The warehouse lights flickered with a low hum, as if the building itself were breathing in fits and starts. The air was dense, almost unbreathable, thick with the metallic smell of fresh blood, the rancid sweat of fear, and the acrid stench of burnt gunpowder. All while the shadows danced with each erratic flicker of the bulbs.
[Huhuhuhu.]
In the midst of that intermittent pressure, Aníbal laughed. Not a nervous or incredulous laugh, but a genuine, warm, and unnatural rejoicing.
The girls watched him with bewilderment. The image of a man with a hole in his forehead, smiling serenely, had surpassed the point of horror. But the fear and shock lasted barely a heartbeat and were soon replaced by an icy caution.
For people who had seen the sky fill with a sick planet, the invulnerability of a corrupt politician was simply the next item on a list of impossibilities.
Aníbal noticed the rapid change in their postures. In the girls' eyes, there was not the terror or surrender he expected. Instead, their eyes were dangerously sharp.
[It seems you still don't understand] —he said with a soft, almost paternal voice. As he tilted his head, curious, like a child observing an interesting insect.
The echo of his voice felt more and more inhuman. A deep, harsh timbre seeped into his words, as if two voices were trying to occupy the same space.
[Oh, I understand perfectly] —Yumi replied. Her voice was calm, but it cut through the air like broken glass as she interposed herself between Aníbal and the girls.
Her eyes and Flora's did not stop on Aníbal. They moved, scanning the mob, looking for angles, identifying weapons, and above all, trying to locate the armed bodyguards.
But upon not finding them, Yumi made an almost imperceptible sign to Flora, a slight movement of her chin that said it all.
[I understand that my damn brat got into trouble again] —Yumi said as she handed her pistol to Flora, who retreated behind the makeshift barricade.
The action not only surprised Aníbal; everyone, except for Flora, was in shock. An inexplicable tension bloomed in their hearts, as if they were suddenly being stalked by a predator far more dangerous than the mob.
[Here] —said Flora, tossing an aluminum baseball bat towards Yumi.
With a fluid movement, Yumi caught the bat. Her posture changed. Her shoulders relaxed, her weight settled onto the balls of her feet. Her protective, maternal aura vanished without a trace, replaced by something more brutal. The metal spun in her hand, not like an improvised weapon, but like an extension of her will.
"BOM!"
The floor trembled as Yumi slammed the tip of the bat into the concrete. A dry, powerful impact that left a spiderweb of cracks in the ground.
[And I understand] —she said, raising her gaze arrogantly— [that you, you little sons of bitches, are the obstacle keeping me from going to support him.]
Yumi's voice had dropped an octave. A barely contained desire for violence filtered through her words. Her straight black hair seemed to stand on end, like the fur of a predator about to pounce on its prey.
[AHAHAHA! I knew it!] —in the midst of the tension, Teresa laughed heartily, as if the situation had nothing to do with her.
[I knew it was you, the big boss who ruled the entire Costa Verde before me. You are brutality incarnate, "Black Ogre." I'm your fan.] – she continued.
Teresa's words hit Yumi with such force that her intimidating aura was lost for an instant and she staggered slightly.
Yumi could only be grateful to be able to lean on the bat she had just slammed into the ground. But her serious face was betrayed by the burning blush that warmed even her ears.
[Pfft…] —even Flora couldn't help but laugh at her friend's dark past.
[Ahem... We can talk about that later] —she muttered, trying to regain her composure.
[Ah, sorry, sorry. I know this isn't the time, but after this, you have to teach me some moves.]
Teresa apologized as she walked to stand beside Yumi, spinning her own bat.
[If you survive, we'll talk] —Yumi replied, raising her bat.
[So, what? Are you a zombie or something?] —Teresa looked at Aníbal with a half-smile. In her eyes, a predatory edge no less than Yumi's.
But Aníbal did not back down. He slowly shook his head and then took a step forward.
His smile hadn't changed, but his presence filled the space. The lights flickered again, and the shadows stretched towards him, as if the darkness itself wanted to touch him.
[Lost lambs] —he said, his voice honeyed. His golden eyes shining with an unnatural intensity.
[we will bring redemption.] - The words were a guttural echo that vibrated in the chest more than in the ear. And, as if the phrase were an order, the mob behind him began to move.
It wasn't a chaotic charge; it was a tide of bodies moving with eerie synchronicity.
Yumi needed no more. She took a step forward. Teresa imitated her, her smile turning into a savage grimace.
A young man with a familiar face stumbled over the objects scattered on the floor. His jaw hung at an impossible angle, but he still roared and lunged at them.
Yumi didn't dare to have doubts in her heart; she swung in a quick arc. "Crack." The blow impacted the man's temple with the force of a hydraulic hammer. The body collapsed, but not even that stopped the others.
Teresa spun on one foot and struck with a lateral movement, breaking an arm that was reaching for her. The sound of the bone breaking was dry, crisp.
Yumi lived up to her name, her movements could be described as minimal, barely calculated steps to secure her position. But each of her blows carried a devastating brutal force that left a chilling sound in its wake.
Knee, head, ribs, arms. It didn't matter where she connected, the horrifying crunch of bones served as background music. Followed by the fall of the body that had been thrown far by the force of the impact.
Meanwhile, Teresa was a whirlwind. She used her agility to flow between the attackers, her strikes fast and precise. Although the force of her impacts lagged slightly compared to Yumi's. Each attack was more than enough to shatter her victims' bones, and due to her speed. While Yumi landed one blow, she had landed 3.
[Tsk.] Flora, who continued to fire with precision from the rear to give them cover, clicked her tongue.
[Don't waste energy. In short, only the head works.] – she continued, feeling a little uneasy confirming that she had ended up in some kind of zombie apocalypse.
The bodies on the ground wouldn't stop moving. They crawled, tried to get up despite their broken limbs, their empty eyes fixed on them with inhuman persistence.
Yumi nodded in agreement as she smashed her bat against a man who was crawling towards her even though Yumi had previously shattered his spine—. [Definitely, only the head works, the rest just slows them down.]
Teresa also agreed and charged forward. Her bat descended like a hammer, sinking into the skull of a woman who was still muttering prayers through her teeth.
The scene became a whirlwind. The smell of open flesh, sweat, the sound of feet sliding on the stained floor.
[This is…] — Carla spoke, her growing tension reflected in her voice as she gripped her improvised spear.
Of course, her friends were the same. Even if their mental resilience was already superior to that of a normal person. The scene in front of them was particularly disturbing. After all, they could no longer tell if what they were facing were monsters or victims.
Noticing their hesitation and internal struggle, Flora spoke carefully, but at the same time, with unquestionable authority.
[This is no time for doubts. Don't lose focus. Isn't this how you've survived so far?] — she said. As another shot from her pistol supported Teresa, giving her a vital second to reposition.
[Even so, this is a bit…] —Ana replied, her complexion pale from the scene that brought back unpleasant memories.
[Zombies are new…] —Jennifer supported her.
[Girls, quick, change your weapons] —Sophie interrupted, as she passed metal bars and bats to her friends, urging them to drop their spears.
At first, we were confused, but we soon understood. Besides those whose heads had been literally crushed, the rest, even with fractured limbs, continued to crawl, trying to attack.
Although nervous, they instinctively switched to the more efficient weapon. The familiar and sometimes annoying voice kept ringing in their heads: "Move or die."
[Son of a bitch!] —Yumi roared, pushing an attacker away with a knee to the abdomen.
The movement left her flank exposed; another arm rose to her right. But before she could react, Teresa leaped forward, batting the attacking arm until the bone protruded from the skin.
[I've got your back, chief!] —she shouted, panting.
[Save the nicknames for later!] —Yumi growled, brandishing her weapon again.
[They're coming, get ready] —Flora warned the girls, noticing that Aníbal had pointed at them.
As she thought, the mob began to act with more intelligence and a part of it broke off, trying to get to Flora and the girls. Yumi and Teresa switched from aggression to defense, but it was impossible to contain them all.
In the midst of it all, a higher-pitched sound, an inhuman whimper, made them all startle.
[""GRIIII!""]
The goblins entered the scene. Small, but furious. There was no longer fear in their eyes, only a savage determination. Using their size to their advantage, they slipped between the attackers' legs, their clubs impacting knees and ankles. One of them jumped onto the back of a fallen man and repeatedly struck his head until he stopped moving. Her eyes glowed with bloodlust.
"NYA!"
And behind them, the black cat launched into combat. It became a blur of claws and teeth. With pure agility, it climbed the attackers' clothes to reach their faces, scratching faces and tearing out their eyes. Before leaping to the next victim.
Taking advantage of the clumsiness caused by the blindness, the goblins rushed in to deal the fatal blow, creating a team of 3, synchronized and effective.
Seeing the three so determined, the girls didn't dare hesitate any longer. They gripped their weapons and joined the fight.
The chaos, for an instant, became a choreography. Yumi and Teresa at the front, the girls forming a loose line, Flora covering the gaps, the goblins and the cat moving between everyone's legs like domestic demons.
The floor was covered with bodies before anyone realized it. By the time the last of the attackers fell. The girls' breathing was the only thing that sounded between the electrical snaps of the lights.
Their bodies, covered in bleeding wounds and bruises.
"Clap! Clap! Clap!"
And there, observing everything with a benevolent smile, as if he were watching the most entertaining play, Aníbal applauded. The sound, slow and deliberate, was a desecration in the midst of the massacre. His benevolent smile hadn't moved a millimeter.
[This isn't normal] —Flora whispered, her eyes narrowed as she aimed at Aníbal and tried to calculate how much ammunition she had left.
[It never was] —Teresa said, spitting on the floor.
Finally, Aníbal took a step forward, and the air seemed to harden.
[Do you see?] —he said with a calm voice—. [Look at what you've done. Do you still dare to say you are not heretics?] – he added, his dual voice a mixture of reproach and forgiveness.
The silence fell like a tombstone. Even the lights seemed to dim.
[Tsk] —Yumi clicked her tongue, her face a mixture of indignation and disgust.
Flora felt something brush her leg and saw how the warehouse shadows converged towards Aníbal, snaking across the floor until they merged with his own. It wasn't an illusion; it had texture, like cold, liquid smoke.
And when the shadow opened two golden eyes upon itself, they all recoiled by instinct. The temperature plummeted. A low hum filled the air, vibrating in their teeth.
Aníbal's shadow writhed. The two golden points lit up, not like eyes, but like embers from a cold hell.
Aníbal raised his head, pleased.
[Hehehe…]
He laughed at their bewilderment. And as if it were the signal, the shadow began to peel itself off the wall. It didn't fade; it peeled, like thick ink or living tar, stretching, gaining volume with a nauseating plasticity.
Very slowly, the three-meter figure rose up behind Aníbal, a silhouette of pure liquid darkness. Wings made of solid night unfurled from its back, and its head solidified into that of a terrible owl, with empty, golden eyes fixed on them.
[Heretics without salvation…] —Aníbal said, but the voice was no longer just his. The ancient, harsh whisper emanated from the creature at his back as well—. [I will be your executioner.]
The echo unfolded throughout the warehouse, vibrating in their bones and shattering the air.