Gasps rippled through the crowd like a sudden gust of wind, sweeping panic across the gathered students. A good number instinctively stepped back, their shoes scraping against the dusty floor. Tevin clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a chuckle, his eyes glinting with unhidden mischief. Professor David, ever the composed figure, raised a single brow—not in amusement, but mild surprise.
Felicity and Nero, standing by a car, shared a brief glance before both followed suit. They, too, masked their expressions, though not for the same reasons as Tevin. Sharp and observant, they understood the deeper play in motion. Merek wasn't reacting—not even a twitch. The collective scorn aimed at him rolled off like rain on polished steel.
To Felicity, the message was clear. Merek wasn't offended by the cold welcome. No—if anything, he might have been genuinely shocked if he hadn't received it.
"Professor!"
The sharp cry cracked through the mounting tension, raw and jarring like calloused hands tearing through white silk. All heads swiveled at once toward the sound—a student sent to scout, breathless and wide-eyed, sprinting toward them at full tilt, his boots thudding heavily on the floor.
Before anyone could chide him for the sudden outburst, the boy screamed again—this time louder, more desperate, almost hoarse.
"Zombies! A horde of them! Several hundred! Five Type Ones among them—and they're coming this way!"
Professor David's features tightened, the fragile relief that had just begun to settle over him vanishing like mist under the midday sun.
"Are you certain?" he asked grimly, his voice low and even, yet weighted with urgency.
The scout nodded frantically, sweat pouring down his face. "Yes, sir! I've tracked their movements—I'm sure of it. They're coming straight for us."
A high-pitched sob broke out behind them. A female student—ironically, the same one who had voted to cast Merek out—collapsed to her knees, weeping uncontrollably. Her mascara ran in dark streaks as she gasped between cries, "We're all going to die…"
Felicity's eyes narrowed with disdain. She clicked her tongue and turned her gaze away, dismissing the girl with a flicker of irritation. Now wasn't the time for theatrics. She focused instead on Professor David, waiting for orders.
"How far are they?" he asked, eyes flicking toward the arched exit behind them, where the first hints of dusk were beginning to bleed into the sky.
"They were running," the scout said breathlessly. "At most? Ten minutes—maybe less. Then this entire place will be crawling with them."
Professor David exhaled slowly, as if releasing the burden of a decision. "Then we move. We head for White Shop Camp. If we're lucky, we'll evade the horde and hold out until the army reaches us."
Tension crackled in the air. Nero glanced sideways at Felicity. Her jaw was clenched, eyes cold and alert. Her entire frame was coiled, like a tigress preparing to pounce. She bit her lower lip, hard enough that he noticed the faintest drop of blood appear.
Even standing beside her, Nero felt a twist in his stomach. It was strange—almost enthralling—a mix of fear and admiration wrapped in something softer. Something… tender.
He forced himself to look away, afraid the emotions in his eyes might betray him. In times like these, with death looming ever closer, courage surged in unexpected ways. Students whispered confessions, stole kisses, held hands as if it might shield them from what was coming. The world might end—but at least they wouldn't die alone.
But Nero couldn't bring himself to speak to Felicity. Not like that. Not now.
He harbored feelings—of course he did. Who didn't? But more than anyone, he understood her walls. Her rules. Her response to a confession.
A solid no.
Felicity was a fortress: aloof, untouchable, immune to charm or sentiment. She kept her distance not only from men but from everyone. It was only through his role as vice president that Nero had even scratched the surface of her world.
True friends? She had none.
But admirers? If they were to line up, nine out of every ten men on campus would stand to declare themselves. She wasn't just beautiful—she radiated something distant and regal, like a queen carved from marble and crowned with thorns.
A single rose among roses.
And right now, even as the world threatened to end, her radiance was unshaken.
….
All thirty-four of them—Merek included—hurried down the street, boots thudding against concrete, breath clouding in the unnaturally cold air. Merek trailed a few paces behind the group, yet remained within range, with Professor David jogging calmly beside him, ever watchful.
Behind them, the sound of the dead grew louder—like a rising tide. When Merek glanced over his shoulder, the sight made his breath hitch.
The entire street was flooded with zombies.
A seething mass of rotting limbs and lifeless eyes stretched from wall to wall, shoulder to shoulder, trampling over each other in their manic charge. Hundreds of them, some shrieking, others silent, filled the road like a plague unleashed. The very earth beneath their feet shuddered under the combined force of the stampede.
"They're fast," Merek muttered grimly.
No sooner had the words left his mouth than they reached a crossroad—just in time to see six zombies skitter out from an alley, blocking their path. They snarled, twisted faces contorting as they launched themselves forward.
Tevin instinctively raised his spear, but before he could even lunge—
Felicity vanished.
In her place, a faint afterimage shimmered—an echo of where she once stood. She reappeared behind two of the zombies, her twin short swords already out.
Swish. Swish.
One second.
Two heads fell. Then three more.
By the time the first two corpses hit the ground, the others were already decapitated, headless torsos crumpling to the floor.
Three seconds. That was all it took.
With a flick of her wrists, Felicity cast the blood from her blades and sheathed them again. Her face remained cold, her movement like that of a trained fighter.
The group resumed their sprint, veering forward, but the situation was worsening. More undead were pouring in from the left. Then the right. And right behind was the endless horde.
Only one road remained: forward.
But even that path was narrowing. The faster zombies were closing the gap.
Professor David glanced back and began to slow, perhaps readying to cover the retreat. But before he could act—
The vulture wraiths moved.
Two figures clad in dark, bone-like armor surged ahead. One drove his double-bladed sword clean through a zombie's skull, the blade ringing with a sharp, wet clang. The other hurled his chained weapon like a whip. It soared through the air and impaled a snarling corpse, then whirled back in a brutal arc.
The chain coiled, and with one savage pull, the wraith ripped it free, slicing through two more heads like buttered parchment. Brains and blood sprayed as the weapon spun in his grip, metal shrieking as it danced through flesh.
In the chaos, grey mist rose from the corpses, swirling like smoke and seeped into the armor of the vulture soldiers. Their bodies stiffened for a heartbeat.
The orbs in their helmets glowed. Nero, running ahead with Felicity, Tevin, and Fred, felt it strike him in the gut. A sickening chill as he gazed at those things mow through the horde.
They were fearless.
They were getting stronger!
It wasn't just the brutality of their attacks. It was the way the air changed around them. As though each kill fed them—empowered them.
"W-What the hell…" Fred muttered under his breath.
Nero wasn't alone in his awe. The others could feel it too. The vulture wraiths weren't just powerful—they were leveling mid-battle. With every cleaved head and broken body, they grew sharper. Quicker. Deadlier.
And the zombies? They had no answer. Teeth and nails were useless against steel that thick. Even when they lunged, even when they clawed—their efforts clanged harmlessly off impenetrable armor.
Then came another flash—a blur of white and silver.
Yuki, blade drawn, veered off to the left. Her speed was almost supernatural, her strikes leaving glowing arcs of silver in the air. She moved like a windstorm trapped in steel, her sword howling as it slashed through dozens of undead.
Zombies collapsed in waves, forming grotesque piles along the path she carved.
Nero stumbled to a halt, utterly overwhelmed.
"Those things… they're under him?" he said aloud, incredulous, voice nearly cracking.
The realization struck like a thunderclap.