Deadpool held the man's head with one hand—like it still mattered, like there was still something to save—and pointed with his chin toward the lectern.
"See that?" he whispered urgently, voice full of wild confidence. "That podium? On the surface, it's a podium."
He leaned closer, like he was sharing a secret that would change the world.
"But in reality, it's a fully stocked first-aid kit. Defibrillator. Ventilator. Oxygen tank. Bandages. Anti-inflammatory meds. And—if we're lucky—the Supreme Elder Lord's Nine-Turn Golden Elixir."
He nodded hard, as if this was perfectly normal.
"You hold on. I'll take you there right now!"
The man in the blue shirt responded with a wet, gurgling sound that wasn't really a word.
"Hoo… hoo… hoo…"
His eyes widened even more, desperate and terrified. He raised a trembling hand and pointed at the jagged wooden splinter sticking through his chest.
The message was obvious.
Take me there? I'm like this and you want to drag me across a church? You want to carry my corpse there.
Deadpool tried to reassure him anyway.
"Don't worry. Hold on. I—"
His sentence cut off mid-breath.
A cold shiver ran down Deadpool's spine.
He reacted on instinct, twisting his body and ducking aside.
Too late.
A Licker had appeared behind him like a nightmare unfolding in silence.
Its crimson tongue snapped forward like a spear and pierced straight through—
Not Deadpool.
The man's head.
The impact was so brutal the man's skull burst.
Red and white splatter sprayed across Deadpool's mask and cheek.
Deadpool froze for half a second.
Then he lifted a hand and wiped the mess off his face.
He stared at the smear on his glove like it had personally insulted him.
"How… how could it be on my face?" he hissed, shaking his hand violently in disgust. "That's too much! That's rude!"
Jill and Peyton fired instantly.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The Licker recoiled, screeching, flinging itself away from the bullets.
On the other side, another tongue shot out—wrapping around the man's body like a rope, trying to pull it upward.
Deadpool's eyes went wide.
Rage snapped in his chest.
"You want him?" he roared. "Fine. Come take him!"
He grabbed the man's hand and yanked backward, planting his feet and pulling like his life depended on it.
A tug-of-war began in the dim church—Deadpool on one end, a monster on the other, a dead body in the middle being dragged like a prize.
Inside the side room, Jill, Peyton, and Tali stared at the scene.
It was horrifying.
And also—somehow—ridiculous.
Jill kept her pistol trained upward and asked quietly, "Is he an idiot?"
Peyton, gun raised, answered without hesitation. "I think so."
Deadpool kept cursing loudly, voice growing hoarse, dragging with everything he had.
Jill suddenly narrowed her eyes, as if something clicked. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone.
Before she could act, one of the Lickers decided to play dirty.
It pounced at Deadpool mid-struggle, claws slicing the air.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Jill and Peyton fired again, forcing it to break off. The Licker twisted away, avoiding injury by instinct.
Even though they were all red and fleshy, it was obvious from the build alone—those monsters were far stronger than Deadpool. Deadpool's body was athletic and lean, but the Licker's muscle looked like a machine made of raw meat.
Deadpool was losing ground inch by inch.
As the Licker climbed higher, Deadpool's feet began to lift off the floor.
He felt it.
If he didn't change something now, he'd be hanging like bait.
Deadpool grit his teeth.
He made the decision a hero would make—
Or a lunatic.
He drew his sword.
Swish!
He chopped through the man's wrist cleanly.
Thump!
Deadpool landed in a dramatic three-point superhero pose, still holding the severed hand like a trophy.
Pain shot through his knees and he grimaced.
"Worth it," he muttered.
Then he spun and moved.
Tongues stabbed like spears.
Claws slashed like hooks.
Deadpool rolled and slid backward into the side room, firing as he retreated.
Bang! Bang!
Two bullets punched into the Licker's body.
Foul blood sprayed.
The creature roared and leaped back onto the wall.
Peyton hooked an arm around Deadpool and dragged him deeper into the side room, like he was pulling a reckless child away from traffic.
At the same time, Jill executed her idea.
She hit play.
The phone—volume set to maximum—skidded across the floor into the open church.
Soft, soothing music filled the space, crackling slightly through the weak speaker like an old radio.
The effect was immediate.
The Lickers slowed.
They crouched on walls and ceiling, tilting their heads as if listening carefully, trying to judge the source of the sound.
But there was another reason they weren't charging right away.
They were eating.
The man in the blue shirt had been torn apart into ugly chunks, and the Lickers were tearing into him like starving animals.
The sound of teeth ripping flesh and scraping bone mixed with gentle music.
It created a bizarre, sick atmosphere—like a lullaby played inside a slaughterhouse.
Peyton glared at Deadpool.
"What were you thinking?"
Deadpool blinked.
Then he started turning his head left and right.
Left.
Right.
Left-right-left-right.
Faster.
Faster.
Until it looked like his head was about to detach.
Then he suddenly stopped and stared at the darkness.
"Peyton?" Deadpool asked loudly. "Where are you? I can only hear your voice."
Peyton stared at him, horrified.
Deadpool turned toward Tali.
"Tali, have you seen Peyton? I think he disappeared."
Tali and Peyton both looked like they had lost their ability to speak.
Jill, irritated, retreated to the door and closed it gently, peeking outside through the small glass window.
"You shouldn't have gone out," she muttered.
"I was saving someone!" Deadpool protested.
He pulled the severed hand out of his arms like it was proof of good work.
"Look!"
Tali saw the hand and flinched so hard she nearly screamed.
Peyton clamped his hand over her mouth instantly, saving them from disaster.
Jill shot Deadpool a sharp look. "What good is bringing back one hand?"
Deadpool thought about it seriously.
"Plant it in the ground," he said confidently. "Water it. Fertilize it. By next autumn, it'll grow back. If we're lucky, maybe it grows a few extra."
Jill stared at him.
"This is a person," she said slowly. "Not a radish."
Deadpool blinked innocently.
Peyton's expression softened slightly, misunderstanding what he was seeing. He put a warm hand on Deadpool's shoulder.
"Hey," Peyton said quietly. "His death wasn't your fault. He did it to himself. Don't blame yourself."
In Peyton's mind, Deadpool was acting strange because guilt had hit him. Deadpool had called himself a superhero—maybe he truly wanted to be one. And now, a civilian had died near him. Even indirectly. That had to hurt.
Deadpool listened.
Then his eyes widened, as if he heard the most beautiful thing in the world.
He raised a hand and pressed Peyton's hand gently.
Then he traced it upward.
Peyton froze. "What are you doing?"
Deadpool's fingers slid… higher… higher…
Until he finally touched Peyton's shoulder.
Deadpool tapped the middle of it like he'd found buried treasure.
His eyes lit up dramatically.
"Oh!" he gasped. "Peyton, you're here! I finally found you!"
Peyton's face twitched.
His jaw clenched.
He had been wrong.
This wasn't guilt.
This man was just insane.
Tali frowned, staring at Deadpool like she was trying to understand what was off. Something wasn't right about him. Not just the jokes. Not just the behavior.
Something deeper.
But she couldn't name it.
Jill leaned closer to the glass again, watching the Lickers outside.
"Stop messing around," she whispered. "We need a way out."
Outside, the man's remains were gone.
Only blood-streaked white bones remained on the floor—cleaned like butcher scraps.
And five Lickers were still hungry.
They began to move again, restless and sharp, crawling across ceiling and walls like living knives.
Their next attack was coming.
Soon.
Too soon.
Deadpool raised his hand.
"I have a good plan," he said.
"Speak," Jill replied, voice tight. She didn't have much hope, but she also didn't have better options.
Deadpool smiled.
"There's a long, narrow corridor ahead. One man can hold off ten thousand. We retreat into the corridor. I handle them. You guys shout '666' from behind me for moral support."
He raised another finger as he continued.
"Then after I chop them all down, you come forward and give me two—uh—two hundred kisses. Preferably we find a cubicle for a quick—"
Peyton and Tali rolled their eyes at the same time.
Jill ignored the last part automatically. Her training filtered it out like background noise.
But the first part?
Her eyes sharpened.
The church hall was too open. That was the problem. The Lickers had space to move, to dodge, to attack from any angle.
A corridor would change everything.
A narrow corridor would restrict their movement.
It would force them into predictable lines.
And it would give Jill and Peyton a real chance to hit something that moved too fast in open space.
Jill's voice dropped to a whisper, but there was sudden energy in it.
"…That might work."
Deadpool grinned proudly.
"Of course it works," he whispered. "I'm a professional."
Outside the door, claws scraped slowly.
The music from the phone was fading as the speaker crackled.
The Lickers were getting ready.
And now—finally—they had a plan.
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