The morning was not quiet.
Outside the manor walls, the world moaned. Zombies shuffled in uneven clusters across the cracked road, their eyes clouded with a pale sheen, their jaws gnashing hungrily at nothing and everything. The smell of rot carried in the wind, acrid and clinging.
Alvin, shoulders squared and expression unreadable, stepped over the threshold with measured calm. Behind him, Xavier trailed easily, dark eyes sharp with a faint trace of fire flickering in his palm. Daniel, armed with a short steel pipe he had scavenged earlier, walked stiffly, his posture the very definition of someone who would rather be at a desk.
Alvin stopped just beyond the iron gates and narrowed his gaze at the moving figures in the distance.
The closest zombie had once been a man in a delivery uniform. But now, its limbs jerked unnaturally fast—far quicker than the sluggish shamble Alvin was used to. In a blink, the creature darted forward, landing on all fours, its body coiling like a predator.
Alvin's brows knitted. "They're faster."
Xavier stepped forward instinctively, fire flickering stronger in his palm. "Stronger, too. Look at the joints."
The zombie screeched and lunged. Alvin barely moved—he raised his hand, mana curling outward. A translucent sigil formed in the air, glowing faint blue.
The creature hit the shield, its skull cracking against the barrier, then fell to the dirt with a strangled hiss.
Xavier crushed it under his boot before it could rise again.
"Agile," Alvin muttered, frowning deeper. "They weren't like this yesterday."
Daniel let out a low whistle, eyes fixed on another zombie that scrambled unnervingly across a car roof with its fingers hooked like claws. "Upgraded," he said flatly. "As if the universe decided they weren't terrifying enough."
Alvin glanced sideways at him. "Exactly."
The three pressed forward, clearing a path toward the abandoned supermart at the end of the block. Its broken windows glimmered in sunlight, glass shards scattered across the asphalt. Empty carts lay on their sides like corpses of their own.
.
The smell hit them first—rancid air, spoiled meat, and stagnant water. Rats scuttled across overturned shelves, and the sound of buzzing flies filled the air.
Xavier clicked his tongue. "We're really doing this before breakfast?"
Alvin shot him a look. "Unless you'd prefer to starve while waiting for Luis and Jax to learn how not to burn eggs."
Daniel coughed into his hand, muttering. "At least their failure doesn't reek like this place."
Xavier arched a brow. "You volunteered to come, Daniel. Don't start whining."
Daniel stopped dead in his tracks, affront clear in his glare. "Whining? This is called logical complaint, younger brother. Something you wouldn't understand."
"Please," Xavier scoffed, kicking aside a broken bottle. "Logic doesn't help when corpses are trying to eat your face. Fire does."
"Ah, yes, let's all bow to the Great Pyromaniac," Daniel retorted smoothly. "Do you ever think about conserving energy before you torch everything?"
Alvin, walking ahead, exhaled slowly through his nose. His voice cut sharp and cool. "Children."
Both brothers stopped.
Daniel bristled. "I'm twenty-four."
Xavier folded his arms. "And I'm not a child."
"You sound like one," Alvin said simply, not even turning back. His robe-like coat swayed as he moved through the aisle of collapsed shelves. "You bicker louder than the zombies groan."
Daniel opened his mouth, ready to argue, but Xavier's voice came first, deceptively casual.
"Alvin is to be respected," Xavier said. "If he says we're acting like children, then we are."
Daniel snapped his head toward him. "Oh, so now you're suddenly the obedient one? Since when do you listen to anyone?"
"Since Alvin," Xavier answered without hesitation.
The blunt honesty in his tone was enough to make Daniel roll his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't get stuck.
Alvin's lips curved just slightly. "See? One of you is capable of reason."
Daniel scowled, muttering, "More like capable of kissing ass."
Xavier's grin was pure wickedness. "Jealous?"
"Of what? Being a lovesick fool?"
"Of having someone who actually loves me, yes."
Daniel raised his pipe as if he might lob it across Xavier's head. "I will not dignify that."
"You just did."
"Enough." Alvin's voice cracked like a whip. He turned to face them, eyes gleaming with cold amusement. "I said zombies were faster, not you two."
.
The tension didn't last long, because from the shadows at the end of the canned goods aisle, a shriek tore through the stale air.
A group of five zombies rushed them, far quicker than any they had faced before. Their movements were animalistic—joints snapping backward as they skittered across walls and leapt from shelf to shelf.
Alvin raised his hand immediately, a rune spinning into existence midair. It burst outward into a net of shimmering light, catching two of the creatures and slamming them into the ground.
Xavier stepped forward, fire roaring to life in his palm, his robe sleeve pushed back to reveal scorched skin still healing from earlier experiments. He threw a sweeping arc of flame that engulfed another two zombies. Their screeches filled the air before silence fell.
Daniel darted in, his pipe slamming clean into the last zombie's jaw. Bone cracked, but the creature only staggered before lunging harder. Daniel gritted his teeth, braced his stance, and shoved the metal through its skull with raw force.
The body crumpled.
The three stood among the wreckage, breath mingling in the heavy air.
Alvin lowered his hand slowly. His expression was sharp, contemplative. "They're coordinated."
Xavier wiped ash from his cheek. "Which means they're evolving."
Daniel adjusted his grip on the pipe, grimacing. "Next thing we know, they'll be holding strategy meetings."
Alvin actually snorted at that. "If they start speaking, I'm killing myself."
Xavier smirked. "Don't worry, I'll do it for you."
Alvin gave him a flat look. "How considerate."
Daniel pinched the bridge of his nose. "How are you two flirting while standing on corpses?"
Xavier shot him a wicked grin. "Practice."
Alvin smirked, stepping past them to the shelves. "You'll understand when you're less constipated."
Daniel blinked. "Excuse me—"
"Emotionally," Alvin clarified, his tone razor-sharp.
Xavier outright laughed. "Told you."
Daniel made a noise halfway between outrage and disbelief, swinging his pipe loosely at the air. "I regret leaving the mansion with you two. I'd rather listen to Jax sing off-key while cooking."
"You're welcome," Alvin said dryly, already scanning for salvageable goods.
.
They moved carefully through the ruined supermart, gathering what little was still usable—dented cans, packets of dried noodles, and a few bottles of water buried under rubble.
But the brothers weren't done.
Every aisle, every pause, brought new sparks of verbal war.
"You're too reckless," Daniel accused, watching Xavier set another corpse alight.
"You're too slow," Xavier shot back.
"I'm efficient."
"You're boring."
"I'm thorough."
"You're annoying."
Alvin finally grabbed two cans and lobbed them lightly at both their heads. "Shut up."
They both went silent instantly, rubbing their skulls like scolded children.
Alvin leveled a look at them, his voice smooth as cold steel. "The more time you waste on sibling squabbles, the less time we have to analyze why the undead suddenly learned gymnastics."
The point landed.
Daniel sighed, serious again. "He's right. If they keep upgrading, we'll be in trouble."
Xavier nodded reluctantly. "Agreed. Their reflexes are already animal-level. If they gain intelligence—"
"We adapt faster," Alvin cut in. His voice was final, absolute. "That's all."
The weight of his certainty grounded them, even as the silence of the ruined store pressed in again.
And for the first time since stepping outside, both Xavier and Daniel kept their mouths shut.
For at least five seconds.
Then Xavier smirked. "Still more useful than you, though."
Daniel groaned. "I hate you."
Alvin pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, "Children."