The city felt heavier that morning.
The crimson haze didn't burn so bright, but it pressed down all the same, carrying with it the smell of smoke and rot. Every corner looked darker, every shadow heavier.
Zeke walked at the rear of the group, knife resting in his gloved hand. He barely felt the wound on his shoulder anymore. His body thrummed with power, sharper than yesterday, steadier than the day before that. Level four. Stronger. Faster. Alive in ways the others couldn't understand.
The four survivors moved ahead of him, clumsy as ever. Daryl muttered about the evac zone, promising it was close. Mara clutched her pack like a lifeline. Toby scowled and muttered about wasted effort. Lena said nothing, eyes darting to every sound.
Zeke scanned the streets. His gut twisted. Something was wrong.
The air wasn't empty—it was vibrating.
At first it was a murmur. A low, droning moan rolling across the ruined buildings. Then another joined it. Then another.
Zeke's jaw tightened.
The noise swelled into a chorus, then a tide. Groaning, shuffling, endless.
Daryl froze. "What… what is that?"
Zeke's answer was cold. "A horde."
The sound became a roar of decay. From the far street, they appeared.
Dozens. Then hundreds. Shamblers pouring around corners, spilling into the road like a flood of rotten flesh. Their jaws snapped, arms clawed, hunger burning in empty eyes. Among them darted shapes faster, leaner—Runners weaving between their slow brethren like wolves among sheep.
Mara screamed. Toby's cleaver clattered against the ground. Daryl shouted something about running, but his voice cracked with terror.
Zeke didn't wait for orders. "MOVE!"
The chase was chaos.
The group bolted down the street, stumbling over rubble, scrambling past wrecked cars. The horde followed like a tidal wave, moans and shrieks shaking the air.
Zeke's boots hammered against asphalt, lungs burning with cold precision. He cut down stragglers that closed in—quick stabs through skulls, each movement efficient. The System's fire kept his limbs strong, sharper than fear.
But the others…
Mara tripped twice, nearly dragged down before Zeke yanked her free. Toby swung wildly at shadows, wasting breath and energy. Daryl shouted orders no one listened to. Lena ran silent, hood low, her breath sharp and controlled.
They were slowing him down.
They'll die, Zeke thought grimly. And I can't stop it.
The horde surged faster, runners weaving ahead. One lunged for Mara.
Zeke didn't think. He slashed its throat, spun, and drove the knife into its skull. Black blood sprayed hot across his cheek. He shoved Mara forward.
"RUN."
Her eyes widened, but she obeyed, stumbling after the others.
Zeke grit his teeth. He'd wasted seconds saving her. Seconds he might regret.
They reached an intersection.
The horde split, pouring into every street, every alley. The moans became deafening, pressing from all sides.
Zeke's eyes darted, searching escape routes. Cars jammed the road, buildings collapsed, side streets flooded with corpses.
"Left!" Daryl shouted, panic cracking his voice.
"No, right!" Toby yelled.
Mara sobbed, clutching her pack.
Zeke saw the truth. There was no way together. Not anymore.
The horde surged.
Zeke shoved a dumpster into the path, slowing a cluster just enough to clear a few feet.
"Go!" he barked.
The group scattered. Daryl and Mara bolted left. Toby and Lena darted right.
Zeke cut down another runner that lunged for him, its claws scraping sparks from his jacket. He turned to follow—
But the horde closed in.
Bodies crashed into cars, moaning, clawing, filling the street in seconds. Their numbers swallowed the survivors whole, drowning them from Zeke's sight.
"Mara!" someone screamed.
Then nothing but groans.
Zeke fought, every swing precise, every stab final. He cut down three, four, five—but for each that fell, ten more pressed forward.
A claw raked across his vest, tearing fabric. Another corpse slammed him against the wall, jaws snapping an inch from his throat. He drove the knife up through its chin, kicked it off, and kept moving.
His lungs burned, arms heavy, but his steps never faltered.
He scaled the hood of a car, vaulted a collapsed wall, cut another shambler across the skull. His boots hit concrete, knife dripping.
And then, for the first time since the world ended, he realized—
He was alone again.
He ducked into a collapsed stairwell, shoving debris behind him until it formed a crude barricade. The moans pressed outside, bodies scraping against stone, but none broke through.
Zeke leaned against the wall, chest heaving, knife slick in his grip. His gloves were soaked with blood, jacket shredded.
Silence crept back, broken only by distant groans. The horde moved on.
He sat there in the dark, eyes closed, listening to the echo of his own breath.
Daryl, Mara, Toby, Lena—gone. Maybe dead. Maybe scattered into the city. He didn't know.
He didn't care. Not really.
Tools lost are tools replaced.
But a sliver of conflict lingered in his chest, sharp and unwelcome. Was he glad they were gone… or disappointed?
He opened his eyes, crouched over the corpses he'd killed in the chase.
Devour?
"Yes."
The smoke poured into him, burning, stitching his torn muscles stronger. His ribs eased, his arms steadied, his breath deepened.
Devour complete. +10 points. +25 EXP.
He exhaled slowly, the strength settling in. He was alive. He was stronger. That was what mattered.
The Shop unfolded before him again, words glowing in the dim light:
Tactical vest – 12 pts
Hatchet – 10 pts
Antibiotics – 6 pts
Rope & climbing kit – 8 pts
He hovered over the vest, debating. His shoulder ached, his jacket shredded, but he hesitated.
Because outside, faint but sharp, came a new sound.
Gunfire.
Not wild, panicked swings. Not pipes and cleavers.
Disciplined bursts. Controlled shots.
Zeke's eyes narrowed.
Organized survivors.
The world wasn't just monsters and stragglers anymore. There were factions out there. Armed. Dangerous.
And he was walking straight into them.