Tevin instinctively reached for his bone spear while Nero stepped forward, squaring his stance toward the door. His hands clenched, his heart beating faster—not from fear, but in readiness to summon flames at a moment's notice. The rain had stopped. He wasn't useless anymore.
Everyone froze in place as a large, shadowy group emerged in the distance. At first, the silhouettes were indistinct, just dark shapes against the faint backdrop of night. But as they drew closer, more details came into view—a tall, grey-armoured figure led the group, a red plume flowing from her helm, a long sword resting at her side. Beside her walked a man cloaked in a black coat, his stride measured and sure.
When the cold steel light from the pole lamps finally reached them, recognition dawned across the room.
It was Merek—and behind him, dozens of students.
Tevin rushed to open the door. As soon as it swung wide, a torrent of anxious figures poured into the cafeteria—seventy students in total, ragged and tired, yet alive. Merek stepped in afterward, moving aside to let his companions pass. Behind him, five armoured undead entered the hall in formation.
Felicity's eyes narrowed.
The number of those things has increased.
He had three when he left. Now there were five.
Among them was another Vulture wraith—Merek had been lucky enough to find another soul and weave a new armour. Since he was at level 18 when he weaved armour for it, the end result was a formidable level 13 undead.
Their steel forms and grim visages would have once terrified the students. But now, in a world where death lurked in every shadow, even monsters were welcomed—if they were on your side.
To these survivors, Merek and his undead were not threats. They were guardians.
"Can we talk," Merek said to Felicity, not as a request, but a quiet command. Without waiting for a reply, he made his way toward the kitchen.
Felicity followed without hesitation, and Nero and Tevin trailed after her.
When the four of them were inside, Merek didn't waste time.
"I found the school buses," he said. "They still have fuel. All of them. They should get us to White Shop camp."
Felicity let out a long sigh of relief and closed her eyes for a brief moment. Nero leaned his back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling, and Tevin's lips curled into a small, hopeful smile.
"That's the good news…" Merek added quietly.
The relief in the room vanished.
"There's bad news?" Nero's eyes widened in alarm.
Merek nodded slowly. "I came across a zombie unlike the rest. You all know of the Type One zombies by now. But this one… was something else. A Stage 1, an evolved version. I don't know how many stages there are, but I know what I saw. That thing brought down an entire two-storey building. And it nearly killed me."
The weight of his words dropped like a stone.
"You're telling me these zombies can bring down buildings now?" Nero asked, scowling, disbelief thick in his voice.
"I don't care if you believe me or not," Merek replied coldly. "But I brought this from its corpse."
He opened his bag and laid two items on the counter: a small black container with a twistable lid and a pair of sleek, crimson-edged gauntlets.
"This balm," he began, holding up the container, "can heal almost anything in a few hours—depending on how severe the injury is. My ankle was wrecked, my chest and thigh wounds reopened after the fight. This fixed all of it."
Felicity's eyes sharpened with sudden interest. She bit her lower lip without realizing it, a flicker of calculation crossing her face.
"And these…" Merek tapped the gauntlets, "amplify fire abilities. They boost firepower and reduce essence consumption."
Nero's jaw tightened. He had the creeping sense that Merek was baiting them—but the bait was just too tempting to ignore.
"What do you want for the gauntlets?" he asked, his voice firm and level.
"You can't give me anything I want right now," Merek said, looking him in the eye. "I'm giving you these because we need firepower. We've got to protect all these people."
Nero frowned. He didn't believe for a second that Merek was suddenly selfless. He was certain Merek wasn't this selfless but what he didn't understand was after facing the Stage 1 zombie and narrowly surviving, Merek decided to at least empower his allies, even if they could be temporary.
If they faced something similar, even with his increased level and wraith, that monstrosity would still have the advantage!
Felicity stepped forward, pulling something from her bag. "Then I'll trade for the balm," she said, holding out a white mask.
Merek took it and read its description:
Item Type: [Mask]
Bridal Mask: [Grants the power to become twice as fast once worn. Can also allow you turn invisible for 1 minute. Leaves the user weakened for 10 minutes after use.]
He blinked, then stared at the item in his hand.
It was good. Great, even. But it didn't suit his combat style, nor would it benefit any of his undead. Meanwhile, the balm—capable of healing deep gashes and broken bones without any drawbacks—was priceless. Greater than any item in their combined possession.
He handed the mask back.
"No," Merek said flatly.
Felicity's expression shifted, calm but firm, her eyes steady on Merek's. She turned to Nero with a subtle nod, and he immediately understood. Without protest, he grabbed a reluctant Tevin by the arm and headed for the door.
"What about me? Is there nothing for me?" Tevin protested, his voice laced with wounded betrayal as he was practically dragged out.
Merek said nothing, merely shaking his head. Despite the chaos of the world and the recent loss of his father, Tevin somehow kept an almost infuriating optimism. It made him… peculiar.
In a way, endearing. But Merek's focus was now on the woman standing in front of him, gorgeous, silent, determined, like she was about to step into battle.
"I want the balm," Felicity said, her tone even.
"I can't give it to you," Merek replied immediately, firm and unmoved.
"Then… Can I at least scoop a little?" Her voice softened, but the edge of need was unmistakable.
Merek tilted his head, studying her. "What for? I don't see any visible wounds."
Felicity let out a long, weary sigh—then began to pull at her clothes.
Merek's eyes widened instinctively, and his breath caught in his throat. He had stared down rotting, snarling abominations. He had watched a Stage 1 mutant zombie tear through concrete and steel. Yet none of that had disarmed him the way this moment did.
Without hesitation, Felicity slipped off her jacket, then lifted her top over her head, exposing the flawless porcelain skin of her back. Her bra sat high, unyielding, but just beneath it was a band of thick white wrapping pressed tightly against her lower back and ribs.
Another breath. Then, with hands that trembled slightly—perhaps from pain, or perhaps from the vulnerability she hated—Felicity began to unwind the wrapping.
What lay beneath stole Merek's composure.
Four deep, angry gashes curved across her back. Swollen. Red. Ripped skin that had begun to heal unevenly. The marks were unmistakably from a large claw, perhaps even the monstrous dog from the battle he had witnessed days ago.
How had she hidden this all this time?
He thought back. That morning, she hadn't looked like someone who'd barely survived a fight. Her posture, her movements—calculated and sharp.
But now it was obvious. She had been carrying this wound for days. Quietly. Silently. Enduring the pain beneath a mask of indifference.
She must have used a healing wrap, but it hadn't been enough. Not for something like this.
"Please…" she whispered, eyes averted as though ashamed. Her voice was thin, almost fragile. "I'll pay you back."
The words hung between them like a veil.
Merek didn't respond right away. He simply raised a brow, scooped a small amount of the balm, and stepped closer.
As his fingers made contact with her skin, Felicity flinched, just a little. A tremor ran through her.
A soft cry escaped her lips as Merek spread the balm gently across the first gash. It was warm and thick, clinging like salve but instantly soothing.
He kept going, slow and deliberate, tracing each ragged line with careful pressure.
"Ahh…" she exhaled again, her voice strained, somewhere between relief and suppressed pain.
It was only then that his mind began connecting the clues.
The claw marks. The absence of torn clothing. The silence. She must have fought at night. Wounded, she had retreated and healed in a building, all so she could return and claim her prize. She must have been devoid of strength to leave the essence core of the dog and seek refuge.
Merek was silent. Focused.
But then, just as a third pained gasp left Felicity's lips, the door to the kitchen burst open.