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Author Note:
' ' = When thinking in mind.
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CRACKLE!
The brittle snap of burning wood echoed faintly in the shed, carried by the restless wind that slipped through the half-opened door. The dim glow of a small bonfire flickered there, carefully placed so its warmth reached inside without letting the smoke choke the stale air.
The brown-haired girl stirred. Her eyelids, heavy as lead, lifted with effort. Her first sight was the dull orange fire licking at the shadows. For a moment, she thought she was hallucinating; warmth was something she hadn't felt in days. She blinked again. No—it was real.
Her gaze wandered. Beside her, the purple-haired girl leaned limply against her shoulder, still unconscious. On her other side, the pink-haired and blonde-haired girls lay motionless but breathing. Relief washed through her, but only faintly, for even lifting her own hand felt like dragging a stone. Her body was so weak that it obeyed her only in fragments.
She tried again, trembling, but her strength gave out, and her arm fell uselessly at her side. Breath escaped her lips in frustration. Gathering what Will she had left, she nudged the girl beside her.
Brown-haired Girl: Kurumi-chan… Kurumi-chan…
The purple-haired girl's lashes fluttered open. Her eyes were clouded with exhaustion, but she managed to focus on the weary face before her.
Purple-haired Girl: Good morning, Rii-san… Are you alright?
Brown-haired Girl: Um. What about you? How are you feeling?
Purple-haired Girl: Too tired to even move.
Brown-haired Girl: I am the same.
Her eyes flicked toward the fire. The shadows writhed on the shed's walls, strange and tall, stretching with every crack of flame. She gestured toward it weakly.
Brown-haired Girl: Did you… light it?
The purple-haired girl turned her head slowly. The glow painted her pale skin in flickers.
Purple-haired Girl: No. I can't even sit on my own. Dragging us here would be impossible.
Her voice faltered. Memory returned in pieces: the storm of the infected breaking through the school. The four of them fleeing upward, step after step, until the rooftop was their only refuge. How they had locked themselves inside this shed, barricading the flimsy door with anything they could find. How the rain never ceased, and with it came the endless, restless shuffling of the infected outside.
And finally—hunger. Thirst. The last scrap of food was swallowed days ago. Their bodies had wasted in the dark until their limbs refused to obey them. The purple-haired girl remembered lying down, convinced she would never open her eyes again.
Purple-haired Girl: If not you, then… could it be Yuki or Miki?
Brown-haired Girl: I don't know. We need to ask.
Turning to the other side, she nudged the pink-haired girl gently.
Brown-haired Girl: Yuki-chan… Yuki-chan, wake up.
The girl stirred, rubbed her eyes, and yawned with the carelessness of a child.
Pink-haired Girl: Good morning, Rii-san… Is the food ready? I'm hungry.
The brown-haired girl gave a faint, tired smile.
Brown-haired Girl: Good morning, Yuki-chan. Though I don't think we're in a situation where we can think about such a thing now.
Pink-haired Girl: Huh? Is that so?
Blonde-haired Girl: Seriously, Yuki-senpai. Food is the only thing always on your mind.
The last girl had awoken, her blonde hair messy against her cheeks. She sat up slightly, glaring.
Pink-haired Girl: Don't say that, Mii-kun. Aren't you hungry too?
Blonde-haired Girl: I am not.
Pink-haired Girl: Eh!!! No way.
The blonde-haired girl snorted and looked away, hiding her own hunger poorly. The two older girls watched this brief exchange with thin smiles, a frail moment of normalcy in the ruin.
Purple-haired Girl: Typically, Yuki.
Brown-haired Girl: At least they have some energy.
When the chatter settled, Rii spoke again.
Brown-haired Girl: By the way, Yuki-chan, Miki-chan… were you the ones who dragged us here and lit that fire?
The two younger girls blinked at each other.
Pink-haired Girl & Blonde-haired Girl: Huh?
Blonde-haired Girl: Eh? Who lit it?
Pink-haired Girl: Wow! It's a bonfire!
Their surprise was genuine. That answer chilled the air between the four of them.
Brown-haired Girl: If it wasn't you two… and it wasn't us… Then who?
Purple-haired Girl: It means someone else has entered the school. And they must have done this.
Brown-haired Girl: Then does that mean the 'they' have left?
Blonde-haired Girl: I don't think so. If 'they' were gone, whoever lit the fire would have carried us down to safety, not left us here.
The logic weighed heavily.
Purple-haired Girl: But I don't hear anyone outside. The rooftop feels empty.
Blonde-haired Girl: Could be they went searching for supplies? The school had plenty in stock.
The words dropped, sour and heavy. Supplies. Survival. They all knew what the school really was. Not just a place of learning, but a hidden shelter designed for catastrophe. A survival base under the guise of classrooms and hallways.
The silence deepened.
Then Yuki laughed. A small giggle that grew, shaking in her chest. The others turned to her sharply. Her head hung low, then lifted—her pink eyes gleaming with childish light.
Pink-haired Girl: Heh… heh… heh… It's a Hero.
Brown-haired Girl & Purple-haired Girl & Blonde-haired Girl: Eh?
Purple-haired Girl: A… Hero?
Pink-haired Girl: Yes! A Hero who braved the storm, defeated every enemy, and came to rescue us.
Her words rang with conviction. The silence that followed was suffocating. The fire popped, casting strange shadows over their weary faces.
Pink-haired Girl: Right? Right? Right?
The desperation in her voice forced them to answer.
Brown-haired Girl: Well… probably.
Blonde-haired Girl: Senpai, you've watched too many shows. That doesn't happen in real life.
Pink-haired Girl: No way!
Blonde-haired Girl: Yes, way. Even Rii-senpai says so.
Brown-haired Girl: …For us, our military was always our Hero.
Blonde-haired Girl: See?
Yuki's face fell. The light in her eyes dimmed, her lips pressing into a slight, wounded pout. The others forced faint smiles, but no comfort came.
Rii turned toward Kurumi to shift the subject.
Brown-haired Girl: What about you, Kurumi-chan? What do you think?
There was no reply. Only silence.
Brown-haired Girl: Kurumi-chan?
Her voice wavered. Kurumi's face was pale, her wide eyes fixed on the far corner of the shed.
The others followed her gaze. Slowly. Dread curled in their stomachs.
And there they saw it.
A pair of narrow, crimson eyes glowed from the darkness. Not flickering like firelight. Steady. Watching. Unblinking.
The gaze of a predator.
The silence in the shed turned to pressure, heavy and suffocating.
Like prey caught under the hunter's eyes.
.
.
.
The four girls froze, their breath shallow, as the glowing eyes in the darkness stared back at them.
Then—
TAP.
TAP.
…
The steady approach of footsteps echoed against the shed walls, each strike reverberating in their bones. Their hearts beat painfully fast, as if each step pressed down on their very existence. They wanted to run, to scream, to fight—but their frail bodies betrayed them. They could only watch.
Out of the black came a figure. The bonfire's light caught him, crimson-black cape shifting with the faint rooftop wind, and those burning eyes revealed themselves fully—Kaelthorn. His gaze was devoid of warmth, his towering presence making the air itself heavy.
The girls recoiled, terror rising like bile. His eyes glowed unnaturally red, a predator's gaze that froze them in place. That glow always came when his body finished processing the blood he had absorbed. After clearing the rooftop of the infected—tearing through them in silence, reducing their grotesque movements to lifeless heaps—he had consumed their blood, harvesting what strength it carried. Only then had he returned to the shed, carrying the unconscious girls closer to the door for fresh air and placing a controlled bonfire to keep them alive.
While waiting, he had tested himself. He had learned one truth—his power lay in blood. By focusing inward, grasping threads of it within, he had forced control, and his eyes blazed crimson as a result. That moment of discovery was also when they stirred from their sleep.
Now he stood over them, silent, unyielding. His spear—crudely fashioned from a scavenged metal rod and hardened fragments of bone—rested in his grip. The sharpened point gleamed in the firelight.
The silence pressed on. The girls, still too weak to stand, sweated beneath his gaze. Their throats tightened. They wanted to speak, but dread crushed their voices.
At last, Kaelthorn closed his eyes. When they opened again, the crimson had faded. The shift in atmosphere was subtle, but the crushing weight lifted enough for them to breathe.
The brown-haired girl swallowed and forced herself forward.
Brown-Haired Girl: H-Hello, Sir. My name is Wakasa Yūri. And they are…
Purple-Haired Girl: E-Ebisuzawa Kurumi.
Pink-Haired Girl: T-Takeya Yuki.
Blonde-Haired Girl: N-Naoki Miki.
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Pic: Ebisuzawa Kurumi, Wakasa Yūri, Takeya Yuki and Naoki Miki.
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Their voices shook, strained between fear and fragile hope.
Kaelthorn's expression didn't soften. He gave them only what he chose to give.
Kaelthorn: I am Lex Luthor.
A lie, spoken with ease. He had no intention of offering his actual name. Instead, he wore the mask of a false identity, one he had used before.
Naoki Miki: Lex… Luthor. That's… a foreign name.
'Ebisuzawa Kurumi: A foreigner…'
The girls exchanged glances, realization flashing between them.
Wakasa Yūri: Is Lex-san the one who—
Kaelthorn: Yes. And I prefer "Mr.", not "-san" or anything else. I'm not interested in how you Japanese address one another.
They froze, then nodded quickly.
Wakasa Yūri: We understand.
Kaelthorn: In any case, let's get down to business. I want information. And that information will decide your fate.
The blood drained from their faces.
Naoki Miki: What do you mean by that?
Ebisuzawa Kurumi: Are you going to…
She stopped herself, unable to say it, but the thought hung in the air.
Kaelthorn: Do you really think you woke up just from the warmth of the fire? If I hadn't wasted my own food and water on you, you'd still be rotting in a coma.
The realization hit them like ice water.
Kaelthorn: So here is the truth—if your information has no value, I won't kill you, but I will leave you. Alone. Weak. Helpless. Whether you die in hours or days won't matter to me.
Wakasa Yūri: I-Isn't… Isn't it a good thing to help someone in need?
Kaelthorn's eyes narrowed, piercing her soul. His gaze stripped her bare, laying open every weakness, every hidden fracture.
Kaelthorn: Don't speak words you don't even believe yourself.
Wakasa Yūri: !!!!
She trembled, mouth opening, but no words followed. His cold logic crushed through her veneer of optimism.
Takeya Yuki: Don't bully Rii-san! She's trying her best to help everyone.
Kaelthorn: Perhaps.
His reply was dismissive, cutting the moment short, and he turned his attention to Kurumi.
Kaelthorn: If your information is useful, I'll give you more food and water. Enough to get you four moving again.
Ebisuzawa Kurumi: … What do you want to know?
Kaelthorn: Everything you know about the Infected. And the complete blueprint of this school.
Ebisuzawa Kurumi: Infected?
Kaelthorn: The term I use for "them."
Naoki Miki: I understand why you want to know about them, but… why the blueprint?
Kaelthorn: Isn't it natural to know everything about the place you own?
Takeya Yuki: …You own?
Kaelthorn: Yes. This place belongs to me now.
Naoki Miki: Wha—Do you even have a permit for this?!
Kaelthorn: You're still talking about permits in a world that's already fallen? The only thing that matters now is strength. With it, you can claim anything.
Takeya Yuki: That's wrong! It's the wrong thing to do!
Kaelthorn: In this world, there is no "right." No "wrong." There is only survival.
The silence that followed was heavy. They understood—even if they hated the truth of it.
Kaelthorn: Now then. Let's begin.
And so the girls spoke. Their words came hesitantly at first, but they did not dare conceal anything. Instinct told them that if they tried, the man before them—the one who had pulled them back from the brink—would not hesitate to withdraw his hand and leave them to die.
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.
.
Ebisuzawa Kurumi: …The Infected… they were once people. Students. Teachers. Outsiders who came into the school when the outbreak started.
Her voice trembled as she forced the words out, each syllable heavy.
Ebisuzawa Kurumi: Two years ago, everything was normal. People waking up, catching buses and trains, opening their shops, and kids running late to class. Life was moving like it always had…
Wakasa Yūri: Except for some reports of illness in the news, there was nothing unusual. Nothing that would have prepared us for this.
Naoki Miki: After school, my friend and I decided to stroll around the mall before heading home. It was normal at first… until we heard the screams. People are shouting for help. That's when I saw it—someone biting into another person's throat.
Takeya Yuki: I remember too. I was about to go home when Megu-ne… my teacher… told me to wait. The trains had stopped, and she said it wasn't safe outside.
The air grew suffocating as their words unraveled the beginning of their nightmare. Kaelthorn didn't move, didn't interrupt—he only listened. Yet the weight of his presence pressed on them, demanding honesty.
Wakasa Yūri: At that time, I was in the garden, working for the Gardening Club. Yuki came first… and then Kurumi brought an injured student.
Ebisuzawa Kurumi: He was my senior. Someone bit him… and he was bleeding badly. I thought I could save him, so I dragged him up here.
Her lips quivered. The memory itself seemed to poison her tongue.
Wakasa Yūri: Then the noises began. The banging on the doors. The shouts turned into growls.
Takeya Yuki: When I looked outside… on the school grounds… students were tearing each other apart.
Ebisuzawa Kurumi: And then I… I watched my senior convulse. Shivering… twisting… until he changed.
Kurumi's voice faltered, cracking. Yūri quickly stepped in, not letting her friend sink deeper into that memory.
Wakasa Yūri: That's how we knew. Infection spreads through a bite.
Kaelthorn's expression remained still, but his gaze lingered on Kurumi. He already knew the truth. If her senior had turned, then Kurumi had been the one to put him down.
Naoki Miki: From what we've seen, the Infected still follow routines. Habits. They wander through classrooms, grip objects they used in life. At night, they wander out—like they're going home. And by day, they come back again.
Wakasa Yūri: That's why we were able to use that time to barricade the entrances and staircases when they left.
Takeya Yuki: But when it rained… they swarmed inside for shelter. The first time, we didn't know. They poured in, filled the halls, killed anyone they found…
Her voice broke, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
Naoki Miki: It happened again, two months ago. A major breakout. Hundreds of them, crashing through our defenses. We couldn't hold. That's when we locked ourselves in the shed with what little food and water we had left.
Kaelthorn's eyes narrowed slightly.
'Kaelthorn: Two months ago. Hm.'
Wakasa Yūri: Their vision is poor… they're more drawn to sound and light.
Naoki Miki: That's why glowsticks… or tossing balls… or music bought us time. Distracted them.
Kurumi steadied her breath and added.
Ebisuzawa Kurumi: They move slowly. If you're fast enough, you can slip past. And head trauma works—they stop if the brain is destroyed.
Naoki Miki: They don't act in groups. No coordination. Just hunger and instinct.
Takeya Yuki: But sometimes… some of them… they respond to voices. Familiar ones. Maybe fragments of memory.
The weight of silence returned when Yuki trailed off. For a moment, it was as though the shed itself was holding its breath.
Wakasa Yūri: That's… all we know.
Her words trembled, but the others nodded. Kaelthorn's stare lingered, unreadable, dissecting their every word, testing for deception. When he finally spoke, it was with a calm finality.
Kaelthorn: Did you notice any Infected that moved differently? Faster. Stronger. Or ones the others seemed to follow.
The girls exchanged uneasy glances, then shook their heads. No.
'Kaelthorn: No Variants yet…'
His gaze swept across them again—measuring their worth, their fragility, their fear. And then it stopped, settling coldly on Kurumi.
Kaelthorn: Now… let's talk about you.
The air seemed to grow heavier. Kurumi stiffened under the piercing weight of his eyes. Her breath caught in her throat.
Kaelthorn: How are you still alive after being bitten?
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.
Hearing his words, all four girls froze as though struck by ice. Their eyes widened, trembling with a shared realization.
Ebisuzawa Kurumi: Y-You checked us.
Kaelthorn's gaze sharpened, like a blade pressed against skin.
Kaelthorn: Then why do you think I am listening patiently to you? Of course, I thoroughly checked you while you were unconscious. Even under your clothes—to confirm everything.
The air went cold.
Yūri's lips parted, her face paling. Miki stiffened. Yuki blinked blankly at first before her expression twisted into a delayed horror. Kurumi's knuckles whitened as her hands gripped her knees. To them, his words felt like a violation of everything sacred. A man —a stranger— had seen what no one should. The silence dragged, pressing on their lungs like a weight.
Wakasa Yūri: Did you…
Her voice was barely a whisper, but the tremor in it betrayed the storm within her mind. The question needed no completion. Its meaning was clear.
Kaelthorn didn't answer immediately. He simply stared, his eyes colder than the rain-soaked sky above. His silence wasn't empty—it was deliberate, suffocating. When he finally spoke, his words cut with ruthless precision.
Kaelthorn: What do you think?
No denial. No reassurance. No defense.
If another man had been in his place, he might have rushed to explain, to justify, to insist on innocence. But Kaelthorn was not "another man." He understood too well. To defend was to concede, to grant others the power to judge him. That path was a weakness. Instead, he left the question hanging, sharp and unfinished, forcing them to fill the void with their own fears.
The shed grew unbearably still. The only sound was the faint crackle of the small fire, its warmth now meaningless compared to the chill that crawled into their bones. Their hearts pounded so loudly they could almost hear one another's pulses.
Finally, Kaelthorn's voice returned, calm but weighted like a verdict.
Kaelthorn: Along with that bite mark, I also found something unexpected.
The shift in topic struck like a whip. Their attention snapped to him, searching his face, his hands. Kurumi froze, her breath catching in her throat—she already knew what he was about to reveal.
From beneath the crimson-black drape of his cape, Kaelthorn drew a handgun. The metal gleamed faintly in the firelight. The sound of it leaving the concealment of his garments made the girls' stomachs knot with dread.
Takeya Yuki: K-Kurumi-chan, this gun…
Ebisuzawa Kurumi: It's not mine. I've only been keeping it.
Her words spilled out quickly, meant for both Kaelthorn and her friends, who visibly sagged with relief at the explanation. But Kaelthorn's interruption was as sudden as it was absolute.
Kaelthorn: I know.
His voice left no room for argument, no space for comfort.
Kaelthorn: This weapon isn't something you just stumble across. It belonged to one of the soldiers from that helicopter.
Kurumi's breath left her in a long, weary exhale. She nodded, accepting that there was no use in denial.
Ebisuzawa Kurumi: Yes. A year ago, we saw it—flying overhead. We waved, tried to call for help. Instead, it spiraled down and crashed here, in our school grounds. Miki and I reached it before it exploded. That's where I found it.
Kaelthorn listened in silence, his face as unreadable as carved stone. When she finished, he holstered the weapon back beneath his cape and leaned forward, his shadow stretching over them.
Kaelthorn: Let's return to the real question. Why are you still fine?
This time, it was Miki who answered, her voice steady but her body rigid as if bracing for judgment.
Naoki Miki: Because… we gave Kurumi-senpai an antidote. Before it was too late.
Kaelthorn's eyes narrowed, faint curiosity breaking the surface of his stoic mask.
Kaelthorn: Antidote?
Naoki Miki: Yes. I found it in the school basement.
He said nothing, but the pressure of his gaze demanded they continue.
Wakasa Yūri: While searching through our teacher's room, we found a classified file… "Staff Emergency Evaluation Manual."
Kaelthorn: Hm. From there, you learned the school was built as a shelter. A fallback for a global outbreak.
Yūri's eyes widened.
Wakasa Yūri: Wha—how did you know that?
Kaelthorn didn't answer. He had already pieced it together long ago from Randall Corporation's erased data, and after observing the school. Their words only confirmed his suspicions. His silence was heavier than any reply.
Forced by that silence, Yūri continued.
Wakasa Yūri: The manual mentioned a storage in the basement. That's where we found the antidote.
Kaelthorn's thoughts churned, though his face betrayed nothing.
'Kaelthorn: An antidote? Impossible. If Randall believed in such a cure, they would have retrieved it, guarded it, used it. Yet they never came—not beyond that single helicopter. That leaves two possibilities: either the corporation collapsed… or the antidote is meaningless. And if Kurumi lives, the answer lies elsewhere.'
He kept the conclusion to himself, letting their fragile belief linger unchallenged. There would be time later to test the truth.
Finally, his gaze hardened again, pulling them back into the gravity of his presence.
Kaelthorn: Tell me the layout of this school.
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GULP.
GULP.
GULP.
Wakasa Yūri swallowed desperately, the water sliding down her parched throat like a long-forgotten salvation. Her trembling fingers weakly brushed the edge of the bottle Kaelthorn held steady before her. He didn't say a word, his crimson-black cape swaying faintly as he adjusted the tilt, allowing her to drink until her chest stopped heaving with thirst.
Without hesitation, he shifted, moving to Ebisuzawa Kurumi, pressing the bottle against her cracked lips, then to Takeya Yuki, and lastly to Naoki Miki. Each one resisted at first, the shame of their weakness flashing across their weary eyes—but survival left no room for pride. They accepted the water from his hand because they had no choice.
Once they were finished, Kaelthorn fed them fragments of hardtack, pressing the dry crumbs past their lips one at a time, forcing them to chew despite their sluggish movements. He measured every bite, calculating how much energy it would return against how much he was spending. In total, three packets of hardtack and two bottles of water were gone. A fortune in this dead world. Yet for him, it was nothing but wasted currency—he had long since surpassed the need for ordinary human sustenance.
When the last of them had eaten, he rose without a word, his presence leaving the shed like the weight of an executioner's shadow. He allowed them privacy—for their dignity's sake, perhaps, or simply because his mind had already moved beyond them.
They didn't know that Kaelthorn had already observed the truth: their shoulders slumping in exhausted relief, the faint tremor of their joined hands. Within minutes of his departure, they fell into a heavy slumber, the fear of him dissolving just enough for fatigue to overwhelm them.
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.
Outside, Kaelthorn sat at the edge of the school's watchtower roof. His left leg hung over the abyss, his right bent with his arm resting casually against his knee. He stared at the ocean of infected below—their slow, unnatural rhythm of movement like a grotesque tide—and beyond that, the hollow ruins of the city stretching past the gates.
His perfect recall replayed the map the girls had provided.
'Kaelthorn: Three floors above ground. Fifteen rooms each, not counting the washrooms. Three staircases—the center, and one at each far end. Then came the basement, and it had two levels, i.e., emergency storage and an emergency shelter. And this roof, now secured under me.'
The layout unfolded in his mind like a chessboard.
'Kaelthorn: Biology lab. Chemistry lab. Computer rooms. Kitchen. Library. Medical office. All tools of survival. A settlement waiting for an owner. And now, it has one.'
He let his cold gaze drop again to the shambling mass below.
'Kaelthorn: To claim it fully, I must cleanse it. Not just the building… the entire grounds. And I'll start from the top. The second floor first.'
Rising, he walked toward the staircase leading down. His senses sharpened, instincts whispering warnings before his hand even touched the door. Vibrations. Subtle. A disturbance. Something alive on the other side.
His right hand slid behind his cloak, pulling the blackened knife free with a silent motion. Slowly, he unlatched the door, opening it just a fraction. A corpse-shaped shadow moved up the stairwell. An Infected, dragging its decayed limbs, climbing toward him.
The moment it reached the threshold, Kaelthorn's arm lashed out. The blade drove upward, piercing beneath its jaw and into the brain. The body twitched, then collapsed. He withdrew the knife without pause, stepping back as blood dripped down the stairs.
THUD!
The corpse rolled down the staircase, landing before the locked roof door below. The dull echo rang through the hall. Already, the moans of others stirred, and he heard shuffling feet converging.
Kaelthorn closed the watchtower door behind him, sealing off his back, and descended until he stood over the fallen body. Peering down, he spotted the first Infected ascending the steps.
'Kaelthorn: Outside—hundreds. Inside—dozens. Contained. Manageable. The key is silence. Break the balance, and the whole hive stirs.'
The first Infected reached him. The knife flashed once—its throat slit open in a clean motion. Blood sprayed against the walls, dark lines cutting across old stains.
Another surged forward. Kaelthorn met it with merciless precision. His knife buried itself in the skull. He twisted, snapping its body aside as another lunged. He caught its neck, crushed it with a sickening crack, and shoved the corpse down the steps to trip the ones below.
CRACK!
He pivoted, kicking another hard enough that its brittle bones broke as it tumbled. Following its fall, Kaelthorn leapt down with inhuman grace, driving the knife into the temple of one and splitting the skull of another with brutal efficiency.
By the time he rose, the hallway ahead was alive with groans. Infected shuffled from both sides, boxing him in. His only exits were above or below. He chose neither.
Calmly, he shifted his grip. The knife reversed in his left hand, the makeshift spear drawn into his right. His crimson-black cape whispered in the stale air as he lowered his stance.
No guns. No wasted sound.
'Kaelthorn: Precision. Speed. Silence. Survival.'
He exhaled once, his expression cold as stone, as the first wave closed in from both sides.
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.
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THURST!!
The makeshift spear rammed forward with bone-crushing force, piercing straight into the gaping mouth of an Infected. The iron tip tore through rotten flesh, cracked teeth, and shattered the back of its skull before erupting out the other side in a spray of black-red gore. Kaelthorn twisted his wrist with brutal precision, wrenching the weapon free as the corpse collapsed in a boneless heap.
Even before the body hit the floor, his left arm was already in motion. The knife flashed upward in a clean, practiced arc—its steel edge carving neatly through the neck of the next Infected. A wet snap echoed in the hallway as its head half-hung by sinew before it toppled to the ground with a meaty sound.
THUD!
Kaelthorn spun low, cloak trailing like a shadow. His boot lashed outward, crushing into the temples of two more Infected rushing from the side.
CRACK!
Their skulls snapped against the wall, collapsing in jerking spasms. He did not watch them fall—his spear had already swung back in a vicious upward sweep, splitting another Infected's face clean in two.
Blood mist clung to the air. His movements were ruthless, precise, never wasted. The spear and knife moved as if guided by a single thought, weaving through the mob like twin reapers.
More surged toward him, arms grasping, throats releasing guttural moans. Their numbers pressed close, threatening to overwhelm. Kaelthorn did not fight them head-on. His body flowed like liquid shadow as he darted into a nearby classroom.
The first wave of Infected funneled clumsily through the doorway, clawing for him. Kaelthorn was already gone. He had slipped through the second door at the far side, slamming his shoulder into the mass waiting outside. The sudden impact bowled them over like stacked dolls. As they fell, he leapt back, spear lunging forward in a brutal thrust that impaled three through the chest, driving them together onto the wall. Their shrieks strangled into silence.
He wrenched the spear free and vaulted upward, performing a controlled frontflip. Midair, he shifted his grip, seizing the shaft in the middle. When his boots struck the floor inside a new circle of foes, he spun. His cloak snapped outward as the spear whirled with merciless speed, knife flashing in tandem.
SCHHK!
SCHHK!
SCHHK!
Six heads rolled free in a single rotation, blood geysering across the cracked tiles.
Kaelthorn did not stop. His knife stabbed down into the spine of another from behind. Without pause, he ripped it free and hurled the blade low across the ground. The steel spun once before sinking deep into an Infected's calf. It toppled forward with a howl. Kaelthorn was already on it, his boot descending.
SPLRCH!!
The skull burst under his heel like a rotten fruit, shards of bone jutting outward in a grisly bloom.
Another came from behind, but he pivoted smoothly, spear jabbing backwards to pierce through its gut before twisting upward, tearing it apart from the inside.
The last few were slower, weaker, but he dispatched them with the same cold precision—knife in the eye socket, spear through the throat, a neck broken with a twist of his left hand. Silence returned.
Breathing steady, Kaelthorn leapt sideways, planting both feet against the wall. Using the recoil of his body, he launched forward like a released spring. His spear shot through the nearest cluster, skewering two at once. Momentum carried him past them, ripping the weapon free in a spray of blood.
Within minutes, the corridor was nothing but corpses.
Kaelthorn did not trust appearances. He methodically checked every classroom, every corner. The dead stared at him with glassy eyes, but none moved again. The second floor was his.
Only then did he crouch beside a fresh body. His right hand pressed against its chest. A faint pull, unseen but undeniable, drew blood into him. His body thrummed with recovered strength. He repeated the process twice more until the fatigue of battle vanished, leaving him sharp, composed, and whole again.
'Kaelthorn: Strength restored. No wasted motion. No weakness left to exploit.'
Rising, Kaelthorn turned his gaze downward at the next stairwell. The darkness below seemed to breathe, carrying with it the faint stench of damp and death. Without hesitation, he descended, ready to clear the next floor.
.
.
.
The first floor had taken far more effort than the second—there were simply too many Infected crammed into its narrow corridors. But Kaelthorn had cut through them methodically, and in the end, the silence of corpses remained behind him. Now came the real challenge: the ground floor.
From the staircase on the right wing, he crouched low and descended with the silence of a predator. His crimson-black cape shifted slightly with his movements, brushing the dust on the railings. His gaze scanned the hall below. Two Infected wandered aimlessly, their movements sluggish, the echo of memory guiding their shuffling steps.
Kaelthorn hid his spear behind him, knife angled low in his left hand. He crouched, closing the distance one step at a time.
SHING!
The blade slit the first throat in a single stroke. Before the body fell, Kaelthorn caught it with his right hand, lowering it gently to the tiles. The second turned, too slow. He clasped its mouth shut and buried the knife into its skull.
Both corpses were eased down without a sound.
He pressed his back against the wall, tilting his head to see the corridor ahead. As expected, the hallway was saturated with them—Infected packed shoulder to shoulder, drifting like a slow tide. Their eyes, glazed yet restless, twitched at every faint echo. Kaelthorn exhaled through his nose, steady.
He moved with precision, seizing the collar of a straggler as it wandered near the wall. The Infected barely had time to react before its head was twisted and its spine cracked with a muffled snap. Kaelthorn dragged the limp body aside, vanishing back into the shadows.
His attention shifted to the open classroom doors scattered across the hall. A plan formed immediately: divide, isolate, eliminate. He waited until the Infected shifted away from one of the nearest doors, then darted forward.
He slipped inside and shut the door behind him. Five Infected were already inside the classroom, roaming between toppled desks and shattered glass. One lifted its head, cloudy eyes catching him.
The knife left Kaelthorn's hand with perfect precision.
THUNK!
It embedded into the skull. The body collapsed. The other four turned toward the noise.
Kaelthorn slid along the wall, out of their line of sight, before circling to the opposite door and closing it as well. Now the prey were penned in.
He pulled his spear from behind his back and drove it through the chest of two in a single thrust, twisting to tear their bodies free. At the same time, his left hand shot forward, stabbing the knife into another skull. The last stumbled at him—Kaelthorn's boot met its face, slamming it to the floor before his blade silenced it.
He paused, scanning. The classroom was his hunting ground now.
Then came the scrape of nails at the door. One Infected, then another, fumbling at the handle. Kaelthorn positioned himself behind it, waiting. The latch shifted. He yanked it open just enough.
Two stumbled through, blind to the trap. Kaelthorn shut the door again behind them and slit both throats with mechanical efficiency. Blood sprayed across desks and walls, already stained from years of carnage.
He remained in the classroom, using it as a snare. Any Infected that came close to investigate were dragged in and dispatched before they could raise an alarm. By the time he was done, ten more corpses decorated the floor.
Hours passed in that rhythm—waiting, isolating, killing, and moving again. When he reached the central staircase, the right wing of the floor was clear.
He crouched and pressed his palm against a fallen Infected. Blood seeped into his right arm, absorbed by the unnatural hunger that sustained him. His exhaustion receded, strength flooding back into his muscles. Two more corpses fed him fully back to peak condition.
Kaelthorn rose and advanced into the left wing.
Soon, he arrived at the Computer Room. Shattered monitors hung by their cables, keyboards lay scattered in the dust, and glass crunched faintly underfoot. He cleared out the handful of Infected that lingered there with swift efficiency, then secured the door and searched. Nothing of value remained; every terminal had been gutted.
He exited and entered the Entrance Hall.
Only one Infected lingered there, crouched in a corner, fiddling with something clutched in its hand. Kaelthorn crossed the distance in an instant, burying his knife in its head. The body went limp, and the object dropped—a small keychain alarm.
Kaelthorn's eyes widened as his instincts roared a warning.
Too late.
BEEP!
BEEP!
BEEP!
The shrill alarm tore through the silence, echoing against every wall. It was a sound meant to summon attention, and it worked.
SHATTER!
The wooden planks barring the main doors cracked and fell as hundreds of Infected forced their way in. Their bodies swarmed like a black tide, eyes snapping toward him as if drawn by the alarm's magnetic pull.
Kaelthorn turned—and froze. His retreat path was already blocked by more Infected flooding from the left wing. Their movements were faster now, jerky and unnatural, as if the sound itself had accelerated their hunger.
He calculated instantly. No escape routes. No gaps to slip through. Even the ceiling left no space to vault over them.
There was only one answer.
He drew the spear into his right hand and reversed the knife into his left. His crimson-black cape shifted behind him as he stood firm in the centre of the hall, every muscle taut, every sense sharpened.
Kaelthorn: Let's see which falls first… you, or me.
.
.
.
A few hours later.
Ebisuzawa Kurumi: Uh…
Kurumi stirred awake, her eyelashes trembling before her tired eyes fluttered open. Her vision swam for a moment as she sat there in a daze, the world still heavy on her shoulders. She blinked, scanning her surroundings until memory rushed back in a cold wave. Slowly, she turned to check the others. Yūri, Yuki, and Miki were still there beside her, their fragile chests rising and falling faintly with shallow breaths. Relief seeped into her, though it was the fragile kind—like a thread about to snap.
Her gaze shifted further, falling upon the burnt-out fire near the half-opened shed door. The flames had long since devoured the wood, leaving only pale ash clinging to the stone floor like bones of something that once lived. No sign of Kaelthorn. Only the heavy stillness of his absence—and his backpack, resting deliberately in a shadowed corner, untouched, like a silent warning.
Kurumi adjusted Yūri's head against her shoulder before carefully rising. Her body no longer felt like a corpse—she could stand again on her own. Yet, instead of relief, a strange unease gripped her. Being strong enough to stand should have been liberating. Instead, the memory of those cold, scarlet eyes made her heart tighten. Even if he wasn't here, the thought of rifling through his belongings never crossed her mind. The fear of him lingered too deeply.
She pushed open the shed door just enough to slip out. The cold air bit her skin, yet it felt cleaner than anything she had tasted in months. Kurumi inhaled sharply, then exhaled, each breath heavy with the weight of survival.
Wakasa Yūri: It really feels great to be able to come out.
Ebisuzawa Kurumi: Eh? Rii-san. I thought you were still sleeping.
Kurumi turned, startled, to see Yūri stepping out with her usual soft smile.
Wakasa Yūri: Your movements woke me up.
Ebisuzawa Kurumi: I'm sorry about that.
Wakasa Yūri: It's fine. I've rested enough. The others, too.
As if on cue, Yuki stumbled out, rubbing her eyes with a childlike groan while Miki pulled her forward, her face sharp with annoyance.
Takeya Yuki: Mmnn… I wanna sleep more…
Naoki Miki: Enough already, senpai. Get moving.
The four of them stood together under the cloud-choked sky. No warmth of sun, no sound of birds—just a grey dome pressing down upon the rooftop. The brief moment of relief quickly crumbled as Kurumi's expression hardened.
Ebisuzawa Kurumi: What do we do from now on? We all know… Mr. Lex wants to take over this school.
Wakasa Yūri: If it were anyone else, I might say stay… but with him? No. He's too dangerous.
The others nodded grimly.
Ebisuzawa Kurumi: Then we stick to the plan. Leave when the chance comes.
Takeya Yuki: But… will Mr. Lex let us leave?
Her innocent tone cut like glass. The others froze, exchanging uneasy looks.
Naoki Miki: …I don't think it'll be a problem.
All eyes turned to her.
Takeya Yuki: Why, Mii-kun?
Naoki Miki: Mr. Lex gave us food because we had information. That made us useful. But now… now we have nothing else to offer. Which means…
Her voice lowered, trembling not with fear but with cold resignation.
Naoki Miki: We're useless to him.
The words struck like a knife.
Wakasa Yūri: …No. We… we still have something to offer.
Her voice wavered, the implication hanging unspoken in the heavy silence. But Miki cut it down without hesitation.
Naoki Miki: We don't. Rii-senpai, I checked. And I'm sure you did too. He might have checked our bodies while we were unconscious—but nothing more. He has no interest in us that way.
The three fell quiet. Relief mingled with something bitter, as if even their worth as women had been denied. Their eyes drifted toward Yūri—toward what she carried on her chest.
'Ebisuzawa Kurumi & Naoki Miki & Takeya Yuki: If even this isn't enough… then there's no hope for any of us.'
None spoke it aloud.
Naoki Miki: Which means… he won't care if we leave.
Ebisuzawa Kurumi: But what if he decides to kill us? From his eyes, I know—he could do it without a second thought.
Naoki Miki: If he wanted to, he already had the chance. He could've killed us while we were asleep. Or right after we told him everything. But he didn't.
Ebisuzawa Kurumi: …I hope you're right.
Her voice was thin, trembling with doubt. Then she looked at Yūri.
Ebisuzawa Kurumi: In that case, our next destination should be one of the shelters Megu-nee marked on the map.
Wakasa Yūri: Saint Isidore University… or Randall Corporation.
Ebisuzawa Kurumi: Randall Corporation… it sounds ominous no matter how many times I hear it.
Naoki Miki: Then Saint Isidore University it is.
Wakasa Yūri: That would be best.
Ebisuzawa Kurumi: Then… let's find a way to reach Megu-nee's car and leave.
They all agreed—until Yuki's soft voice cut through the air.
Takeya Yuki: …Hey, don't you think it's strange?
The others turned to her.
Wakasa Yūri: What do you mean, Yuki-chan?
Yuki pointed down past the railing.
Takeya Yuki: The school ground. It's empty. There's not a single Infected.
Kurumi and the rest rushed to the edge. Their eyes widened in disbelief.
Ebisuzawa Kurumi: …Impossible.
Hundreds had swarmed the grounds before. Now—silence. Not a single figure remained. The emptiness felt wrong. It was not safety. It was dread.
Then—
BANG!!
The sound of the rooftop door slamming open tore the air. The cabinet that had been braced against it was thrown aside as if it weighed nothing.
DRR!!!
Kaelthorn stepped through the doorway, dragging the broken spear behind him. The jagged tip scraped against the concrete, shrieking like nails across bone. His crimson-black cape, heavy and soaked, trailed across the ground, leaving smears of blood behind him as though he himself carried the stain of slaughter. His body was carved with gashes and wounds, but none of them seemed to slow him. He moved with a terrifying calm, every step purposeful, as though pain itself no longer applied to him.
Then the girls saw his eyes.
They weren't just glowing. They were burning. Twin crimson orbs radiating outwards, not like light but like infection—like cracks in reality itself where something else was bleeding through. The glow clung to the air, staining the shed in sickly red tones, and for the four girls, it was not illumination but weight. Their lungs tightened, their skin crawled, their hearts pounded wildly as if their very bodies recognized that this was not something meant to exist in their world.
The air thickened. Shadows warped unnaturally at the edges of their vision, curling away from him as though recoiling. The faint crackle of static hissed in their ears, raising goosebumps along their arms. Even the rooftop itself seemed to groan faintly beneath his weight, as if the structure recognized the intrusion of something it could not contain.
Behind him was carnage.
The stairwell was no longer a passage but a charnel pit. Corpses were heaped together in grotesque towers, limbs twisted and jutting at wrong angles, broken skulls staring blankly in all directions. Blood drenched the walls in black-red streaks, dripping down the steps in rivulets so thick it seemed the building itself was bleeding. Hundreds had converged on him—an endless horde. None remained.
Kaelthorn walked forward, dragging the broken spear, each step ringing like a funeral bell. The crimson glow from his eyes pulsed faintly with every movement, casting elongated shadows that stretched and bent as though trying to escape him.
Yūri's knees buckled, and she barely caught herself against the railing. Her voice came out broken, a trembling whisper.
Wakasa Yūri: T-This… isn't human…
Kurumi pressed a trembling hand to her chest, her body shivering as though the glow itself clawed at her heart.
Ebisuzawa Kurumi: H-He… he fought them all—alone. That light…
Yuki's lips quivered. Tears clung to her lashes, her childlike illusion of safety shattered.
Takeya Yuki: A hero…? No… no, that's not a hero… that's… a demon…
Miki's throat closed, her words choked and dry. She could not look away from the crimson orbs that seemed to pierce straight through her.
Naoki Miki: He… he's not from this world…
Kaelthorn's burning gaze lingered on them, one by one. Cold. Merciless. Measuring. His presence pressed down on them like a hand around the throat. These weren't the eyes of a man. They were the eyes of something older, darker—something born of the graveyard multiverse itself.
And in that silence, the four of them understood with bone-deep certainty:
This was not salvation.
This was not a savior.
This was a being that even death could not claim.
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*A/N: Please throw some power stones.
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