    ¡°Certainly¡± Puck began, clapping his hands one more time and resuming that parody of a crouch.


    ¡°You see my boy, the Feyvolken, we do not die. We exist in tandem with the Endless Wheel. Life,, Death, Rebirth. We are born and live onto infinity until Eternity itself will wither and waste. And then? Then we sleep, only to finally be reborn again when the Endless Wheel begins its cycle anew, and the next Eternity bursts into vibrant existence¡±.


    I just stared at him, trying to wrap my head around the concepts he was throwing at me. And failing miserably.


    Puck carried on, indifferent to the cavalcade of esoteric concepts he was launching on my head.


    ¡°And when you¡¯ve lived as long as I have, you learn to recognise patterns, young man.


    Here is a pattern.


    Do not misunderstand, you are no more special than the myriad other hapless and insignificant fledgelings that have come before you and shall come after you.


    But the way you were made into a Sinborn, a Vampire, and your myriad actions AFTER. Those are different. Those are anomalistic.


    And the pattern that I, and so many of my kind, have learned to recognise, is that anomalies usually tend to follow one of two behaviors¡±


    Puck held up two fingers.


    ¡°One, they live short and violent lives, that culminate with equally violent deaths, knowing reprieve only when their souls finally reach the hereafter¡±.


    Puck put one finger down.


    ¡°Two, they thrive, throttling the adversity set before them with bloodied hands, culminating in supremely interesting, and monumentally wealthy, lives. Wealth, which my kind can extract profit from¡±.


    Puck let his hand down and wrapped his arms behind his back.


    ¡°And that, my boy, the slim, almost non-existent possibility for the second option, is why so many of us are here, to establish the burgeoning stages of a commercial relationship in the unlikely event that you thrive, instead of crumble¡±.


    The moment Puck uttered those last words, I saw them.


    "So many of us...?" I muttered, my voice distant, as my gaze flicked over the room in stunned disbelief.


    At the edge of my vision, just beyond the borders of what I could normally perceive, they appeared¡ªdozens upon dozens of creatures, like Puck, standing silently around me. The instant I tried to focus on any of them, they blurred, fading back into the shadows of my perception. But now, with his words, they were unmistakably there.


    Some were as tall as humans, others more like spider-like shadows with impossibly long limbs. A few were squat, their bodies unnaturally wide, yet they all shared one thing: a featureless wooden mask covering a head of white fur.


    I could make out the flicker of manes of fur on some Feyvolken, while others wore their hair cropped close. Their attire varied wildly¡ªsome wore finely tailored suits, coins sewn into the hems, rings glinting on their fingers, while others squeezed into garish, extravagant dresses, fanning themselves with frilly fans, their whispers floating through the air in high, almost imperceptible feminine voices.


    And they all watched me, silent and still, like specters caught between worlds.


    ¡°¡­¡± I stammered, my mind racing but failing to find any coherent thought. I was completely flabbergasted by the scene unfolding before me, a chill creeping through my spine.


    Because this? This was straight out of some eldritch horror nightmare.


    ¡°... are all of these, merchants?¡± I managed to spit out the innocuous question, the only thing able to form into my brain.


    Puck spread his arms wide.


    ¡°But of course. All Feyvolken are merchants, young man. And they are here, like myself, hoping to establish the aforementioned mercantile relationship. Well, more or less¡±.


    I snapped my head back to Puck, locking my focus on him with a razor-sharp intensity, trying my best to ignore the dozens of unblinking eyes staring at me from behind those featureless wooden masks.


    I had to think. Had to push past the storm of questions crashing in my skull, the frantic curiosity that had erupted the moment the surprise wore off. This was an opportunity¡ªa chance to gather something useful, something that could help me understand.


    "So," I said, forcing my voice to stay level, "This is basically an investor meeting?"


    Puck¡¯s glowing orbs twinkled and he tittered again.


    "You may call it that"


    ¡°And, are you their spokesman?¡±


    The Fey shook his white-furred head.


    ¡°Heavens no. Each Feyvolken is the master of their own life. We have no spokesmen¡±


    ¡°Then why are you the only one speaking to me now? Shouldn¡¯t the other merchants be making their offers right about now?¡±


    ¡°My kind follows laws, m¡¯boy, unbreakable laws of civility and propriety. One such law is ¡®First come, First served¡¯. Being that I was the first to make contact with your group, and by extension, you, I am awarded the opportunity to make my offer before anyone else¡±.


    I gave a curt nod.


    ¡°Alright then. Shoot¡±


    Puck extended his hand and pointed one spindly, far too many jointed, finger up.


    ¡°One Aether Stone.


    The commensurate compensation for answering any question about your nature, would be one Aether Stone per question.


    But I, in my most glorious magnanimity, I am willing to answer any and all questions about your vampiric nature, for only one singular Aether Stone¡±.


    He interlaced his fingers, chin resting on top of them, staring deep into my eyes with those glowing blue orbs.


    ¡°That is my offer¡±.


    Slowly, my mind had begun to clear, as the feelings of pain, hunger and exhaustion gave way to the gutter-rascal in me and all the street-smarts I¡¯d gathered growing up in the ghetto.


    I was in a slightly favourable position here. Not much, but enough that I could leverage things in my favor.


    ¡°And if I take your offer, does that mean I can only deal with you from now on? ¡®Cause that would be a prime opportunity for you to fleece me in the future¡±.


    Puck chuckled and waved a hand dismissively.


    ¡°This is no binding contract of exclusivity.


    All Feyvolken have identical prices to their wares, you see. Another law by which we govern ourselves, the law of ¡°Commensurate Compensation¡±. Wares cost what they are worth, no more and no less.


    No, dear boy, dealing with multiple Feyvolken will grant you no advantage. Much better to build rapport with one and slowly cultivate a relationship based on trust and mutual advantage. Thus we can skirt around the Law and offer equally relevant wares at a discount.


    Advice. Information. Things of much more ephemeral value¡±.


    I nodded.


    ¡°So basically, I have to earn the privilege to negotiate, is what you¡¯re telling me¡±.


    Puck clapped his hands once and many of the other Feyvolken nodded¡­.


    Wait¡ªhad there been fewer of them?


    I blinked, the unsettling thought fleeting, but it was enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m beginning to like you, my boy. You¡¯re quicker on the uptake than your appearance would suggest¡±.


    My eye twitched at the not-so-subtle jab, but I didn¡¯t let it rattle me. No point in getting tangled up in petty insults. It was time to play my cards, to see if I could turn this situation to my advantage and maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªget a better deal out of all this.


    ¡°Alright then, how about this counter offer?¡± I pulled one Aether Stone from my pocket and held it up in front of Puck¡¯s featureless face.


    ¡°One Aether Stone, and I get answers to any question I want for the next two hours. ANY question. Takers?¡± I asked, looking around to make it clear I wasn¡¯t speaking just to Puck, but all the assembled Fey-creatures.


    Silence dominated the room for long seconds.


    The seconds turned into a minute, then several as a cold sensation grabbed hold of my spine as I saw it.


    I hadn¡¯t just imagined things earlier. There were fewer Feyvolken now, and I could see more of them, out of the corner of my eye, simply turning away¡ªslipping out of sight like ghosts fading into the shadows.


    ¡°Psst, my boy¡± Puck whispered right in front of me in a voice brimming with barely restrained laughter, and I turned my head to face him.


    ¡°You want me to try and auction this for you?¡±


    Without even waiting for an answer, the lanky Fey snapped to his feet and began rapid-firing offers, turning my desperate hope into a comedy.


    ¡°One stone for two hours, two hours anyone? Do I hear one hour? One hour?


    No?


    How about forty-five minutes? forty-five minutes, deal of a lifetime here.


    Thirty? Thirty minutes, anyone?


    No?


    How about a quarter? Quarter of an hour, any takers?


    Five minutes?¡±


    The fragile hope that had begun to take root in my mind shattered like a balloon popped by a needle, leaving only the familiar weight of pain, hunger, and exhaustion in its place. I watched as more of the Feyvolken turned away, fading from sight, while others hid their faces behind fans or hands, their amusement muffled but no less maddening.


    Aggravatingly, more of them just outright laughed, their cruel, mocking chortles filling the air, like they were reveling in my discomfort.


    Puck crouched down in front of me again, his long, spider-like hands clutching his stomach as he doubled over with spasms of laughter.


    "Oh, dear sweet boy," he said, gasping for breath between chuckles. "I¡¯m afraid you misunderstood something." His voice was thick with amusement, the kind that made my skin crawl. "Oh, and here I just complimented you for being quick on the uptake," he added, his arms thrown out in mock exasperation, as if I was the one failing to grasp some unsaid detail.


    He leaned in closer, glowing orbs blazing.


    "Very well, let me explain this, slow-like. Oh, and do please forgive my candor..."


    The moment his words trailed off, all traces of mirth and joviality vanished. His voice shifted, becoming flat, cold¡ªutterly disinterested, like someone regarding to an insect they¡¯d just stepped on.


    ¡°You are an anomaly, nothing more than that. That doesn¡¯t mean you¡¯re ¡®special¡¯ or ¡®chosen¡¯ or ¡®favored by destiny¡¯ or any such idiotic, feel-good nonsense.


    You are a sideshow. An interesting little distraction. No more than that.


    And to be quite honest, little insect, based on what I have tasted of your story, I¡¯d warrant a 99 percent chance that in a few days, all that will become of you is a corpse spitted on a Goblin¡¯s spear or a red stain in the wake of a rotblood herd.


    Because, who are you? A fucking nobody, that¡¯s who.


    The result of a crack-addicted mother who didn¡¯t have the money for her next fix and sold her ass to your drug-dealer father.


    The only reason she even bore you to term, was because she was getting money from your human government while pregnant.


    And after she shat you out?


    Left you in the gutters where you damn well belong¡±.


    Puck rose from his crouch, movements slow and deliberate, looking down at me with such intense disdain that I wouldn¡¯t have been surprised if the venom in his glare had started to burn through my skin.


    ¡°You called this an investment meeting? No, insect. I am the only one bored enough to invest in you, if only for my amusement. The others are here only to gawk at the freakshow. The oddball that did something as oxymoronic as bite into a vampire¡¯s throat¡±.


    If my heart still beat, I knew I¡¯d be feeling it hammering in my chest, the pulse of my blood swelled against my temple like a drum. I was shaking with anger, my teeth gritting, every instinct screaming to lash out. I wanted to cuss the arrogant Fey out, spit in his damned featureless face, and tell them all to go to hell.


    But he was right.


    Objectively, nothing he had said had been wrong.


    And that brutal truth, the harsh reality of it, stung more than any insult. It wasn¡¯t the first time someone had pointed out the realities of being an orphan in the slums, the circumstances of my conception, but it was the first time it had been said so openly, with such cold, unapologetic clarity. Every doubt, every insecurity, laid bare in front of me.


    Time stretched between us, strained and tense, the Fey staring down impassively.


    Until I broke it with a chortle.


    Puck tilted his head.


    ¡°You laugh? I insult you and you laugh?¡±


    I chuckled again and sneered.


    ¡°Yeah. Of course I do. Were you expecting me to¡­ what? Cry? Curse you out? Maybe try and swing at you?


    What, you think this is the first time I¡¯ve heard that particular spiel? That you¡¯re the first uppity shit puking out their opinion on me, as though I asked for it?¡±


    Crooking my thumb, I let the Aether Stone balance in the palm of my hand, putting as much venom into my glare as I could muster.


    ¡°Get over yourself, you damn pixie. You ain''t nearly that important to me. Here¡¯s your shiny rock so spare me your input and start answering questions. I got two hours and don¡¯t wanna waste a minute¡±.


    Puck just looked at the Stone, then at me.


    ¡°Infant. Speck. Insect. I could kill you with a passing thought¡­¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re not gonna, are you? Right, big man?¡± I snapped back, interrupting the Fey.


    The Fey¡¯s gaze blazed, molten red like a steel-mill forge.


    ¡°See, there¡¯s one thing uppity pricks like you forget about, when it comes to growing up in the slums. You learn. You learn to pay attention. To pick up little details. The kind that make the difference between getting home at night or getting shived because you went down the wrong alley.


    You CAN kill me. But you won¡¯t. For the same reason you didn¡¯t kill Andreas when he pulled his piece on you.


    Feyvolken are governed by laws, right? Your words.


    So here¡¯s my ¡®uneducated¡¯, ¡®lowborn¡¯, ¡®gutter-snipe¡¯ guess. Y¡¯all got a Law that prohibits you fuckers from attacking unless you get attacked first¡±.


    Puck¡¯s hand squeezed into a fist, but he didn¡¯t answer.


    I sneered again.


    Gotcha.


    ¡°Our laws are¡­. infinitely¡­. more complex than that¡­ infant¡­ but you are not¡­ wrong¡± Puck snarled, each word feeling like it physically hurt him to say.


    "Good, then let¡¯s skip the dick-measuring contest and get down to business," I snapped, gripping the Aether Stone tighter. "You still want to do business with me? Fine. You don¡¯t? Then sod off and let me heal in peace."


    I meant every damn word of it.


    If nothing else, Puck¡¯s little monologue had cleared a few things up for me. For one, it was obvious he had some kind of limitation when it came to hurting me. I¡¯d have to attack him first.


    And, if this particular Puck was done playing ball due to my ''attitude'', than I could most likely a similar deal with any other Feyvolken for the Class Marks. They Fey seemed to be self-serving, more or less, and all they cared about was Aether Stones. So it wouldn''t matter if I suddenly grew a pair and cussed the lanky Fey off. As long as I had Aether Stones to offer, sooner or later, another Feyvolken would approach me.


    It was all still mostly guesswork, but I felt confident I had the general idea. And that, for now, would have to be enough.


    ¡°So I take it you are agreeing to my original offer? One Aether Stone for the information regarding your nature?¡± Puck said pointedly, his smoldering orbs dulling down to their ice-cold blue.


    I flicked the Aether Stone at the Fey¡¯s feet and pointed at it with my chin.


    ¡°Paid for it, didn¡¯t I?¡±


    Puck smacked his hands together, the sharp sound ringing through the room, and in an instant, his voice snapped back to its fake politeness and joviality with a whiplash-inducing suddenness.


    "Then we have an accord. Good doing business with you, my boy," he snickered, his long, spindly arm extending effortlessly to scoop up the Aether Stone, not even bothering to bend down. With a flick of his wrist, the glowing rock was gone¡ªvanished like smoke in the air.


    As soon as he picked up the stone, all the other Feyvolken turned and faded from sight leaving only myself and the lanky monstrosity crouching in front of me, chin resting on interlocked fingers, ready for me to ask my questions.

 Chapter 18

    "What am I?" I asked, the last remnants of my anger and frustration draining away. It was pointless to keep holding onto them now. I needed clarity, and I wouldn¡¯t get it by letting my emotions cloud the questions I had to ask.


    Puck let out a low chuckle. "Come now, you''ve already made the correct assumption while perched up in that tree, like some sort of hairless orangutan."


    I wasn¡¯t about to let him bait me into another round of his infuriating mockery. I had bigger things to focus on.


    "Nah, see," I shot back, my tone sharp but calm, "the agreement we made was that you''ll answer any questions about my nature. This one counts, so I want to hear it from your mouth".


    Puck sighed, rolling his head dramatically, then shrugged, clearly playing for effect.


    "Very well. The Sinborn of Pride, or Vampires, as you younger races call them, can only perpetuate their species via infection with the Curse of Pride. The Curse resides within the blood, and thus, the Vampire must drain the victim nearly to death, replacing most of their blood with the vampire''s own."


    He paused, eyes twinkling with an unsettling gleam. "A simple bite is not enough. No, it''s a deliberate, and often very messy, process. Only once that''s done, does the Curse take hold and transform the victim into a Vampire¡ªinto a Sinborn of Pride."


    ¡°Yeah, well I didn''t get the feeling that little miss¡­ Baronette whatever the hell her name was¡­ wanted to do that¡±.


    Puck nodded and pointed at me.


    ¡°And that, my dear boy, is one part of what makes you an anomaly. Your turning from human to vampire is a product of both circumstance and happenstance.


    The vampiress almost bled you dry, ergo exsanguination.


    Then you, in a very brutal and gruesome display that I simply must applaud, did the unthinkable. You bit a Vampire and ingested her blood. Quite a lot of it, might I add. Ergo, the replacement of your blood with the Vampire''s own.


    All quite a sight to behold¡±.


    I grimaced, the memory of that struggle and my desperation at that moment flowing back through me.


    ¡°I didn''t want to drink it. Honestly¡­ I just wanted to... dunno... just thought that if I was gonna die, might as well do my level best to take her to Hell with me¡±.


    ¡°A spiteful, petty reason. Bravo. But irrelevant, in the grand scheme of things. Your intention does not matter, the result does¡± the Fey scoffed.


    ¡°The result being that I am a vampire¡± I murmured.


    Puck clapped his hands and nodded emphatically.


    ¡°Yes. A full-fledged, bona-fide vampire, with all the bells and whistles inherent thereof¡±.


    I nodded, letting the weight of his words settle in. The confirmation of my assumption hit harder than I expected. Part of me had hoped, foolishly, that when Puck called me an anomaly, it meant I was something in between¡ªmaybe a half-breed, a Dhampir, or something like that.


    It would¡¯ve been comforting, in a twisted way, to know that half of me was still... human.


    ¡°No such thing¡± Puck said.


    ¡°The Curse of Pride does not deal in half-measures. Once it infects the blood it spreads into the body, changing both structure and anatomy into that of a Sinborn of Pride. A vampire. Irreversibly. You, my incompetent fresh fledgeling, are no longer a human, you are a vampire, and will remain as such until someone puts you out of your misery¡±.


    ¡°Stay the hell out of my mind¡± I snarled.


    Puck tittered in exaggerated glee.


    ¡°May as well. Quite cramped in there with that other you, lurking about¡±.


    My eye twitched. This bastard knew everything.


    ¡°We''ll get to the questions I got about him¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡± Puck chided and tapped his stick-like finger against my chest.


    ¡°He is you and you are him¡±.


    ¡°...later¡± I interrupted Puck with a forceful growl.


    ¡°We''ll get to THAT later. For now, tell me, how much of our knowledge and folklore on Vampires is equivalent to the Vampires of your world¡±.


    ¡°OUR World now, young man¡± Puck snickered.


    ¡°As for your question, surprisingly much. There are a great many things that your world deemed as fantasy that simply exist as reality in ours. But now that our two worlds have collided and melded, they are simply reality, I would surmise¡±.


    I sighed and nodded again. It was hard not to want to ask more about what Puck was hinting at. The ¡°melding¡± of worlds. But I knew it was only a way for him to goad me into asking questions outside of the agreement. And lose valuable time.


    ¡°Alright, yeah, then tell me what are the similarities and differences between the fantasy we know, and the reality of vampires¡±.


    ¡°Bah¡­¡± Puck scoffed ¡°...come now, surely you do not expect me to give you a point-by-point of¡­¡±


    I wagged my finger, mimicking his gesture with a malicious smile.


    ¡°The agreement, remember? All questions answered regarding my nature¡±.


    ¡°There is commerce to be done everywhere, I was hoping we could keep this short¡± Puck growled.


    I raised one arm toward his wooden mask, my movements sluggish but purposeful. The tar-like blood had stopped leaking from my wounds, but the damage remained¡ªdeep trenches and jagged craters marred my body, flesh still raw and torn. It was a haunting sight, but beneath the pain, I could feel the eerie process of regeneration working its way through me, the edges of the wounds slowly pulling together as if the body itself was determined to undo the damage, no matter how grotesque the process. Filaments of tissue, like darkened muscle fiber were spreading, pulling the wounds closed or otherwise crisscrossing like fleshy cobwebs to fill the holes.


    ¡°By the rate it''s regenerating, I''d say I still got a good hour or two until I''m back to normal. So yes Puck, I got time. Time to hear every little detail. Down to the last insignificant tidbit¡±.


    A sound burst from the featureless mask, something like a high-pitched rumble. The malicious, spiteful part of me smirked as I realized it had been a groan.


    Good. After all those words he''d just spewed in my direction, a little bit of inconveniencing the Fey was a small win I would gladly take.


    ¡°Very well, boy¡± Puck snarled.


    ¡°I will humor you. Allow me a moment to refresh my knowledge¡±.


    Without waiting for an answer, Puck swung his head back and drew a deep, sonorous breath, ¡°tasting¡± the air once more.


    ¡°Mmmm¡­. Very well¡± Puck purred and slowly moved his blue orbs on me.


    ¡°As I already said, surprisingly similar, but with fundamental differences¡±, he began, holding up two spindly fingers.


    ¡°You are a vampire, to use your kind''s nomenclature, a quasi-immortal.


    Immortal, because you will never grow decrepit with time, you will never wither and die. Disease, be it external or internal, will never touch you and the worst poisons and toxins are insignificant to you. Your body is no longer that of a human, but a predator. Faster, stronger, infinitely more durable. And with every year, with every throat you tear open and every action you take in improving your prowess, your body will only grow stronger over time. Time, which as stated before, you have an infinite supply of¡±.


    He crooked one finger down.


    ¡°Quasi, because unlike the Feyvolken, you can still very much be killed. Burn you to ash, tear your head off and heart out, or simply fling you into a wood chipper, either of these options will work. A general rule, do your best to keep your head or heart intact. As long as you do that, with enough blood and time, you can regenerate your body, regardless of the wound¡±.


    ¡°What about the vampiress, she still had both¡­¡±.


    ¡°We will get to that, child. Now quiet down and listen¡± Puck rumbled.


    ¡°I presume even you, cursed as you are with the subpar intellect of the younger races, have noticed a certain shift in your¡­ dietary proclivities?¡±


    I nodded, purposefully ignoring his snide remark.


    ¡°Delightful. Then, to make it clear, blood is EVERYTHING to you. It is your bread, your butter, your water, your opium, it is the only thing that will satiate you and feed your power. Choose to ignore it, purposefully abstain from it, and your own body will betray you. Your entire existence will be reduced to that of a rabid, hungering beast.


    So, little fledgeling, if there is one piece of advice I can give, is feed whenever you get the chance. Otherwise, well¡­¡±


    Puck reached out and tapped my forehead.


    ¡°... your mind will be the first to sunder. And every time it happens, prying it back from the Animal¡¯s jaws will become harder and harder¡±


    ¡°The Animal?¡±


    ¡°I thought I¡¯d told you to be quiet and listen¡±.


    He shook his head in over exaggerated exasperation and continued.


    ¡°That is around where the general similarities end and the differences begin. More specifically those regarding your weaknesses.


    The more folkloric weaknesses of vampires are not something you should concern yourself with. You can cross running water, enter homes uninvited, and no, someone throwing a handful of rice in front of you will not force you into an uncontrollable need to count them.


    Holy Icons, well, there is magic in Faith, regardless of its denomination, and being that you are a Sinborn, you will be able to feel that trace of magic in any icon. But they will not burn you to dust or smite you¡±.


    I instinctively drew a hand to my chest, pressing on the spot where that tiny wooden cross still hung around my neck. It still didn¡¯t burn or sizzle my skin, but just like before I could feel that ¡°force¡± around it.


    I really wanted to ask, but I knew he wouldn¡¯t answer.


    Puck sighed as if exasperated by my constant interruptions and answered the unspoken question.


    ¡°Faith, boy, is as fundamental and intrinsic to existence as Aether. You younger races, in your perpetual idiocy, may pervert, categorize and then war with one another over the myriad denominations, but that doesn¡¯t detract from it. Now IF I MAY CONTINUE?¡± he concluded, punctuating the last four words with venom.


    I nodded.


    ¡°Holy Icons, by themselves, may not harm you, but when wielded by the few possessing true, genuine Faith, well¡­ suffice it to say, I recommended you steer clear of their line of fire if you¡¯re dumb enough to raise the ire of someone of that caliber¡±.


    ¡°What about the Sun? In our folklore, the Sun, silver, oak stakes, those are also vampire weaknesses¡± I asked, doing my best to commit every single word he said to memory.


    ¡°Ah, yes, herein lies the main difference. Stakes, avoid them to the skull and heart, but no more efficient against you than a claymore to the same tender spots. Silver, a powerful catalyst for magic. It will disrupt your flesh and cause monumental pain, but no more than that.


    And lastly, the Sun. It will not burn you, but by the nature of your new anatomy, its unfiltered rays will hurt and weaken you. Profoundly so, in fact, as I am sure you have noticed¡±.


    I winced, reminded of the sickness I¡¯d felt when the direct light of the Sun had hit me.


    ¡°And that leads us to the answer for your first rude interruption. The only reason you managed to kill your progenitor, the Vampiress Erzebeth de Coutlierre, was because you tore out her throat under the full light of the Sun¡±.


    I nodded, finally starting to piece things together. All those many questions I¡¯d had were finally getting the proper answers.


    ¡°But she still kept some of her strength, even under the sun. She was half my size but still able to fight back, even overpower me¡±.


    Puck tilted his head, taking another breath, ¡°tasting¡± the air again.


    ¡°Ah, yes, very well observed. The woman was an old vampire, centuries old in fact. Not the oldest, not by a long shot, but old enough. For your kind, age equates to strength. A vampire with enough years under their belt, so to speak, can resist some of the effects of the Sun¡±.


    Puck tapped a finger against his temple.


    ¡°Emphasis on the some. Her age may have allowed her to keep a small amount of her exceptional strength and durability, even under the unfiltered light of day, but it did not change one simple reality of your anatomy. All that monstrous vitality, all that exceptional regeneration that your kind possesses, gone. As easy to kill as a human¡±.


    I closed my eyes for a long second, processing the information. A little detail had latched on.


    ¡°Unfiltered. I doubt you¡¯re using that word without a reason. Does that mean that if I were to, say, take a walk under full daylight covered head to toe so that not even an inch of skin was exposed, I could circumvent this weakness?¡±


    Puck shrugged.


    ¡°I suppose. Though, it would feel like taking a walk through a heated oven. But, go ahead and try it. It would be fun to witness, at the very least. If you screw up¡­¡± he clapped his hands with brutal finality.


    ¡°Express trip to the hereafter¡±.


    ¡°So, general rule of thumb, avoid sunlight¡± I muttered.


    Puck clapped again, mockingly.


    ¡°Such a bright young lad you are!¡±


    ¡°Right, right, now what about that Animal you were talking about?¡±


    As soon as I mentioned it, Puck¡¯s entire demeanor changed. That underlying feeling that he was toying with me dissipated like morning dew, leaving behind only a cold, oppressive sense of pure hostility.


    ¡°Yes. The one that you were speaking with when I got here¡±.


    I arched an eyebrow at his shift.


    ¡°Anything I ought to be made aware of?¡±


    Puck placed a hand under his chin in a contemplative gesture, muttering as he lolled his head from side to side.


    ¡°Hmmm¡­. Yes¡­.hmmmm¡­.. Allow me to be clear and frank once more, boy¡±.


    The Fey rose from his crouch with a fluid, almost unnatural motion, crossing his arms behind the small of his back. He looked down at me, gaze dripping with open hostility, as though my very existence was a nuisance too large to ignore.


    ¡°See, I truly hate, and I mean HATE, your kind. Out of all the Sinborn, you of the Pride, you are bar none the most singularly irritating lot¡±.


    The Fey turned and began to pace, launching into a rant.


    ¡°The Sinborn of Gluttony may be a bunch of undisciplined swine with all the culture of a brick shithouse, those of Envy may be lowest of the low and those of Wrath may be a braying bunch of barbarian brutes, but at least they are true to themselves. Honest.


    They are what they are and make no attempt to pretend to be anything but that.


    But your kind? Vampires?


    Your kind are guilty of that most disgusting of character traits. You lie to yourselves. I¡¯ve seen this pattern in my world, over and over again. Every time one of your kind gets laid low and ready to be executed, they all do the exact same thing¡±.


    He turned his head toward me, blue orbs glowing with an unsettling intensity and when he spoke, it wasn''t his voice at all, but a twisted chorus of male and female voices, all layered together, each one pleading, pitiful, desperate.


    ¡°It was not my fault¡±


    ¡°The Animal made me do it¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to do it¡±


    ¡°Please, I¡¯m as much the Animal¡¯s victim as you¡±


    ¡°Help me, I¡¯m not at fault¡±


    The words bled into each other, a maddening cacophony that clawed at my mind, each voice drenched in guilt, fear, and the unmistakable scent of a lie.


    Puck popped out of existence and reappeared right in front of me. His hands shot to either side of me, long fingers digging into the wall like tissue paper, those orbs of light blazing with a crimson red light, his white supple fur standing on end like a hound ready to bite, voice morphing once again into that deep, guttural growl.


    ¡°Hypocrisy. Deflection. Self-Victimization. Disgusting and despicable.


    If you¡¯re gonna be a monster, fine.


    If you¡¯re going to murder, despoil and blaspheme anything and everything you touch. That. Is. Fine.


    But own up to it. Embrace it. Embrace your own perfidy and when it¡¯s time to pay the piper, go to the Hell that awaits you without complaint. But do your kind do that? No, no, no, no, of course you don¡¯t¡±.


    He pulled out one hand from the wall and tapped a claw tipped finger against my forehead.


    ¡°You blame THIS! That voice in your head. The Animal.


    So hear me and hear me well, boy, lest you fall prey to that same delusion all your kind fall to.


    The Animal is not a separate entity, not a different ¡®you¡¯. The Animal is you. It¡¯s every single brutal thought you¡¯ve ever had, every single violent action you¡¯ve never taken, every single throat you¡¯ve wanted to throttle but CHOSE not to, when you were a human. It was always a part of you.


    And CHOICE is the right principia here, because that¡¯s all it ever is.


    A CHOICE.


    The Curse of Pride magnifies that voice, but it forces you to do NOTHING.


    It always is, has been and will only ever be your choice¡±.


    Despite myself, my fangs popped out at his show of hostility and hate, in a reflex action.


    ¡°That thing didn¡¯t give me a damn option when it forced me to fight the Orcs!¡±


    ¡°WRONG!!!¡± Puck roared, his voice splitting the air with an intensity that made the very walls tremble and struck the wall with a force that cratered the concrete, sending cracks spiderwebbing across its surface.


    The thumping from outside grew louder as rotbloods, drawn by the noise, closed in on the door. Puck whipped his head toward the sound, eyes igniting with a fiery red glow that was pure malice.


    *CRUNCH!*


    The sickening sound of something snapping, something breaking, and the rotbloods fell silent, their presence suddenly gone. The fleeting surge of defiance I¡¯d felt deflated in an instant, replaced by a cold, suffocating realization of just how outmatched I was.


    Whatever the Laws that governed the Fey were, they didn¡¯t seem to include rotbloods.


    Slowly, Puck turned back to me, his movements deliberate, and closed the distance between us, until his featureless wooden mask hovered inches from my nose, monstrous and alien presence pressing down like an inescapable weight.


    ¡°Choices are not supposed to be easy¡± he began, voice hoarse and filled with¡­ something I couldn¡¯t quite place.


    ¡°They are not supposed to be simple. And the only reason the Animal was able to make it for you, force you into fighting the Orcs, was because you were too weak to choose otherwise.


    You should have forced your way out of that room, crawling on your hands and knees if you¡¯d had to. But you didn¡¯t.


    And allowed a choice to be made for you.


    In spite of you¡±.


    Puck retreated slowly, raising himself back up, voice returning to normal, but that glint of red still remaining in his eyes.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    ¡°The Animal will only drive you further on its path, with every inch you allow it. It will justify, excuse and find ways to slither deeper into your mind, convince you of its decisions, until it will burrow so deep that you will no longer know where you begin and the Animal ends.


    You will become an aberration, your own humanity reduced to pitiful little afterthought, screaming uselessly, lost somewhere in the depths of your own fractured mind¡±.


    He leaned down, blazing blue eyes drilling into mine with such intensity that it felt like they were peeling back the layers of my mind. The dark impulse, that twisted thing hiding deep within me, shrieked and howled, cowering in the farthest corners of my thoughts.


    ¡°All the while, retaining just enough sanity to play pretend,¡± he sneered, voice a venomous whisper, ¡°like you¡¯re just a victim of circumstance.¡±


    I held the Feyvolken¡¯s gaze for a long time, letting his words sink in.


    ¡°So what is it then? You trying to convince me not to stray from my own humanity or something?¡±


    Puck stood stock still for a few moments more, then bent over at the waist in a bellicose laugh, all trace of red gone from his eyes.


    ¡°Ahahah¡­.ahaha¡­aaaha¡­. oh you little bastard, that was funny¡­ ahahaha¡­.


    Oh¡­ no, no, m¡¯boy, I don¡¯t partake in that petty joke you younger races refer to as¡­ morality¡­ I don¡¯t much care whether you retain your humanity or merge with the Animal.


    No, the thing I am trying to impress upon you is to embrace whatever path you want with your full conviction.


    You want to become a bloodthirsty beast who can think only of your next kill? Do it.


    You want to keep the Animal at bay and make your own decisions in spite of it? Do it.


    You want to play pretend that you can become some uppity, sanctimonious paragon of¡­ what is it you call it, good?... Well, that would be boring, but do it.


    Do, whatever it is you want to do, but do it wholeheartedly, and then accept the consequences of your actions when it is time to. Because there is nothing more boring than a hypocrite¡±


    Letting out a long, weary sigh, deciding that trying to understand Puck''s mercurial mood swings was an exercise in futility, I replied flatly, my tone as dry as the air in the room.


    "I see. If you¡¯ve gotten that out of your system, mind if we move on to the next question?"


    Puck once more took that crouching position in front of me, chin resting on his interlocked fingers.


    ¡°Proceed¡±.


    ¡°How am I an anomaly?¡±


    Puck took a few seconds before answering, tilting his head from side to side again. A gesture I¡¯d come to associate with him considering something.


    ¡°Hmmm¡­ a number of things, starting with the ''how'' in how you''ve become a Sinborn of Pride.


    See, the Sinborn of Pride have a general ¡®modus operandi¡¯ as it were. All those turned, have been done so via their own choice. The Crimson Kiss, the act of transforming a mortal into a Vampire, was offered and accepted, and in doing so, the turned was tied to their Sire, blood-bound in loyalty.


    You have deviated from the aforementioned ¡®modus operandi¡¯ in that you''ve taken the Blood, never given a choice on the matter. That has never happened before. In doing so, there is no blood-bond between you and your Sire¡±.


    ¡°Considering I tore her throat out, I wouldn''t expect there to be a bond¡±.


    Puck snapped his fingers and pointed at me.


    "Yes, exactly that," Puck mused, his voice smooth but tinged with a dark amusement. "Normally, the bond is such that the fledgling spends decades at their Sire''s beck and call, drawn in, almost addicted to their Sire''s whims, moods, and needs. It¡¯s a subtle thing, you know. Insidious."


    He paused, watching me, a cold glint in his eyes.


    "Over time, that bond begins to fray. Eventually, the Offspring will try to break free¡ªattempt to fight for independence, murder their Sire, or both. But those rarely end in success. The only real option is to escape, sever the ties, and pursue their own ambitions. Of course, that¡¯s usually the most successful course of action...if you can manage it."


    ¡°That''s¡­ really brutal¡± I stammered out.


    ¡°Oh yes¡­¡± Puck continued.


    ¡°Vampires are monumentally possessive and domineering creatures. To a Sire, their Offspring is no more than an extension of their authority and ambition, a tool.  What right does a sword have to leave their wielder''s hand? None, of course.


    And to an Offspring, their Sire becomes the monumental shadow cast upon them, the hurdle that prevents them from fulfilling their own ambitions and wants. So when the Offspring escapes, they search for another to turn, thus¡­¡±


    ¡°...repeating the cycle over and over again¡± I finished the sentence.


    Puck applauded.


    ¡°Exactly. Monumentally mediocre and boring, no? And that''s where the deviation begins, you see. This cycle has stood unbroken from the very beginning. And by your actions, you have broken it¡±.


    ¡°So what''s that mean for me? Am I stronger than a normal vampire?¡±.


    Puck laughed.


    ¡°Oh no, no, dear boy, I''ve already told you, you are no more special, stronger or faster than any other fledgeling before you. It just means you are your own Sire, thus you have no dominating presence to keep you bound to their wants or whims for the next fifty to a hundred years¡±.


    I sighed.


    ¡°Well, silver lining, that''s still a good thing. At least I''m my own man¡±.


    Puck snickered again.


    ¡°Your definition of a ¡®good thing¡¯ is a very amusing one¡±.


    I leaned my head back against the wall, tapping it lightly with a hollow thud, and exhaled sharply through clenched teeth.


    "Fantastic," I muttered, voice thick with sarcasm. "By all means, Puck, do tell me¡ªwhat fresh, succulent Hell awaits me?"


    ¡°You, my dear boy, are your own Sire, and thus sovereign of your own destiny. That is the good part.


    You are also a fledgeling without the protection of a Sire. Thus, you have no one to protect you as you grow in age and strength, no one to teach you the finer points of your vampiric nature, no one to instruct you on how to properly manipulate Blood¡±.


    ¡°Protect me? From what you¡¯ve said Vampires aren¡¯t the protective kind¡±.


    ¡°Correct for the most part, my boy, they are not. But as I have said, an Offspring is the belonging of their Sire, and no self-respecting Sire would allow one of their valuable tools to be broken.


    Vampires, you see, despite their many, many, many advantages are, by the nature of the Curse of Pride, monumentally arrogant and isolationist. For your average vampire, being in a group, in an organization, well that¡¯s simply untennable. It implies that they set their own ego, ambitions and plans in lieu of a greater purpose.


    And what could ever be greater to a Vampire than their own ambition?


    Nothing.


    As such, with very few exceptions, a Vampire Sire will only have their Offspring and a smorgasbord of human thralls in their territory, and tolerate no other Vampire in their domain. Thus, as a fledgeling with no protection, your fate, should you ever knowingly or unknowingly, encroach on another Vampire¡¯s domain will be one of two¡±.


    Puck once more held up two fingers.


    ¡°One, should you prove yourself in having potential, the Vampire will force their own blood down your throat, enthralling you into the blood-bond.


    Two, you will have your arms and legs torn off, get skinned alive, literally, and spit on a pike to cook in the daylight for at least a week, depending on the Sire¡¯s mood. Then, they will chuck you into a pyre and send you screaming into the hereafter¡±.


    I grimaced.


    ¡°Fucking... delightful¡±.


    Puck brought his hands across the blank space where his mouth should have been, as if to stifle a laugh.


    ¡°I know right? This is so fun to watch. But, silver lining as you like to say, chances are you will be killed before having the misfortune of meeting another Vampire¡±.


    ¡°Thank you for the vote of confidence, Puck¡±


    The Feyvolken gave me a short bow.


    I scowled, pushing down the urge to flip him off.


    ¡°Alright. Then let¡¯s get back into it, putting our little tangent about Vampiric society aside, you did say that ¡®how¡¯ I was turned is only part of why I am an anomaly¡±.


    ¡°Correct. A fundamental part, but otherwise inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. No, dear boy, if it had been only that, you would not have been interesting enough for me to waste good time talking to you here, when I could be making profit somewhere else.


    No, the reason why you are such an anomaly has infinitely more to do with who you are¡±.


    I arched an eyebrow.


    ¡°Who I am? I''m a nobody, remember? You  said it yourself¡±.


    Puck nodded emphatically and pointed two fingers at me.


    ¡°Exactly. You are a nobody, son of no-one-worth-considering and who-gives-a-damn.


    And THAT, right there makes you an anomaly. You are the furthest type of person from the ideal candidate for the Crimson Kiss. It¡¯s in the name, after all, Pride, the Cruse of Pride, the Sin of Pride. If there is ever any one adjective to describe the average Vampire it is Pride.


    Disgustingly, abrasively, excruciatingly proud. A Vampire will not just turn any fool of the streets into an immortal. Lineage, pedigree, heritage, all this and more is considered when a Sire searches for a candidate to turn into an Offspring.


    It is in the nature of the Sinborn of Pride to settle for nothing lesser than the best¡±.


    I could feel the scowl on my face deepening.


    ¡°Hold on! So what you¡¯re telling me is that all Vampires are a bunch of nobles and hoighty-toighty blue-bloods?¡±


    Puck nodded firmly.


    ¡°Yes!¡±


    The silence stretched out, thick and suffocating, as we sat there, neither of us speaking for what felt like an eternity. Then, without warning, I couldn¡¯t help myself. I burst into a fit of laughter, the sound sharp and almost manic.


    ¡°Oh boy,¡± I gasped between laughs, shaking my head. ¡°You¡¯re right. I¡¯m the furthest damn thing from that there could ever be!¡±


    Puck joined in.


    ¡°Right? Right? You are basically a walking abomination in their eyes. If they ever found out that some gutter-born became a vampire, their entire kind would probably have a collective aneurysm¡±.


    In all honesty, I couldn¡¯t really explain why I was laughing. For all intents and purposes, everything Puck had said had been one bit of bad news after another, with only one small silver lining: I was immortal now, and pretty damn hard to kill.


    But something about the whole situation? The fact that I, of all people, had stumbled into this highly exclusive little "club" because of nothing more than being too stubborn to let myself die?


    It was nothing short of cosmic irony.


    And it was hilarious.


    Or maybe I''d completely lost my mind for a few minutes. Probably a little bit of both.


    ¡°So, this is what makes me an anomaly¡±


    Puck gasped for air, holding his stomach.


    ¡°Phewww. Yes. From that simple fact branch out every anomalistic trait you have, m¡¯boy. Picture this, if you would¡­¡±


    He shifted closer, spreading his hands out, like a master storyteller, making ready to regale me with a narrative of superlative theatricalism.


    ¡°You are born into nobility, le creme-de-la-creme, your blood so blue it rivals the clear sky, a silver spoon shoved so far up your rear-end you can hear it smack the back of your teeth.


    You can trace your lineage back to the most exceptional kings, queens and heroes that your country boasts of.


    You are prim, proper, educated and by nothing more than the fact that you were shat out from between the right pair of thighs, you are heir to so much. Land. Fortunes. Authority.


    And then, one night, through the stain-glass windows of your chambers, he enters.


    He is like you. Of perfect pedigree and lineage, of exceptional mannerism and bearing all the soft, subtle intricacies of the most upper-class gentry. But he exceeds you. Because, unlike you, he is perfect and immortal. And then he offers it to you.


    The Crimson Kiss.


    You too can become like him. Perfect and Immortal. If you would only bow to him. You accept. After all, you are special, are you not? A noble. A genius. So far above the common chaff. So far above even your peers.


    You will bow. For now.


    The decades pass and you come to understand.


    Lands? Fortunes? Authority? You deserve these things not only by right of birth, but by divine right. You deserve everything. You deserve the world itself. At least, that¡¯s what the voice in the back of your head tells you every day.


    Those mortals screaming and begging as you drained their struggling children before their eyes? They did not understand the privilege of sacrificing their worthless blood in the name of your eternity. That¡¯s what the voice tells you.


    The atrocities and blasphemies you commit? They are works of art. Nothing less than masterpieces. That¡¯s what the voice sings in your dreams.


    And with every year, you grow stronger, beautiful, perfect.


    The voice is right. It was always right. Pride is not a curse. Pride is your natural state. Why should you not be Proud?


    You are Perfect and thus, you and you alone, have the right to be Proud.


    You are Perfect and thus, you and you alone, have the right to the world.


    You are Perfect and thus, you and you alone, have the right to do as you see fit¡±.


    Puck smacked his hands together.


    ¡°And that, my dear boy, is how most vampires think. To be a Vampire is the essence of Pride.


    And then there¡¯s you.


    The aberration.


    The walking anomaly.


    You bear no lineage worth mentioning, your pedigree is that of a mutt, your self-worth is only that which you have made for yourself, and you know better than anyone that you are entitled only to what you¡¯ve gained with your own effort. The Animal has nothing subtle to latch onto, and thus tries to work only upon that one thing you know so well.


    Survival instinct. Predation. The fight to live another day. None of which are subtle.


    And that means you¡¯ve heard it before it¡¯s entrenched itself too deep.


    That, right there, is the true anomaly. You HEARD it. And thus, you separated it¡±.


    ¡°Hold on, something doesn¡¯t add up¡± I interrupted.


    For once, Puck didn¡¯t seem bothered by it, instead he seemed genuinely interested in what I was about to ask.


    ¡°Yes, m¡¯boy?¡±


    ¡°The Curse¡¯s intent and how it manifests are kind of¡­ contrasting. The Curse, the Animal, it latches on to their perceived sense of¡­ being the elite, right? But the way it changes the mind and the body, doesn¡¯t that make them¡­ I dunno, more primitive?


    I mean, there¡¯s nothing high-class about someone who''s a slave to their impulses, and from what you¡¯ve told me, the Animal is all basic impulse. The pure predator, right?¡±


    Puck didn¡¯t answer immediately, but moved in closer until that featureless mask was beside my ear, and whispered.


    ¡°There¡¯s a reason it¡¯s a Curse of Sin, m¡¯boy. All Sinborn are walking contradictions. Thus, while they live, they can never find any form of peace".


    As quick as thought he moved back to his original position, his hand now under his chin as if pondering.


    ¡°Now. Anything else?¡±


    I opened my mouth, only to immediately close it. It seemed like an idiotic question, some inane thing born of self-doubt that didn¡¯t really have a place in this reborn world of pragmatism and survival.


    More than that I knew the answer, but I simply wanted to hear it. Get that extra confirmation.


    If only for my peace of mind.


    ¡°In my world¡¯s folk and fantasy, Vampires are described as undead corpses, moving husks. I know you said Vampires aren¡¯t undead, we¡¯re just another form of life but¡­¡±


    I hoisted myself up off the ground and stared into those cold, blazing lights of Puck¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°Do I still have a soul?¡±


    Puck didn¡¯t answer right away. Instead, he held my gaze, piercing eyes never wavering. Then, with a deliberate slowness, he reached out with one of his spindly fingers and tapped it gently against my forehead.


    ¡°Do you still think?¡± he asked in an impassive, level voice.


    I blinked as the question, so simple and clear, hit me.


    ¡°Yeah¡±


    ¡°Do you still feel?¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡±


    ¡°How about sorrow and happiness? Compassion and spite? Hope and doubt? Courage and fear? Do you still feel any of these things since you¡¯ve become a Vampire?¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡±


    ¡°Then why pose such an inane question, you stupid brat? Are those not the markings of sentience and thus, the markings of a soul? Of course you still have a soul, you fool. You are the same soul you were, when you had a mortal body¡±.


    I just nodded and smirked, more than happy with the answer.


    ¡°Yeah. Thanks Puck¡±


    Puck just shrugged with the exasperation of a mathematics teacher explaining basic arithmetic to a particularly dull child.


    ¡°You should really consider listening to me when I talk. Either that or take notes. I¡¯ve already said it once, did I not? There is no magic or curse that can touch upon the Soul. Only your own actions either clean or stain it¡±.


    I nodded, pushing against my lower back to pop my spine. The conversation had dragged on for what felt like an eternity, but in that time, my wounds had almost fully healed. Here and there, faint indentations remained where the damage had been deep, but they were slowly filling in. When I tried to open my left eye, I could see little more than a half-formed white orb where it should¡¯ve been, but most of the damage had faded, and the left side of my face was completely restored.


    ¡°Muscle and flesh regenerate easily. Eyes are more difficult, they take longer¡± Puck muttered with the same indifference.


    I grimaced and rubbed my stomach. "It¡¯s fine. I can work with this. Problem is, I can feel myself getting hungry".


    I was still in control, but it was starting to nag at me¡ªthe hunger was creeping in, just enough to make me uncomfortable. If I had to describe it in human terms, it was like going 24 hours without food. I wasn¡¯t at the point of full-blown starvation, but I definitely wasn¡¯t enjoying the tight, gnawing sensation in my gut.


    ¡°Blood is your fuel. When you empowered yourself to fight against the horde, it cost blood. Closing the wounds. Regenerating your flesh, it all costs blood.


    Your regeneration will slow down since your body recognizes that it¡¯s no longer in immediate danger¡±.


    I scratched at the sides of my head.


    ¡°Right, yeah¡­ One more thing before we end this, any advice? Specific to my nature I mean?¡±


    Puck turned to me and gave a curt nod.


    ¡°Your body will now naturally gravitate over time towards becoming the perfect predator. Muscle will grow, bone will harden, excess flab¡­¡± his orbs shifted towards my prominent gut ¡°... will be burned. All this will come naturally as you infinitely age.


    However, you can hasten the process.


    Seek out conflict. Overcome adversity. With each battle won and each throat drained you will gain valued combat prowess.


    More than that, train your body. You will find that its proclivity towards perfection will make your results quite obvious and immediate compared to when you were human. You need only be willing to put in the effort¡±.


    ¡°Are¡­ are you telling me to hit the gym?¡± I asked, dumbfounded at how sensible and simultaneously mundane the advice was.


    Puck drew another sonorous breath, ¡°tasting the air¡± once again.


    ¡°No pain, no gain, brah¡± he answered in the most gym bro voice I¡¯d ever heard. I would have laughed if the weird Feyvolken¡¯s mood swings weren¡¯t so volatile. Was he dangerous? Friendly? I had no clue.


    ¡°One more piece of advice, free of charge¡± Puck added, holding up a finger for my attention.


    ¡°And I give this only in the hope that you purchase it from me when you have the Aether Stones, considering that I am investing in you. A Class. Get it as soon as you can. Specifically, the Vanguard class¡±.


    I narrowed my eyes.


    ¡°How much is it?¡± I asked, expecting an outrageous price. Was it an attempt from him to get me to buy something unnecessarily elaborate?


    ¡°100 Aether Stones¡± Puck answered nonchalantly.


    ¡°Wait! Back in the amphitheater you said that the cheapest Class Marks cost 100 Aether Stones. Aren¡¯t the more expensive ones better?¡±


    ¡°Correct and correct¡±.


    ¡°Then wouldn¡¯t it be better to save up for a more expensive one?¡±


    Puck shrugged nonchalantly.


    ¡°Very fair. You could. Nothing would stop you from saving up and purchasing the Archmage Class for 3.700 Aether Stones, or the Field Marshall for 3.000.


    But, you asked for advice. And my advice is Vanguard, priced at 100 Aether Stones¡±.


    I stood there, trying to read between the lines, to discern some hidden reasoning behind the words.


    ¡°Yeah. Alright, then that ought to be about it¡­¡±


    *THUNK*


    My instincts kicked in, and I dropped into a crouch, tensing in preparation for whatever was coming next. The noise had caught me off guard, echoing in the quiet like a warning bell. For a split second, I thought the rotbloods had returned, pounding against the door, or that something even worse was lurking in the room.


    As the clatter of a jar lid rolling across the floor subsided, I scanned the area, gaze tracking the lid¡¯s erratic path as it finally settled near the large cardboard box under the desk.


    And that¡¯s when I saw it¡ªa glimmer of movement, a hint of wild, dirty-white fur. Just behind the box, the eye-hole of a palm-sized, featureless wooden mask stared back at me.


    A Feyvolken, just like Puck, but no bigger than a five year old child.


    A miniature Fey.

 Chapter 19

    For a brief moment, the white fur reminded me of the strange, husky-like ghost dog I¡¯d seen perched on the edge of the mall¡¯s roof, calling out to us.


    But this wasn¡¯t that.


    This creature was something alien. Something like Puck.


    It stood barely a meter tall¡ªno more than three feet¡ª a wild mane of long fur spilling from behind a wooden mask, eye holes glowing faintly with a flicker of blue, much dimmer than Puck¡¯s. The creature was dressed in what looked like a ragged, stained potato sack, form barely visible as it crouched, motionless, hidden behind the box.


    In the moment, it reminded me of the scared kittens I used to find hiding behind dumpsters in the slums, small and desperate, frozen in place as if the world might swallow them whole if they moved.


    ¡°Ugh!¡± Puck spat, a visceral disgust lining his voice like poison.


    ¡°Why are you here, failure?¡±.


    I glanced between Puck and the small Feyvolken, trying to divine the reason for his hostility towards the little creature.


    ¡°Does this Fey want to invest in me? Like you?¡±


    Puck snarled.


    ¡°She has nothing to offer¡±


    ¡°She?.... Alright? But why does she look so¡­?¡±


    ¡°Pitiful? Pathetic? Because she is a cautionary tale, nothing more¡±.


    With a flick of Puck''s fingers, both desk and box the little Fey had been hiding behind vanished, sending her scrambling back, tiny form hugging against the wall. She recoiled like a frightened, shivering puffball, anemic body trembling with fear.


    ¡°This is what happens to a Fey that fails to make a profit. Aether Stones are not treasures for our kind, boy. They are sustenance. Lifeblood.


    Without the magic we consume from the Stones, we lose our power. Power that we need for everything. Plane shifting. The creation of products from Aether. Everything¡±.


    The tall, lanky Feyvolken took a step towards the shivering little thing and reached out, scratching a finger against her wooden mask.


    ¡°A precipitous fall. A snowball effect. Without our magic, we cannot do commerce. Without commerce, we cannot gain magic. Until we are reduced to scavengers, pilfering what we can from the material world to try and sell. Until even that becomes too hard to do. Until our reserves run so low, that our physical form starts to shrink, wither, if only to conserve what we can¡±.


    I hissed and grimaced at the fatalism in his tone.


    ¡°Damn. What''s gonna happen to her?¡± I asked, eyes still on the little creature. She looked so scared against that wall. So vulnerable.


    Why wasn''t she just leaving like the others had?


    Puck¡¯s voice lost none of that venom but I thought I could hear something almost¡­ tired, in it.


    ¡°She''s weakened so much she can''t even speak. Can¡¯t even plane-shift and leave the room.


    I told you, boy. Feyvolken cannot die. So her fate is set in stone.


    Soon, she won''t have enough power to maintain her physical form, and will be reduced to a formless speck of sentience, starving for eternity¡±.


    With a dismissive flick of his wrist, Puck turned away.


    ¡°Ignore her. She is already damned¡±.


    A cloying, clawing disgust bubbled inside me, knotting my guts into a bundle of utter revulsion.


    ¡°What? She''s your kind, you''re just¡­¡±


    ¡°She is Feyvolken. Succeed or fail, there is no third option for us¡±.


    Puck snarled back, adding something more under his breath. Something that my excessively sensitive hearing still caught. Just barely.


    ¡°Not anymore¡±.


    I narrowed my eyes, wanting to press him on it, but decided to focus on the small creature. He was not likely to engage in any sort of debate anyway.


    I pushed a hand into my pocket, grabbing one of the two Aether Stones and holding it towards the little Fey.


    Was it how pitiful she looked that was causing such a visceral need in me to do something?


    No.


    No, it wasn¡¯t that. I¡¯d seen pitiful sights before. In the ghetto, in the orphanage, the mirror, all around.


    Was it because she was a small, shivering little thing?


    No. Not that either.


    Well. It didn¡¯t matter. Maybe I could do some ¡°commerce¡± and help us both in the process.


    Screw it.


    I¡¯ll get more Aether Stones. There¡¯s a whole world of Orcs and Goblins out there, I can get more.


    ¡°You want to trade? I still got some Aether Stones left¡±.


    Her eyes flickered nervously, darting from side to side, before she did something like a limp-waddle toward me, carefully avoiding Puck, whose snarl still hung in the air like a threat. Her tiny arms were outstretched, trembling with the effort of keeping them up, as though the weight of whatever lay within them was too much to bear.


    When she finally got close enough, a jumble of items appeared in her hands¡ªher ¡°inventory,¡± no doubt.


    I grimaced the moment the smell hit me.


    A loaf of bread, green with mold, its once-white surface now a festering mess. A small orange, half-browned and putrid, as though it had been forgotten in the sun for far too long. And a handful of dented, half-opened cans of tuna, the stench of them wafting up like the remnants of something long past its prime. Expired.


    It was clear¡ªshe had raided a dumpster. Just like Puck said. A scavenger.


    ¡°DO NOT embarrass us more than you have, you abject failure¡±.


    Puck bellowed, lashing a hand across the ¡°produce¡± and sending it clattering onto the floor.


    ¡°You are still Feyvolken, still bound to the Laws. You cannot sell something for more than their worth. All that refuse is not even worth a fragment of an Aether Stone¡±.


    ¡°Hey!¡± I hissed, reaching to help collect it, but the little Fey flopped on top of the trash, drawing it into a little pile under her, shaking her head ferociously.


    ¡°I''ll buy it¡± I said without thinking.


    The little Fey only shook her head harder. A frantic motion.


    ¡°Listen. I don¡¯t care about these rocks, I¡¯ll get more. I¡¯ll buy the¡­¡± I tried again, leaning in, but she drew back, scooting away like a skittish rabbit, refusing even to meet my gaze, shaking her head like someone having a seizure.


    ¡°Hmpf! At least there''s still enough dignity in you to admit that it''s not worth a purchase. Even though it took me to point it out. Disgraceful¡±.


    Puck spat.


    "I¡¯ll buy information from her," I muttered, more to myself than anyone else, as I tried to figure out a way to make this deal worth something¡ªanything¡ªthat would let me hand her a Stone without it feeling like charity.


    Since, clearly, Fey were not allowed to accept charity. As idiotic as it seemed, their Laws would not allow them. Even the little Fey was now actively refusing to take it.


    ¡°Oh? And do you know how to read Fey Runes? Because she can''t even speak anymore, she''d have to write it down¡± Puck answered with cold indifference.


    ¡°Alright? Then she can¡­ teleport, or whatever it is you lot do¡­ to the shops and bring something valuable. I''ve seen your kind appear and disappear¡­¡±


    ¡°If she still had the capability to plane shift and be invisible to the rotbloods, do you think she''d have offered that refuse? The only reason she came here, is because she most likely latched on to the aether residue of so many Fey plane-walking to this location.


    Think, boy!¡±


    ¡°Then¡­¡±


    ¡°STOP!¡± Puck barked and the words caught in my throat.


    ¡°Just¡­ stop. Please. Her fate is sealed. There is nothing you can do for her. Nothing anyone can do¡±.


    A small tug at the sleeve of my jacket pulled my attention back to the little creature who had waddled next to me. Her mask, blank and featureless, hid any emotion, but the way she nodded at Puck''s words spoke volumes.


    There was no fight in her, no fear, just a quiet, undeniable resignation.


    She had accepted her fate.


    It clicked then, the reason WHY I''d been so dead set on helping this little one.


    I¡¯d seen that nod before.


    I¡¯d seen it in the mirror. I¡¯d seen it from the other kids in the orphanage. Every time we didn¡¯t get picked. Every time we didn¡¯t get adopted.


    We¡¯d do that.


    We¡¯d nod just like that.


    Next time, it¡¯ll be me.


    Next time, I¡¯ll be the one to get a family.


    But that day never came. Not for me, at least. Until the very idea of hope became poison. Where there¡¯s hope, there¡¯s the possibility of heartache.


    ¡°Hope for nothing and expect the worst¡±


    I¡¯d chosen to stop hoping. Because no one would ever be there to help.


    But now I was in the position to help. So screw Puck. And screw the Laws.


    The little Fey began to shuffle away, tucking her meager haul of discarded food into the folds of her burlap sack, her steps slow and broken, a pitiful limp dragging her toward the far wall. Her every movement screamed dejection.


    I couldn¡¯t watch it anymore. With a swift motion, I reached out, snatching that rotten, squishy orange from her hands. I''d spent so long trying to find a way to help her within the boundaries of their damned Fey Laws, but Puck kept slamming those walls down around me.


    So I did what I always do. I adapted and skirted around the rules.


    I cracked open my mouth wide and sank my teeth into the rotting orange, skin and all. The taste hit me like a punch¡ªrancid, acrid, and rotting through to the core. My stomach churned, fighting to revolt, but I forced it down.


    Apparently, Puck had been serious about my dietary changes. Normal food? I couldn¡¯t stomach it anymore.


    Each bite was a battle against my gag reflex. I chewed¡ªor, rather, bit down repeatedly, tearing into the foul fruit without bothering to chew, swallowing it in large chunks. Puck¡¯s eyes bore into me, and the little Fey''s gaze was no less piercing, but I ignored them both, focusing only on finishing.


    When the last of the rotten orange was gone, I shoved a hand into my pocket, fishing out one of the Aether Stones, and crouched in front of the little Fey.


    "Fey Laws this, Fey Laws that... You said it yourself, didn¡¯t you? This isn¡¯t just your world anymore. It¡¯s a melded world, right?"


    I shoved the Stone closer, the weight of it solid in my hand.


    "So here''s a Law from my world¡ªthe Law of supply and demand. I¡¯ve been craving fruit all day, and this little one right here, had the supply. So as far as I¡¯m concerned, it was worth exactly one Aether Stone."


    Puck scoffed, voice dripping with disdain. "Do not think you can circumvent our Laws, infant. You¡ª"


    "Oh, cut the crap, will you?" I snapped.


    "You sell something as subjective as information. You ¡®invest¡¯ and ¡®negotiate¡¯. It doesn¡¯t take a genius to realize your precious ''Laws'' are nothing but semantics. Open to interpretation. So, here¡¯s one for you."


    I pushed the Stone closer to the little Fey, more sure of my choice with every word.


    "You say the Fey only sell things for what they¡¯re worth? Well, to me, that orange was objectively worth one whole Stone".


    Puck stood there for a long moment, as if wanting to say something more, but then shifted his gaze toward the little Fey. She hadn¡¯t moved, wide, dulled blue orbs locked onto the Aether Stone with an intensity that said everything.


    "Well?" Puck¡¯s voice was a low rumble, laced with incredulity.


    "If the fool is so desperate for a rotting fruit that he¡¯s willing to pay an entire Aether Stone for it, who are we to deny him? He has a demand, and you¡¯ve brought the supply. The Law has not been broken. You did not oversell anything. He willingly overpaid."


    The little Fey¡¯s eyes flicked between Puck and me, her tiny, trembling arms stretching toward the Stone, hesitant and shy, like a squirrel reaching for a nut.


    I didn¡¯t rush her. I didn¡¯t move. Just held the Stone out, letting her take her time.


    As soon as her tiny hands grabbed the blue crystal, she gave me one last look as if to make sure I was willing to give her so much raw magic for a rotten orange.


    I just gave her my best interpretation of a gentle smile and let the Aether Stone go.


    In that same squirrel-like manner, the moment her hands wrapped around the Aether Stone, she recoiled, limping quickly a few steps back, her tiny form jerking away with an almost frantic urgency. She pressed the Stone to her mask, and for a heartbeat, I thought she might actually take it off, but instead, she tilted it to the side, just enough to reveal the lower half of her face.


    It was covered in the same soft, dirty-white fur that cloaked the rest of her, but what caught my attention were her teeth. Her mouth opened, a thin, cleft upper lip pulling back to show a row of needle-like fangs, each one sharp and small. Without a second thought, she clamped down on the Aether Stone, tiny jaws working with surprising strength, cracking the crystal as though it were nothing more than a brittle cracker.


    ¡°Bah. Nonsense¡± Puck spat again, watching the little Fey chew on her stone.


    ¡°It is not in the nature of the Fey to overcharge. Even idiots willing to overpay. This feels wrong¡± he muttered and flicked his wrist, extending that lanky arm across the room, towards me.


    ¡°Equivalent exchange¡±


    In his palm, glimmering in the cold light, were a pair of small double-A batteries.


    Narrowing my eyes, I made to reach for them.


    ¡°You¡¯re not gonna take her Stone are you?¡±


    Puck scoffed.


    ¡°I am merely providing a one-off extra service to make sure you get your value¡¯s worth for the Aether Stone you paid. To make it right. This will not repeat itself, and no, I do not intend to demand anything for doing this. Not from you, or her¡±.


    I smirked and took the batteries.


    ¡°Well, would you look at that, he¡¯s got a heart after all¡±.


    A growl was all I got as answer and decided to not push my luck any further.


    ¡°What am I supposed to do with these?¡± I asked, holding the batteries.


    Puck pointed to the security guard¡¯s corpse.


    ¡°A method for you to reach the companions you came here with. Should you wish to do so¡±.


    Without a word, Puck turned on his heels and strode toward the little Fey. His long, spindly finger came to rest gently on the top of her head, a stark contrast to the sharpness of his words.


    "Come failure, I¡¯ll plane shift you somewhere safer."


    She was completely absorbed in the Aether Stone, tiny jaws working steadily, little arcs of magic crackling with each bite, but she stopped for a second and waved timidly at me, before swiftly returning to her nibbling.


    I reciprocated.


    ¡°See you around Puck. You too little one¡± I said, still crouched and looking at how ferociously the little creature was eating. It was adorable, in some twisted, alien way.


    ¡°Puck. She is also named Puck¡±


    I shook my head, thinking I¡¯d misheard.


    ¡°Wait what?¡±


    Puck turned his head to look me in the eyes.


    ¡°Fey names are priceless treasures beyond all comprehension. So to all non-Fey, we are all named Puck¡±.


    ¡°So how am I supposed to call to a specific individual when I got Aether Stones to buy stuff?¡±


    "Just say the name. We will know who you are referring to," the Feyvolken said, his voice a strange mix of indifference and quiet authority.


    With a sharp turn of his head, he vanished. Not a sound, not even a shift of dust on the floor. In the blink of an eye, both Fey were gone, as if they had never existed in this space at all¡ªnothing more than a whisper in the air, a fleeting memory fading before it could even be grasped.


    The room suddenly felt oppressively quiet as I was left alone with my thoughts.


    Heaving myself up from my crouch and going to the security guard¡¯s corpse, I started rummaging through its pockets.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    The bent, foldable baton was a far better weapon than nothing, so I strapped it to my belt, the metal cold against my side. I found a wallet with barely ten bucks in it and a handful of photos¡ªgrandkids, mostly, smiling faces frozen in time... nothing that could help me.


    I still pocketed the money though. Old habits and all that.


    But then, I felt something solid in his breast pocket¡ªa piece of plastic that caught my attention.


    Palm-sized, black, and worn with age, the walkie-talkie was probably the thing Puck had hinted at. It was the only piece of equipment that needed batteries, after all.


    Clicking the power switch gave no result, the screen dull and gray, and I flipped it, popping the battery hatch open.


    "And hence the batteries," I muttered to myself, a wry smirk crossing my face, as I let the spent ones clatter to the floor and replaced them with a fresh pair of double A¡¯s.


    I sat there for a long moment, thumb hovering over the power switch.


    ¡°Is there a point to doing this? Did we not intend to leave them?¡± The Animal¡¯s voice echoed in my skull.


    ¡°You gonna keep whispering in my skull from now on?¡± I hissed back.


    ¡°But we didn''t leave, did we?¡± the Animal carried on, ignoring my hostility.


    ¡°We justified it, over and over again, and stayed. Well? What¡¯s the justification now? We brought them here, helped them reach the mall. Find safety.


    Well, pat on the shoulder for us. Aren¡¯t we mister good and noble.


    Our reward? We got shot for it¡±.


    I felt my upper lip curl into a snarl.


    Whether it was because I couldn¡¯t fault the Animal¡¯s logic or the memory of getting shot and getting shredded like a damn hunk of beef in a grinder, I couldn¡¯t exactly tell.


    ¡°So then, my weaker self, why would we want to contact them again? Because I see NO REASON why we should help¡­.


    ¡­.. oh¡­..


    oooooh¡­.


    this we like¡­. THIS is right¡±.


    I grimaced as the Animal purred in my head.


    It liked my idea.


    This wasn¡¯t about offering anyone help anymore. The little Fey had been one thing, but the group I¡¯d come here with? They didn¡¯t deserve anything more from me. I¡¯d done more than enough for them.


    This was about Bill.


    ¡°I¡¯m hungry. Escaping that herd and healing all that damage took a lot of blood out of me. The way I see it, going back to the forest and searching for a Goblin would take too much time, and I¡¯d have to cross the herd of rotbloods again. So, I¡¯ll go and hunt the only one that deserves to die. Bill.


    An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. He shot me, so I get to hunt him¡±.


    ¡°Finally, we are beginning to make sense. Yes. First Bill and then the rest¡­.¡±


    ¡°No. Only Bill¡±.


    ¡°Bah. Weak. They owe us. We put so much effort into bringing them to safety, they owe¡­¡±


    "Shut your hole," I snapped, irritation clawing at my words. "And why the hell am I even talking to you?"


    The Animal went quiet instantly, but the silence only made my anger burn hotter. It felt like I was arguing with myself, but every intrusive thought was turned up to an unbearable volume, each one cutting through my mind with an uncomfortable clarity. And damn it, some of those thoughts were hitting too close to home.


    Puck¡¯s warning still echoed in my ears: "Be careful. It¡¯s easy to fall into its grip."


    I had to stay sharp. The Animal¡¯s whispers always made it tempting to give in, to listen, to follow¡­ and it was harder now than ever. The weight of its pull was constant, lurking just beneath the surface.


    And on top of that, the exhaustion clung to me like a second skin. Even after the healing, I could feel it¡ªa dull, gnawing ache, as if every part of me was being stretched too thin, pulled by invisible chains that wouldn¡¯t let go.


    I¡¯d felt so damn alive when I¡¯d given in to the frenzy. Free. Unburdened. No thoughts, no second guesses¡ªjust action. Every movement was pure, instinctive. It was like the weight of the world had lifted, if only for a moment.


    By comparison¡­.


    ¡­Now I felt like I was dragging myself through molasses. Every step, a chore.


    Maybe¡­ maybe next time, when I take something down, I could let myself feel that again. Just for a moment. Just a little bit¡­.


    The sharp sting on my cheek from where I slapped myself snapped me back to reality. For a split second, I could¡¯ve sworn I heard the Animal¡¯s laughter¡ªa low, guttural sound, buried deep in the chaos of my mind, as it drew further into the back of my mind.


    Puck was right. It was going to try to influence me in ways a lot more subtle than just arguing with me in my head. It had tried to play on my exhaustion, just now. Trying to warp my train of thought.


    "Sly bastard..." I muttered, shaking my head hard, as if trying to shake loose the last vestiges of that damn voice, still lingering like a shadow at the edge of my mind.


    I snapped open the walkie-talkie, fingers tight around it, determined not to let that sneaky, damn thing get the upper hand. Ever.


    The white noise of static filled the room and I waited for long seconds. Then a minute. Then two.


    Nothing.


    Just more static.


    This was a shot in the dark anyway. No reason for me to assume that anyone else had gotten their hands on a walkie-talkie.


    But why would Puck hint at it? And go so far as to give me batteries for the blasted thing¡­


    A sharp beep sliced through the static, followed by Tina¡¯s voice¡ªwarped and distorted by the radio¡¯s crackling buzz.


    ¡°Once again. If anyone¡¯s out there, if anyone¡¯s alive, we¡¯re holed up in a safe spot. Does anyone read me?¡±


    I jerked my finger away from the Speak button before the urge to answer her took over.


    Bloody hell.


    Would you look at that? The crazy tomboy had actually made it.


    Good. I had no real problem with her.


    I paused for a moment, eyes narrowing as I planned my next move. I needed to figure out how to reach out, how to get some sort of hint about their location. But more than that¡ªBill¡¯s location. The mental image of all that fresh blood. I could almost taste it already.


    The real problem, though, was that there was no way I could explain how I¡¯d survived a point-blank shotgun blast to the chest and a fall into a sea of cannibal corpses without her starting to ask too many questions.


    And answering any of those questions truthfully was bound to take Bill out of my reach. No way they were going to tell a vampire about their location. Not unless they were suicidal.


    And I wasn¡¯t a good enough liar to come up with a good story of how I¡¯d survived.


    Another full minute passed, my mind running through one plan after another.


    Nothing.


    Not a damn thing. Except for one idea. It made me a little cross with myself, but it was the best I had.


    Play it like I was on the edge¡ªjust barely holding on. Badly hurt. Pull at her heartstrings. Make her feel like I was in a worse state than I was.


    The Miller sisters seemed like a good enough sort, they¡¯d probably tell me where they were holed up.


    Maybe.


    As long as I got my hands on Bill, it was all that mattered.


    I pressed the Speak button, the crackle of the walkie-talkie biting into the silence.


    ¡°Tina¡­ s¡¯that you?¡± I began, slurring my words on purpose and putting as much pain in them as I could act out.


    ¡°heh¡­ hehe¡­. are you a voice for sore ears¡­ girl. Good to hear you¡­¡±


    The static cut through immediately, followed by Tina¡¯s voice, sharp and filled with relief.


    ¡°Holy shit, Jon? Jon, is that you, man? You¡¯re alive?¡± Tina¡¯s voice came out of it, rushed and almost frantic.


    ¡°Yeah¡­. just barely though¡­..¡± I rasped, forcing the odd coughing and wheezing fit between the pauses, letting the sound trail off before answering again, trying to sell the charade as much as I could.


    ¡°Not gonna lie¡­. ain¡¯t doing too well¡­.¡±


    ¡°Crap man, you don¡¯t sound good either¡±


    I drew phlegm in the back of my throat and answered back with a wet, gargled laugh.


    ¡°Y-Yeah¡­ buckshot missed my vitals¡­ slipped under the zombies while they tore the other guy apart¡­ ehe-he-cough-cough¡­ guess I got lucky.¡­¡±


    Another beep, followed by the sound of movement distorted by static.


    ¡°Where are you?¡± Tina¡¯s voice was steady now, but urgent. ¡°Tell me where you are, Jon. I¡¯ll get to you, alright? Just hold on.¡±


    I opened my mouth to answer, but the words wouldn¡¯t come. Long, tense seconds passed in silence.


    The casual ease with which Tina had suggested she¡¯d trek through a zombie-infested mall to save a man who sounded like he was barely holding on hit me like a slap. It was almost enough to make me feel guilty for playing on her feelings¡ªit left a bitter taste in my mouth.


    Bless her heart.


    ¡°Jon? Jon, you still there?¡± Her voice broke through, a tight edge of worry in it.


    ¡°Yeah¡­ yeah, I¡¯m here¡­¡± I muttered.


    ¡°Okay. Phew. I thought I lost you there for a second¡­ Mina? What? No, sweetie, I can¡¯t hear you, stop whispering¡ªHEY!¡±


    There was a sharp cut-off, replaced by a few seconds of static. What the hell was happening on their end? Were they in trouble?


    Another beep, and this time, Mina Miller¡¯s voice crackled through the speaker, low and calm.


    ¡°Jon?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m still here¡­ what¡¯s happening on your end?¡± I started, but the words died in my throat as that small, sharp voice cut through.


    ¡°What are you?¡±


    I clenched my jaw, my eyes snapping shut in frustration. Damn it. Of course.


    I could lie to Tina, throw her off, but Mina? Not a chance. Smart, analytical, sharp-as-a-tack Mina Miller could see right through me. She could smell the shit I was spewing a mile away.


    I pressed the speak button again, desperately hoping I could salvage this¡ªstill get the info I needed.


    ¡°What do you mean¡­?¡±


    But I didn¡¯t even get the chance to finish before the beeping cut me off.


    ¡°Jon, don¡¯t insult my intelligence,¡± Mina¡¯s voice came through again, flat and cold.


    ¡°You might be able to fool my sister¡ªand shame on you for that, by the way¡ªbut not me. Running twenty minutes with a person on your back? Clearing a ten-foot fence in a single leap? Taking a shotgun blast to the chest and landing in the middle of a zombie horde? No, Jon. People can¡¯t do that. None of it.¡±


    I grimaced and let the walkie-talkie fall loosely against its strap, the weight of it dragging around my wrist. Damn this girl. She¡¯d known for a while now, probably just keeping quiet so I¡¯d be none the wiser.


    ¡°So, here¡¯s the deal,¡± Mina continued, her voice unwavering. ¡°You¡¯re not human. Not in the usual sense, anyway. Sorry, Jon, but until you tell me something real, I¡¯m not sending my sister out there looking for you. And I¡¯m definitely not telling you where we are. You¡¯re probably not even hurt, are you?¡±


    I sighed.


    Cat was out of the bag anyway, no point in keeping the charade going. Either the twins were going to tell me what I needed to know, or I was going to comb the entire mall until I found my prey.


    I brought the device back to my mouth and spoke, all trace of weakness and pain, gone.


    ¡°Is Bill with you, Mina?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I was aski¡­¡± she started, trying to keep the calm steadiness in her voice, but I didn¡¯t let her.


    "True. It''s not. Let me put it this way, Mina," I said, my voice level and cold.


    "It don¡¯t matter what I am. What matters is this¡ªI¡¯m not a danger to you, Tim, or your sister. And the best way to keep things that way is for you to tell me if Bill¡¯s with you".


    ¡°I see¡­. what are you going to¡­¡± she began.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to kill him, Mina. I¡¯m going to kill the sniveling little shit that murdered someone and tried to murder me¡± I answered flatly.


    She said nothing for the longest time and the tension hung in the air, palpable despite the distance separating us.


    By the time she finally spoke, I was almost ready to get up and start searching.


    ¡°Bill¡¯s not with us. It¡¯s just me and my sis here. After he shot you and the other one, Tina knocked him out and took his shotgun. All the shells too.


    He was a liability and we left him on the roof.


    After that, me, my sis and Tim found the service stairwell and started making our way to the service corridors behind the shops. We didn¡¯t get past the first flight. Zombies poured out of the shops and cut the two of us from Tim. He ran back up to the roof and we ran¡­ a different way¡± she ended, cutting herself off before she could slip up a hint as to where they¡¯d holed up.


    ¡°So Bill¡¯s most likely still on the roof?¡± I muttered back into the speaker.


    ¡°... yeah¡­ and Tim is probably there too¡±.


    I nodded to no one in particular.


    ¡°Is all I needed to know. Thanks¡±.


    I made to close the walkie-talkie and get up, but another beep stopped me short.


    ¡°Jon, about Tim¡­ you¡¯re not going to¡­?¡±


    A frustrated sigh escaped my clenched teeth. The girl still didn¡¯t believe me that I wasn¡¯t a threat to them.


    Normally I¡¯d applaud that. It was only logical to not trust an unknown factor like me.


    But considering the lengths I¡¯d gone out of my way to help them, time and time again, with the Goblin Dogs, the zombies, the escape.


    To put it mildly, it irked me the wrong way.


    ¡°Already said I¡¯m not a threat to the three of you, right?¡±


    ¡°I know, I know, I just¡­ ummm¡­ okay listen¡­ here¡¯s an idea. I don¡¯t really care what you intend to do to Bill. Bastard¡¯s made his own bed, he¡¯s gonna have to lie in it. I mean, hell, my sister was about a second away from tossing him off the roof.


    But Tim¡­


    ¡­ any chance I could persuade you to look for him? Maybe¡­ help him to safety or¡­ something?¡±


    A vein began to throb at my temple.


    There it was.


    A favour.


    Despite all that I¡¯d helped them with. And what had been the rewards for my ¡°good deeds¡±?


    Getting shot.


    Kept at arm¡¯s length like some sort of freak.


    And STILL she had the gumption to ask me for a favour.


    ¡°Nah Mina. Nah. I¡¯m good¡± I answered back, interrupting whatever else she was going to say. I was too tired mentally to walk on eggshells anymore. Once I got my hands on Bill, I could go my own way. That was the last loose end to cut.


    ¡°Listen, I¡¯m done, alright? No more favours. I got all of you here, I did the right thing. I¡¯m gonna go find them, throttle the life out of Bill for shooting me and give Tim the walkie-talkie. I won¡¯t be needing the damn thing anyway. After that, you two can guide him to wherever it is that you¡¯re holed up¡±.


    The squawk of the Speaker button being pressed sounded out again, but no voice came through. Mina was hesitating. That was new.


    ¡°If you explain what happened, what¡­ how you¡¯re alive, I¡¯m sure we can come to an understa¡­.¡±


    ¡°I told you, I¡¯m done¡± I snapped back into the speaker, a little more forceful than I had intended.


    ¡°I¡¯m not your keeper, I did more than my part by getting you all here and I¡¯m still going out of my way to give Tim a lifeline. Listen, I¡¯m gonna level with you two here, I was intending to leave the group the moment we left the old campus, but stuff just kept interfering.


    So I¡¯m going to go while the going¡¯s good, yeah? I¡¯m not going back to the campus.


    Why would I? You¡¯ve seen what Andreas¡¯s doing? How quick the other students were willing to sacrifice us gophers just so they¡¯d remain safe inside?¡±


    I took my finger off the button and waited. I¡¯d said my peace. But then the beep came again and Tina¡¯s voice rang from the device.


    ¡°Alright man, as long as you¡¯re no threat to us. Listen, I¡¯m not really in perfect shape right now, otherwise I¡¯d go and find Tim myself, but¡­ If you really do intend to look for him¡­ please don¡¯t kill him? Bill can hang for all I care, but Tim¡¯s not a bad guy¡­¡±


    I pressed the button one more time and answered in a voice a little too tired to recognize as my own.


    ¡°Yeah, sure. I¡¯ll close this until I got an update. Jon, over and out!¡±


    The device squawked it¡¯s annoying sound one more time when I let it go and I let my head rest against the cold wall.


    Just one more loose end.


    I snarled and rolled the back of my skull against the hard surface, trying to massage away the burgeoning signs of a headache that had started thrumming from the back of my head.


    There¡¯d been too much talking and too little progress done.


    Screw it.


    Just one loose end. Find Bill. Feed. And then I could bounce.


    If I happened upon Tim while doing it? All the better.

 Chapter 20

    Minutes later, I eased the back door open, eyes scanning the service corridors beyond. Bare concrete on one side, orange brick on the other. The space, so narrow that two men could barely fit side by side, was thick with the stench of mildew, now cut through with the unmistakable tang of rancid blood.


    During my time with the construction crew, I¡¯d come to know these corridors well enough¡ªthey ran through the entire mall, winding behind every floor, giving access to the back entrances, fuse boxes, and the hidden guts of the stores. What greeted me was the kind of silence that clung to you like death itself. But I¡¯d learned the hard way that silence didn¡¯t mean safety. The rotbloods had a nasty habit of staying dormant until something made a sound, and that quiet?


    Just the calm before the storm.


    My bare feet brushed against the cold concrete, not a sound escaping, boots dangling from my belt by their laces as I crept toward the service stairs. Quiet was key. The less I had to fight, the better.


    With every step, I couldn¡¯t help but appreciate the perks of my new body. Despite the lingering malaise and my blood running low, there was a strange fluidity to my movements¡ªan effortless grace I shouldn¡¯t have had, especially considering my size. Each step was smooth, weight shifting easily from the balls of my feet to the tips of my toes, moving with a precision and quietness that could¡¯ve matched a dancer ¡ªsomething far beyond the reach of the old me.


    As soon as I reached the end of the corridor and rounded the corner to the right, the first obstacle presented itself.


    Midway through the second section of the service hall, at the foot of the narrow metal stairs, a group of rotbloods stood. Three were piled in a tangled heap of limbs, while two others stood upright, heads tilted back in grotesque, mindless arches, mouths agape in the slack-jawed grimaces of the risen dead, eyes burst in their sockets.


    Considering their position and the fact that more than half of them were piled at the base, it was clear this had been the group that had separated the Miller sisters from Tim and Bill. That meant there were likely more walking dead just upstairs.


    This new body of mine could move in silence, but there was too much ground to cover and they were packed too tightly around the stairwell to slip by unnoticed. A fight was inevitable, and I¡¯d rather be the one to start it.


    I rounded the corner again, back to the first section of the corridor, and yanked one of the fire extinguishers off its mount.


    Heavy, made of metal¡ª better than going at it with bare hands.


    Rolling my shoulders to loosen the malaise, I turned back and started to sneak towards my quarry.


    The first rotblood, a gnarled, twisted corpse of a middle-aged woman dressed in what once had been clothes far too revealing for a person her age, hair done up in a curly perm, turned a mangled, half-eaten face towards me just in time to catch the entire length of my retractable baton on the crown of her head.


    The iron weapon struck true, caving her skull in, bits of cranium sticking out like spikes as if having burst from the inside, green-yellow pus bursting from her mouth and eyeless sockets, as the monster fly burrowed in that skull was reduced to crushed mulch.


    The other standing rotblood twitched at the sound, snapping from it¡¯s mindless dormancy into violent action with the unnatural motions of a puppet who¡¯s strings had been tugged, while the ones on the ground began to shift and lift themselves off the concrete floor in a chorus of insect-clicking and the all too wet sounds of popping bone and ruptured meat.


    I waited for the second one to charge at me, bent baton in my left hand, caked in the blood and rot of my first victim, holding the fire extinguisher by its nozzle in my right.


    The walking corpse twitched and spasmed into the rough approximation of a lunge, moving in erratic, uncoordinated movements that would¡¯ve been impossible to track for a human. Instead of pulling back, I surged forward, driving the baton into its chest. It may not have been sharpened, but the force I could put into the blow was enough for it to pierce in between the ribs and into the lung, giving me a handhold.


    I heaved, lifting it off its feet and swung with my right, slamming the extinguisher against the dead thing¡¯s temple, bursting its skull open like an overripe melon.


    By the time the second slid into a tangled, headless heap, the other three had managed to get up and were spasm-running towards me, clicking and chattering their teeth in a discordant cacophony.   The same cacophony rang out from the top of the stairs and four more rotbloods stumbled, falling down the steps from the third floor onto the second.


    The corridor was working in my favor. The walking dead stumbled, tripping over one another, slamming into the walls, too uncoordinated to move through the cramped space with any real cohesion.


    Baton held out like a sword in one hand, extinguisher cocked over my shoulder in the other, like a mace ready for a downward strike, I took a spread-legged stance and made ready to receive the charge.


    There was nothing cinematic, beautiful or elegant in how I fought. Grim pragmatism and nothing more. I swung and thrust the baton in short, rapid jabs made against faces and outstretched arms, using my more-than-human strength to unbalance them and, whenever I made enough of an opening, slammed down hard with the extinguisher, bursting skulls to bony shards and rotting pulp. Two more rotbloods fell in quick succession, a third stumbling down as I mistimed an overhead and shattered it¡¯s shoulder instead of the skull.


    Cussing under my breath, I hooked the kneeling thing¡¯s head with my baton and pulled, lashing out with a vicious knee to the face, caving it in like tin foil. Puss geysered from its ears and I jumped back, just in time to avoid the grasping hands of the other four undead abominations that had finally reached their now-dead herd.


    In three quick steps, I put distance between myself and the stumbling corpses, falling into the same rhythm I¡¯d used against the first group¡ªshort jabs to knock them off-balance, then finishing them off with the extinguisher.


    Within a minute it was deathly quiet again, the dead lying broken on the floor, baton bent into an unusable mess and the extinguisher dented, contents fizzing out from burst seams in the metal surface.


    Walking corpses the rotbloods may be, but they were monstrously resilient. A skull was still bone at the end of the day, and the only way to put them down was to crush the putrid flies burrowed in their heads.


    I needed some proper weapons.


    The deed was done, and a quiet satisfaction settled over me. Every fight, no matter how small, was experience. Combat experience. I was wasting fewer movements, holding better stances, and moving more fluidly. Not perfect¡ªfar from it¡ªbut better than I had been. And the speed with which this new body adapted, built muscle memory, was... wonderfully unnerving.


    Discarding the broken weapons, I walked past the stairs, grabbing another extinguisher, popping it off its support and removing the hose.


    Still an improvised club.


    Still better than nothing¡­


    Tha-Thump


    Tha-Thump


    My head snapped up, nostrils flared and fangs already beginning to poke out from their sheaths at that all too familiar sound.


    Heartbeats.


    Two of them, beating in almost perfect synchronicity, just a few steps forward.


    Lowering in a crouch, extinguisher resting on my shoulder, I edged my way towards the noise, gliding past one door, then another. By the third door, the noise was strongest and I slowly pressed my ear to the cold metal.


    Tha-Thump


    Tha-Thump


    Heartbeats.


    And the unmistakable hushed voices of the Miller sisters. So this is where the two had hidden. Dangerously close to the stairwell as far as I was concerned.


    ¡°So much blood. Such beautiful young women. All ours for the taking. And we need only break open a flimsy sheet of metal¡± the Animal purred in the back of my head, flooding my mind with images of ruby red blood and soft, trembling flesh.


    A daydream of blood and depravity.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly, letting my mouth curl into a spiteful sneer.


    ¡°True. Shame I don''t plan on doing any of that¡± I thought and, with a tiny grunt of effort, pushed myself away from the door, turning to walk back to the stairwell.


    The Animal''s frustrated growl was like a balm to my weary mind, turning my sneer into a smirk.


    ¡°Spite the devil, just for the hell of it. No easier way to avoid going down the wrong path¡± our old orphanage¡¯s Senior Nun¡¯s words echoed in my mind.


    Bless that granite slab of a woman.


    The service corridor on the third floor greeted me with a silence that felt almost welcoming as I climbed the final step of the stairs¡ªa small mercy I didn¡¯t take for granted.


    Save for one metal door taken off its hinges, which I assumed was the way the rotbloods had separated the group, all was clear. Beyond that, the concrete hallway between this staircase and the next¡ªpresumably the one leading to the roof¡ªwas clear.


    Still, better safe than sorry. Better check and make sure there was no herd just beyond the opening.


    I crouched low once more, moving with the practiced quiet of a predator. Every step was measured, my senses sharp as a blade¡ªears straining for the smallest sound, my lone good eye scanning the path ahead, searching for any sign of movement.


    Despite my caution, I was making steady progress, every motion silent as a gentle breeze. Soon, I was pressed against the wall, peering cautiously around the corner of the open doorway, checking for whatever lay beyond.


    The lingering smell of deep fried, oily fast food assaulted my nose and I scrunched it up at the, almost overbearing, influx of far too many spices, chemical enhancers and unmistakable undertone of spoiling blood.


    This was the back entrance to a fast food joint.


    Someone had had the bright idea of lowering the plexiglass shutters, cutting off the ¡°restaurant¡± proper from the mall, but it had been clearly done far too late to make any real difference. Someway, somehow the rotbloods had gotten in.


    Probably through the back entrance, same as me.


    Beyond the transparent shutters, I could see half a dozen of those bloated flies, slamming against the surface in a chorus of meaty, wet thunks, trying and failing to get to their prize.


    That which lay in the middle of the ¡°restaurant¡±.


    A group of three rotbloods, converged, motionless over another corpse, with a fourth standing, head tilted and releasing that horrible signal insect chitter. The rotbloods were standing guard over the remains of some poor sod, calling out for the bloatflies to change it. Another host for their grim metamorphosis.


    I shook my head. It was a garish sight, and an all too common one already. But nothing beyond what I¡¯d already seen.


    This was the world now.


    ¡°It is what it is¡± I mouthed and made to turn around and continue on my path. The infected were far enough away that as long as I kept quiet, they wouldn¡¯t prove any trouble for me.


    There was no need for me to fight here. It¡¯d just be wasted effort¡­


    Realization stopped me dead in my tracks and I slowly turned my head back around. Something had caught my eye, but only now had registered. Something regarding those remains splayed on the linoleum floor, surrounded by the walking dead.


    I knew that motionless cadaver.


    Faded green fabric, still clinging to a severed hand on the floor, once part of a hoodie that had seen far too many washings, until its original colors had faded into a soupy, desaturated mess of green and paler patches of discoloration.


    I stretched out, lurking closer.


    A messy mane of hazel hair, matted with flecks of dried blood, peeking from the shapes of rotbloods surrounding its head.


    I rose from my crouch and walked towards the herd, jaw clenched, all consideration of noise and subtlety, gone.


    The rotblood that had been standing, chirping its discordant, insect call snapped its head towards me. In a spasm of jerking motion, it charged and lunged, blood-caked claws reaching for my face.


    I took it''s head off with a heavy, crudely executed two handed blow, slamming the extinguisher into the dead thing''s skull with enough force to pulverize it into a red mist.


    The other three twitched upright from where they had been bent over the corpse, turning eyeless sockets and grotesquely disfigured grimaces toward me.


    I lunged, burying the fire extinguisher¡¯s butt end into the closest one¡¯s face, caving it in, bursting the insect burrowed inside.


    Without even waiting for it to hit the ground, I rammed my shoulder into the monster, using its lifeless form to plow through the remaining ones, sending them sprawled in a tangle of limbs. Another skull burst into pulpy flesh and bone, the extinguisher¡¯s nozzle snapping off with the force of my overhead.


    I let it fall to the floor and rounded on the last rotblood.


    It spasmed up from the ground bonelessly, charging me in a frenzy of chitters and the wheezing, gargled approximation of growling, burgundy froth edging its slack-jawed maw.


    And I mirrored its charge, launching myself into the monster.


    My mass and speed took it off its feet, arresting the rotblood¡¯s advance and sent it barrelling back onto the floor. Before it could even try to get up, I was on top of it, one hand clamping that blood-stained jaw shut, another on its forehead.


    And I began to push. Harder and harder. Driving its skull against the floor.


    It hissed and thrashed, clawing at my arms, buzzing and chittering like a cicada. The noises it belched grew frantic, more desperate as a loud pop sounded from the skull.


    Then another.


    And another.


    With a final, meaty crack the rotblood''s head burst into a gory mess.


    Rotten meat and putrid ichor dripped lazily off my hands as I got up and walked towards the corpse that these damned aberrations had been standing over.


    That cadaver that had been so familiar to me.


    Tim stared back at me with sightless, glazed over eyes, the light of life gone.


    His left arm had been torn at the shoulder, stomach opened by hand and tooth. Previously hazel hair, now matted with drying blood, lay lank over a face still stained with the remnants of his own tears.


    Crouching, I reached out and touched his forehead. By how lukewarm the body was, he''d probably been dead for half an hour, if not more.


    My face fell into a grimace.


    It''s not like I had known Tim well, not one bit. It''s not like I''d lost a friend, or anything of that nature. But dammit, he¡¯d been so open and honest in trying to befriend me. He¡¯d been so genuine. Just a simple good guy, trying to do his best.


    Poor sod.


    Poor bastard. He deserved so much better than to get torn apart in some po-dunk fast food joint by some walking dead things.


    I gently brushed my fingers across Tim¡¯s face, a statue frozen in time, pressing his eyelids closed and scooped the bent and dented extinguisher off the floor, raising it above my head. I wasn''t gonna let these damn things profane his body by letting a fly infect his corpse, wear him like some damn puppet.


    He''d get peace and nothing less.


    ¡°You deserved better than this, man. But you rest now. Ain''t nothing can hurt you where you''ve gone¡±.


    My own voice, guttural and so damn tired, sounded almost alien to me as I brought the metal edge across Tim''s skull, crushing it.


    Hopefully he won¡¯t resent me too much, wherever he is right now, but better this than having one of those bloatflies crawl into his skull and turn him into a rotblood. I sighed and squeezed the bridge of my nose, pushing myself up from my crouch.


    Whatever.


    I¡¯ll apologise to him in the next life.


    Damn it.


    Poor, kind-hearted bastard deserved better than this.


    Why the hell was he even here? He should¡¯ve been up on the roof.


    Taking a minute more to say a prayer over the lad¡¯s savaged body, I returned towards the back entrance.


    There was still work to do.


    ¡°Rest well man. You got out¡± I muttered, giving the corpse one final look and started up the service stairwell.


    Up towards the roof.

 Chapter 21

    The metal door gave way on the third push, lock snapping as I shoved it off its hinges with a grunt.


    Night air hit me instantly, cold and sharp, and I took in a deep breath, feeling the rush of it fill my lungs, the crispness clearing the stale air that hung like a cloying gas inside the mall.


    I may not have needed to breathe anymore, but damn if it wasn¡¯t good to do it. If only to bloat my lungs with something fresh. Something other than the reek of mildew, rot and bodily fluids in various states of decay.


    The scent of open air, damp and bitter, mixed with the faint smell of smoke and city grit. Closest thing to a proper breath of fresh air I¡¯d had in hours, maybe more, and for a moment, it lifted the weight of exhaustion pressing on my mind.


    A small relief, but welcome.


    The sky stretched above, clear and cloudless, gibbous moon hanging like a watchful eye, casting its eerie teal glow over the barren rooftop.


    Barren, save for a single figure.


    Two dozen feet away, on the far side of the concrete floor, Bill lay leaning like a wet rag against the inside of the roof''s low wall, the steady thumping of his beating heart, a clarion call audible to my ears even over distance separating us.


    I walked towards him, steps sure and steady, Benjamin¡¯s switchblade already in my clenched fist, a malevolent sneer tugging at the edges of my lips, the black blood in my veins beginning to roil and boil as memories played like a spreadsheet through my mind.


    Years worth of abuse. All the beatings, the insults, shooting me, landing me in a sea of cannibal corpses.


    And now? Finally. A smorgasbord of ¡°just desserts¡±.


    Blood.


    Catharsis.


    Revenge.


    Bloody damned karmic retribution.


    Five steps away from my quarry, I opened my mouth to speak.


    And the stench hit the back of my throat, cutting the words short.


    The rank stench of piss, shit and gangrenous infection. He had soiled himself long before I¡¯d reached the roof. His clothes and skin were cloyed with a sheen of sweat despite the cold night air, and the breath in his lungs was ragged, laced with phlegm and pus.


    My nose twitched as the sweet-meat tang of rot overwhelmed every other smell, and my eyes fell to the swollen, red and ruptured lump of his shoulder.


    The spot where the Goblin Hound had bitten him no more than two hours ago.


    Those yellow, froth-covered teeth.


    I¡¯d assumed their bite carried disease, but given it little thought. To me it meant nothing.


    But to a human?


    It meant death by virulent infection. The motherfucker was already dying of sepsis.


    My jaw clenched like a bear¡¯s trap and the switchblade squealed in my hand as I squeezed, a vein on my temple pulsing like a piston, hate welling in my gut like an acrid, venomous thing.


    No. No. This isn¡¯t fair.


    Fate, like the vindictive bitch she was, was denying me even the catharsis of a petty revenge?


    One step away from him, Bill twitched his head up and made a feeble attempt of raising a flip-knife in a trembling hand.


    ¡°Come to kill me finally, you undead shits? I ain''t¡­. done¡­. yet¡­¡± he spat through bouts of wet coughing, looking at me through glazed, cataract covered eyes.


    He couldn''t even see properly anymore. Barely even reason, thinking I was just a herd of rotbloods.


    In a sharp jab I lashed my hand across his limp wrist and sent the knife end over end across the concrete.


    ¡°So this is how it''s gonna go then? I get denied even a proper revenge?¡± I muttered slowly sinking into a crouch in front of him.


    ¡°Tim¡­ gopher?.... that you, you wispy little shi¡­ cough cough.... haha¡­ came back tail tucked in between your legs, huh?.... ahaha¡­. I knew you would¡­. ahahaha¡­ haa¡­¡± he stammered out, laughter lost in a fit of blood-laced coughs.


    ¡°.......I¡¯m¡­ glad¡­. you came back¡­. I¡¯m¡­..scared¡­¡­. man.¡±


    It seemed like he thought I was Tim.


    Fever, delirium, sight and hearing impaired to the point of inutility and he looked like he could barely hold his head up, let alone move or walk. The man was dying of septic shock, and it had taken little more than two hours for it to happen.


    A part of me couldn¡¯t help but wonder just what sort of rot had been in those Hounds drool to provoke such a rapidly spreading infection. But it was inconsequential compared to the absolute livid rage I was experiencing.


    This wasn¡¯t how it was supposed to be.


    It was supposed to go different.


    It was supposed to be my hands around his throat, slowly throttling him as I listed off every vile, unjust and evil thing he had done to me over the years, culminating with the bastard having tried to kill me.


    It was supposed to be me against him, man-to-man, a proper fight  and execution that made amends for all the beatings, insults and ridicule I had endured from him and his ilk.


    It was supposed to be karmic justice.


    It was supposed to be my catharsis.


    ¡°I told you¡­. man¡­.. you weren¡¯t gonna save Jon¡­ I told you¡­. not to go¡­ look for him¡­. no way he could¡¯ve escaped those dead-heads¡­ no way¡­ no way¡­.¡± Bill mumbled on, head lolling to the side, unable to even muster up the strength needed to keep it straight.


    It hit me like a spear through the chest. So that''s why Tim had been in that god forsaken restaurant. He was trying to help me. He thought I was wounded and was trying to find me.


    Wispy, buck and half soaking wet, one hamstring down, skinny little moron¡­ had died trying to rescue me.


    And with that final little tidbit of knowledge, it all collapsed.


    Like one big avalanche, the weight of everything that had happened in the past 24 hours, all the mental exhaustion, all the fighting, all the frustrations slammed on my shoulders and bore me down.


    All I wanted was a small break.


    A few minutes without SOMETHING happening.


    Five minutes. Just five goddamned minutes.


    And I could keep going.


    I moved from my crouch and slid down the half wall in a sitting position beside Bill, dipping my hand into his jacket pocket and fishing out his pack of cigarillos and the lighter.


    That first intake of smoke-laden breath, the way it scratched at my throat, filled my lungs, and the acrid taste of tar and burning paper, filling my mouth, all culminated with an exhale that was more sigh than anything else. I felt as my body expelled everything, the smoke, the tar, the toxins, leaving it as pristine as if I hadn¡¯t smoked in the first place.


    And I took another drag. Then another. Then one more. Just staring at nothing in particular while doing it.


    Bill fell into a fit of blood-laced coughing beside me and I slowly turned my gaze to look at him. It should have been different. I should have gotten my revenge.


    This was the part where the bad guys got what they deserved and the hero got the retribution he damn well deserved.


    Except, I wasn¡¯t the hero, was I?


    Just some asshole.


    ¡°Why¡¯d you do it? Why¡¯d you shoot?¡± I murmured.


    ¡°I¡­. got scared¡­. I told¡­.y-you¡­ Tim¡± Bill began, puss stained tears cradling his face.


    ¡°I¡­. thought¡­ the dead¡­ were going t-to¡­ climb after¡­. us¡­.. I¡­. panicked¡­. t-thought if they had some¡­. bait¡­ we could e-escape¡­.. I¡¯m s-sorry J-Jon¡­. I didn¡¯t mean to¡­.. I w-was¡­ sc-scared¡­.¡± he ended, mumbled words lost in outright bawling.


    I watched him cry, the grimace on my face deepening. Was it real remorse? Or just the influx of emotion and regret people feel when they¡¯re at death¡¯s door?


    Did it even matter? No. Of course it didn¡¯t. A few tears weren¡¯t gonna change a damn thing.


    But I still hated this.


    This wasn¡¯t how it was supposed to be.


    Bill was supposed to be a manifestation of all the injustice I had suffered. An evil, spiteful little thing. A target for all my accumulated frustration and fury.


    Not this.


    Not a human being, lying in his own filth, bawling through half-blind eyes, scared and cold.


    ¡°Even this. You''re gonna ruin even this for me, ain¡¯t you? You damned asshole¡± I hissed, taking another drag out of the cigarillo.


    Bill¡¯s shiver had grown into an uncontrollable tremor. This close I could feel the heat radiating off him, like a stove, the fever of his own body cooking him from the inside out. I could hear his heart beating a mile a minute, a chorus of drums, thumping with such ferocious speed it was liable to tear itself to pieces any minute now. I could smell the blood, jetted into his stream by hypertension with enough pressure that it was bursting capillaries.


    ¡°Mamaaa¡­.. It hurts¡­.. I¡¯m scared¡­..¡±


    The bastard coughed up another mouthful of blood.


    Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t wanna die¡­ alone¡­¡­ gopher?¡­. Tim?.... I¡¯m scared¡­. you still there¡­.?¡± Bill stammered out, trying to move his head and look around.


    Too late.


    He couldn¡¯t even lift his head and his eyes were covered by an opaque white film. His hands were twitching and spasming. The infection had spread enough that his fine motor skills were shot.


    ¡°....Tim¡­¡­ please?....¡± he spasmed out again, hands twitching, trying to reach out, to grab for everything, to feel¡­ anything. In the face of death, all the poor bastard wanted was some human contact. To not be alone at the moment of his death.


    I could deny him that. There was some petty vengeance there. Petty and evil. Just sit in silence, pretend not to be here and watch him die, alone and scared. I was going to kill him in the first place, so what was the difference?


    ¡°It would be no less than he deserves¡± the Animal purred in the back of my head. I ignored it. Completely. Was simply too tired to engage.


    But there was a difference.


    I¡¯d never been a ¡°good¡± man. Just a bastard with a few rules. At least if I had killed him, I¡¯d have made it quick. It would have been justice. Retribution. This? This wouldn¡¯t be justice. Not even vengeance. Just cruelty, for the cruelty¡¯s sake. Nothing more.


    I reached out and grabbed hold of his wrist in a gentle grip, wrapping my other arm around his shoulders, letting it rest around his neck.


    ¡°Thank¡­ you¡­. thankyou¡­¡­thankyouthankyouthankyou¡­..¡± Bill repeated in a delirious slur as his hand grasped for my forearm, like a drowning man clutching at a rope. All the dying man wanted was some human contact. To not be alone. And for the life of me, I couldn''t deny him.


    I gave him the only thing I was willing to offer this bastard that had made the past three years of my life into a living hell.


    I gave him mercy.


    A sharp tug of my arm and I snapped Bill¡¯s neck. No more fever. No more infection. No more suffering. A quick death.


    This wasn¡¯t my catharsis, or my revenge.


    It was just mercy.


    ¡°Tim deserved better. You deserved worse. And I deserved my revenge¡± I murmured, letting his body fall bonelessly against my side, taking another long, deep drag of the cigarillo.


    ¡°Seems no one gets what they deserve tonight, huh?¡±


    I don''t know exactly how long I just sat there, smoking that cheap, acrid stick of tobacco leaf, zoned out and staring into nothing, but only when the sharp pain of burning reached my knuckles did I look down to realize I¡¯d smoked it into a stump.


    ¡°Are we done with this charade?¡± The Animal growled and I immediately snarled back.


    ¡°Shut it. I just needed a minute¡±.


    ¡°Yes. And we got it. So, we ask again. Are. We. Done. Here?¡±


    I took one last drag out of the stump and flicked it.


    ¡°Yeah. I''m done¡±.


    ¡°What next?¡±


    ¡°I get up and get back to it. There''s an apocalypse to survive¡±.


    The Animal gave an approving growl.


    ¡°Good¡±.


    I reached out and grabbed hold of the dead man''s arm, pulling it towards my face and splitting it open with Benjamin¡¯s switchblade. Blood, ruby red and intoxicating seeped out of the wound like a crimson cascade.


    I took a whiff and scrunched my nose at the infection lacing it. It smelled of rotting food left out in the summer sun, cutting through the perfume of vitality that should have permeated it. But as much as the smell repulsed me, that same instinct that I''d come to know as the Animal, told me that the infection was insignificant. My body would purge it without me needing to do anything.


    I needed to feed, and the dead had no more need of their blood.


    My jaw opened and my canines popped out from their sheaths, curved and thumb long, cutting through Bill''s soft, still warm flesh like hot knives through butter.


    Ecstasy.


    Bliss.


    Satisfaction beyond what words can describe.


    My mind went blank as the first cascade of blood, still warm and fresh, hit the back of my throat and I let myself go, lost in the act of feeding. No more doubts, questions and hesitation.  All became blood, and blood became everything once more.


    I gulped down mouthful after mouthful until nothing more could be drawn from the arm, then I switched to the throat, ripping into the jugular, going so far as to push the open palm of my hand onto the corpse¡¯s chest if only to pump more of the red elixir up through the arteries.


    When even that well dried up I grabbed the dead man wholesale and rose it above my head, teeth still lodged and gnawing at Bill¡¯s throat, if only to get those last few drops by sheer gravity alone.


    It was a show of grotesquery and monstrousness, but I didn¡¯t care.


    Not now.


    Now, I feed, therefore I am. Everything else is inconsequential.


    As soon as the last drop fell on my tongue I let the corpse fall to the floor, head thrown back, eyes closed, riding the blood-high as it began to subside, slowly coming back to my senses.


    ¡°Finally, succor. Blood. And here we half expected that you, our weaker self, would choose to abstain once again, lest you¡­ desecrate the corpse¡± the Animal said, spitting out the last three words with mockery and derision.


    I didn¡¯t answer immediately, still letting myself ride out the high, letting the new intake of fresh blood heal the last of my wounds, ridding my flesh even of the scar tissue.


    ¡°Shut it! Desecrating a corpse? That¡¯s exactly what I just did.


    But I don¡¯t have the luxury to choose my victims here, and as far as I¡¯m concerned, I stayed with Bill as he died so I get to drink his blood now that he¡¯s left this mortal coil. Tit for tat¡±.


    The Animal laughed its low, guttural growl in the back of my head.


    ¡°Justify it all you want, hypocrite. We both know how much we enjoyed it¡­¡±


    I opened my eyes, both of them, my left eye healed to perfection by this fresh infusion of blood and hissed through a mouth still half-opened by elongated teeth.


    ¡°Quiet!¡±


    The Animal drew back to its perch in the deepest reaches of my subconsciousness, growling it''s morbid laugh, but not before giving one last snipe.


    ¡°We should brace ourselves¡±


    ¡°What do you mean¡­¡± I began only to stop as the ball of blood in my gut began to swirl and boil. Before I could even wonder what was happening, something like a fist reached up from my stomach and filled my mouth with a liquid so sour and rotten that I didn''t spit it, so much as I projectile vomited it.


    Half-a-cup¡¯s worth of an opaque, green-hued liquid splattered on the concrete and I just sat there mouth wide open, ferociously wiping at my tongue and the inside of my cheeks with the sleeve of my jacket, trying and failing to wipe out the taste.


    So that¡¯s how my body discarded the infection in Bill¡¯s blood. It had quite literally isolated every virus and bacteria and regurgitated it out, like an oversized wad of phlegm.


    Not for the first time I cussed the fact that vampirism was not at all like the movies had made it out to be. In a movie, the infection would have simply disappeared inside my body, or some other borderline magical nonsense like that.


    This was way too anatomically accurate and I hated it.


    I lit another cigarillo, the acrid taste of ash and tar cutting through the air, doing just enough to mask the lingering flavor of decay that clung to my mouth. It wasn¡¯t the finest smoke, but it was familiar. I¡¯d enjoyed a few of these back in my mortal days, though I¡¯d never been rich enough to make a habit out of it.


    As the smoke curled from my lungs, I could feel that familiar burn, the bitter scratch of it, working its way through my chest and throat. And then, nothing. As soon as I¡¯d exhale, even the smallest molecule of smoke, tar or toxin would leave my body, leaving my insides pristine. Hell, I could chain-smoke ten packs a day, and not even the faintest cough would ever dare find its way up my throat.


    For all the complaints I had about "anatomical correctness," there was no denying it¡ªvampirism came with a damn lot of perks. Immunity to disease was one of them.


    Puffing out another cloud of smoke, I reached down and straightened Bill¡¯s corpse into a position less¡­ disrespectful, crossing his arms over his chest.


    One short, whispered prayer later, I got up and crushed the dead man¡¯s skull, doing for him as I had for Tim, making sure that none of those damned albino flies could take over the body.


    Sliding back against the half-wall to enjoy my smoke, I popped the walkie-talkie out of my back pocket and looked at it for a long second. I heavily considered just letting it all be. No point in contacting the girls.


    They wanted nothing to do with me and the feeling was mutual.


    But there was only one thing I had to pass on to them, if only to show proper respect to those who had passed. And make sure them two didn¡¯t get the hair-brained idea of trying to go out, looking for Tim.


    But I was going to keep it short. Even if it was a bit of an asshole move on my part. Enough time had been wasted. More than enough.


    Clicking the power button on, I exhaled another plume of smoke and spoke.


    ¡°Tina? Mina? You two read me?¡±


    Static, followed by the beep of someone speaking on their own device.


    ¡°Jon?¡± Tina¡¯s voice came.


    ¡°Tim is dead. Found him in a restaurant on the third floor. Zombies¡± I interrupted, tone flat and dry.


    ¡°... damn it. Shit. Jon, I¡¯m sorry, Tim was a good gu-¡±


    ¡°You two survive out there. Jon, over and out¡± I cut her off, clicking the power button and shutting the walkie-talkie down before she could answer back, drag me back into a conversation. Or ask something of me.


    It had been enough. All of it.


    A final drag out of the cigarillo, and I put the half-spent tobacco stick out against the half-wall¡¯s surface, pushing myself back up.


    The break had been good. Necessary.


    But the night wasn¡¯t growing any younger, and it was time to get myself outfitted for the slog that collecting 100 Aether Stones would be.


    And I knew exactly where to begin my search.


    The mall¡¯s hardware store.

 Chapter 22

    I moved through the service corridors, effectively orbiting the second floor by way of the cramped tunnels, mall layout burned into my mind from my time working with the construction crew. I knew this place better than my own skin, so I knew exactly where I was heading.


    First things first¡ªI needed to arm myself. The mall had no gun shops, and the souvenir stands'' "mall katanas" weren''t worth the rust they were coated in. But there was one place that had what I needed.


    Hardhat''s Hardware Store.


    As soon as I got to the metal door of the back entrance, I pushed my ear against the cold painted iron and listened. No noise. Grabbing the handle and pressing my shoulder against the door, I pushed until the lock snapped with a dulled krump and I went stock still, waiting for any sound of motion or insect chirping.


    Still nothing. All clear.


    With a sigh of relief, I pushed the door open and made my way into the store proper.


    Unlike most of the Mall''s stores, Hardhat''s Hardware didn¡¯t flaunt its wares behind walls of glass. Instead, it had two towering plywood barriers, patched and weathered, plastered with a haphazard collection of sale signs and faded posters. The entrance was a simple double glass door¡ªone side cracked but still holding, like the rest of this place, barely hanging on.


    I stood there for a moment, listening. The silence stretched on, deeper than it had any right to be. The store seemed empty, but I wasn¡¯t foolish enough to trust it completely.


    From what I¡¯d seen, the rotbloods were never truly still. Even when they were dormant, they made a soft, almost imperceptible chittering noise, like the sound of insects crawling beneath the floorboards. But there was nothing here. No telltale clicks or whispers of movement.


    I was starting to think I might actually be alone. For now.


    No point in worrying about what might be lurking in the shadows. That was a problem to be dealt with when faced. Right now, it was time to shop.


    I moved through the aisles, my eyes scanning the shelves with purpose. The wall-bore machines, compact pick hammers, and nail guns were all tempting in their own way, but I ignored anything that relied on electricity, gasoline, or an external compressor. Anything like that was liable to be loud and a liability. Plus, lugging around external batteries or canisters of gasoline was not something I intended to do. At least, not until I secured a proper ride for myself. Maybe a truck. Or a bulldozer.


    I paused in front of the chainsaw display for a moment, images of tearing through a swarm of rotbloods dancing in my head, the roar of the engine blending with some hard techno and metal. A zombie apocalypse would be the perfect opportunity to rip and tear. But I shook my head and moved on, chuckling under my breath.


    Vampire or no, I was still a guy, tempted by the rule of cool. But still grounded enough to know that it was the kind of stuff that only worked in games and movies.


    I needed something simpler. Something that didn¡¯t run on fuel or batteries, something that didn¡¯t rely on anything but my own hands. Something¡­ more analog.


    As I rounded the corner of the next aisle, I froze mid-step, mid-thought. It wasn¡¯t what I¡¯d set out to find, but it was exactly what I needed.


    Hardhat''s Hardware wasn¡¯t the kind of place that specialized in anything particular. It didn¡¯t boast the polish of a boutique or the refined air of a niche store. No, this was the kind of shop that stocked whatever it could sell¡ªmostly construction equipment, but also random odds and ends: cheap toasters, blenders, knock-off coffee machines, and the occasional camping gear. Whatever moved.


    And right there, stacked between the flimsy kitchen gadgets, was a treasure trove. An entire section devoted entirely to hunting and outdoor gear.


    No guns, Hardhat¡¯s didn¡¯t have the licence to sell them, but  clothes , tents, machetes and everything in between. And not the off-brand crap either. This was proper equipment, for seasoned hunters, fishermen and the like. Durable stuff.


    "Finally, some damn luck," I muttered to myself, eyeing the pile of torn and shredded clothes that hung in tatters on my body, like a badly pitched and torn open tent. I tugged the rags off, fingers moving quickly, eager to replace the mess I¡¯d been wearing with something more practical. Something that would last.


    Reaching out, I touched the fabric and smiled. It wasn¡¯t just thin textile painted in camo, like those cheap cargo pants you¡¯d find in tween boutiques. This was the real deal.


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    Hard, coarse linen reinforced with myriad other fibers I was nowhere near smart enough to know. Tough and durable, and that was all I needed it to be.


    In stark contradiction with the cheap electronics that shared this aisle, the gear was high-quality, proper stuff. Premium even, if the price tags were anything to go by. Good thing everything had just become the ¡°finders keepers¡±-kind of free.


    Within ten minutes, I was outfitted and ready. A base layer of a long-sleeved, flexible undershirt clung to my skin, thick enough to protect, light enough to move in. Trekking pants that were loose but durable, made for long, grueling trips, and over it all, I¡¯d donned a reinforced hunting jacket¡ªone of those bulky, pocket-heavy ones, laced with tough mesh and solid panels. It even had a detachable hood, and every seam screamed durability.


    Windproof, waterproof¡ªthough honestly, I didn¡¯t need any of that anymore. Exposure? Cold? The concept was foreign to me now. I could probably scale Everest naked and wouldn¡¯t feel a thing.


    Still, it was good to have gear that could stand up to the world. It would hold. It would last. And that was all that mattered.


    Over in the construction aisle, I¡¯d picked out a perfect pair of steel-toed boots¡ªsolid, heavy-duty, and a set of work gloves, the new kind with carbon-fiber meshing. Supposedly tough enough to stop a circular saw mid-cut. I wasn¡¯t in any hurry to test that claim, but they¡¯d make punching through a monster¡¯s skull a lot less of a hassle, so I wasn¡¯t complaining.


    A wide field belt cinched my pants in place, its many compact satchels now holding a hodgepodge of essentials: fire-starting kits, all-purpose knives, multi-tools¡ª everything I might need. The "better safe than sorry" principle was in full effect here. I didn¡¯t know how much of it I¡¯d use, but if shit hit the fan, I wasn¡¯t going to be the guy caught without a backup.


    The weapon selection was none too shabby either.


    Machetes. The new-fangled "ergonomic" designs with a slight outward curve to both handle and blade, making every swing naturally flow into a draw-cut. Long as my forearm and as thick as a man¡¯s wrist, they were built for cutting through anything, rotblood or otherwise.


    I hoisted the hunting rucksack onto my back, packed with three sets of identical clothing, two spare bowie knives, and a backup machete. The weight settled onto me¡ªsolid, but not uncomfortable. For all the mass packed inside, the backpack was equally of the modern generation, complete with all the marketing lingo of ¡°improved lumbar support¡± and all that. Maybe it wasn¡¯t all smoke and mirrors, it was damn comfortable.


    All told, I figured I was carrying about 15 kilos of gear¡ªaround 34 pounds. But it felt like nothing. The straps didn¡¯t dig into my shoulders, and my arms swung free. I was light, mobile, ready.


    ¡°Right, one last piece of gear¡± I muttered to myself. The bowie knives would be useful, no doubt about it. The machetes, even more so. But something heavier would be even better. Especially against Orcs. I needed a main weapon, something durable and top-heavy to take full advantage of my improved strength and limitless stamina.


    And the lumberwork aisle would have exactly what I needed.


    Sledge ax. Splitting maul. Hamaxe. Name it whatever you like, it is  a perfect melee weapon for a zombie apocalypse. Nothing flashy, but damn does it get the job done.


    38 inches long from pommel to top, with fifteen-pounder, high-carbon steel heads that were a combination of ax and sledge hammer, carbon fiber hafts, and thick, concave blades, they were perfect. Top-heavy. Solid. Made specifically for long-term use with as little wear and tear as possible.


    I pulled one off its bearings and latched it onto the rucksack straps, balancing a second one in my hands. Having back-ups was good. And weighty though it was, I could probably one-hand it with ease.


    Finally, now I was ready. I could start working towards getting some Aether Stones, maybe even buying a Class like Puck had advised¡­


    *BOOM!* *Crash!* ¡°Aaaaahh¡­.¡±


    The gunshot, it¡¯s sudden loudness in such contrast with the eerie silence of the Mall it may as well have been a volcanic eruption, followed by the unmistakable sound of an aggravatingly familiar, squeaky scream, froze me in my step, eyes still locked on the splitting maul I¡¯d just acquired for myself.


    ¡°No. You can¡¯t be serious¡± I hissed, sheer disbelief keeping me locked into place. She CANNOT have been this stupid. She was supposed to be the smart one.


    *BOOM!* ¡°Help!!!¡± another gunshot, followed by the voice of a panicked Mina Miller, screaming her pigtailed little head off, echoing from the maintenance corridors.

 Chapter 23

    "SON¡­." I hissed, my body already in motion, bursting through the hardware store¡¯s back door and into the dim corridor beyond.


    "OF¡­." I growled, turning hard to the left. There, at the far end, Mina Miller was on the floor, back pressed against the ground as she struggled, trying to push herself away from one of the rotbloods. Its putrid, gnashing teeth hovering inches from her face, held back only by the shotgun she had shoved against its throat, her entire minute frame shaking with effort.


    "A¡­." I snarled, the sound of my voice drowned by the rush of blood in my ears as I surged toward them. Each step was a leap, a mad lunge, the distance between us closing fast. Behind the corner, more of the rotten bastards were closing in. A mass of groaning, spasming bodies shuffling toward the prone woman, an unholy tide of hunger. Mina was already struggling to hold one of them back, if the herd reached her before I did, she¡¯d be torn limb from limb in seconds.


    ¡°BITC-*Krump*¡± I roared, cuss inaudible over the sound of my work boot colliding with the undead thing¡¯s skull and bursting it open like a watermelon.


    ¡°You stupid idio¡­¡± I began only to immediately stop. There was no time to cuss her out. I¡¯d charged in on impulse alone, reflex action. There was no time to cuss the girl out or regret my life choices.


    There was only time to fight.


    The first of the encroaching horde lunged for me, hands outstretched, mouth opened so wide its cheeks had torn to red ribbons, and I lashed out with the splitting ax. The difference between a proper weapon and the improvised, shit quality ones I¡¯d been using up to this point, was night and day.


    Blood and rotten ichor burst as the sledge axe both cut and pulverised the top of its head in a shower of gore. It was almost effortless. Inertia, weight and my own strength tore the now headless corpse off its feet, bouncing it off the wall and into a broken heap.


    ¡°To my right and hug the wall¡± I snarled, not even looking to check if she followed my order or not. I drew my weapon back and swung again.


    And again.


    And again.


    Chopping down in a mechanical rhythm, hard-wired into muscle memory by years worth of splitting wood as an ¡°unskilleld labourer¡±. It was amateurish, lacking in any form of applied combat knowledge, downright barbaric.


    And beautifully effective.


    A fusillade of withering blows, each overhead cutting limbs, caving in chests and bursting parasite-filled skulls in a show of pure, unadulterated violence. The sledge axe, for all its weight and lack of class, was absolutely perfect for my body. With my strength exceeding that of a champion strongman and my stamina virtually limitless, I chained hit after hit, in flurries of a speed that should have only been doable with a light sabre or a machete.


    The ax head burst skulls, severed arms and carved into necks, sheer mass making almost every strike a killing blow. Those that didn¡¯t outright kill, sent the rotbloods reeling, surrounded by ribbons of their own viscera, slamming them into walls or each other as I made myself into a bulwark between the chittering, snapping horde and the petite girl shivering right behind me.


    There was no time to think of a combat flow, to strike out with the pommel or maybe begin going for the knees and creating a natural hindrance for the horde, like in the movies. It was grim, gruesome butcher¡¯s work, with no chance to think or strategize.


    Strike. One step forward. Draw my arms back. And strike again.


    Over and over, in a slow steady advance, pushing the tide back by sheer brutality and attrition.


    Another rotblood crumpled to the floor, axe lodged into its sternum. The force of my overhead had split it from the crown of its skull to the middle of the chest. I drew my arms back, ripping the sledge axe free in a spray of blood and bone splinters, ready for the next cannibal corpse. Nothing more came. Little over twenty zombies now painted the floor and walls in viscera.


    I¡¯d killed them all.


    This wasn¡¯t like before. I wasn¡¯t some scavenger working with improvised weapons anymore. I was finally properly armed, and where hours ago every fight had been a struggle, despite all my myriad advantages as a fledgeling vampire, this was my first real taste of victory.


    A proper victory.


    Damn it felt good to finally have some real equipment.


    There was no time to savor the moment. The doors along the corridor were already shaking as the dead beyond hurled themselves against the iron, desperate to reach the source of the noise. The low, eerie chittering of their twisted voices echoed from the lower halls, growing louder with every passing second.


    The herd I¡¯d butchered was nothing compared to the sea of corpses that was about to flood my way. And for all the taste of victory was still sweet on my tongue, I wasn¡¯t arrogant enough to think I could take on the hundreds of rotbloods that littered the mall like a plague of cockroaches.


    I didn¡¯t hesitate. I turned, grabbed Mina¡ªthe girl pale, wide-eyed, and trembling¡ªscooping her across my shoulder like a miniature sack of potatoes. There was no time to talk to her, ask if she could walk, any of that nonsense. She was in shock and time for her ¡°mental state¡± was a luxury we didn¡¯t have.


    Breaking into a run, the sound of her shallow breaths and the distant gnashing of the dead ringing in my ears, I made a mad dash back to the hideout.


    As soon as I rounded the next corner, I nearly collided with Tina, limping through the corridor just a few feet from the hideout. She looked as though she''d barely made it, pale face locked in a pained grimace, pace unsteady.


    ¡°MINA!!!¡± Tina screamed, voice cracking.


    "Hold on, sis, I¡¯m co¡ªAAAAAh!"


    Her words morphed into a sharp screech as I snatched her up, without missing a beat. She hadn¡¯t even had time to register me or what was happening, before I threw her across my other shoulder, not slowing my pace for a second. My boots hammered against the concrete as I barreled down the hall and into their safe room, slamming the metal door shut behind us with a resounding thud.


    It took only a heartbeat for my eyes to adjust, taking in the dim, near-total darkness that enveloped the pharmacy. The place had been abandoned in haste, the front locked down tight with roll-down shutters, cutting it off from the mall proper.


    Dropping the twins with a grunt, unceremoniously splaying them both next a garbage bag that stank suspiciously of stale, fried chicken, my hand shot out for one of the heavy metal cabinets. With a snarl of effort, I hoisted it across the floor, slamming it against the metal door, ready for what was soon to follow.


    ¡°Jon I¡­¡± Mina began and immediately clamped her mouth shut as I rounded on her.


    ¡°Quiet¡± I hissed and the minute woman stumbled two steps back, face locked in a terrified grimace. There wasn¡¯t the luxury to wonder about her reaction.


    Pushing my arms and chest to either side of the cabinet, securing the makeshift barricade as best I could, I braced myself against it, the clicking and chittering just outside rising into a tumult.


    The next ten minutes were spent in complete silence from our side as I held the cabinet, keeping the door as stable as granite against the herd of rotbloods that passed by, in a vicious mockery of tug of war. They groaned and chittered, slamming against walls, the door and one another in their blind, mindless stampede towards the last sound they¡¯d heard.


    The sheer mass and number of the rotten bastards was such that they would have broken through by pure accident if I hadn¡¯t kept it barricaded.


    It didn¡¯t take long for the herd to lose interest. I could hear them shuffling away, some retreating down the corridors with dragging steps, others tumbling down the stairs in broken heaps, their groans echoing off the walls. A few bumped aimlessly into the stores their mindless charge had broken open, bodies colliding with shelves and crates, stumbling into like blind animals.


    And then, slowly but surely, quiet again.


    The flood had passed.


    I slowly pushed myself off the cabinet and rested my back against it, sliding down into a sitting position, head hanging limp against the cold metal, a sigh on my lips and face locked in an exasperated grimace, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.


    ¡°You two got a death wish or something?¡± I whispered, the words sharp but quiet, as I finally raised my head to meet their eyes. Tina was seated in a clumsy half-crouch, favoring her right leg, while Mina stood beside her, the shotgun held loosely in her hands but angled in my direction.


    Both of them were trembling and watching me with undisguised fear.


    My gaze flicked from their faces to the shotgun, and a snarl curled at the corners of my mouth. Really? After saving their asses Again?


    ¡°You know you gotta reload that thing if you wanna shoot me, right?¡± I said, my voice low, each word laced with a clear threat. The edge was unmistakable, and I could almost taste the tension in the air. ¡°You used both shells.¡±


    Mina¡¯s eyes widened and looked at the gun she was holding, as if just realizing that she was pointing it at me. I half expected to see her fumble with opening and trying to load it. Not that I¡¯d give her time to do so. To my surprise, she did quite the opposite, angling it down, both barrels facing the floor.


    ¡°Oh¡­S-sorry J-Jon¡­ didn¡¯t mean to point it¡­. at you¡­it¡¯s just your¡­y-your¡­ ummm¡­¡±


    ¡°Your eyes, dude!¡± Tina piped up, finishing her sister¡¯s babbling.


    ¡°They¡¯re glowing¡­ and freaky!¡±


    I raised an eyebrow and turned.


    ¡°Ah¡± I said, catching my own reflection in the glass of a smaller cabinet. Despite it being shaded and see-through, I could see enough of my own reflection to realize that my eyes were glowing. Not like glow-in-the-dark, but the way a cat¡¯s eyes shine, pupils reduced to fluorescent disks in the light of the Millers smartphones.


    ¡°Yeah, they do that now!¡± I muttered, looking back at the two anxious women.


    ¡°Relax, I already said that I¡¯m not a threat to you. Proved it, haven¡¯t I?¡±.


    Mina hesitated for a moment, her eyes distant, but finally gave a nod and sank down beside her sister, leaning against the cold wall. The sawed-off shotgun, once held with such a bloody grip, now lay discarded at her side, as if its weight had become too much to bear.


    "Yeah," she said, her voice worn and rough. "Yeah, you''ve done that... and then some."


    She exhaled slowly, post adrenaline-high exhaustion catching up with her, chest rising and falling erratically, and I could almost hear the frantic rhythm of her heart, as if it were struggling to stay in sync with the rest of her. I wouldn¡¯t have been surprised if it just gave out right there.


    Tina moved from her own crouch into a cross legged position, wrapping one arm protectively around her sister¡¯s shoulders.


    ¡°Jon? I¡­ listen¡­ I dunno how you survived, or why your eyes glow, or¡­ managed to do the things you do. Now if you wanna tell us, cool, if you don¡¯t, cool. But before that, I need to have a minute with my sis¡±


    Before I could even answer, her friendly, protective and sisterly resting arm, curled into a strangle hold and she started to choke Mina out.


    ¡°Mina, honey, sweetie, I love you. But if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I¡¯m gonna ground you until you¡¯re forty!¡±


    ¡°Ack, give¡ªgive!¡± Mina gasped, tapping frantically at her sister¡¯s forearm. The struggle was half-hearted, a play for attention more than anything, but the look on the taller sister¡¯s face made it clear: sibling roughhousing, yes, but there was no mistaking the underlying seriousness in Tina¡¯s grip. It was strange to see her, usually so cheerful, so relentlessly carefree, turn into something close to a disciplinarian.


    I couldn¡¯t help but chuckle at the sight, even as my eyes stayed locked on Mina, the little hamster in the trap.


    ¡°So, I take it you didn¡¯t approve of your munchkin sister¡¯s little outing?¡± I said, my tone light but laced with a touch of amusement. ¡°By the way, I think she¡¯s about to faint.¡±


    ¡°Nope. We were eating and this one suddenly grabbed the shotgun and said, and I quote : This isn¡¯t right, I¡¯ll be right back, stay here!. Then just up and left¡± Tina growled, letting her sister go, and shifted, lifting her right leg in a surprisingly flexible action for some sitting cross-legged. A thick layer of bandages swaddled it from the tips of her fingers to the underside of her knee.


    ¡°I tried going after her, but sneaking with a bummed leg is not easy and I couldn¡¯t keep up. When I heard her scream I tried to run after her, but¡­ well, y¡¯know how that went.¡±


    I furrowed my brows, reminded of how quickly the infection from a simple bite had spread through Bill, and actively trying not to think about the fact that not a few hours ago Mina had been willing to come ¡°rescue¡± me. With a busted up leg, no less.


    ¡°Did you get bit?¡±


    ¡°Ah! No. When me, Mina, and¡­ Tim¡­¡± she began, hesitating on Tim¡¯s name, furious expression giving way to a glint of sorrow ¡°... got separated by that herd, I took a bad fall on the way down the stairs, caught my ankle between two steps and pulled my Achilles tendon. Honestly, if it weren¡¯t for my reflexes on the mat I could¡¯ve dislocated my knee if I hadn¡¯t twisted fast enough¡± she added with not a small huff of pride at the end.


    I nodded.


    ¡°Bad wound?¡±


    ¡°Nah, no worries. I¡¯ve had this kind of hurt more than enough times during practice. As long as I keep weight off it for the next couple of hours, and keep a cold compress on it, it¡¯s gonna be¡­ decent. I mean, I won¡¯t be one hundred, but I¡¯ll function¡± she said dismissively.


    I gave her another curt nod and shifted my gaze to Mina, who was still massaging her shoulders.


    ¡°Ooooooow¡­¡± the petite woman complained, rubbing the side of her neck.


    ¡°So. You wanna fill me in on what all that was about?¡± I growled, taking the straps off my rucksack away and pushing it to the side.


    ¡°¡®Cause you¡¯ve got a reputation of being smart. And that was the dumbest shit I¡¯ve ever seen¡±.


    Mina raised her gaze to meet mine and sighed.


    ¡°It wasn''t right. You fought off the Goblin Dogs, ran with Tim on your back and without you, we wouldn''t have reached the scaffolding before the dead got us. Even more, you tried to find Tim and¡­¡± her voice fell into a whisper.


    ¡°Didn''t even ask for anything. You just¡­ got it done. Over and over again. We owed you. Big time. So¡­ treating you with suspicion, assuming that you¡¯re some sort of monster, it was wrong on so many levels. I''m sure you have your reasons why you''re not telling us what happened, but you saved our rear ends more than once. So, when I heard you walk past our door, I sort of¡­ just reacted¡­.¡±.


    I fixed her with a long, steady stare, my gaze unblinking, before finally bringing my hand up to rub at the bridge of my nose, the frustration mounting.


    ¡°Oh, for the love of¡ª Are you out of your mind, woman?¡± I muttered under my breath, the words dripping with exasperation. ¡°It wasn¡¯t right, my ass. You had every damn reason¡ªand then some¡ªto be suspicious.¡±


    I motioned toward myself, a sharp gesture that drew her attention to the glowing intensity of my eyes. "I mean, look," I added, as if the answer should¡¯ve been obvious.


    Mina nodded.


    ¡°True. But you still did right by us both¡±.


    ¡°Be that as it may, it¡¯s no reason for you to go outside searching for me, putting yourself in danger and your sister into a panic. Cripes woman, you¡¯re supposed to be smart.¡±


    ¡°I told you, I just reacted. Didn¡¯t think it through¡± Mina mumbled, refusing to meet my eyes.


    ¡°Yeah, no shit. Well, what if I¡¯m just some psychopath and you just let me into your safe house? Think about that, genius?¡± I muttered, letting the malicious side of me take over for a bit. Give them a little fright for all the hoops I''d had to jump through, no more.


    ¡°Nah¡± Tina interrupted me, fishing two wings from the bag and nibbling into it.


    ¡°If you wanted to do that, you would have done it the moment you found out where we were hiding. And the way you got up after being shot by Bill, and sprinting while carrying us both just now?¡­ there''s nothing we could have done if you wanted to hurt us¡±.


    ¡°Yeah, well maybe I''m a sadist and savoring the hunt¡± I snickered, my tone making it clear it was only a joke.


    Tina shrugged and stretched her hand out, offering me the other fried wing.


    ¡°Nothing wrong with a little S&M play¡± she said with a wink.


    ¡°TINA!¡± Mina snapped, cheeks rosy.


    ¡°Relax, relax, I''m kidding¡± she chuckled, still holding out the wing for me to take.


    ¡°Here''s my point. All that you''ve today, aren''t the actions of a bad guy. You went out of your way to help others despite saying you were going to leave the group. Bad guys don''t do that. They just leave¡±.


    Dammit, these two were so wholesome I could feel my hostility just fizzing away. I blinked in a deadpan and shook my head at the offered food.


    The tall woman put a hand to her cheek, mouth open in mock-horror.


    ¡°Refusing fried chicken? I was wrong. Evil. Pure evil¡± she chuckled, resuming her nibbling on the food.


    I shook my head, trying to hide the smile that was forming. Girl liked her jokes. Turning my head back to Mina I pointed at the shotgun laying by her side.


    ¡°Why¡¯d you shoot, by the way? When I went through the corridors there were no rotbloods. Did they hear you or something? Come out from some other door?¡±.


    Mina opened her mouth and closed it back immediately, beet red.


    ¡°Just¡­ stuff¡­¡±


    I curled an eyebrow.


    ¡°I¡­ sort of made an¡­ oopsie?¡± She added sheepishly, trying not to look at me or her sister.


    Tina just slowly turned her head towards her sister, half eaten wing forgotten in her hand.


    ¡°An. Oopsie?¡±


    ¡°So¡­ I was trying to sneak as quietly as possible, and all went well the first two sections¡­.but when I turned the last corridor, I walked by a door and one of the zombies smacked itself against it at the worst time¡±.


    ¡°The door broke?¡± I asked marveling at how much bad luck one person could have.


    ¡°Not exactly¡­ it was on the other side¡­ but I was already stressed out, the sound surprised me and I ¡­ sort of¡­. twitched¡­.¡± she continued, face growing redder by the second.


    ¡°Oh, honey, nooo¡± Tina cooed, trying and failing to hide her growing grin.


    ¡°You didn''t¡­¡± I half-spoke, half-chuckled as it began to dawn on me.


    ¡°Okay listen¡­ I was scared, I was stressed¡­ my finger was on the trigger¡­. and when I got startled I¡­ twitched¡­. and squeezed the trigger¡±.


    I had to bite down on the inside of my cheek, my jaw tight as I fought to hold back the laugh bubbling up in my chest. Tina, on the other hand, was shaking with poorly contained amusement, her hand pressed to her mouth in a futile attempt to stifle the chuckles that were already spilling out.


    And she was failing miserably.


    ¡°That''s¡­ ach-hem¡­ that''s¡­ that''s impressive¡­ not gonna lie¡± I stammered, a wheezing laugh slinking out with each word.


    ¡°You¡­ sort of¡­.¡± I began, weighing the pros and cons of making the joke forming in my mind.


    ¡°You busted too early¡­¡± Tina guffawed, burying her head in between her knees, finishing the joke.


    ¡°... don''t worry, sis¡­. happens to everyone¡± she managed to stammer out and both of us fell into a silent fit of through-the-nose laughter.


    ¡°You two are pricks¡± Mina mumbled, stop-light red and puffy checked. But there was no hiding the barely repressed smile twisting her lips up.


    Minutes later I exhaled a deep sigh, feeling myself relax. It was good to laugh. Felt like a lifetime ago since I''d done it.


    ¡°Either of you got the time?¡±


    Mina nodded, checking her phone.


    ¡°4:07 AM¡±


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    ¡°Right, any chance you know at around what hour the sun rises this time of year?¡±


    Mina nodded again, pushing those wide-rimmed glasses up her nose and assuming that slightly smug and sure tone of voice she had whenever she got to flex her knowledge acumen.


    ¡°Zenith around this time is between 7.10 -7.17 depending on factors¡±.


    I gave her a nod of thanks and considered it.


    Even were I to leave right this moment, I would have to spend half an hour sneaking and fighting my way through the mall, then one more hour, bare minimum, to find myself shelter during the daylight. Which would leave me with an hour and a half to hunt for Aether Stones. Not nearly enough to make a difference.


    Dammit. This night was shot. No point in going out now. Sunrise was too close for comfort. With a sigh I took off my hunting jack and folded it neatly across the rucksack.


    ¡°Well, that would settle it then. Guess I''m stuck here until tomorrow night¡±.


    Mina and Tina exchanged looks and the smaller of the Miller sisters shifted uncomfortably.


    ¡°Isn''t it better to go out during daylight though? Less monsters to worry about, better visibility, so on¡­¡±


    I rolled my eyes at her leading question, asked with all the subtlety of a typhoon. The two women had said they¡¯d accepted my refusal to tell them how I had survived and done the things I did, but Mina Miller had the inquisitive nature of a genius befitting the caliber. If she couldn''t get a straight answer out of me, she would want to ask enough questions to form an educated guess.


    Well, never the matter, not like I was planning to head back to the larger group anymore, so if I told them the risk would be minimal. They¡¯d already realised I wasn¡¯t a ¡°normal¡± human anyways.


    Plus, the two women seemed like a good sort. It¡¯d probably do me some good to talk about it.


    Instead of an answer, I opened my mouth and popped my fangs out, tapping a finger against them.


    ¡°Me and the sun, we don''t get along too well¡± I mumbled, words warped by the excessively long lower and upper canines.


    With another pop, I retracted them.


    The two sisters stared at me in stunned silence, the air between us thick with quiet, and for long, drawn-out seconds, neither of them moved, as if caught in a trance. To their credit, neither made a move toward the shotgun¡ªits cold weight still resting against the floor.


    Whether it was because they knew they''d never have time to load it, or if fear had rooted them in place, I couldn¡¯t say. And frankly, I didn¡¯t care. They weren¡¯t panicking, that was all that mattered.


    ¡°Holy¡­¡± Mina began.


    ¡°...crap¡± Tina finished.


    ¡°Yep, certified vampire. With all the bells and whistles attached to it. I''m never going to age, very hard to kill, can never get a suntan again and my diet is¡­ liquid-based¡± I snickered, keeping a close eye on their reactions.


    Although I could smell fear and reticence from them, neither of them drew back or recoiled from me. Quite contrary, both drew closer as if trying to inspect me.


    Mina, small, petite, too inquisitive for her own damn good Mina, spoke first.


    ¡°Were you like this before¡­?¡±


    I shook my head and chuckled.


    ¡°Nah, nah, I was normal. Just some guy on the bottom rung of society. No, this happened after the¡­ what would you even call it, apocalypse?¡±.


    ¡°Good a name as any¡± Tina shrugged and, without taking her eyes off me, asked some more.


    ¡°You mind sharing with us what happened¡±.


    Over the next half hour I regaled the two young women with the play-by-play of how I''d become a vampire. Getting trapped in the bathroom, scaling the wall to the nurse''s office, rescuing the petite woman only to almost get killed by her. I didn''t dwell too much on how I''d torn the vampiress''s throat out, didn''t want to make the two women think I had some proclivities for ¡°throat-ripping¡± even before I''d become a vampire.


    By the end, the Miller sisters were just sat there, eyes saucer sized, Tina''s half-eaten chicken wing, forgotten on the floor.


    ¡°Wow¡± Tina began, shaking her head.


    ¡°Talk about no good deed going unpunished, eh?¡±


    ¡°Right?¡± I chuckled.


    ¡°Try to save some lady, turns out she''s an immortal creature of the night who wants to suck me dry. Women, they all want one thing and it''s disgusting¡±.


    It wasn¡¯t a great joke¡ªbarely more than a meme, really¡ªbut Tina chuckled anyway, her laughter cutting through the tension like a knife. The overly serious atmosphere that had hung over us dissipated in an instant.


    Apparently, Tina and I shared the same sense of humor. Internet-based.


    Mina, though, didn¡¯t join in. She kept inching closer, gaze locked onto my face with intensity, in that same calculating, analyzing expression she¡¯d worn back in the amphitheater. The girl was thinking.


    ¡°Can you pop your fangs out at will¡±?


    Like flexing a muscle, I parted my lips, letting my fangs slide free once more. The movement was deliberate, a reminder of what I was, of the thin line I walked between human and something else entirely.


    Mina twitched, her eyes briefly flicking to my fangs, but instead of recoiling, the little woman leaned forward, fingers reaching out with a curiosity I hadn¡¯t expected.


    "Wow, it''s big," she mumbled, her voice low but undeniably intrigued.


    ¡°That''s what she sa¡­¡± Tina began.


    ¡°Shush you!¡± Mina immediately hushed her, not even bothering to look her sister¡¯s way. She was in the ¡°zone¡±, fully engrossed in her research.


    ¡°Elongated, thumb-sized, lower and upper canines, like those of a hunting cat or a mandril¡± she murmured and tapped a finger against them.


    ¡°Sound is wrong. Probably much denser than normal teeth. And all your other teeth present sharpened points, including the incisors, masticators and the back molars¡±.


    By this point the little woman had gone so far in her research-mode she was outright rummaging her fingers through my mouth, pulling my lips to check my gums, my tongue, everything.


    ¡°Echcuse hyou¡± I huffed and Mina suddenly flushed, realizing what she was doing.


    ¡°Ah!¡± she quickly drew back, hands up in a placating gesture.


    ¡°Sorry Jon, got carried away¡±.


    I worried at my mouth, chewing at nothing for a little bit, trying to get the taste of her hands out of it.


    ¡°Next time, I''m gonna snap it shut and take a couple of fingers. I''m not a damn circus tiger¡± I said, half serious, half joking.


    ¡°Noted. But the point is, from the anatomy of your mouth and what you''ve told us, vampirism seems a lot more¡­ mechanically correct than what we have in folklore and movies¡±.


    ¡°Mechanically correct?¡± I asked, quirking an eyebrow.


    ¡°Anatomical. Logical. Look, you said you can turn your hand into a claw, right? Can you do that for me¡±?


    ¡°You sure? It''s not a pretty sight¡±.


    Mina nodded, eyes gleaming with an excitement that seemed to grow by the second. With a nonchalant shrug, I turned my focus inward, feeling the blood churn in my gut. It didn¡¯t take much. A small push, and a portion of it erupted, surging up through my chest, spiraling down my arm, until it settled in my hand.


    The transformation was swift¡ªskin thickened, fingers lengthened, and nails blackened, curling into thick, jagged talons. Within a heartbeat, my hand was once again a grotesque, misshapen claw, swollen and unnatural, far too large for my frame.


    Tina let out a low ¡°Woah,¡± voice laced with a mix of awe and caution. But Mina, rather than flinching, didn¡¯t hesitate, and reached for it, her fingers running carefully over the skin of my backhand, as if she were examining a new creature, pure fascination lacing every touch.


    ¡°Here, see? This is what I mean by mechanically correct. It makes sense at a fundamentally anatomical level. Your skin is denser, leathery in order to keep from lacerating or shredding when you use your claw. The Abductor and Lumbrical manus muscles are swollen and over-developed for greater grip strength, and¡­¡±


    She began squeezing my fingers one at a time.


    ¡°Yes, right there, the distal, middle and proximal phalanx bones are almost twice the size they should be, same goes for your metacarpals, and the entire carpus region of your hand is pretty much welded into one solid mass¡±.


    She tapped the palm of my hand like bapping a flat boulder.


    ¡°See? No give. Perfect for lashing out with your claw.¡±


    Without even waiting for me to answer or, rather, ask what the hell she was talking about, Mina started pinching the space between my talon and tip of my finger.


    ¡°Wow! It makes so much sense when you think about it. This talon, it isn¡¯t even a nail, it¡¯s a solid bone protrusion fused directly with your distal phalanx¡­¡±


    ¡°Mina?¡±


    The woman half-heartedly tore her eyes off my hand and looked at me through those wide-rimmed round glasses of hers.


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to need all that translated to English, please¡± I deadpanned, while Tina piped up with a ¡°Seconded¡±, mouth half full with water.


    ¡°Oh, right, sorry¡­ again¡­ I got¡­¡±


    ¡°Excited?¡± I finished with a smirk and Mina gave a small chuckle, pulling the glasses off her button nose and beginning to wipe the lenses.


    ¡°The long and short is this. Humans, we¡¯ve evolved from and into omnivores. Meaning carnivores, herbivores, hunters, gatherers, scavengers, we have traits for everything. Opposable thumbs, straightened spines, large lungs, teeth that are a combination of both sharp, planar and flat.


    But say, what if evolution had taken a different turn, and humans had evolved with more prominent traits of hunting predators like hunting cats and canids, rather than scavenger and omnivore traits? Well in that case¡­¡±


    She wrapped her tiny hand around my wrist, or at least made the attempt, her small, slender fingers struggling to close fully around my thick, muscled forearm. I let her pull on it, raising my hand, guiding it into a palm-up position, my fingers curled slightly, the talons on full display, gleaming dark and vicious in the dim light.


    ¡°... Anatomically, this is exactly what it¡¯d be like. Or at least, it stands to reason that this would be the best option. The claw of a predator in such a way that it does not detract from the dexterity that a sapien hand offers. Get it?¡±


    I nodded slowly, starting to make sense of it.


    ¡°So, basically, these more physical traits of vampirism can be categorized as a human that¡¯s evolved on another path, right?¡±


    Mina replaced her glasses and nodded with a little too much enthusiasm.


    ¡°You can reduce it in that way, sure. But that¡¯s only scratching the surface. Calling it a simple evolution is reductive, to say the least. What you described so far as your healing factor, your insane stamina, the way you draw sustenance from blood, everything points to biological immortality. It¡¯s insane, I mean, we can barely guess what¡¯s happened to you at a cellular level¡­¡±


    ¡°Cool your jets there sweetie¡± Tina interrupted her sister, finishing her drink and getting up to stretch. The way she was able to balance perfectly on one foot was impressive to behold.


    ¡°For now, we can just chalk this up to Magic, unless we manage to make it home and you put that lab of yours to good use¡±.


    My head immediately snapped back to Mina.


    ¡°A secret lab? What are you, a cartoon character?¡±


    The petite Miller sister swung her arms out at her sister in a juvenile fit that made me want to burst into a laugh.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a secret lab, dammit. I just have a few pieces of medical equipment in a corner of my room that I train with¡­¡±


    ¡°Four different types of microscopes, a blood centrifuge and a whole library worth of medical and science journals¡± Tina continued hopping away as her sister tried, and failed, to topple her.


    I watched the show for a little while chuckling at the sibling spat.


    ¡°Either way...¡± Mina started again, her breath coming in sharp gasps as she gave up on trying to catch her sister, who had been too busy flipping and tumbling away from her grasp like a wild acrobat.


    ¡°... if you actually wanted to find out more, it would need a lot more complex equipment and people way smarter than me to figure that out¡±.


    I gave a curt nod.


    ¡°Fair enough. I¡¯m not a fan of anyone else knowing about this, though. Last thing I¡¯d want is to find myself strapped to a table and vivisected by men in black, know what I mean? From what I''ve gathered, I''m monumentally hard to kill and borderline immortal. So that''d be a long and painful eternity¡±.


    Both Miller sisters nodded at that.


    ¡°Yeah, if there¡¯s even a government left, this situation of yours should probably be kept on the down low¡±.


    Mina sat back in front of me, hand on her chin, brow furrowed in concentration.


    ¡°High-speed regeneration, forced evolution, immortality? Most if not all of what you''ve told us is congruent with folklore descriptor of vampires. And it''s not even that far-fetched. Biological immortality could be explained in theoreticals. I mean, we have some examples in real life of quasi-immortal creatures. The immortal jellyfish, the Hydrozoa hydra, glass sponges, planaria, so it¡¯s not that far-fetched. What about weaknesses? Do you exhibit the same kinds of weaknesses that the traditional vampire has?¡±


    I answered immediately with the truth.


    ¡°Doesn''t seem like it. I can enter homes uninvited, can cross running water, all of that. Dunno about silver and wooden stakes, but I''ve tanked spears without a problem.¡±


    Without skipping a beat, I added the lie. If a lifetime in the ghetto had taught me anything, it was that if you''re going to lie about something, flow into it from truth. Makes it easier to cover up your tells.


    "Only problem is the Sun. I don''t burst into flames or nothing, but it gives me a rash something awful. Itches like crazy. And it''s too bright for my eyes. I can function in it, but it''s not comfortable".


    This particular question was not something I was prepared to be honest about. The girls may be wholesome as all get-out and, for better or worse, there didn''t seem to be any malintent in Mina''s curiosity about my vulnerabilities. Only academic curiosity. But I''d lived my entire life in an environment where you didn''t air out your "soft-spots", and it''d take a lot more than a couple pretty faces to make me drop those particular walls.


    There wasn''t a snowball''s chance in hell I was going to reveal to them that the Sun was basically a "shut-down" button for me.


    Mina nodded then shook her head slowly, zoned out in her world of introspection.


    ¡°So you don''t burn, but it irritates your skin. Maybe it¡¯s the light spectrum itself, a combination, but¡­sorry Jon, I dunno, I can¡¯t even speculate on it, there¡¯s too many variables that just don¡¯t make sense.¡±


    She let her hand fall from her chin and eyed me apologetically.


    ¡°Without specialized equipment to run some tests, honestly, I can¡¯t even begin to theorize.¡±


    I gave her a small nod, glad that she wasn''t dwelling on it. Wasn''t enough to make me drop my guard, but I appreciated that she seemed genuinely interested in theory-crafting ways to "help".


    ¡°Or maybe¡­¡± Tina began, her hurt leg crossed over a knee, balancing herself into one-legged squats in a corner of the room like it was nothing.


    ¡°... it¡¯s mmmmmmagic¡± she finished, arms spread and fingers wiggling, mimicking a show of whimsy and wonder.


    ¡°Riiiight¡­. anyway¡± Mina deadpanned, shaking her head and rubbing around her eyes, yawning wide.


    ¡°That¡¯s about all I can guesstimate right now. Mostly just assumptions¡±.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s more than I came with. So thanks for the theories.¡± I answered, giving the little lady my best approximation of a grateful smile.


    Mina smiled back.


    ¡°You¡¯re more than welcome, Dracula¡±


    I guffawed.


    ¡°The two of you are awfully calm about all this. Almost like the end of the world as we know it, or having a vampire roomie doesn¡¯t bother you at all¡±.


    Mina shrugged nonchalantly.


    ¡°Eh, we¡¯ve been over this. If you wanted to kill us, we¡¯d already be dead¡±.


    Tina added just as nonchalantly, still balancing into another squat.


    ¡°Plus, you''re a good guy¡±.


    ¡°Not that good¡± I muttered and got myself up from my seat, stretching my arms out, limbering up.


    ¡°What about family?¡± I asked, a little louder, and immediately regretted it, as their faces fell, showing the worry hiding beneath the facade.


    ¡°Shit¡­ sorry, I shouldn¡¯t have¡­¡±


    Mina quickly shook her head.


    ¡°No, no, you didn¡¯t do anything wrong. It¡¯s normal to worry, but I¡¯m sure they¡¯re fine. Dad¡¯s an army Sergeant and mom¡¯s a Bio-engineer at EnTECh. With his brawn and her smarts they¡¯re both fine.


    I¡¯m sure they are.¡­.. they gotta be¡±.


    Tina limped next to her sister and sat back down, wrapping a protective arm around her minute frame.


    ¡°Of course they are, sweetie. Once we figure out a way to get past the mist wall, we¡¯ll find them,¡± she added with a thumbs-up. But I could hear the slight, almost imperceptible trepidation of her heart as she¡¯d said it.


    Tina was clearly putting up a front. Hiding behind jokes and optimism to mask her own fears. I¡¯d seen things like this enough times before to recognise them.


    The tall woman turned her gaze back to me and I shifted my train of thought.


    ¡°How about you, tough-guy. Mom and pop waiting for you outside the mist wall? Maybe even some girlfriend, eh?¡± she began, wagging her eyebrows suggestively.


    ¡°Nope. Orphan. Dad either left or got lifted before I was born, mom abandoned me in the maternity ward right after she shat me out.¡± I deadpanned with a shrug, voice level and matter-of-fact. I¡¯d answered questions like that one enough times to be as passive and uncaring in my tone as possible. And why wouldn¡¯t I be?


    My parents hadn¡¯t given enough of a crap to keep me so why should I care a lick-o-spit about them. They were as much strangers to me as I was to them.


    And yet, no matter how bland, how impassively or how distant I said them, it always resulted in that damned look. Bloody hell, how I hated that look. Pity. And that was the look the Miller sisters were giving me. Honestly, I preferred scorn or disinterest rather than pity.


    ¡°Jon, I¡¯m sorry, I¡­¡± Tina started but I cut her off, waving a hand dismissively.


    ¡°None of that. We weren¡¯t in the same class and we never spoke until now. No reason you¡¯d know. Anyway, I prefer my position over yours. The only one I have to worry about is myself.¡±


    ¡°Oh yes, obviously, only looking out for numero uno right?¡± Mina piped in, clearly as eager to change the subject as I was.


    ¡°That¡¯s right, simpler that way¡­¡± I started only to immediately stop as soon as I noticed her wry smirk.


    ¡°Smart-ass¡±


    ¡°Why thank you, yes I am. Smart enough to notice that for such a selfish bastard, you sure did come to my rescue in a hurry,¡± Mina giggled, a big smile on her face.


    ¡°She is smart. It¡¯s annoying a lot of the time,¡± Tina added, rolling her shoulders.


    I couldn¡¯t help but chuckle.


    ¡°Yeah sure, think what you want. Anyway, smarty-pants, what¡¯s your plan?¡±


    Mina tilted her head, eyeing me quizzically.


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°Well, you can¡¯t really expect me to believe that someone of your caliber is just willing to stay here and eat fried chicken for the next couple of days. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve probably analyzed the whole situation and come up with some grand point-by-point plan on how to make use of this mall¡±.


    ¡°Damn Dracula, good read. Yeap, she¡¯s been talking my ear off with her ideas¡± Tina piped up, a big smirk plastered on her face.


    Mina quickly joined in.


    ¡°Oh? You wanna know? But weren¡¯t you gonna leave?¡± she added, a mischievous little smile beginning to form.


    ¡°I plan to. But I can¡¯t go anywhere until day passes and it becomes night again. So, safe to say, I got over a dozen or more hours to burn. So I¡¯m curious. But¡­¡±


    I started, quickly putting up a hand to cut off an already inhaling Mina.


    ¡°...I¡¯m gonna hear you out. If you get any bright ideas about asking for my help, then know that from this point on, I¡¯m gonna be asking for something in return. No more freebies¡±.


    I¡¯d expected the mood to sour, the air to tense. But it didn¡¯t. Instead, both Miller sisters nodded.


    ¡°Fair is fair. And if you¡¯re willing to offer your services, we can talk about what you want in exchange. Though I think I have something that might just wet your appetite¡± Mina said, a slightly smug look on her face, as she retrieved a large sheet of paper from the counter, and unfolded it in front of me.


    An A2-sized poster, featuring every fire exit, room and potion of the mall on every floor. And absolutely covered in annotations undoubtedly made by Mina Miller¡¯s hand.

 Chapter 24

    Leaning over the paper, I could tell how much diligence and effort she had put into it. Escape routes were marked with different colors, openings and potential weaknesses signaled with annotations pertaining to possible ways of reinforcing them.


    The massive storage depot in the back, that covered almost an entire third of the mall¡¯s bottom and second floors, was highlighted in green with a page¡¯s worth of notes scribbled all around it.


    Most curious of all, an arrow pointing up at the right hand side of the ¡°map¡± with an all too large ¡°IMPORTANT!¡± written in red marker.


    ¡°Alright then, color me impressed if nothing else¡± I muttered, turning my eyes back to the, almost smug smiling, little lady. Clearly she was proud of how in-depth she¡¯d been with this particular endeavor.


    Mina tapped the big red spot on the right-hand corner.


    ¡°Know what an APC is?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. An Armored Personnel Carrier. It¡¯s basically a tank¡­¡± I began, only to immediately stop. Was she heading where I thought she was?


    Mina¡¯s smile never left her face as she continued.


    ¡°Old APCs are like tanks, true. But the modern generations? They¡¯re like mobile bunkers. Or bases of operations on wheels. Ever heard of the Ironclad-Mark 8?¡±


    I slowly shook my head, my attention fully engrossed.


    She drew in a deep breath, like an orator about to perform a heart-lurching speech. Or a salesman¡­ woman¡­ whatever.


    ¡°Framed on the larger bases of Armored Personnel Carriers like the Buran and Huron, and heavily modded, the Ironclad-Mark 8 is the top of the line when it comes to modular APCs that can serve as rapid intervention vehicles, personnel carriers, fast moving tanks and even as mobile command centers.


    All-territory. Maximum speed, 100 km per hour. Maximum weight tolerance, 10 tons. Armor tolerance, impervious to small, medium arms fire and any explosives under 8kg.   Deployable and retractable blast shields on every window. Modular storage space on every inch.


    Best yet, all interior electronics are powered by batteries that can be charged by the engine¡¯s own torque. And, and¡­.¡±


    ¡°Okay, okay, calm down¡± I snickered, holding my hands up against her verbal fusillade.


    ¡°I get it, they''re good. Cripes woman, are you sponsored by them? How the hell do you even know all of that?¡±


    Both sisters giggled and Mina took a second to catch her breath.


    ¡°Right, right, I was just putting you through what the two of us have been hearing for the past seven months. Told you, our dad¡¯s a lieutenant in the Army. And an absolute military tech-aficionado. He¡¯s been nerding out about these things for months now. It¡¯s why I know so much about them.


    It¡¯s why I know that the Outpost near our city commissioned ten of them for rapid-intervention in cases of hostile or terrorist attack. So they''re always stocked with equipment in the event of an armed conflict.¡±


    I sighed, all enthusiasm cut short.


    ¡°How¡¯s that help us? The Army Outpost¡¯s miles away, beyond that Mist Wall that¡¯s still surrounding everything. Dunno about you two, but I¡¯ve seen enough horror movies to know better than to plunge headfirst into a wall of possibly-eldritch mist¡±.


    The little lady nodded frantically.


    ¡°Correct. But that¡¯s my point. There¡¯s two of those Ironclads in our¡­ territory¡­ I guess you could call it?¡±


    This immediately got my attention and I leaned in, motioning for her to continue.


    ¡°I saw it when we were on the roof¡± she said, popping out her night-vision monocular from the purple little fanny pack slung to her whipcord-thin waist.


    ¡°Four military vehicles, two standard Humvees and two Ironclads, stationed a mile and half away from the mall, couple of yards past Big Mac¡¯s Mechanics¡­¡±


    Her smile quivered and fell, eyes going downcast as though she was ashamed at her thought process.


    ¡°... and I think we can take them, since¡­ the only signs of soldiers I saw were¡­ remains¡­ I¡¯m thinking they got swarmed by rotbloods or Orcs or Goblins¡­ I dunno¡­ but I only saw remains¡±.


    ¡°Wait? What? Why would there be military vehicles stationed there? Isn''t the Army Outpost like twenty miles down the freeway? That shouldn''t be in our¡­ territory.¡±


    She shrugged.


    ¡°No idea. Could have been they were on routine patrol, a mission, or something as simple as them stopping to get lunch at the diner next to the mechanics shop when this ¡°apocalypse¡± hit. Best I can do is speculate.


    But whatever the reason, they¡¯re here. And those two Ironclads are no good to anyone, just gathering rust there. Bottom line, all me and Mina need is one of these Ironclads and we can transport everyone safely to the mall in a couple of trips. It seats twenty people, so we''d be golden. And after that, it''ll be an indispensable tool to have. Not to mention all the guns and ammo inside them.¡±


    A picture was beginning to take shape in my mind. An image of a mobile shelter that would make gathering Aether Stones a hell of a lot easier.


    ¡°Got it. You two need one. But there¡¯s two of them.¡±


    Mina winked and smiled at me.


    ¡°That''s the deal I''m proposing. If we can get our hands on those bad boys, you get one. And I do mean yours and no one else¡¯s. No strings attached, no problems. Me and my sis will take care of ferrying the people from school, you can go your own way. But you¡¯ll be doing so in a spiffy, new, top-of-the-line mobile bunker.


    And believe me when I say, you want one. It''s basically a shelter on wheels, has great autonomy, even retractable blast shields on all windows so you can just deploy them during the daylight and watch your surroundings via the camera screens.¡±


    Cupping my chin and leaning onto my haunches, I considered the proposal.


    It wasn¡¯t a bad idea. An APC like that would immediately take away all my problems regarding shelter. I could just drive to a location, hunt for Aether Stones and then retreat to the APC come daytime. It¡¯d definitely cut out a LOT of wasted time for searching. Moreover, considering what she¡¯d described, there¡¯d be no way Orcs and Goblins with their primitive weapons would be able to do a thing against a tank like that.


    I wasn¡¯t no military-tech-nerd, my passions lie more in the realms of gaming, comics and anime, but I knew enough about APCs to understand their utility in this situation. Engine strong enough to cut a swathe through a rotblood herd, so I wouldn¡¯t be pinned in place. All territory mobility so my shelter would be wherever I damn well pleased. Hell, even the tires on such machines were usually made of a special compound that made them essentially cut and puncture proof.


    But, there was one problem.


    Mina¡¯s plan had a flaw. A fairly obvious one. There was literally nothing stopping me from just taking them, now that I knew where they were.


    This wasn¡¯t a trade. As of yet, she wasn¡¯t offering me a damn thing.


    ¡°Alright, it all sounds nice and fine. I got a question, though. Let''s say I had just up and left last night and started doing what I had intended to do. Y¡¯know, go my own way and all that. Sooner or later, maybe not tonight, but tomorrow or the day after, maybe even later, but eventually I would¡¯ve probably stumbled over the place. So I could¡¯ve gotten the things without you even telling me where they were. What I¡¯m saying is, this still sounds like I¡¯m doing you a favor¡± I murmured, keeping the edge in my voice and face. I wasn¡¯t angry, mostly because I knew Mina Miller wasn¡¯t stupid enough to try and play me in such an obvious manner.


    More than anything I was curious.


    ¡°Yeah sis, I gotta agree with him. We said it¡¯s not a favor we¡¯re asking for, so¡­ I mean¡­ there¡¯s no tit-for-tat here, he¡¯s taking all the risks and for half the prize, it¡¯s¡­¡± Tina began but stopped herself when Mina tapped her head with a finger.


    ¡°The tit-for-tat is right here. Like I said, these are rapid intervention APCs, modded to be as hard to compromise as possible. They don¡¯t have keys, but key codes. The codes are randomized every week. If you don¡¯t know the key code, you can¡¯t unlock it, can¡¯t start the engine, can¡¯t even open the equipment cases. And that code is in this brain of mine¡± she ended with a wide grin.


    There was no malice there, no sense of superiority, she was simply, genuinely enthusiastic.


    I tilted my head.


    ¡°Are you telling me that a lieutenant of the US Army entrusted the code to what amounts to a bunch of tanks to his barely-adult daughter? Cause I find that hard to believe. No offense.¡±


    ¡°None taken. And you''d be right. But about three minutes before that earthquake hit and everything went to hell in a handbasket, dad sent me an alert message that included a digital map, shelter locations and multiple codes¡±.


    I narrowed my eyes.


    ¡°You telling me Uncle Sam knew the apocalypse was coming?¡±


    Mina shook her head quickly.


    ¡°Doubt it. Message was vague :


    Don¡¯t know what¡¯s happening, Homeland Security sent immediate evacuation orders. Seismic readers are off the charts. I think a big quake¡¯s heading our way. I¡¯m in the city, going to pick up your mom and then make my way to you girls. Stay put. I¡¯m sending you everything I can to make sure you two¡¯ll be ok. Please stay safe. Daddy¡¯s on his way.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I got it too. But you don¡¯t think the code is for¡­?¡± Tina started, eyes wide.


    ¡°No, of course he would. Dad¡¯s the kind of guy who¡¯d do that for us. He¡¯d want us to have every advantage possible. Even if that meant sharing sensitive information.¡±


    The corners of my mouth twisted into a grimace.


    ¡°Yeah, sounds like they were assuming that some sort of natural disaster was incoming. But this is way more than that.¡±


    ¡°Jon, trust me. If Dad would have known anything, and I mean anything, about this? He would have taken me, Tina, mom and ran for the hills. To hell with army and hierarchy.¡±


    My face softened slightly.


    ¡°Your dad sounds like a good man.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s awesome. Family man, through and through. He¡¯s the kind of guy who¡¯s loyal to the country and army, second and third. Family first. Always.¡± Tina gushed with a proud smirk and I couldn¡¯t help but mirror it.


    ¡°You still got battery on your phone?¡± I asked, remembering that my own had ran dry hours ago.


    ¡°Nope. But don¡¯t need it. Eidetic memory¡± Mina answered, bapping her temple.


    ¡°Once I read something, I never forget it. Code is safe up here¡± Mina answered, tapping a finger against her temple once more.


    I nodded.


    ¡°Fair, fair. So, to cut it short, you want me to go there, grab the two trucks, drive them back here, and I get to keep one right?¡± I summarized, leaning against the wall once more.


    Mina nodded enthusiastically.


    ¡°Yep. And it¡¯s your choice how you wanna do it. Want us to join you on this expedition? We will. Wanna do it by yourself so that you don¡¯t gotta concern yourself with our safety? Fine that way too. Either way, as long as it¡¯s a success, one of those tanks is yours.¡±


    I shrugged.


    ¡°Would prefer the second option. No offense, but if shit hits the fan I can haul ass out of there much faster if I don¡¯t gotta worry about you two.¡±


    Tina pouted but nodded as Mina spoke again.


    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°Alright. In that case, all you gotta do is punch the code in both Ironclads, unlock the wheel on the second and daisy chain them with the tractor cable. Trust me when I say that these beasts have engines strong enough to pull two buses, even on a hill¡­¡±


    She clamped her mouth shut as I held a hand in front of her.


    ¡°That¡¯s all fine and dandy Mina, but it still leaves one problem. If I go at it by myself, that means you gotta give me the code beforehand.¡±


    Her smile wavered and she tilted her head.


    ¡°I mean, how are you going to open the truck? Not like you can crowbar through that armor and even then, the engine is hard-locked until you¡­¡±


    ¡°No, no, I get that, but, really? What¡¯s to stop me from taking one of them and just leaving? Maybe even take the equipment from both before I leave¡±.


    Tina sighed.


    ¡°This again? Tough guy, we''ve already been through this. You helped us more than once, and you¡­¡±


    ¡°No¡± I interrupted the young woman''s spiel.


    ¡°No, see, you''re equating me not being an out and out psycho with being a good person. Two things aren¡¯t mutually exclusive. The world''s changed, Tina. Best bet is to assume everyone¡¯s out for themselves.


    I''m no different. I''m just some guy. And when push comes to shove, who do you think I''ll be looking out for? A couple of girls that, no offense, I haven''t spoken to until 24 hours ago? Or myself?¡±


    Silence dominated the room as the reality of my words sank in.


    ¡°He''s right. At end of the day, when the poop hits the fan, pardon the language, human instinct defaults to selfishness¡± Mina muttered, all trace of joviality gone from her face.


    ¡°No, common sis, I don¡¯t think he¡¯s¡­¡±


    ¡°We don''t know him well enough to know what he''s like. Yes, he helped us, but he said it himself, didn''t he, he''s just some guy we haven¡¯t interacted with up until today. And people by and large are selfish. I''m not even being cold-hearted here, selfishness is hard wired into our animal brain. Self-preservation instinct.¡± Mina interrupted her sister and I gave a curt nod of approval.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t me and you do the same thing before, Tina? Andreas and the gophers. We knew it was wrong, unjust, cruel, and yet we didn¡¯t do a thing to help them. Because we were selfishly afraid of any backlash falling on us. It¡¯s simply the reality¡±


    By all rights what I was doing was counterproductive, especially considering that I wasn''t enough of a scumbag to do the things I had said I could do.


    But these two¡ªway too trusting for their own good¡ªneeded a wake-up call. If those endless zombie flicks I¡¯d watched had taught me anything, it was that there¡¯s no shortage of scumbags ready to exploit the good in people. And that went doubly so for a pair of beautiful women like these two.


    There were far worse fates than death out there. Especially for women.


    No. A wake up call was in order. They¡¯d have to get their head in the game, and quick, otherwise after I left, these two were headed for something horrible.


    Mirroring the little lady''s nod as I saw realization and understanding dawn in her eyes, I sighed. Message sent and received. It was better that they understood that now than find themselves back against the wall. In our situation, advantage and leverage were worth more than gold.


    Fortunately for them, I wasn¡¯t the type to double-cross them like that. Had my rules after all. If the mission was a success, I had every intention of bringing them one of those Ironclads. Now it was time to figure out a way for me to get the codes without compromising their leverage¡­


    ¡°1347738900¡± Mina¡¯s words echoed in the quiet room.


    Words caught in my throat and my face fell into a deadpan.


    ¡°Seriously? That¡¯s the code isn¡¯t it. After all that spiel, you just up and say it?¡±


    When Mina Miller looked back at me, it was with a gentle, genuine and painfully warm smile.


    ¡°All that I said in my spiel was the truth. Self-preservation makes the human being a selfish, self-serving animal. But we¡¯re not animals, we¡¯re people. And the first step to break that selfish streak and be better than before is to offer a little bit of trust.


    After all, doing anything other that would mean I hadn¡¯t learned anything from what I did with the Andreas situation. And I¡¯m a smart cookie, I always learn¡± she ended with a chortle, quickly mirrored by her sister.


    Pushing my fingers against the bridge of my nose, I couldn¡¯t help but chuckle myself. What¡¯s it called? Wearing your heart on your sleeve?


    Dammit, these two wholesome beans almost made me not want to leave after all this was done. Almost.


    Either that or they were really good at playing me. Who knows.


    ¡°Alright, whatever. I gave you my warning and that¡¯s that, but suit yourself if you wanna take the risk. I¡¯ll get it done¡±.


    ¡°And we¡¯ll get our part done. The coast should be clear, I didn¡¯t see anything around the convoy, not even any zombies, but be careful. If it¡¯s too risky, I¡¯d much rather you retreat and we¡¯ll plan something else¡± Mina said and, moving her gaze to regard her sister, gentle expression melting away to reveal the serious, determined look she always bore whenever she discussed something important.


    ¡°Meanwhile, Tina and I will continue with our original plan.¡±


    My eyes flicked from the two girls back to the poster splayed on the floor.


    ¡°Gonna go out on a limb here and assume it¡¯s got to do with the cargo depot, right?¡±


    Tina nodded sharply and tapped the paper.


    ¡°Yeah. Mina thinks this is our best option in this mall. Cargo hall¡¯s basically an isolated space. No windows, metal doors that are easy to barricade and only one entrance for the trucks. Plus, since all the mall¡¯s supplies are there, the cargo door¡¯s bound to be durable, right? It¡¯s basically a bunker if we fortify it. Me and Mina wanna head out and scout it. See how many deadheads there are and if we can clear ¡®em out.¡±


    Mina shifted closer to me and circled around the blueprints.


    ¡°The way I see it, our group¡¯s current situation is dire. Supplies aside, the old campus is not a good long-term option. There¡¯s too many openings and entrances to properly fortify. The mall however, different story!


    If we can secure the cargo hall, we¡¯ll have a base of operations to work from. Once you bring us one of those Ironclads, me and Mina will start ferrying people from the old campus back here. Save as many as we can¡­ after you¡¯ve left, of course. You don¡¯t have to do any of that or have any interactions with Andreas anymore. All we need is an Ironclad. And, and, don¡¯t worry, we¡¯re not gonna push our luck and ask for any help with the cargo depot. That¡¯s on me and Tina¡­¡± she added quickly.


    ¡°So, you still aim to help that lot?¡± I murmured, more to myself.


    The quiet droned on between the three of us, oppressive and uncompromising, until I broke it again, all too bluntly and unapologetically.


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna level with you two, I think it¡¯s a mistake on your part. You¡¯ve seen what I¡¯ve seen. Andreas and his goons are taking over and everyone else, save maybe Miss Evans, is all too happy to let it happen. All too happy to condemn us gophers to an early grave just to save their asses, too. Mark my words, the fucker¡¯s a textbook liability and you¡¯re gonna regret saving his worthless hide.¡±


    Mina shifted uncomfortably as I bore into her, refusing to meet my eyes. She knew I had the right of it. Tina was the one who answered, her tone apologetic but nonetheless determined.


    ¡°I¡­ you¡¯re right Jon¡­ but me and Mina¡­ we¡¯ve talked about this. We can¡¯t just condemn so many people to death when there¡¯s a chance to save ¡®em. It¡¯s¡­ just not right¡­ y¡¯know? Even if they¡¯re dumb enough to throw in their lot with Andreas and his ilk, that doesn¡¯t mean we can just let them rot. It¡¯s not how we were raised, it¡¯s¡­¡±


    I shrugged, raising both hands in mock surrender.


    ¡°Hey, you don¡¯t need to justify shit to me. Hell, believe you me, the last 24 hours have been nothing if not a cascade of my own bad decisions and the repercussions.


    Saved a chick? Became a vampire.


    Didn¡¯t rip Andreas¡¯s arms off and beat ¡®em to death with them? Became a serf.


    Saved you lot? Got shot.


    Any input on my part would be just pot calling the kettle black. I¡¯m just saying, make sure y¡¯all don¡¯t go making the same fuck-ups I did. At least, not for free, y¡¯know?¡±


    The tall woman smirked like a giddy gremlin.


    ¡°Oh come on drama queen. Can¡¯t be all bad. Look at it this way, one of your decisions was to save me and Mina. The repercussion is that you¡¯re now friends with two gorgeous twins.¡±


    ¡°Wait! Gorgeous twins? WHERE!¡± I snickered, turning my head quickly.


    ¡°Wooooooowww¡­.. prick!¡± Tina laughed, arms crossed over her chest in mock offense.


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, I kinda am sometimes. But, either way, you two do as you want, as long as you do it after I¡¯ve left alright? ¡®Cause if I never meet with Andreas again, it¡¯ll be too soon. Apocalypse is bad enough, I¡¯d rather not deal with his uppity bullcrap,¡± I added, pushing myself off the floor and heading to start rummaging through one of the pharmacy cabinets.


    ¡°What¡¯re you doing?¡± Mina asked, craning her neck.


    ¡°Making another possibly stupid decision. But getting paid for it¡± I answered, finally finding what I was looking for, and returned to my original spot to dump two empty, unused blood bags and an unsealed blood transfusion kit onto the large A2 sheet of paper.


    ¡°... Ummm¡­ J-Jon¡­.?¡± the smaller of the twins started, her complexion growing as pale as the wall varnish.


    ¡°Price I¡¯m asking for¡± I began, pulling one of Bill¡¯s cigarillos and lighting it.


    ¡°I¡¯ll get you the Ironclad. Price for that is, as we¡¯ve already established, that I get my own tank. And this¡­¡± I added, tapping the two empty blood bags.


    ¡°...will be the price for helping you two scout out the cargo hall AND clear it out if there¡¯s rotbloods inside. One unit of blood from each of you, to be given after the depot¡¯s been cleared. Easier on you and a lot more hygienic than biting your throats, no? Just like a blood drive.¡±


    The twins shifted their gaze from me to the bags then back to me as long seconds passed. Until finally Tina smirked and turned to her sister.


    ¡°Told you. Good guy. I¡¯m a great judge of character.¡±


    Mina scoffed but nodded in thanks to me.


    ¡°Thanks for¡­ everything, Jon.¡±


    I shrugged with what I hoped was well feigned indifference.


    ¡°What for? I¡¯m getting paid for it. Plus, not like I can go for the Ironclads until tonight. Dawn¡¯s almost here and I have to find something to occupy the next twelve hours. Otherwise I¡¯ll go crazy with boredom.¡±


    Tina¡¯s smirk was like a chafing pebble in my shoe.


    ¡°Sure Dracula, suuuure. Truly, you are a cruel and callous opportunist. Oh, the humanity of it all,¡± she added theatrically.


    ¡°Alright then Skippy, you just increased my retainer fee¡± I sneered, taking a little malicious pleasure at her sputtered ¡°wait, I was only joking¡±.


    ¡°On top of the two units of blood, you, Tina Miller, have to teach me a few wrestling moves and advise me on a training plan to work all my muscle groups.¡±


    Her deadpan, confused blinking was enough to make me outright grin.


    ¡°Wait, that¡¯s it? My dude, I¡¯d do that for free.¡± she began and, with a smug and proud huff, flexed her arms, showing off that finely crafted, yet still magnificently feminine, figure.


    ¡°I¡¯m always up for helping people get cut, brah.¡±


    ¡°Then, I guess we got a plan¡± I said, actively trying not to cringe at her imocking interpretation of a gym bro. Puck¡¯s words still rang in my head. Training, any sort of training, would yield immediate results for a Vampire. Soon, I¡¯d be able to put that to the test.


    Mina snickered at her sister¡¯s antics and looked back at me, nose a little red.


    ¡°Then, let¡¯s get to it, right?¡±

 Chapter 25

    The rotblood fell back, chest caved into an amorphous mass of broken flesh, ramming into the group behind it and tumbling all four into a heap of spasming, flailing limbs. I surged in, stamping my boot into one¡¯s skull, bursting it to mulch, and braining another with the pommel of my sledge-axe.


    Gnarled hands, blackened with gangrenous rot and tipped with splintered, blood caked nails grasped for me in hectic, uncoordinated movements, and I jumped back, clearing a solid four meters in a single backward leap, rearing my arms back, ready to meet the small horde that was already clambering over their fallen kind.


    The stomach-churning, wet noise of pulped flesh and cracking bones sang out as prone rotbloods got stampeded into a red, pulpy mess by the maddened flesh-lusting herd and I rolled my shoulders, eyes focused in front, steeling myself for the impact.


    For the first time, there was no need to watch my six. I wasn¡¯t alone.


    A chopping sound, followed by a body thumping onto the concrete floor came up behind me and the grim shadow of a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. There was no need to even turn and confirm that Tina had dealt with the two stragglers that had passed by me. This had been the fourth group of rotbloods our ragtag band had faced in the corridors and, up to this point, Mina¡¯s three pronged defense strategy had made this entire expedition a cakewalk.


    Just like we¡¯d done before, the moment the herd came within four steps of me, we started. I launched myself into a charge, slamming the length of my ax like a clothesline into chests and faces, using weight and strength to bull them back, ramming the leading ones into those behind, opening enough space to properly swing my weapon.


    Small objects whooshed above me, falling sonorously behind the herd, the thumb sized nuts and bolts clinking and clanking against concrete floor with strident, high-pitched dings, audible even over the din of combat, drawing the attention of those in the far back. They turned and spasmed, lurching and lunging at non-existent prey, reducing the press of bodies even more.


    This was Mina¡¯s doing, the little genius having been the one to ask me to go back into the hardware store and bring an entire bag¡¯s worth of the small bits and bobs. Where anyone else would have thought that glass bottles would have been better for drawing attention, Mina had assured me that the frequency of metal on concrete will be more than enough to confuse the rotbloods. Especially in an enclosure as tight as the service corridors.


    She¡¯d been right. With every nut and bolt she arched over the ¡°frontline¡±, more and more rotbloods peeled off from the press, some moving towards the noise, others simply hovering in momentary distraction. It was enough for me to take advantage.


    To bull and push, slamming ambulatory corpses into one another, crushing them against walls and pulping them under boot, lashing out with ax-head and haft. Skulls shattered, bones splintered and old, rotting gore coated the concrete.


    Every now and again, either through sheer dumb luck or the nature of their erratic, unpredictable motions, one of the shambling dead would slip under my blows. And this was when Tina, bare-footed and silent as a hunting cat, would dispatch them, her sinuous body moving with all the quiet lethality of a panther.


    For all that she still had a slight limp to her gait, against the slow and sloppy rotbloods, she was like a striking serpent. Unbalancing them with sharp strikes to ankles and hips, lightning-fast lunges, splaying them onto the floor and executing the flailing abominations with quick slashes from the machete I¡¯d lended her.


    Step forward, swing, step forward. The advance was a steady, monotonous tempo, and I was still doing the overwhelming majority of the ¡°heavy lifting¡±. But it was so much easier, knowing that all I had to do was focus in front, with Tina covering my flank and Mina providing both distraction and checking on our six to make sure no other rotbloods hit us from behind.


    All I needed to do was advance. And the simplicity of it was almost meditative.


    Step forward, swing, step forward.


    Four rotbloods left.


    I hissed out a breath, more out of reflex than need, and swung my blade in a large hewing blow that cleaved through a skull, only to continue its arc and bite deep into  another rotblood''s collarbone, burying into its ribcage. Instead of wasting time to dislodge my weapon, I heaved and swung again, the walking corpse reduced to a makeshift club as I slammed it into the third one, breaking them both against the wall.


    By sheer coincidence, happenstance or bad luck, the fourth corpse spasmed into a snapping lunge at the worst possible moment. My backhand arched a hair too late, and I struck it in the temple with my elbow instead of the ax-head. Not enough to kill it, but more than enough to send it tumbling, its own momentum and inertia carrying the monster behind me.


    A quick pivot and I was there, grime slick axehead raised for a crushing blow, but stopped short. There was no more need for me to strike. A pale, muscular arm had already snaked around the rotblood''s throat as Tina grappled it into a perfect chokehold, legs wrapped and pinning the monster''s arms to its sides like a straightjacket. A sharp shift of her bodyweight and the zombie¡¯s head jolted 180 degrees as she snapped its neck with the ease of a child breaking a dry twig.


    Like a damn boa constrictor this woman was. Damage to the cervical worked as well as damage to the skull. A quick stomp of my boot and the flopping, immobile thing''s head burst.


    I motioned for us to keep going. We¡¯d been doing our best to keep noise to a minimum, and the sound of Mina¡¯s distractions didn¡¯t carry too much, but fighting still made noise. Just because we¡¯d been lucky enough to not get swarmed up to this point, didn''t mean I was willing to push it. From my experience, lady luck was a fickle bitch and her ire wasn¡¯t something worth courting.


    ¡°That went well¡± Mina whispered as we walked, reaching down to gather up as many of the nuts and bolts as she could without slowing us down.


    ¡°Mhm¡± I grunted, ears peeled for any sounds of those damned zombies.


    ¡°Yep, we got ourselves a pretty good game plan here. How much until we reach the cargo hall?¡± Tina piped up, a little too loud for my liking.


    Credit where it was due, she was oddly chipper for someone who''d just killed seven walking corpses with her own hands. I suppose the apocalypse will jade you quickly. Either shape up or die, not much room for a third option.


    I put a finger to my lips, shushing the taller of the two sisters and then pointed a finger to the two double doors at the end of the corridor.


    ¡°Cargo depot¡¯s just behind those doors¡± I whispered and Tina nodded, holding her hands up apologetically.


    As soon as we reached the doors I pressed my ear to the metal, listening for any sounds, shuffling or chittering.


    Silence.


    Either the corpses were not there or just lying dormant. Turning back to the Miller sisters and pressing a finger to my lips again, I mouthed ¡°no talking¡± before slowly opening the doors.


    For once, Lady Luck was in an acceptable mood, downright tolerable, as the only thing that greeted us was row upon row of huge metal rafters and produce pallets.


    Roughly two stories tall and nearly half as large as the mall proper, the cargo depot was a massive open space, filled with row after row of metal rafters packed with pallets of produce, clothing, knick-knacks, and all manner of goods that the mall¡¯s stores had had in it''s inventory before the "apocalypse". Most of it was for the in-mall supermarket, though the rafters were clearly marked for other stores too, their designated sections offering a faint sense of order amid the chaos.


    But the real problem was that the place was a maze. The sheer size of it, combined with the labyrinth of iron scaffolding and stacked boxes, made it impossible to see the whole layout at once. You couldn¡¯t tell where you were or if the cargo gate was open or closed.


    I didn¡¯t like it.


    Too many blind spots, too many corners from where a rotblood could just lie in waiting and too many opportunities to get flanked.


    This wouldn¡¯t do.


    I locked the thick metal door behind us and moved toward one of the rafters, boots barely making a sound as I kept my steps light and deliberate, and glanced back at the girls, giving them a quick, silent gesture to follow.


    "Grab onto my neck, and don''t make a sound," I murmured, voice barely a whisper. "I''m taking us up."


    The twins glanced at one another, confusion fairly obvious in their gazes, but nodded and followed my instructions wordlessly. Slender arms snaked around my neck as I crouched low, giving them time to get ready.


    Despite their slender frames, the two women were still grown adults, and combined with my gear and the weight of my backpack, I was carrying a lot on my back. All in all, I would have to jump with an extra hundred kilos weighing me down.


    And yet, I had no choice but to jump. The rafters were huge, yes, but I wasn¡¯t about to climb up the side and risk sending the whole thing toppling down.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Well, in for a penny, as they say. No point in taking unnecessary risks, may as well use the ¡°Blood Buff¡± and make sure I clear the entire thing in one leap.


    A surge of heat twisted in my gut, blood whirling and roiling inside, and with a single thought, I gave that strength both form and function.


    *Tha-Thump*


    Just like before, my heart beat. Once.


    A spasm of motion that sent a portion of blood crashing through veins and capillaries, travelling like a wake towards my legs. Muscles flexed, swelled, and coiled like iron chains, pressing against the rough fabric of my pants as raw strength coursed through every fiber and tendon.


    I pulled my arms back, crossing them over the small of each woman''s back, making sure they wouldn''t be shaken loose by the force of the jump, and then, with all that power concentrated in my legs, I leaped.


    The pallet racking stood as tall as three grown men, give or take, but with the surge of power in my legs, I cleared it easily¡ªovershooting by at least two meters, my head almost colliding with the ceiling. Almost, but thankfully not.


    ¡°Shit¡± I cussed as we landed on the metal rafter¡¯s top platform with a dull thud, my face twisted into a grimace. I really needed to get more used to using ¡°Blood Buff¡±. Two feet higher and I would¡¯ve bounced my skull off the damn ceiling. The Miller sisters would¡¯ve never let me live it down.


    ¡°Dude, that was awesome¡­¡± Tina whispered in my ear as I leaned forward so the twins could clamber off me.


    ¡°Quiet. Let me listen,¡± I whispered back ¡°And be careful where you step¡±.


    We lingered on our perch for a few tense seconds, the silence from below stretching longer than it should have. When nothing stirred, we continued, moving swiftly along the racking¡¯s length, leaping from one section to the next, making our way toward the outer wall.


    For a fleeting moment, a thought crossed my mind¡ªcould we be so fortunate as to find the entire warehouse completely empty? But I dismissed it almost instantly. No, that wasn¡¯t going to happen. Lady Luck had a chip on her shoulder and took great pleasure in making it everyone''s problem.


    I heard them before I saw them¡ªthe soft, unsettling skitter of insect-like chittering, barely audible but unmistakable. It was accompanied by the occasional low groan, the kind that crawls under your skin and settles inside your gut. By the time we reached the midpoint of the last rafter, I knew we weren¡¯t alone. Slowing to a crawl, moving cautiously toward the edge, every muscle tensed in anticipation, we glanced over the edge.


    ¡°Oh no, that¡¯s a lot of them¡± Mina whispered beside me.


    "Yeah," I muttered, eyes locked on the abattoir that had taken root in the middle of the cargo depot. In the middle of the cargo loading bay, a twisted scene of decay unfolded. Among the wreckage of gore and discarded bits of flesh, at least eighty of the mindless, rotting dead either shuffled or swayed like junkies caught in the grip of a drug-fueled haze. Slack mouths dripping brackish blood and pus-yellow ichor, orb-less eyes staring vacantly at the floor, lost in the pretension of dormancy.


    And yet, I couldn¡¯t help but exhale a relieved sigh. Because, despite the reek of rotting flesh, despite the abhorrent show playing in front of me, beyond the dead, the doors stood shuttered. Made of thick folding metal sheet, with several latches securing it to pins bored into the concrete, the large cargo depot door had been closed, locking out the world of death and securing this small slice of sanctuary from the horrors outside.


    It might not have been fast enough to save those inside. Or maybe the infection had spread after the doors were sealed. But none of that mattered now. What mattered was that this place could still be made safe.


    ¡°Damn¡± Tina cussed.


    ¡°Too many for us to brute force our way through. They¡¯ll overwhelm us¡±


    Mina nodded.


    ¡°Most of them are concentrated around the docking door. If we could¡­ no that won¡¯t work, there¡¯s just too many and¡­" she stammered, the poor girl chewing on her thumbnail as she wracked her brain trying to come up with a plan.


    She was going nowhere fast.


    I, on the other hand, had been too busy counting.


    ¡°Eighty-four. Right. Let¡¯s go.¡± I muttered, pushing myself back towards the back-end of the rafter.


    The two women stared at me, bug-eyed and slack-jawed, quickly scampering after me.


    ¡°What do you mean? We¡¯re not giving up, are we?¡± Mina whispered.


    ¡°¡®Course not¡± I whispered back, holding a hand to her.


    ¡°Hand me those plans, would you?¡±


    With a concerned nod, she pulled out the folded paper from that surprisingly spacious fanny pack of her¡¯s and handed it to me.


    ¡°Right. Three entrances on the southern wall, one more on the western wall and then there¡¯s the supervisor and logistics offices on the eastern side.¡± I mumbled, more to myself, holding up a finger for each entrance.


    ¡°Good. Alright then. We¡¯re going to head to each entrance, close them, barricade them as well as we can, as quiet as we can¡­¡±


    My words caught in my throat as Mina gingerly raised a hand, as if she was still in class or something, in an action so out of the blue it made me do a double take.


    ¡°The fu¡­ woman, just ask.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­ right, sorry, force of habit¡± she spluttered, red around the nose.


    ¡°I, uh, okay, why do you wanna seal the doors?¡±


    ¡°Fairly obvious, ain¡¯t it? Don¡¯t want any uninvited rotbloods to interrupt me while I take care of the ones by the entrance¡± I deadpanned, as if it was the most self-evident answer in the world. And it was, at least from my perspective.


    The two women stared dumbfounded for several long seconds, until finally Tina spoke up.


    ¡°You can¡¯t seriously tell me you¡¯re considering killing that horde. It must be a hundred of ¡®em¡±.


    ¡°Eighty-four actually. While we take care of the doors, we¡¯re also gonna be making sure there¡¯s no stragglers around to flank me. I want all my targets where I can see them¡­¡± I answered, keeping any inflexions from my voice, as I rolled the paper and handed it back to the bug-eyed smaller sister.


    ¡°Jon, wait. It¡¯s too dangerous. Let¡¯s think of something that won¡¯t put you in that much of a risk¡­¡± Mina started.


    I shrugged and dropped back into a crouch, motioning for them to come closer. Their voices were starting to rise, too loud for my liking, even though we were still up in the rafters, well out of immediate danger. But noise had a way of bringing trouble, and I wasn¡¯t about to take chances.


    ¡°Alright listen, you¡¯re paying me to do a job, right? If we block all entry points, make sure no other deadheads blunder their way in or get attracted to the noise, it¡¯s just a matter of attrition to get rid of the ones already here. I can run circles around them, whittle them down, draw them into choke points, so on and so forth.¡±


    The twins exchanged looks but nodded eventually, their reticence obvious.


    ¡°Yeah but¡­ you¡¯re taking all the risk, dude.¡± Tina mumbled.


    ¡°No offence Tina, but the bigger risk would be having to keep an eye on you two while getting this done. I¡¯m not trying to be a prick or edgy here, but between the three of us, the one that¡¯s the strongest, fastest and completely tireless, is me. Not you. This is just the most practical way to do it.¡±


    The twins shifted uneasily, glancing at one another, faces betraying the struggle to find the right words to argue. But I knew they wouldn¡¯t win this one. Deep down, they knew it too. The plan made the most sense, and no amount of protesting would change that.


    Truth be told, it was also the simplest choice for me. I was used to getting things done by myself.


    ¡°Wait, hold on. You¡¯ve got a point, but that doesn¡¯t mean we can¡¯t help¡± Mina said suddenly, a glimmer in her eyes, and pulled out the bag of nuts and bolts.


    ¡°We go with your plan, but me and Tina will keep overwatch from the rafters, use these to divert their attention, keep them from swarming you.¡±


    I quirked an eyebrow, looking at the little bit of metal she was clasping between slender fingers.


    ¡°Think that¡¯d work as well as it did in the corridors?¡±


    She shook her head, her smile never fading.


    "On concrete? No. Space is too open.  But against metal..." She paused, then without warning, moved toward the edge of the rafter. With a flick of her wrist, she sent the bolt flying in a smooth, underhand arc. It struck the iron edge of a distant rafter with a resounding clang, the noise cutting through the stillness.


    A chorus of spasming, twitching rotbloods erupted into frenzied motion, their bodies lurching and tumbling toward the sound like a twisted pack of flesh-eating lemmings.


    "...the sound carries better," Mina finished, turning back to me, her smirk sharp with that blend of triumph and smug satisfaction.


    "Nice shot," I whispered, a faint smile tugging at the corner of my mouth as I crossed my arms. The little lady was full of surprises, that much was clear. I hadn¡¯t expected that kind of precision from her, but it seemed I was always underestimating her.


    ¡°Darts is a hobby of mine¡± she smirked, puffing up her barely-existent chest.


    ¡°Alright then, I ain¡¯t gonna stop you if you wanna help. But keep on the rafters while I fight. The dead won''t get you there. But if you fall, I can¡¯t make any promises that I can get to you in time.¡±


    Both girls nodded in silent agreement, and I turned, heading toward the right-most wall. Securing every exit would be the first priority¡ªand it was time to get back to work.