However, one zombie, slightly more intelligent than the rest, could not stop himself from murmuring, his voice low and hoarse.
"If… if we dare to fight that other side… there's a chance we might never survive."
His words trembled, as though even he was afraid of his own thoughts.
Isla turned sharply, her expression ruthless.
"Those who don't survive were never meant to," she snapped coldly. "We are already dead."
The zombie with a little intelligence struggled inwardly, his chest tightening with a strange, aching pressure.
'This is not what I want,' he thought helplessly.
Somewhere deep in his fractured heart, he knew he should not be attacking zombies nor humans alike.
This was the same feeling that had driven him before, the reason he had repeatedly tried to stop the former zombie king from slaughtering humanity.
It was why he had even persuaded the zombie king to approach the Silvy Base, clinging to the faint hope that a solution might exist.
