The Philosophy building enveloped them the instant they crossed the threshold.
A dim and fading light trickled in from the sunlight filtering through windows choked with overgrown grass, flickering weakly as if struggling to survive.
Each flicker shattered the hallway into jarring fragments, light, shadow, light again, then shadow as if reality was being flipped on and off in rapid succession.
Chika lingered at the entrance with Paul beside him, while Abuchi stood between them, breathing too quickly, his gaze darting from one shadow to another as though something lurking in the dark might spring forth at any moment.
"Paul... are you alright?
Are you still bleeding?
How's the pain?
How's your shoulder?
Uhmm... we really need to get you patched up."
Chika unleashed a barrage of questions as soon as there was a moment of calm, instinctively clutching Paul's hand to check the wounded areas.
"I'm fine. The injury is healing quicker than expected. Don't worry about me; whatever happened before has made us tougher and boosted our chances of survival," Paul reassured him, tearing a strip from his sleeve to tie around his shoulder, at least to staunch the bleeding as it mends.
Chika exhaled in relief. The thought of losing Paul weighed heavier on him than the idea of facing death itself. With Paul's situation somewhat resolved, he redirected his focus to their surroundings.
They were fortunate.
The realization chilled Chika's mind, his analytical nature still sharp despite the chaos around them.
Most students had already dispersed, heading to lunch or retreating to their dorms, seeking refuge from the December heat in any place with a breeze. The building had been nearly deserted by the time darkness descended.
Nearly deserted didn't mean completely empty.
Abuchi's teeth clicked softly together without him realizing it. His hands fidgeted restlessly, opening and closing as if searching for something to grasp but unsure of what that might be. His thoughts spiraled wildly:
"You nearly doomed them during the awakening; you lost control and dragged your own brothers down. You couldn't even move when it really mattered."
"Chimdi would be so disappointed. Chimdi would look at you with those eyes and see exactly what you are, a coward who hides while better people die."
His thoughts spiraled downwards, pulling him into that all-too-familiar paralysis.
The gas station, that old storage room. He can still feel the terror of hiding there while his manager lay bleeding out on the pavement, surrounded by armed men who laughed as they ransacked everything, leaving a lifeless body behind as if it were mere trash.
No!
Not this time!
Suddenly, a resolution took shape in his mind, as sharp and clear as broken glass:
"Keep acting! Just keep acting. Pretend to be brave until that pretense becomes reality. Play the role until you truly embody it."
It is what he had always done.
The smile that never quite reached his eyes, the jokes that masked the fear within, the false confidence that was merely an act, one lie piled upon another.
But if worn long enough, masks could save lives.
That feigned courage might buy his brothers the time they needed to discover real bravery, or at least, long enough for it to count.
With this newfound determination flickering in his chest like a candle flame caught in a gust, Abuchi stepped forward into the void.
The light trickling through the windows illuminated the hall in fragments.
There were bodies everywhere.
And then, darkness.
Once more, the light flickered, revealing bodies yet again, this time even closer as the angle of the illumination shifted.
Headless torsos. Some were missing arms.
Others had ribcages gaping open.
The bodies appeared as if they had been ravaged by beasts, not humans. A solitary hand lay near a wall, fingers curled as if it had died reaching out for aid.
Some bodies had been devoured, reduced to disarrayed remnants that Chika's mind cataloged without effort:
a femur, a radius, bits of pelvis, something that might have been intestine or perhaps something entirely different.
Blood painted everything in sight.
It adorned the walls in splatters, handprints, and long streaks.
The floor had transformed into a shallow stream, still warm enough to release faint wisps of steam, wet enough that each step produced a squelching noise.
Suddenly, Abuchi crouched and grabbed a broken chair leg from the ground, one end jagged and sharp, the other caked in dark red.
His grip tightened around the object until his fingers drained of color. He remained silent, raising it as if a drowning man clutched at anything that might keep him afloat.
Paul observed him lift the weapon and nodded once.
They continued onward, leaving behind a trio of shadows traversing a crimson landscape.
Their footsteps muffled against the ground, soft and wet:
squelch… squelch… squelch.
Chika, positioned to the right, breathed shallowly, his eyes darting over every bloody smear as if his mind couldn't stop cataloging the horror while anxiety skittered beneath his skin.
Abuchi occupied the center, his grip on the chair leg firm against his chest, his shoulders rigid.
Paul, on the left, jaw set and eyes constantly searching for danger, thinking several steps ahead.
Then.....
Ahem!
A thick cough echoed nearby, enough to capture their attention...
They pivoted toward the noise, with Paul signaling for them to halt. A shared glance with Abuchi was all it took for him to understand.
Abuchi nodded briefly, a spark of resolve igniting in his eyes.
He adjusted his weapon's position, ensuring it was poised for a swift strike, and stepped forward toward the sound.
Paul followed closely, staying three paces behind, with Chika flanking them, this is a far cry from their usual goofy walking formation conjured by Paul. Abuchi had never imagined its potential for a situation like this.
Twenty feet ahead, a woman lay on her stomach, her legs weakly kicking. She pulled herself along, dragging her torso across the blood-stained tiles, each movement grating against the carnage.
Her arms were missing.
What remained of her shoulders were ragged stumps, oozing. Once-blue fabric now darkened with dried blood encased her form. Three deep gashes marred her chest, exposing bone beneath.
Her eyes found them at once.
Hope flared brightly within them, to the point it was almost painful to behold.
By her features, she appeared to be around twenty-two or twenty-three. Chika recognized the blue she wore; she is a second-year philosophy student.
With renewed urgency, she began to pull herself toward them, body jerking, legs kicking in a desperate bid.
She remained silent, perhaps unable to cry out, but her eyes screamed,
"Help me. Don't abandon me. I refuse to die. Please."
Chika's breath hitched. His gaze flitted over her injuries, assessing instinctively, arterial bleeding, horrific blood loss, and shock surging in with relentless force.
She had only minutes left. Maybe one. The odds were insurmountable, nothing human can save her now.
His powers felt futile. All the chaotic energy surging through him... energy that had once allowed him to slay a corrupted creature with his bare hands... and yet, he stands powerless to prevent this girl from fading away on the school hallway floor.
When it matters, who will you be?
Being ruthless in the name of protection isn't the answer, he still has to complete this assignment correctly.
Paul knelt beside her, his thoughts racing as he took in the situation. His two friends were likely grappling with their own doubts and fears.
Someone needed to take action, and that someone was him.
The student stood no chance. Even if a miracle occurred, the idea of ambulances felt like a distant fantasy.
The nearest hospital was four kilometers away, and it might not even exist. Their goal was the Medical Center, but getting there meant risking whatever lurked in this corridor.
And if she survived? Without her arms, she would be a liability, nothing more than dead weight. She would slow them down, make noise, and attract whatever was hunting them. She could be their downfall.
The only kindness left was to end her suffering swiftly.
"I'm sorry," he murmured.
His words echoed emptily in the corridor.
Her breath caught in her throat. She weakly lifted her chin, her eyes flickering with uncertainty.
He continued to speak, not directly to her, but more as if his thoughts were pouring out in the wake of a world that had crumbled around them.
"The world we knew is gone. Everything that once kept humanity civilized has disappeared." His voice trembled once more. "This is about survival, nothing more."
He glanced at her wounds before his gaze shifted to the dark hallway that loomed behind them.
"I think it's not the blood that attracts them. It's something else, maybe a scent only they can detect... Blood would have drawn them by now," he remarked, his eyes flitting across the gruesome scene. "And it's definitely not noise. Our footsteps should have alerted them."
He surveyed the headless and heartless corpses scattered around them. "It seems our heads and hearts release a fragrance only they can pick up..."
He let out a slow breath as he looked down at the woman beneath him. "You can't run. If they come back, you're the one who'll draw them in first."
Her breathing quickened, and her head moved slowly side to side. It wasn't a frantic motion, but the message was unmistakable.
Paul brushed his fingers lightly against her cheek, a touch almost too tender for someone brandishing a knife. "I can't save you," he murmured. "I can't even try. My wife is at the Medical Center, and I need to get there before..."
He trailed off abruptly.
Chika felt a tightness in his stomach at the mention of Judy.
Abuchi blinked, realizing only now that Chimdi had also gone there. He hadn't thought of it until this moment.
The girl blinked hard, her eyes brimming with tears that were rapidly spilling over. Her mind raced, filled with thoughts of her dreams of becoming a philosopher, now crushed. A mere second-year student. Her family. Her mother. Her little sister who idolized her and aspired to study philosophy too… All of it flashed before her eyes, aging her in an instant.
Paul held her gaze, his hand gently caressing her cheek. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.
"Goodbye."
With one hand, he closed her eyes and, with the other, swiftly drew his knife, slicing across her throat in a single, smooth motion.
The blood poured out swiftly at first, then slowed down. Her body twitched once, then twice, before all movement ceased.
Paul knelt there for a moment, his shoulders rising and falling in a deep, quiet breath.
Chika turned his head, but it was too late. He felt faint fingers brush against his own neck, as if checking his own vitality. A burning thought ignited in his mind.
"If I had moved as quickly as Paul... would Emeka still be alive? Or would I have met the same fate alongside him?"
Abuchi observed the entire scene, gritting his teeth as he kept his eyes wide open. His hands trembled more violently around the leg of the chair.
Paul wiped his knife on his pants, stood up, and didn't say anything.
He turned toward the stairs and started walking.
Chika quickly followed him and suggested in a hushed tone, "Maybe we should check my classroom, Room 301. Some people might still be alive."
They ascended to the second floor, their footsteps resonating through the empty first floor, each step leaving a bloody mark behind.
About halfway up, a trembling, fearful voice floated down the stairway.
"Hello? Is anyone there?"