The scene before Noah sent a wave of despair crashing over him. The clinic, once a sanctuary, had become a grotesque fortress under the worshipers' control. It was theirs now—warped into something dark and unrecognizable.
They moved with unsettling coordination, no longer mindless but organized. Some stood vigil at the entrance, others patrolled the rooftops, their enhanced physiques from the virus making them appear almost superhuman, like they could lift a car with one hand. Their faces were twisted with eerie, unnatural smiles that sent chills down Noah's spine.
The clinic walls were scrawled with a horrifying message in what looked like dried blood, their twisted mantra screaming out: "Praise Chaos, Praise the Void." The sight of it made Noah's breath hitch as memories of the firefighter leader flooded back. His hands clenched. But something new caught his eye—written in large, ominous letters was a single word: "Epoto." It made his skin crawl. What does it mean? A name? A place? The uncertainty gnawed at him, a cold unease settling in his chest.
"Damn it! How am I supposed to handle this?" Noah muttered under his breath. His luck was going from bad to worse, and the overwhelming force of the worshipers threatened to crush him before he even took a step forward.
Fear tightened around his heart, leading him down a path of dark, desperate thoughts. He wasn't fully recovered; his left arm barely functional. But he had his gun, some makeshift bombs. Is that enough? He glanced toward the entrance, the sheer number of worshipers and their grotesque strength making him question if he even stood a chance.
Still crouched behind the burned-out bus, Noah forced himself to take stock of the situation. His pulse pounded in his ears, but he knew he had to think clearly. I need to calm down. Look at this like a math equation—every problem has a solution.
The thought grounded him, pulling him back from the abyss of panic. He couldn't afford to spiral now, not when so much was at stake. Lucy... Judy... they need me.
As he gathered his resolve, something caught his eye—a large gas canister beside the bus. Noah's heart quickened. He crawled toward it, careful to stay low, his body tense with every movement. When he reached it, he checked—it's full.
Relief flickered through him. This changes everything.
Quickly, Noah attached one of his bombs, setting the fuse for two minutes. Just enough time. He slipped back, moving from car to car, sprinting low to stay hidden as he made his way toward the clinic entrance.
Then, it happened. A deafening boom tore through the air, the explosion shaking the ground beneath him. Flames and smoke billowed from where the canister had been. Noah glanced back, adrenaline surging through him—it worked!
The worshipers, startled by the blast, rushed toward the site of the explosion like frenzied animals. Their weapons, dripping with dried blood, glinted in the dim light as they screamed and howled, caught up in the chaos.
But Noah moved in the opposite direction, slipping toward the entrance while their attention was drawn elsewhere. His heart raced, his muscles tense as he prayed he wouldn't be seen.
Rising cautiously, Noah scanned the clinic's roof, searching for any sign of movement. His heart pounded as his eyes traced the perimeter—nothing. The sentries must have moved toward the explosion. With a silent breath of relief, he sprinted to the entrance, slipping behind the reception desk.
The cold surface pressed against his back as he crouched down, steadying his breath.
He listened, trying to count the voices echoing through the halls. One, two, three... six. Six worshipers still inside.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath. Think, think. I've got maybe five minutes before the others come back. I can handle them—they don't seem that smart. But his stomach churned as a darker thought crept in. Their leader. He remembers me, I know it. And he's not like the others.
The memory of the firefighter leader sent a shiver down his spine. That man wasn't just infected—he was something else. Noah could still feel the phantom pain of being thrown to the ground like a rag doll. And that was just on the first day of infection. How much stronger is he now? How much more twisted?
He forced his mind to focus. It doesn't matter. I have to get Lucy out.
The muffled sound of footsteps grew louder. Noah tensed, peeking around the edge of the desk as two worshipers wandered closer. Their conversation drifted to him, and his blood ran cold.
Their voices echoed in the hallway, cold and sharp with amusement.
"You should've seen his face," one of them snickered. "When we started cutting, the way his cheeks peeled back—like butter. He didn't even know how to scream at first."
The second worshiper laughed, a grotesque, rasping sound. "Yeah, but when he finally did, oh man, it was like music! I could've listened to that all night."
They both burst into laughter, the sound twisted and unnatural, sending a wave of nausea through Noah. His hand tightened around his gun as he fought the rising bile in his throat. These weren't just infected—they were sadists, delighting in the agony they caused.
"Yeah, his face," the first worshiper continued, still laughing, "looked like he was smiling when we were done. A permanent grin. Poor little heretic."
Their laughter cracked and faltered, replaced by trembling sobs. The smug grin faded from the worshiper's face, their expression twisting into something resembling sorrow. It was like watching a nightmare in reverse.
"I just don't get it..." one of them muttered, their voice trembling now. "We could've saved him."
"Yeah," the second agreed, their tone suddenly heavy with regret. "If he'd just paid the tribute, he could've seen the truth. We didn't want to hurt him... he made us do it. He had to suffer for rejecting Chaos."
Noah's stomach lurched as the two worshipers, who had just been laughing moments ago, now wept openly. Their voices cracked with grief, almost as if they mourned the very boy they'd tortured.
"He could've been saved," one sobbed. "But he refused! He was a heretic!"
Noah blinked, frozen in disbelief. They're sympathizing with the boy they tortured? His skin prickled with unease. How twisted has this virus made their minds? He bit down on his lip, fear creeping through him, tightening its grip on his chest. What if Lucy was next? What if they were doing the same to her right now?
The thought sent a jolt of panic through his body. He had to move. He had to get to the ER before it was too late. Every second wasted was a second closer to losing her forever.
Clutching the gun, he readied himself, his heart pounding like a war drum. Five minutes. That's all he had before the rest returned. Time was slipping through his fingers, and if he didn't act now, he might never get the chance again.
Noah pulled another bomb from his belt—this one a smoke bomb. His hands trembled as he gripped it, going over the plan one last time in his mind. He wasn't just a scientist by trade—his love for all things science had driven him to explore multiple fields. Chemistry, in particular, had become a side passion, one that allowed him to create small explosives and gases in his free time. He wasn't an expert, but he knew enough to make this work.
The smoke bomb felt heavier in his hand than it should have. He swallowed hard, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he listened to the worshipers' voices growing louder. They were near—too close for comfort, hovering by the reception desk and the long, dim corridor beyond. If he didn't act now, he'd lose any chance to get to Lucy.
With one final breath, he hurled the smoke bomb from behind the reception desk. It clattered across the floor, spinning before releasing thick plumes of smoke that quickly filled the air. The acrid scent hit Noah's nostrils as the fog spread, swallowing the hallway in seconds. The smoke stung his eyes and made it harder to breathe, but he pressed on.
The worshipers reacted instantly, coughing and squinting through the haze. They'd seen where the bomb had come from, and they were moving fast, reaching for the desk.
Noah's heart raced as he made his move. In a burst of energy, he sprang from his hiding spot, sprinting through the thick cloud. The smoke shielded him from view, but he knew it wouldn't last long. They were disoriented—confused by the sudden attack, not expecting anyone inside—but they'd figure it out soon enough.
Instead of running straight down the hallway as they might expect, Noah ducked back into the reception room, using the confusion to his advantage. His breath came in sharp gasps as he crouched low, listening. The worshipers stumbled through the smoke, shouting to each other, trying to figure out where he had gone.
"Where is he?" one of them hissed, their voice muffled by the thick fog.
"He couldn't have gotten far," the other rasped. "Find him!"
Noah's pulse pounded in his ears, the muffled voices mixing with the sound of his own ragged breathing. His plan had worked so far. The smoke created chaos, and now they were scrambling to locate him. But time was running out—he needed to move. Lucy, he reminded himself. Get to Lucy.
The smoke was still too thick for them to see through, but that meant it was just as hard for Noah to see his way forward. He had to trust his instincts now, and the layout of the clinic he'd memorized earlier. Staying low, he crept silently toward the edge of the room, waiting for the perfect moment to slip past the worshipers and make his way to the ER.
As Noah sprinted down the smoke-filled corridor, a fleeting sense of relief washed over him—they were still stumbling around the reception room, unaware of his escape. His legs burned with each step, his muscles screaming in protest, but he couldn't stop. Not now. He gasped for air, pushing through the pain, the image of Lucy clear in his mind. She was his anchor, the only thing keeping him moving forward.
He forced himself to run faster than he thought possible, each step a battle between exhaustion and desperation.
Finally, the ER door loomed ahead. He reached it without hesitation and slipped inside, slamming his back against the wall. His heart pounded in his chest as he crouched behind the door, peeking through the small window, scanning the hallway to see if anyone had spotted him.
His breath came in ragged gasps, and a sigh of relief escaped his lips. "Thank God I made it." But his moment of relief was short-lived. "They'll catch up soon. I need to grab Lucy and get out of here."
He turned to the bed where Lucy had been lying, expecting to see her peaceful, sleeping face—but the bed was empty.
Noah froze. His heart stopped. What?
His eyes widened as his mind raced through a whirlwind of panic. Where is she? Did they take her? Is she hurt? Maybe she woke up and escaped... The questions slammed into him like a storm, each one worse than the last.
His stomach twisted violently, and before he could stop it, he bent over and vomited on the floor. His body convulsed, trembling as the weight of his worst fears crushed down on him. His breaths came out in shallow, panicked gasps, and for a moment, everything went dark. The room spun. The stress, the fear, the exhaustion—it all hit him at once.
He tried to steady himself, but his thoughts spiraled deeper into despair. What if I was too late? What if Lucy is gone? What if I never see her again? His mind flashed to Judy, his daughter, waiting for him. How can I tell her I failed? That I couldn't save her mother?
His body shook uncontrollably, his hands trembling as the dark thoughts swallowed him whole. The room seemed to close in around him, and all he could feel was the crushing weight of failure.
He didn't hear the footsteps.
The two worshipers had followed him, their figures emerging from the smoke just as Noah collapsed into his despair. They had reached the doorway. He was too lost in his own mind to notice.
They laughed loudly, their voices echoing with sinister glee. "Got you now, little rat! You thought we wouldn't notice you sneaking into the ER room?"
Noah was still trapped in a fog of desperation, feeling as though all the will to fight had drained from him. The worshiper grinned maliciously. "It's your lucky day. The Apostle told us to bring you alive to him."
Before he could react, they seized him roughly, dragging him through the dim corridor and up the stairs leading to the clinic's rooftop. The air grew heavier with each step, and Noah's heart raced as he was thrust into a wide circle of worshipers, thirty of them, each one more terrifying than the last.
Their physiques were large and imposing, clothes stained with dried blood that turned them a sickly shade of red. Chilling smiles twisted their faces, and the atmosphere buzzed with a predatory energy. Noah was thrown into the center of the circle, landing hard on the ground.
Kneeling there, he hung his head, the weight of guilt crashing down on him. He could see Judy's face in his mind, her eyes wide with anticipation as she waited for him to return with her mother. I can't let her down, he thought desperately. With that flicker of hope, he tried to lift himself. Lucy is strong. I will find her.
He muttered the words to himself, but they felt hollow against the backdrop of despair that surrounded him. The reality of his situation clawed at his insides, threatening to suffocate him.
As Noah finally lifted his head, his eyes widened in horror at the scene before him. The circle of grotesque worshipers loomed like a nightmare come to life, each figure more menacing than the last. In their midst stood a throne-like chair, adorned grotesquely with human skin, the surface slick with fresh blood.
Above the throne hung a flag, swaying slightly in the stale air, emblazoned with a single, chilling word: "Epoto." Surrounding it were unfamiliar symbols that seemed to pulse with a dark energy, whispering of secrets best left unspoken.
In the center, a massive figure sat, dominating the space. The man's face was rugged, marred by a black patch covering his left eye, and an aura of menace radiated from him. It was the firefighter leader—the very nightmare Noah had hoped to avoid.