Rumble!
The skies cracked with thunder as dark clouds churned above, groaning like a waking beast. Rain poured in thick, blinding sheets, drenching the devastated grounds of the school district. Beneath the storm, a swarm of snarling zombies wandered aimlessly, groaning and hissing, their limbs dragging through the flooded asphalt.
Then—thud.
Several zombies abruptly dropped to the ground, their skulls crushed by an unseen force. No shadow. No warning. Just death.
It was Merek.
Using the ability of the Darkweave Coat, he slipped through the rain like a ghost. For thirty precious seconds, the skill rendered him invisible to the eye and muted the sound of his boots—perfect for navigating past the horde undetected, or eliminating with surgical precision.
Trailing behind him were his undead—hulking wraiths clad in steel plate, their eyes hollow with pale fire. They followed in solemn silence, but their shell was their weakness.
The clang of their armoured boots echoed against the wet ground like war drums in a crypt.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
The sound pierced through the storm, and the effect was immediate.
The zombies turned.
As if bound by instinct, they snarled and staggered in unison, rotting hands outstretched, drawn to the metallic rhythm. The sight of the metal figures stirred them into a frenzy, and soon hundreds were giving chase, their mouths wide, their hunger unrelenting.
Merek let out a low grunt, sharp and frustrated.
There had to be a way to move without dragging his undead around. They were powerful, yes, but also loud—too loud. He had gone invisible to escape the horde but had overlooked one crucial, infuriating detail.
His wraiths.
They remained visible. They remained audible. And they had drawn every corpse within earshot straight toward him.
This number… it was too much. The undead under his command could keep fighting, but he couldn't. His stamina would run dry, and once it did—
He'd be swarmed. Torn apart. Eaten alive.
Time was slipping through his fingers. Each second of invisibility was a grain of sand vanishing in a storm.
His eyes darted across the bleak landscape, searching desperately for cover—anywhere to disappear and regroup.
Unbeknownst to him, a pair of students watched from a window above, hidden in the upper floors of a building meant for school employees. The windowpane rattled with the storm, their breath fogging the glass as they leaned in closer.
"Who are those?" one of them whispered, voice trembling.
Their eyes widened at the sight of the wraiths. Armoured from head to toe in dark, ornate plating, the figures looked less like men and more like knights from another era—spectres of war.
"They must be stronger than Riven…" a girl murmured, hope flickering in her gaze. Ever since she'd taken shelter under Riven, her life had become a quiet torment. One of his underlings had taken a sick interest in her, following her with eyes that reeked of poison. As much as she despised them, leaving meant death.
If Riven's group didn't kill her for disobedience, the zombies or the hunger surely would.
She never imagined her friends—people she had laughed with, eaten with—would shed their humanity so fast. The moment the world cracked, they had become hyenas.
Their minds twisted by fear and lust. Their faces, once familiar, now looked like demons out of hell.
"A-Are those things even human?" another student stammered, his voice thin behind his glasses.
He was a scout. Those with jobs could sense essence since it was within them too.
And what he felt from those beings outside chilled him to the marrow.
It wasn't normal.
It wasn't human.
They carried a weight to them, thick, dark, suffocating. The kind of presence you only felt from monsters. Or vile men with hostile intentions.
All of a sudden, a man in black materialized from thin air, no sound, no warning. One moment the rain struck empty space, the next, he was there—Merek.
He swerved sharply to the left, his boots splashing through puddles as he darted toward the main classroom building.
Then—he leapt.
With impossible agility, he soared nearly three metres into the air. The students watching from the upper floors gasped, eyes wide with disbelief. He reached the second-floor window in a single bound, his hand catching the sill with slight effort. In one fluid motion, he slid the glass open and slipped inside without a sound.
But he wasn't alone.
Another figure followed—a towering armoured wraith with a flowing crimson mane atop its helm and a ragged black cloak fluttering behind. It mimicked the motion, but with far greater grace.
Where Merek moved like a deadly shadow, this one moved like a knight fallen from grace, calculated, elegant, and unshakable. It landed at the window, barely disturbing the rain, then entered with a slow, gliding movement.
Then came the Vultures.
The final two wraiths struck the wall with force—metal fingers piercing stone, digging deep grooves as they began to climb. They didn't leap. They crawled, scaling the vertical surface like monstrous knights from a forgotten underworld. They wore red plumes too, but theirs were shorter, stiffer, lacking the fierce flow of their counterpart. Their presence was different. More disturbing.
And then… silence.
Once all three figures had vanished into the building, and the last trailing foot disappeared through the window, the watching students remained frozen in place, their hearts pounding.
"What… did we just see?" one finally whispered.
Riven's ice powers were terrifying. He could form several bullets and freeze a limb in an instant. But this?
This was something else entirely.
This man, might be far more powerful.
Far more dangerous.
And for the first time since the world ended, a flicker of uncertainty pierced through the false safety they'd built around Riven.
….
Merek scanned the classroom. Tables and chairs were strewn about, some shattered beyond recognition. The sharp tang of dried blood filled the air, its stains smeared across the floor and splattered along the walls like a silent record of chaos.
A science lab.
Grr!
He barely spared a glance at the mangled zombie dragging itself toward him, its legs twisted, unusable, before Yuki stepped forward and cleaved its head clean off with a smooth, efficient stroke.
Just as Merek turned to leave, something pulled at his senses. His eyes narrowed, locking on to the far end of the room.
There, in the shadow of the wall adjacent to the windows, crouched a figure, a soul. Arms wrapped tightly around his knees, head bowed.
He was crying.
Even the entrance of Merek and his deathly retinue hadn't stirred him from his despair.
Until—
"How long have you been crying?"
The voice cut through the gloom.
Startled, the boy lifted his head. His eyes widened.
Merek recognized him instantly.
The zombie Yuki had just slain.
His lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. The scattered chairs, the bruised and bloodied hands, the grotesque angle of the soul's knees, it was all clear now.
This boy had shattered his own legs, perhaps with a desk or chair, trying to render himself immobile. Likely after being bitten… all to protect others.
A mad, noble gesture.
"Y-you can see me?" the boy stammered, his voice trembling. He looked about seventeen.
Merek nodded once. "I can."
He stepped forward, his voice steady and deep. "I can give you a new life. But it won't be like the one you had before."
He pointed toward the armoured wraiths, standing silently like sentinels behind him.
"I can make you like them. Strong. Strong enough to kill every last zombie you see."
At his words, a scroll shimmered into existence before the soul, its pale light glowing softly. The spectral parchment hovered in the air, its aura reflected in the boy's tear-soaked eyes.