The cold wind bit into Alucard's skin as he peeked out from behind a half-collapsed concrete wall—the ruins of what was once the city's administrative building. The sky was a dense, ashen gray, thick clouds seemingly refusing to let any sunlight through. The infection had ravaged this place for years; a once-bustling city now reduced to rubble and the whispers of rotting corpses in forgotten corners. Around them, footprints of both humans and zombies mixed in the gray sludge, partially covered by a light drizzle of acidic rain falling from the tainted sky.
Beside him, Ruby stood still, seemingly unaffected by the cold that gnawed at Alucard. He glanced briefly at Alucard with those dark, glinting eyes—pale yet strangely animated. His breath emitted a faint mist—though long dead, Ruby was not fully subject to the freezing air. In his eyes, Alucard had once seen a flicker of intuition: like a tremor of waves piercing through the ruins, sensing the presence of something distant.
Alucard tightened his heavy coat—a layered, modified fabric with thermal lining—but the awareness that he was merely human kept his blood racing. He looked at Ruby briefly and whispered, "What do you sense, Ruby?"
Ruby gazed toward the ruins on the horizon, his voice whispering inside Alucard's head—a psychic echo only he could hear.
"A horde... approaching from the north. Their tracks are faint, but the vibrations are strong."
Ruby's tone was calm, yet tense. He raised one hand toward the rubble, as if feeling the tremors rippling beneath the frozen earth.
Alucard nodded, heartbeat quickening. He knew: this area, the edge of the Infected Territory in Asia, was still crawling with unpredictable mutant variants. Medical supplies were low, and parts needed for their tracked vehicle had to be scavenged further south. But first, they needed a brief rest inside this small shelter—a fortified underground room reinforced with concrete rubble, padded with sand and leftover wood to keep out the freezing gusts.
---
Brief Respite in the Shelter
Inside the cramped room, Alucard opened his backpack: dry rations, high-calorie food packets, a few bottles of water distilled from melted ice, and leftover medical supplies—painkillers, emergency antibiotics, respiratory drops. He prepared a bandage and cleaned the old wound on his left arm—a zombie bite from days ago that nearly got infected, now just a rough scar. His fingers tingled from poor circulation in the cold. He put on insulated gloves, though numbness still crept in from time to time.
Ruby sat in a corner, observing quietly while occasionally moving his fingers as if feeling the airwaves. Alucard shared the dry food—stiff bread and preserved meat—with Ruby and the two support members now lying down: a young technician named Hana and a mercenary named Malik. Hana coughed weakly, her voice choked by dark phlegm—signs of a mild infection from contaminated water. Malik cradled his empty sleeve, the result of an amputation from a zombie bite during an earlier battle; the skin around the wound was thickened and occasionally bled frozen clots. The four of them—Alucard, Ruby, and the two support members—had been navigating the ruins of the old city for weeks.
Alucard pressed a fresh bandage to Hana's arm, checking her temperature. "Hana, are you still holding up?" he asked quietly.
Hana looked at him with half-lidded eyes, her lips trembling. "I'll manage… as long as we get out of here soon. The water's getting worse. My cough's getting worse."
Alucard suppressed a grim burp from the nausea her phlegm triggered—the dark mucus he had seen before turned his stomach. He covered Hana's mouth with a clean cloth dampened with minimal antiseptic, then attached a makeshift portable oxygen tube to help her breathe a little better. He knew: if Hana kept coughing up poisonous phlegm without proper treatment, the infection could soon spread to her lungs. But there was no other choice—Hana was essential to study and repair the old diesel engines they would find in Rotwood Jungle. If she collapsed completely, the team would lose their only technician.
On a seat near the wall, Malik watched Alucard's face.
"We don't have much time," he muttered. "Ruby, do you sense anything else besides the zombies?" he asked bitterly—as if aware Ruby might perceive something even more dangerous.
Ruby blinked slowly, his psychic voice echoing in Alucard's mind:
"The traces are getting closer. Many infected bodies. A concentrated force. They're coming… for prey—us. Rest time is almost over."
Ruby turned to Malik, and though no words left his mouth, his thoughts were clearly heard:
"There's a massive tremor underground... the sound of cracking ice. But this is dry ground—it means frozen zombies are emerging here?"
Ruby visibly shuddered, though his body felt no cold.
Alucard frowned. He knew frozen zombies—Icebound Shamblers—were usually confined to polar zones, not in dry steppe terrain like this. But infection and mutation could shift old variants unpredictably. He patted Ruby's shoulder.
"Let's get ready. I'll set up a basic trap at the shelter's entrance. We'll catch a little rest—"
But his voice caught. He realized they'd need to move before the horde reached them.
---
Distant Howl in the Ruins
Outside, the overcast sky rumbled faintly. Suddenly, a long howl echoed between the ruined walls. The sound broke the silence, sending soft tremors through the frozen earth. Hana, lying beside Alucard, let out a weak scream, clutching his hand.
"What is that...?" her panicked mind cried.
Alucard took a deep breath.
"That's a Howler," he muttered. "Probably a forest/steppe variant—Shard Howler? But here... I don't know. We need to prepare."
Malik stood up, rummaging through his bag to retrieve a heated combat knife—the blade warmed by a tiny portable reactor so it wouldn't stick to ice.
"How many of them?" he asked.
Ruby closed his eyes briefly, then opened them.
"They're moving in formation, some of them are leading. If we go out in the open, we'll be surrounded. We need to draw them into narrow corridors in the ruins, split their ranks. Set traps: makeshift mines using the last of our explosive wires."
Ruby looked directly at Alucard—ready to act as the decoy.
Alucard nodded, instructing Hana,
"Mark the narrow corridor near the exit—where the ground's cracked. If zombies pass through, the soil might collapse slightly, trapping them."
Hana nodded weakly, struggling to stand despite her worsening cough. Malik helped rig up improvised explosive wires—low-grade fuel, sharp metal shards, tied beneath wooden frames. If triggered remotely or by vibration sensors, the trap would explode, shredding zombie legs and torsos.
The shards were small but sharp enough to shatter ankles, the explosion sending metal shards and thawed coagulated blood splashing through the narrow hallway, creating a choke point that could trap more zombies behind them.
Meanwhile, Alucard and Malik readied their weapons: short-barreled shotguns loaded with incendiary rounds to burn frozen corpses or halt spreading infection, modified pistols, and thermal knives. Ruby remained agile, his body immune to cold but still vulnerable to primal zombie variants—those capable of triggering his latent instincts.
Alucard remained alert: Ruby's sentience was a fragile thread, and in the presence of certain ancient mutations, that thread could snap.