Cherreads

Chapter 7 - Desperate Wish

"Should I have spared them?" Merek retorted, one brow arched in quiet defiance.

From the looks of it, the man clinging to the woman with a baby was likely her husband. The other male, a young man about Merek's age, needed no introduction. He was Tevin—the infamous Tevin. Son of the man who'd just shouted at him. A name often whispered among the girls in the complex, always paired with dreamy sighs and hopeful giggles. The handsome college baseball star. The guy whose father owned a company.

Merek had heard it all before. Even his brother used to joke about wanting Tevin's face.

Now, Tevin's father—Mr. William—stood at the front of the group, a wooden bat clenched in his calloused hands. His eyes bored into Merek with burning intensity.

"Those zombies were keeping the others at bay!" William snapped. "Now that they're gone, this place will be overrun in no time! And why the hell would you fire a gun—are you stupid?!"

Merek scoffed under his breath. "I won't disturb you any longer. I'm leaving," he muttered, turning toward the exit.

But William stormed after him and grabbed his sleeve with iron fingers.

A sharp hum sliced the air.

The glint of cold steel appeared—just a breath from William's throat. The women gasped, some shielding the child.

The forty-eight-year-old man froze. His breath hitched, his eyes narrowing with fear at the sight of the sword. But despite the danger, a calculating gleam lingered in his gaze.

"You've just rung a dinner bell for every monster nearby," he growled. "And now you want to walk out and leave the door open behind you? You'll kill that woman and her baby. You'll be dooming all of us."

Merek turned slowly, his expression shifting to incredulity—lips slightly parted, one brow raised higher than the other. Was this man seriously trying to guilt-trip him into staying? To make him believe the blood would be on his hands?

"I'll lock the door from the outside," Merek said with a tired sigh. His eyes drifted to Tevin. The boy hadn't moved an inch, hadn't even blinked when a sword came that close to his father's neck. Was it trust? Or did he simply not care?

William, unrelenting, stepped forward again. "And what about the zombies inside this building? Clear them out so we can wait for the military in peace. Don't worry…" He sneered. "I'll make sure they know exactly what you did. They'll find you, wherever you run."

Merek almost laughed.

Was this really happening?

Even in the face of death, this man was scheming for a scapegoat. He was even willing to use a total stranger to pull it off. Merek couldn't bring himself to hate him, though. Crises like these didn't just bring out desperation—they unveiled the monsters hiding in plain sight.

Before he could reply, a blur of motion yanked him to the side.

Yuki.

She gripped his arm and flashed them into the hallway to the right just as—

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Automatic gunfire ripped through the lobby. Bullets shredded the shutter, shattered glass, and pulverized pillars. Screams were drowned beneath the deafening roar of destruction.

Then—silence.

Merek, breath held, slowly turned his gaze back toward the lobby.

Bodies. Blood. Shattered remnants of survival hopes lay strewn across the ground. William. The woman. The man. All gone.

Except…

Tevin.

The youth hid behind a cracked marble pillar, untouched. His body—his very flesh—was no longer human. It was sheathed in a jagged, grayish-white bone carapace, layered like natural armor.

From head to toe, he was a living shell. Even his eyes were sunken beneath slits of bone, barely visible.

"Merek!"

The voice curled through the silence like smoke—mocking, too amused to be anything but dangerous.

"Still breathing, Merek?"

There was laughter then—several chuckle s, not just one. A chuckle here, a low snort there. Four at least, Merek thought grimly, crouched behind the wall in the hallway that led to the elevator he left.

"You remember the men you killed?" the voice continued, each word laced with venom and smug delight. "I came to repay the favor."

With a mechanical groan, the half-wrecked security shutter was yanked up. Through the shattered glass door they came—four men stepping over the broken threshold, boots crunching glass like bones underfoot. The sound drilled into Merek's ears, sharp and cold, each step a nail driven into his tension.

'Howling Moon Gang,' he muttered inwardly, his breath shallow. Peering secretly, he caught a glimpse of them—four figures clad in urban black, armored boots and tactical vests. Three bore exposed, arrogant faces—smirking at their handiwork. The fourth wore a full-face mask, painted with the dreadful image of a skull.

Only two things broke the illusion of death about him—his red hair spilling from the back of the mask, and the glint of shrewd eyes watching with sharp intelligence.

"Is he among them?" Red, the skull-mask asked, holding up a photo. His voice was the same one that called earlier—taunting, controlled.

The other three leaned in, eyes flicking to the picture, then scanned the lobby.

"No," one replied.

"Then we head upstairs. That bastard has a gun, so be—"

Red froze mid-sentence. His eyes narrowed, scanning the floor with predatory precision. "They were just talking to someone. His voice was coming from this direction. So where is he?"

He wasn't wrong. The other three scattered to search. One strayed too close to the pillar —right where Tevin hid.

Tevin lunged.

There was no warning—just the sudden crunch of movement and a flurry of limbs. The thug screamed, his weapon discharging into the ceiling. Dust and plaster rained down.

Yuki took her cue.

From behind the wall, she surged forward—an armored figure of dreadful appearance . Her form was inhuman, tall and unnatural, forged from interlocking plates of dark steel. Not a living being, but a vessel—a 75-kilogram shell that Merek had crafted to hold her wandering soul.

To the gang, she appeared like a demon in steel.

By the time the nearest thug turned toward the sound, she was upon him. Her blade hissed—one clean arc severed his hand, sending the weapon flying. His scream never finished. Her second stroke took his head clean off, the steel slicing through bone and cartilage like silk.

Another fell beneath Tevin's fists—brutal and fast.

Suddenly, only Red and one retreating lackey remained.

They didn't hesitate—both rifles roared in unison, muzzles spitting flame at the charging wraith.

Bullets pinged off her steel plates, some deflected by the sweeping arc of her sword, others flattening uselessly against her armored chest. A few struck true, leaving shallow dents, but nothing more. She crashed into the last thug like a battering ram. He hit the wall and went limp.

She felt no pain.

Red swung his rifle around just in time to see her blade cleave through it—steel and circuitry split in a spray of sparks.

With a growl, Red activated his skill. Bronze spread like molten wax across his forearms, hardening into gleaming gauntlets of metal.

Blade met bronze. Sparks flew in bursts of orange fire.

From his hiding spot, Merek watched the clash—wishing he had more than one undead. He just realised his need for an army!

An army of armoured undead!

More Chapters