It was like a clogged pipe had finally burst. The energy that he'd been trying to control wasn't a gentle warmth anymore. It was a river of fire, a torrent of magma flooding his system.
The pressure was immense, a dam breaking inside him. It was something he struggled with before, yet now, in this situation of high danger and adrenaline, some sort of limiter had come off, and the latent power of his core was nearly fully manifesting.
Warmth spread throughout his entire body, so much so that Tysone briefly wondered if the very same source of his heat would also end up consuming him too, in the process.
His hands, gripping the creature's jaws, glowed with a faint crimson light. The energy didn't just flow to them; it erupted from them.
Flames curled into being all across Tysone's digits. Not big, roaring flames, but a searing, intensely hot coating that enveloped his hands and the creature's snout.
SSSSSEEEEEEEEE—
The stench hit fucking hard.
The Alpha's shriek of triumph became a mind-numbing scream of pure agony. Its head didn't just burn; it cooked. The thin membrane of its skin blackened, blistered, and then peeled away in flaming strips. The bone beneath became a dull, glowing red. Its eyeballs boiled and popped in their sockets.
With a final, convulsive heave, Tysone threw the burning, headless corpse off him.
For a moment, he just lay there, stunned, chest heaving as he tried to suck in some air. His hands were still wreathed in rings of flame—it'd have looked really cool if he was in a better state of mind to admire it.
"Ugh…"
A grunt came from deep within Tysone. He had to get up, lest the rest of the pack saw him weakened and attacked.
Every limb burned with the exertion. Every joint howled with agony. He felt a heavy throbbing in his skull, and there was a loud buzz in his ears. He thought it was a delayed reaction from the Alpha's screeching, but when his vision slowly swam, his hand came away from his nostrils smeared with blood.
"Shit..."
A hiss from somewhere close made him cringe and scramble upright. The Alpha's surviving pack was closing in, surrounding him. Why the fuck couldn't these creatures be scared into retreating already? Were they incapable of being dissuaded with force alone?
They were close enough, and in too much of a pack for him to fend off, not to mention how hard it was getting for him to stay on his feet.
He could probably take a couple more with him if he so wished, but that would end with him in pieces or eaten while unconscious, and neither option would help him out of the current situation.
Gritting his teeth and clutching the spot where the Alpha had left a dent in his ribcage, he bent over with a hiss and slowly retrieved the dropped halberd. Right then and there, Tysone had to make a hard choice.
"Run!"
No other way. He wouldn't risk his life fighting off the rest of the horde.
He'd try to catch up to the Apocalypse Mule—with the Alpha dead and their numbers severely reduced, Tysone's group should be able to actually kill off the pursuing monsters without any problems. He didn't want to draw the aggro of those creatures towards them, but if he didn't do so now, he wouldn't have a say in the matter, either way.
That didn't stop his legs from aching, however, nor his body to complain whenever he exerted himself even the slightest, while blood and sweat kept on running down his eyes and his nose.
It didn't seem to deter him, however, as he just couldn't get a break and started moving the moment his hands secured the halberd's grip once again. The flock surrounding him sensed his determination and prepared to pounce on him as one.
A small surge of energy from somewhere kept him on his feet.
The pack lunged.
Tysone made a break for it. He didn't look back. He just ran. He pushed through the pain, ignoring the throbbing in his leg and the burning in his chest. He pumped his arms, his long legs eating up the distance.
He could hear them behind him, their claws scrabbling on the wet asphalt, their bone-grinding chitters echoing in the empty street. Even as injured and worn out as he was, Tysone's speed could've easily left an olympic track and field athlete in the dust.
The problem was that those bastards were fast too. Faster than him, as he was currently injured.
He was losing ground.
He spotted a narrow alleyway up ahead, between two crumbling brick buildings. It was a gamble. A tight space could be a deathtrap. But it could also slow them down, funnel them.
He took the gamble.
He dove into the alley, the halberd scraping against the brick wall as he squeezed through.
The pack, larger and less agile, couldn't follow as easily. They crashed into the alley entrance, a tangled mess of limbs and snarling faces.
They started to claw their way in, their talons scraping against the brick before they decided to climb directly over it.
Tysone kept running. The alley was a labyrinth of dumpsters, overflowing trash cans, and piles of debris. He stumbled over something, nearly falling, but managed to keep his footing. He could see the other end of the alley, a faint square of light from the street beyond.
He was almost there.
Suddenly, a shadow fell over him.
He looked up, gritted his teeth, and swung the blade of his halberd in a vicious arc.
He caught one of the creatures mid-leap, slicing it in half. The two halves fell on either side of him with a wet thud. He didn't stop running. He could hear more of them coming.
He burst out of the alley and back onto a main street.
He looked around, desperately searching for any sign of the Apocalypse Mule.
Nothing.
The street was empty. Tysone knew they were heading in this direction, but realistically, at the speed they were going, they should already be way further.
He could only hope.
A screech from above made him look up. The creatures were on the rooftops again, leaping from building to building, keeping pace with him. They were herding him.
He felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. He stumbled, catching himself on a rusted car and propelling himself forward again. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself harder. He could feel a bit of the heat from the core start to fade, leaving a cold, numbing exhaustion in its wake.
Another one of the creatures dropped down. Tysone didn't slow down as he slammed the butt of his halberd into its snout. The creature's head snapped back with a sickening crack.
He kept running, ignoring the protests of his body. His lungs burned, and his vision started to blur.
He reached a four-way intersection. He looked down each street, his heart pounding in his chest.
No truck.
But then he saw it. A faint track on the damp pavement. Tire treads. They had gone left.
He took a left, pushing himself to his limit. The street was long and straight, lined with abandoned shops and restaurants.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"
He was starting to panic.
He could feel his strength fading. The heat from the core was almost gone. He was running on pure adrenaline now.
Then he saw it.
In the distance, a pair of red taillights.
The Apocalypse Mule.
He felt a surge of hope. He opened his mouth to shout, but only a croak came out. A croak that died right in his throat as, coming from the front of the Apocalypse Mule, was a massive fucking horde.
It was a sea of shambling, groaning bodies, a hundred strong at least, a writhing wall of death blocking the entire street.
The truck was stuck, its engine on idle as deafening cracks rang out.
He saw the figures of his companions on the truck's roof, fighting a desperate battle against the few zombies that managed to climb onto the vehicle.
He could see Saeko's blade flashing. He could hear Kohta's rifle crackling, and Rei's battle cry along with Takashi's desperate lunge to clear as much of a path as he could with the help of his companions.
And he could see the other flock of creatures.
Coming from behind.
Author's Note:
If you're enjoying the story and want to read ahead or support my work, you can check out my P@treon at [email protected]/LordCampione. But don't worry—all chapters will eventually be public. Just being here and reading means the world to me. Thank you for your time and support.