If he had been at his peak, Sylar believed he could have easily outrun the Thralls. Even exhausted, his speed still surpassed that of a normal car, but the fight against the Apostles had drained him to his core.
The battle had been short, but brutally intense. His muscles burned, his breath came ragged, and though he forced himself forward, he knew he was losing ground. If he didn't find a way to rest soon, the horde would catch up.
His sharp eyes scanned his surroundings and caught sight of a three-story drug store ahead. Without hesitation, he sprinted toward it, vaulted through the shattered doors, and raced up the stairs. Within seconds, he reached the rooftop, his chest heaving.
Looking back, Sylar saw the first wave of Thralls reaching the building. They smashed through windows and walls, tearing through everything in their path. The sound of breaking glass and pounding footsteps filled the air as hundreds of infected began pouring inside. Still, their sheer number became their limitation. The stairwells and corridors were too narrow for them all to advance at once, creating bottlenecks that slowed their pursuit.
Some of them attempted to climb the walls, but while the infection gave them a lot of enhanced attributes, they lacked the claws for such a feat.
After confirming that limitation, Sylar leapt across to the next building, rolling as he landed. He didn't stop. He kept jumping from rooftop to rooftop until he reached the ground again.
Behind him, the Thralls continued their relentless chase, some leaping after him from the rooftops, others diving headfirst into the streets below. Their bodies broke bones upon impact, but they simply rose again, limbs twisted and movements jerky, their howls echoing like the damned.
His gaze locked onto a tall tower several blocks ahead, a ten-story building. "That'll do," he muttered under his breath and pushed his body harder.
Sylar increased his speed, his muscles screaming in protest. The distance between him and the horde widened, but so did the drain on his stamina. It was necessary as he needed time for his plan. Once he reached the tower, he smashed through the entrance, scanning his surroundings with heightened perception.
"Echolocation," he whispered as he focused on his new ability.
Stairs, corridors, exits, every potential path of entry glowed in his senses.
Sylar darted through the first and second floors, using his immense strength to collapse stairwells and destroy access routes. Metal bent beneath his blows, walls cracked, and rubble filled the gaps. By the time he finished reinforcing his trap, the horde was already at the door.
The shrieks of the Thralls echoed like a rising storm.
"Here they come," he muttered, his face pale due to exhaustion. With a final surge, he jumped nearly ten meters straight (32'8'') up, smashing through a window and landing on the third floor.
Then the cacophony began.
"ARGHHHHH!"
Hundreds of voices screamed at once as the infected crashed through the lower levels. The building trembled under the chaos. They tore through furniture, walls, and glass, anything that stood between them and their prey.
Unfortunately for them, the path upward was clogged by debris and collapsed stairways, forcing them to climb over one another in a mindless frenzy, but they were not succeeding.
Sylar crouched on the third floor, listening to the chaos below. His heartbeat slowed. When he was certain the horde could no longer reach him, he finally allowed himself to breathe. His legs gave out slightly from exhaustion, but he steadied himself and looked for higher ground.
The third floor was too enclosed; visibility was poor. He needed to see the bigger picture, so he could respond to threats faster.
Rising carefully, he made his way to the rooftop of the ten-story tower. As he emerged into the open air, the wind whipped against his face, carrying with it the stench of smoke and blood.
From above, the sight that greeted him was devastating.
The streets were drowned in fire. Buildings burned in the distance, some half-collapsed, others engulfed in thick black smoke. The horizon glowed orange under the rising inferno. Below, hundreds of Thralls clawed at the tower's base, their blood-red skin glistening in the light of the flames.
Sylar's expression hardened. "The entire city's gone… maybe the whole country," he whispered. The thought chilled him, but he couldn't deny it. Whatever horror had begun here was spreading fast, too fast for any human defense to contain.
He exhaled slowly and sat down on the cold concrete. His body trembled with fatigue. Worrying wouldn't change anything now. For all his newfound strength and speed, he was still just one person.
He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, forcing himself to rest. The night was filled with distant explosions, howls, and the eerie hiss of spreading fire. But he ignored them all, letting his breathing steady. "I'll recover first," he whispered to himself. "Then I'll fight again."
---
Meanwhile, in another town not far from Sylar's location, a scene of horror unfolded.
A dozen Apostles had gathered, herding nearly three hundred people into the square. The air was thick with fear, the silence broken only by the sound of sobbing and metal scraping against stone.
Among the Apostles stood one that towered over the rest, a monstrous figure wrapped in jagged, metallic armor that pulsed with blue light.
The creature's eyes glowed like twin stars of cold flame, casting an unearthly hue across the terrified faces before it.
Its body was a fusion of flesh and machinery, every movement accompanied by the hum of power and the hiss of steam from the vents along its spine. Its right arm merged seamlessly with a colossal weapon, fused to its very bone.
The ground cracked beneath its steps. The lesser Apostles bowed their heads in reverence as it surveyed the crowd, a cruel smile forming on its metallic lips.
Then it stopped. Its head tilted slightly.
Something was falling from the sky.
The crowd looked up, shielding their eyes from the light. Dark shapes streaked downward, eight perfect orbs of polished obsidian, descending at impossible speed. When they should have struck the ground, they instead halted midair, defying gravity as if time itself had frozen.
Gasps and murmurs spread through the people. Even the Apostles exchanged uneasy glances. None of them had seen anything like it.
The silence was shattered as the orbs began to split open, revealing glowing seams of red light. A deafening clang followed as seven of the eight objects unfolded, releasing massive figures that crashed down with thunderous force.
They were not creatures; they were machines.
Towering humanoid constructs, each easily three meters tall (9'8''), landed in flawless formation. Their armor was sleek, angular, and alien in design, forged from dark metal lined with glowing crimson veins of energy. In their hands, they carried large, futuristic rifles, held with precision and readiness, suggesting they are elite combat units.
The people screamed, certain these new arrivals were more of the same abominations. But the Apostles looked on in confusion. Though both were partly mechanical, these beings were different, clean, ordered, and precise, the complete opposite of the chaotic fusion of flesh and metal that defined the Apostles.
The leader of the Apostles frowned as an uneasy feeling crept through its core. Something about these new arrivals was wrong. Yet confidence soon returned to its monstrous expression as it glanced down at its weapon, a colossal cannon fused to its arm. The machine's arrogance reignited.
It was about to march forward when one of the newly arrived robots spoke.
"Zone secure. No threat above Grade +3 detected."
The voice was entirely mechanical, devoid of emotion or hesitation, cold, efficient, perfect. It echoed through the smoky air like the voice of a machine god.
Then, the last of the obsidian orbs opened.
From within descended another figure, but unlike the others, it did not crash into the earth. Instead, it hovered just above the ground, surrounded by a faint shimmer of energy.
This machine was different. Its form was more humanoid, encased in sleek black armor veined with glowing red circuits. A sharp, angular helmet concealed its face, and two crimson eyes burned beneath the visor like molten coals. At its chest, a pulsing red core illuminated the metallic contours of its frame.
But there was something off about it. Unlike its flawless mechanical companions, this one wore a dark cloak that rippled in the wind. Strange cables extended from its armor, decorative, unnecessary, almost organic. They served no purpose except aesthetic design, a display of taste and personality.
The Apostle leader's frown deepened. Its instincts screamed that this being was not like the rest. Still, it would not show fear and roared with rage and power. "Who are you? If you serve our Lord, reveal your flesh, or prepare to be..."
The words never finished.
The cloaked machine vanished.
In the blink of an eye, it appeared before the Apostle, its movement so fast it left a trail of red light behind. The towering abomination barely had time to register what happened before the machine's hand clamped around its head.
Horror flashed in the Apostle's eyes. It tried to raise its cannon, but a beam of searing plasma burst from the cloaked figure's palm, incinerating the creature's skull in an instant.
The explosion sent the Apostle's massive body collapsing to the ground, leaving only the hiss of molten metal.
The remaining Apostles froze. Their monstrous faces twisted in fear and disbelief as the mysterious entity rose above the corpse of their leader.
"Flesh and machine… merged together."
The voice that came from the entity was not robotic; it carried tone, emotion, and unmistakable intent. And delivery pure disgust and loathing toward the Apostles.
"You are a travesty against the order of the universe."
Before the abominations could react, the cloaked figure blurred forward. Its speed defied comprehension; one moment it stood still, and the next, it was among them.
The first Apostle exploded into a shower of metal and blood as the being's fist connected with its chest. Another tried to aim its weapon, but a searing plasma beam erupted from the entity's arm, vaporizing the creature before it could fire.
There was no mercy. No pause. Only methodical destruction.
In less than ten seconds, every Apostle in the square was dead. Their bodies lay strewn across the ground, burned, broken, and melted into twisted piles of flesh and steel.
The cloaked machine stood amidst the carnage, unmoving. Its eyes gleamed brighter, filled with what could only be described as delight and pleasure.