The Valkyria slid silently into a mangrove inlet about eight hundred meters from the main entrance of the Royal Nautical Club.
Leon killed the engine even before entering the area of visual cover. The wind carried the smell of smoke and burning diesel.
He settled onto the cabin roof, camouflaged by the vegetation, and raised his binoculars.
The scene was one of war. Wrecked luxury cars, gray bodies on the lawn, and bloodstains on the wooden deck. Under the harsh afternoon sun, dozens of infected roamed the area in a state of frenzy, running and fighting among themselves, stimulated by the sunlight.
Leon ignored the white fiberglass yachts and focused on the end of the fueling pier.
There it was. A Bering 65.
Its dark gray steel hull stood out in the water. It was a robust vessel, built for long expeditions and open seas. A high bow, an uncluttered deck, and a heavy structure that promised durability. It was exactly what he was looking for.
But there seemed to be a catastrophic problem.
The boat was listing, leaning heavily to port. At the waterline, where the steel hull met the concrete dock, there was a brutal gash. The boat must have collided violently during the escape, tearing the metal and flooding the engine room. It was "sitting" on the shallow bottom of the marina.
"Total loss," Leon coldly assessed.
For any mechanic or naval engineer, that was scrap. No one would pull that dead weight out without an industrial crane and an underwater welding crew. That's why it was still there.
Leon allowed a small, corner-of-his-mouth smile. Where others saw scrap, he saw the new Valkyria. The System allowed the impossible, as long as he paid the price.
And the price was on the deck.
Through the binoculars, he counted the targets. There were three infected prowling near the bow, two at the stern, and one lying motionless right on the access ramp to the dock. Total of six.
He did the math quickly. He had three energy points. He needed ten to unlock Deconstruction. There were six enemies, just one short of the ten points he needed.
But attacking now would be stupid. The sunlight made them fast and aggressive. One mistake and he'd be surrounded by all the infected at the club.
He needed to wait until night. He knew the absence of light slowed their metabolism, making them slow and lethargic. Darkness would be his best ally.
Leon checked his watch. It was 3:30 PM. Still a few hours of sun left.
He went down to the cabin, ate a cereal bar, and drank two measured sips of water. Then, he sat in the pilot's seat, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes.
He closed his eyes but couldn't sleep deeply. The tension of the last hours kept his body in a state of high alert, refusing to shut down. He dozed only to jerk awake every few minutes; the sound of water hitting the hull or the simple snap of a dry branch in the mangroves was enough to bring him back to reality, his hand already reaching for his gun before his eyes even opened.
When he truly awoke, the sky was already dark, staining the sea black.
Leon stretched, feeling his stiff muscles loosen. He checked the Glock 19 in his waist holster; it would be his last resort. As for the rest, he no longer needed to carry dead weight. The crowbar was stored in his [Dimensional Inventory], suspended in the void and ready to be materialized directly into his hand in a fraction of a second.
He looked at the club again. The change was clear. The frenzy was over. The infected who had been running now dragged themselves or stood still, staring at nothing, like statues of rotten flesh.
It was time.
Leon untied the lines and pushed the Valkyria with an oar out of the mangroves, not starting the engine to avoid making noise. The current was in his favor.
The boat slid like a ghost over the water, approaching the slumbering steel explorer.
The Valkyria nudged gently against the steel hull of the Bering 65. Leon secured the runabout with a hook and silently hoisted himself onto the deck of the expedition yacht.
The deck was tilted. The smell of sea air was overpowered by the stench of coagulated blood.
Leon materialized the crowbar in his right hand. The weight of the cold steel gave him confidence.
The infected on the outer deck were exactly like those in the gallery, like statues of rotten flesh. The first one was leaning over the railing. Leon approached from behind, controlling his breath.
One dry blow to the base of the skull. The body slumped. [Energy Collected: +1] [Progress: 4/20]
He moved forward. There were two more at the bow. They reacted to the sound of the first body falling, turning their heads slowly, blind in the darkness, guided only by sound. But Leon was a ghost. Before they could locate the source of the noise, he dispatched both with precise thrusts to the temple. [Energy Collected: +2] [Progress: 6/20]
He moved to the stern. Two more, sitting like broken dolls near the outdoor dining table. [Energy Collected: +2] [Progress: 8/20]
The last one outside was lying on the access ramp, blocking the entrance. Leon finished it with a brutal stomp to the cervical spine followed by a final blow. [Energy Collected: +1] [Progress: 9/20]
Leon wiped the black blood from the crowbar on the dead man's shirt and looked around. The deck was clear. It had been easy. Too easy.
"If it's always like this," he thought, observing the motionless bodies, "then humanity isn't doomed. If we organize night patrols, we can clear entire cities while they sleep. They're easy prey in the dark."
That thought brought him a dangerous comfort. He stored the crowbar in his inventory to free his hands and drew his combat knife and tactical flashlight.
He was just 1 point short of unlocking [Matter Deconstruction]. He hoped the interior of the boat would have at least one more infected.
Leon walked to the tempered glass door that gave access to the main salon. It was unlocked. He slid the door open and entered.
The air inside was stifling, hot, and humid. The yacht's interior was luxurious, with fine wood furniture overturned by the shipwreck's tilt. Leon advanced slowly, stepping along the edges of the floor to avoid creaks.
He checked the galley. It was empty. The guest cabins on the lower deck. Also empty, except for open suitcases and scattered clothes.
"Where is everyone?"
He climbed the small staircase that led to the upper level, where the Bridge was located.
The corridor was pitch black. Leon stopped.
His instincts, honed by years of service in hostile situations, screamed. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. It wasn't the feeling of hunting. It was the feeling of being hunted.
He was not alone in that corridor.
Leon planted his feet on the tilted floor and, contrary to the rule of silence, turned on the tactical flashlight for a split second.
The beam of light cut through the darkness and revealed what was standing in front of the control room door.
It wasn't the "statue" he was expecting to find.
It was a tall man, wearing the remnants of a captain's uniform. But his posture wasn't hunched or relaxed. He was crouched, tense, like a feline ready to pounce.
What chilled Leon's blood wasn't the exposed teeth, but the veins. They weren't black like the others. They pulsed with a faint green bioluminescent glow, drawing glowing webs under the pale skin. Its hands hung by its sides, deformed. The tips of the fingers had torn to make way for bony claws, long and sharp as knives.
The creature let out a low, vibrating snarl that made the air in the corridor tremble.
"Shit," Leon didn't even have time to curse before the creature attacked.
There was no slow, staggering movement. It was a blur of speed. The infected lunged, covering the three meters between them in the blink of an eye.
Leon barely had time to raise his left arm to protect his neck.
Slaaaaash!
The claws tore through the sleeve of his tactical jacket and cut deep into his forearm. The pain was searing, as if burned by a hot iron.
The impact threw Leon against the wooden wall of the corridor. The flashlight fell from his hand, rolling down the slanted floor, and with each spin of the beam, the infected seemed to leap closer in the dark.
In the next flash, it was already on top of him. The creature lunged with full force, trying to sink its teeth into his throat.
Leon dropped the knife, which would be useless at that range, and shoved his forearm against the monster's neck, struggling to keep those teeth away from his face. The creature's strength was absurd, far greater than the giant from the mall.
"Bastard!" Leon snarled, kicking the monster's stomach to create space.
The creature retreated a step but didn't fall. It gave a horrific smile, and its green veins pulsed brighter in the darkness. The darkness didn't weaken it. On the contrary, it seemed to be its natural environment.
It lunged again.
Leon knew he wouldn't win with brute force. He needed an impact weapon.
[Inventory: Crowbar]
He materialized it in mid-air, already in a swinging motion.
The creature was caught off guard when a solid steel bar appeared from nowhere.
Leon brought the crowbar down with all the fury he had, aiming for the head.
The creature had reflexes fast enough to dodge its head, and the blow struck its shoulder. The sound of a collarbone breaking was heard, but the monster didn't make a sound. With its good arm, it swung a lateral blow aiming to gut him from side to side.
Leon threw himself backward, but the claws tore through his t-shirt and opened a shallow horizontal cut across his abdomen.
Warm blood trickled down his stomach. Dizziness threatened to set in, but adrenaline kept him upright.
The creature roared, and its muscles swelled and cracked under its rotten skin. It seemed to be undergoing a mutation.
"You want to evolve?" Leon spat blood. "Then evolve in hell."
He drew the Glock. The rule of silence was over. This was life or death.
The creature sensed the danger and tried to leap to the ceiling of the corridor to evade.
BANG! BANG!
Two shots at point-blank range.
The first hit the creature's chest, making it spin in the air. The second exploded its right knee.
The monster fell to the floor, screaming a piercing, high-pitched sound that made Leon's ears ring. Even injured, it tried to crawl to attack Leon's legs.
Leon gave it no chance. He stomped on the creature's chest, pinning it to the floor, and pressed the hot barrel of the Glock against its forehead, pulsing with green veins.
"It's over."
BANG.
The creature's head exploded, spraying dark, viscous blood over the yacht's elegant walls.
Silence returned to the corridor, heavy and suffocating, broken only by Leon's ragged, uneven breathing.
Then, the green light emerged from the body. But it wasn't the usual gentle wisp. It was a dense, almost solid sphere that floated and struck Leon's chest with force.
[Elite Target Eliminated: Alpha Variant] [Energy Collected: +5] [Progress: 14/20]
Leon blinked, trying to clear the blood from his eyelashes, but the blue message continued to float in his vision, indifferent to his pain:
[DOCKYARD SYSTEM] [Requirement Met!] [Ability: Matter Deconstruction]
Unlock? [ YES ] [ NO ]
Leon simply closed the interface and slid down the wall to sit on the floor, holding his left arm which was bleeding profusely. His chest burned where the claws had scraped.
"Easy, huh?" he murmured to himself, laughing with irony and pain, remembering his arrogant thought from minutes ago. "Night patrols... what a joke."
He tore a piece of his shirt to make an improvised tourniquet for his arm. He was wounded, exhausted, and bleeding on a sunken ship.
But he was alive, and that was what mattered most.
He looked ahead. The dead Variant's body was lying right on the threshold of the door it had been protecting.
The door to the Control Room.
Leon got up with difficulty, kicked the corpse aside, and grabbed the doorknob. It was time to see if the Bering 65 still had any salvation.