…
Featherlike snow kept drifting down.
Through the window, the city looked as peaceful as ever—frozen hard beneath a thick white blanket deep enough to swallow a teenager's ankles.
Then, one after another, jarring black specks burst through the snow and started charging toward the hotel.
The infected ran in broken lines, converging from every direction.
A glance was enough.
Endless bobbing heads, packed as tightly as an ant swarm, gradually ringed the hotel. Like ink spreading on paper, the white outside was swallowed to black.
With only ten minutes on the clock, there wasn't enough time to evacuate even if they wanted to.
More importantly, Aiden didn't believe the Main God would offer such an easy answer once it had declared the mission. Try to cheese it, and you'd likely trigger backlash—difficulty spiking to the ceiling mid-escape, the worst of the Left 4 Dead–style specials choking corridors until you died in suffocating despair.
If a sudden corpse tide could happen at all… then the heartless Main God would absolutely pull that lever.
…
Everyone fell silent at his words.
But after five days of strict, military-style discipline under Aiden, even the most frightened didn't melt into chaos like before. Even Makoto, the most timid, only clenched his teeth; his legs shook, but he didn't make a sound.
"All of you, downstairs with me. You have one minute—back to your rooms, grab every weapon you've got. Move!" Aiden's face was set as he gave the order.
One minute later—
Everyone, girls included, had geared up. They stood at attention in the corridor, weapons shouldered, anxious eyes fixed on Aiden.
"The elevators are out. We take the stairs!"
Aiden had already slung an AK-105, stuffing his pockets with as many grenades and magazines as they would hold. He handed two MP5s to Yukino and Utaha. "Listen: the MP5's rate of fire is crazy. You can empty a mag in three seconds. Unless it's an emergency, no long sprays."
Both girls nodded seriously. They mimicked his motions, plucking spare mags from the crate and pocketing them, then racked and held their guns tight to the chest.
"Do we really have to go down? Can't we wait for the dead to come up?" Taisuke hesitated, dread plain on his face. The last thing he wanted was to face that endless tide.
"We have to go," Aiden said flatly. "We block them at the lobby entrance. If they break through, we fall back up the stairs while firing. Worst case, we use grenades to blow the stair runs. That's the most stable plan we've got."
"Sit back and turtle, and the Main God will only crank the difficulty."
He turned to Hayato. "We've got about eight minutes to reach the first floor. How are the defensive measures on the three lower levels?"
"Solid," Hayato said, shotgun hugged to his shoulder. He couldn't help a flicker of relief—if Aiden hadn't planned ahead and had them build barriers and bracing, what came next would have been much uglier.
No more talk.
Aiden took point. With his enhanced body he surged ahead, a blur down the corridor. From the suite doors to the two emergency stairwells was about a hundred meters; the others had barely started moving when he hit the landing. The speed was beyond what a human sprinter could touch.
Hayato and the rest stared for a heartbeat as he swept past—then Aiden yanked the emergency door open and pounded down the stairs.
They'd already cleared the hotel's interior days ago, so nothing blocked their path. Hayato, Yukino, and the others clattered after him, breathing hard. With all the weight on their backs, none of them could move as lightly as he did.
The lower they went, the louder the roars outside grew.
Those chilling howls sank into bones, and a mutual heaviness settled over the group.
In just seven minutes they reached the grand hall's central landing.
It was fast—very fast. Even jumping two steps at a time, a normal adult still needed several seconds per floor, and each of them bore a punishing load. But under the scythe of death, no one complained. Tired or not, given a choice, who wanted to die?
The lobby's centerpiece staircase split in two and curled like a half-spiral, hundreds of steps sweeping down in a broad, elegant fan.
For them, it was perfect terrain. Take cover on the flanks and hold the two sides of the main floor—that was the fight.
"Claymores are already in place. Conservatively, they'll hold for a bit."
"We set layered defenses on five floors: first, second, third, then twentieth, and the top—twenty-seventh," Hayato reported from behind a piece of makeshift cover.
"They… they're here."
Sweat beaded in Yukino's palms as the black tide rolled closer. Her heart kicked hard against her ribs.
The corpse tide had arrived.
(End of Chapter)
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