The survivors returned to their routines under a heavy silence.
None of them dared speak anything beyond Leo's back. What he had done… it was something etched permanently into their minds.
Human psychology was strange—resistance sparked in the face of tyranny, but once fear wormed its way into the heart, the will to resist withered.
Victoria understood something others didn't want to admit—both Ana and Leo were necessary for their camp's survival.
That balance, though fragile, was what kept the chaos at bay. So she approached Ana.
Ana had become quiet, distant. She avoided Leo's gaze whenever he looked at her, and though she refused to admit it, fear had begun to seep into her bones.
There was something about Leo now—a coldness that didn't seem human.
Outside, the weather worsened. The clouds hung lower every day, as if the sky itself was grieving.
The winds carried the scent of decay. The world was changing to match the chaos of the apocalypse.
But even more unsettling was the quiet rise in tension, not just due to Leo, but due to the environment around them. Something was coming.
Leo watched all of it. Quiet. Distant. He waited until things settled, ensuring the survivors had resumed their routines before slipping away.
He had plans.
If he fell behind, even a single step, he would be devoured.
There was no room for weakness.
Not in this world. Not anymore. And so, he decided to evolve his Blood Path. He needed strength—raw, undeniable power.
Only then could he stand among the apex beings that now ruled the earth.
He ventured beyond the center, finding an old baseball field, long abandoned and forgotten by time. This place would do.
In his mind, the structure of the Blood Altar was etched—a gift from the Blood Path.
He followed it instinctively, gathering rare materials and hunting for blood samples. One such material came from an Awakened Tier 9 zombie.
Tracking and killing it took all of his skill, but he prevailed. Drenched in its blood, Leo returned, the final piece in his hands.
And so, the Blood Altar was built. A monolith of crimson stone, carved with ancient sigils that pulsed faintly in the dark.
When Leo activated the altar, whispers slithered into his mind.
A voice.
The Blood Sovereign.
It tempted him, speaking of full ascension, of becoming something… more.
Leo stood his ground, battling the temptations, wrestling the will of the Sovereign.
And then, through sheer force of will, he carved his will upon reality. A ripple surged through the altar. A new power manifested.
The First Crimson Edict.
It was a law that affected behavior itself. Subtle. Invasive. Mysterious. Even Leo didn't fully understand its reach… yet.
Back in the community center, Ana was assigning tasks, her mind only half-present. Her thoughts kept spiraling back to that scene—the one she tried not to remember but couldn't forget.
Leo, standing amid the corpses of the rebels. Calm. Cold. Dragging one by the collar across the floor, his face expressionless as he carved into the wall: Obey or Bleed—with the rebel's blood.
That image…
She shook her head and tried to focus.
She looked around, hoping to see Leo, perhaps to talk to him. But he wasn't anywhere inside.
Her feet moved on their own, guiding her to the edge of the center. There, drawn by instinct, she reached the Blood Altar.
And she saw something she couldn't explain.
Leo stood at the center of the altar, his aura flickering. She couldn't see the Blood Sovereign, but she felt its presence—cold, ancient, and vast. And for a brief moment, Leo seemed like something more than human.
That night, Ana couldn't sleep.
So, she wrote.
A journal. A secret record of Leo's reign.
She didn't know why she did it. But deep inside, something told her—Leo would become more than a leader. He would become a figure that history would never forget. Her words would be the first chronicles of the rise of something unnatural.
In the Blood Realm, the Sovereign warned Leo. A new force was rising. A group that called themselves… the Crimson Herald.
And as Leo's vision faded, the sky above the real world shifted.
Thunder rumbled. The clouds turned scarlet.
A message burned across the sky: The Crimson Herald Approaches.
System alerts followed:
WARNING: Protect your Deadzone from the Messengers of the Crimson Herald.
Leo understood—this wasn't the main event. This was the prelude.
The messengers were coming.
Leo returned to the community center and ordered preparations.
He selected elites. Began training them through brutal, near-fatal trials. Among them was Jack Spanor—a strong, determined man who pledged himself to Leo.
Damien and Logan helped with the structure and support. Miles The Hacker , rejoined them, assisting in crafting crude gear and establishing communication tools.
Three women and two more men—all strong, all willing—stepped forward to become part of Leo's personal unit.
Three days passed.
Sweat. Blood. Screams. They forged themselves in hardship.
Leo watched from a distance. On the fourth day, he visited the camp.
Jack Spanor stepped forward.
"I want to challenge you," he said.
Leo raised an eyebrow. "You're sure?"
Jack nodded.
And so, the duel began.
Jack charged, blade in hand, aiming low. Leo parried with ease, sidestepping the strike.
He aimed a kick toward Jack's ribs, but Jack raised his arm in defense. Still, the impact launched him backward.
But Jack stood again.
He feinted left, then slashed from the right. Leo blocked it with the flat of his blade.
The clash echoed across the field.
Then Leo vanished.
A blur.
Jack's instincts screamed. He ducked just in time, Leo's roundhouse kick grazing his jaw. Still, the force fractured his arm.
But Jack didn't fall. He roared, lunging forward. In a desperate move, he bit down on Leo's hand, trying to disarm him.
Leo's eyes narrowed. With precision, he grabbed Jack's throat and slammed him into the ground.
Silence.
And then Leo smiled. Not cruel. Not kind. Just… respectful.
"You've got spirit," he said. "But you need control. Read your opponent. Predict. Don't just react."
Jack coughed, but nodded.
From the crowd, Damien watched, nodding in approval.
Logan's fists clenched.
He wanted to become strong too.
And so, another fire lit within him.
Later that evening, as the wind howled, Leo sat atop the Blood Altar. His cloak fluttered. The horizon pulsed with darkness.
"The real war," he muttered, "has just begun."
Then, the sky blackened.
A portal tore open, blood-red in color.
From it…
An army.
Three hundred messengers of the Crimson Herald stepped forth.
But this time, Leo's community was ready.