The night air was heavy, thick with the stink of smoke and blood.
Zeke stood at the broken window, knife steady in his hand, eyes fixed on the distant figure dragging itself through the crimson haze. The mutant moved wrong—jerky, twisted, swollen with unnatural muscle. One claw scraped sparks against the asphalt, dragging a half-crushed corpse behind it like a trophy.
He watched in silence until dawn began to bleed pale light across the ruins. Then he turned and woke the group.
"There's one close," he said. His voice was flat, controlled.
Mara's eyes widened instantly. Toby cursed under his breath. Daryl swallowed hard, tightening his grip on the pipe in his hand. Lena just stared, hood shadowing her face.
"What do we do?" Mara whispered, already trembling.
"Keep moving," Daryl said quickly, his tone shaky but forceful. "Before it finds us. Quiet and fast."
Zeke didn't argue. He doubted quiet would save them. Mutants weren't shamblers. They hunted.
They slipped into the streets, shadows beneath the red haze. The world was hushed, the silence broken only by the crunch of glass under their feet and the distant groans of the dead.
Zeke stayed at the rear again, watching their clumsy movements. Mara's breath was too loud. Toby dragged his cleaver across the pavement without realizing. Even Daryl's "quiet steps" clanged whenever he hit loose debris.
The mutant would hear them.
It did.
The roar split the air like thunder.
The group froze. Zeke's hand tightened on his knife.
The mutant rounded the corner with a speed that belied its size. Its swollen limbs bulged grotesquely, one arm longer than the other, claws carving trenches in the ground. Its eyes—if they could be called that—glowed faintly white in the haze.
Mara screamed. Toby dropped his cleaver. Daryl raised his pipe like it could mean anything.
Then it charged.
The mutant slammed into a car, flipping it onto its side as if it weighed nothing. Metal screamed, glass shattered. The survivors scattered, panic breaking them apart.
Zeke didn't run. He couldn't. If it caught one of them, the noise would draw more.
The mutant lunged straight for Daryl. The pipe swung wide and useless. The claws came down—
Zeke intercepted, driving his knife up into the mutant's forearm. The blade sank deep, black blood spraying, but the monster barely faltered. It swung, slamming Zeke into the wall hard enough to rattle his ribs.
Pain shot through him, but he rolled away before the claws gouged the concrete where his skull had been.
"MOVE!" Zeke barked, his voice cutting through their panic.
Mara scrambled behind an overturned cart. Toby fumbled for his cleaver, pale as chalk. Daryl just stood frozen, eyes wide.
The mutant roared again, swinging wildly. Zeke darted in, boots slamming against the ground, gloves tightening around his knife. He slashed across the monster's knee, carving into the bulging muscle. The leg buckled for a second, but the thing caught itself on its long arm, spinning toward him.
The claws ripped across his shoulder, tearing fabric, slicing shallow into flesh. The reinforced jacket slowed it enough to keep him alive. Blood soaked through anyway.
Zeke gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain. He pivoted, driving his knife into the creature's side. The mutant bellowed, swinging him off like a ragdoll.
He hit the ground hard, breath ripped from his lungs.
The others weren't helping. They couldn't. Daryl's pipe bounced off thick hide. Toby's cleaver skittered off bone. Mara screamed every time it moved closer.
They're dead weight, Zeke thought coldly. Distractions at best.
But distractions were useful.
The mutant's attention flicked between the survivors. Each second they drew its focus was another second for Zeke to strike.
He pushed himself up, blood dripping down his arm, and charged again.
He aimed for its leg this time. While it swiped at Toby, Zeke drove his knife deep into the tendon at the back of its knee. The mutant shrieked, collapsing partly to one side.
Zeke tore the blade free and lunged up its back, boots digging into swollen flesh. He jammed the knife into its neck, twisting with all his strength.
The mutant thrashed violently, slamming him against rubble. His vision blurred, ribs screaming. But he didn't let go.
With a final roar, he drove the blade through the base of its skull.
The monster convulsed, claws digging trenches in the ground, then finally collapsed.
Silence fell.
Zeke staggered to his feet, chest heaving. His arm bled freely, his jacket shredded at the shoulder, but he was still standing.
The Core pulsed above the mutant's chest, massive, brighter than any before.
The System whispered:
Death Core detected. Devour?
Zeke didn't hesitate. "Yes."
The black smoke hit him like an explosion. His body seized, muscles tearing and reforging, veins burning with fire. His vision went white, teeth clenched against a scream.
Every nerve screamed with agony, then steadied, reshaped into something sharper, stronger.
Devour complete. +20 points. +50 EXP.
Level Up: Level 4 achieved.
He collapsed to his knees, gasping. The world snapped back in around him. His grip on the knife was unshakable. His heartbeat thundered steady, iron in his veins.
He was stronger again.
The survivors were staring.
Daryl's mouth opened and closed like a fish, eyes wide with awe and terror. Mara clutched her pack, trembling, whispering something too soft to hear. Toby muttered, voice shaking, "He's not human. He can't be."
Zeke stood slowly, wiping the blade on his ruined jacket. His eyes were cold, steady.
"You're alive because of me," he said flatly.
No one argued.
Later, as the group huddled in a burned-out office, Daryl tried to speak. "You… you saved us. Again. You're the only reason we—" His voice cracked. "You have to lead us. You'll get us to the evac zone."
Zeke didn't answer. He just sat apart, knife across his knees, eyes scanning the crimson-stained windows.
Mara looked at him like he was both savior and monster. Toby glared with thinly veiled fear. Lena stayed silent, but her hood shifted just enough to reveal sharp, watching eyes.
They would never understand what he was becoming.
When the others slept, Zeke opened the Shop. New words burned into his vision:
Tactical vest – 12 points
Hatchet – 10 points
Antibiotics – 6 points
Rope & climbing kit – 8 points
He hovered over the vest. Protection. The hatchet tempted him—more reach, more weight.
Before he could decide, a sound rolled through the city.
Howls.
Not shamblers. Not runners.
More mutants.
Zeke closed the Shop, eyes narrowing at the crimson skyline.
The apocalypse wasn't slowing down. It was escalating.
And he would have to escalate with it.