The broken stem of the iris seeped a single, clear drop of moisture onto Hyejun's thumb, cold as a tear. He didn't wipe it away. His entire being was focused on the skittering tide advancing from the darkness.
Through his Heavenly Restriction, the world resolved into a tapestry of sensory information—the slow, grinding decay of the shamblers, the frantic, hot-blooded fear of the patrols on the walls, and now, this new, chilling thread: a wave of cold, purposeful movement, countless smaller units moving with the unified intent of a swarm.
It was an evolution. A direct response to their walls, their noise traps, and their organized defense. The thought crystallized in his mind, cold and hard. This was no longer a pandemic; it was an arms race.
He moved.
In a blur of motion that defied human limits, he was no longer on the rampart but vaulting down the inner ladder, his feet barely touching the rungs. The snapped iris was tucked inside his jacket, a forgotten promise against the imminent threat.
He hit the ground running, his voice cutting through the night's uneasy quiet, not a panicked shout, but a sharp, clear command that carried the weight of absolute certainty.
"Breach! Eastern perimeter! All non-combatants to the inner sanctum! Combat teams, form a defensive line at the secondary barricade! Now!"
The effect was instantaneous. The serene, drowsy atmosphere of the estate shattered like glass. Lights flared on in the manor. From the barracks, the frantic sounds of armed men scrambling erupted. Soichiro's voice soon boomed over the chaos, adding structure to the alarm, but it was Hyejun's warning that had provided the critical, life-saving seconds.
He didn't wait for them. He sprinted towards the eastern wall, where the first screams of the guards were already being cut short, replaced by a new, horrifying sound—a wet, shredding noise, like meat being ground through a mill, punctuated by the high-pitched, chittering shrieks of the new attackers.
Saeko fell in beside him, her bokken replaced by the cold, live steel of her family katana. Her face was a mask of serene lethality, the storm in her eyes not wild but focused into a razor's edge. "What are they?" she asked, her breath even as she matched his pace.
"Smaller. Faster. Coordinated," he bit out, his eyes scanning the top of the wall. "They're not biting. They're... stripping."
They reached the base of the wall as the first of the creatures crested the parapet. The description was inadequate. They were the size of large dogs, their forms a grotesque parody of human anatomy, moving on all fours with the unnerving, jointed speed of insects.
Their limbs were elongated, ending in bony, scythe-like claws that scraped against the concrete. Their faces were nearly featureless, save for wide, black-marble eyes and a vertical, gnashing maw lined with needle-sharp teeth.
One landed on the ground before them with a wet thud, and before a guard could level his rifle, it scuttled forward in a burst of impossible speed, its claws a blur. A moment later, the man was on the ground, his tactical vest and the flesh beneath it shredded to ribbons.
"God..." someone whispered in horror.
Saeko was already moving. Her katana became a silver arc in the floodlights, a single, perfect strike that cleaved the creature in two. Black, viscous fluid sprayed across the gravel. But for every one she cut down, two more poured over the wall. They moved like piranhas, swarming isolated guards, dragging them down, and disassembling them in seconds.
This was the darkness he had known was coming. This was the thriller element made flesh—not just mindless hunger, but a terrifying, adaptive intelligence.
Hyejun's pole staff became a whirlwind of death. He didn't waste energy on flashy techniques. Each movement was brutally efficient: a thrust that pierced a chitinous skull, a sweep that shattered spindly legs, and a crushing blow that pulped a torso.
His Heavenly Restriction allowed him to perceive the swarm not as individuals, but as a flow of threats, his body moving to intercept the most dangerous vectors before they could reach the panicking defenders.
But there were too many. The defensive line was buckling. He saw Kohta, his face pale but determined, firing his modified rifle with methodical precision, each round taking down a creature. But he was running out of ammunition.
Takashi was a brawling whirlwind, his metal pipe smashing into the swarm, but a scythe-claw ripped a deep gash across his arm, and he cried out, falling back.
It was a losing battle.
Then, a new sound rose above the chaos—the guttural roar of an engine. Headlights speared through the darkness, and the estate's small, armored personnel carrier, a relic from Soichiro's corporate security, plowed into the swarm from the side.
The driver's side window was down, and Saya Takagi leaned out, her face set in a furious scowl, clutching a submachine gun.
"I thought you said this was a bad idea, Father!" she yelled, though Soichiro was nowhere in sight, and opened fire, stitching a line of fire through the scuttling horrors. She had hijacked the vehicle, and her timing was divine.
The APC created a momentary breach, a pocket of chaos within the chaos. Hyejun saw his chance. "Saeko! With me! We need to seal the flow!" He pointed to a section of the wall where the creatures were pouring over like a waterfall of nightmares. A maintenance ladder led up.
They fought their way to the base of the wall. "Cover me," he ordered. Saeko nodded, planting her feet, her katana becoming an impenetrable silver barrier around the ladder, deflecting leaping creatures and holding the tide at bay.
Hyejun scaled the ladder in two heartbeats. The scene on the rampart was a slaughterhouse. But his goal wasn't to kill them all. It was to break their momentum. His eyes fell on the heavy, tripod-mounted floodlight at the center of the walkway. It was powered by a thick cable snaking back to the estate's generator.
With a grunt of effort, he ripped the entire assembly from its moorings. He swung the heavy metal base like a colossal club, clearing a space around him, the glass and bulbs shattering. Then, gripping the thick power cable, he focused.
His Heavenly Restriction, his nature as a void to supernatural energy, allowed him a unique interaction with the physical world. He channeled raw kinetic force down his arm, into the cable, and gave it a single, brutal whip-crack.
A surge of power, far beyond its design, overloaded the line. The cable exploded in a shower of sparks and a deafening CRACK of discharged electricity. The resulting power surge blew out the entire eastern grid, plunging the area into near-total darkness, save for the headlights of Saya's APC.
For a moment, the swarm was disoriented. Their chittering rose in a confused crescendo. Their coordination, reliant on some unseen signal or stimulus, was broken.
In that precious moment of respite, the defenders rallied. Soichiro's voice, now laced with a grudging respect for Hyejun's decisive action, boomed orders. A new, stronger line formed, pushing the remaining creatures back against the wall under the sweeping beams of the APC.
The immediate threat was contained. The cost was high. The eastern wall was stained with blood and ichor, and the groans of the wounded filled the air. The scuttling dark had been beaten back, for now.
As the adrenaline faded, Hyejun stood on the dark rampart, looking down at the carnage. Saeko stood beside him, her katana dripping, her chest rising and falling steadily. Saya looked up from the APC, her expression a mixture of triumph and terror.
He had held the line. But he knew this was only the beginning. The chemical plant was no longer a strategic option. It was a desperate necessity. And as he looked at the faces of the women fighting beside him, the image of the pocket world—their future sanctuary—flashed in his mind. It was no longer just a reward. It was a lifeline. They had to survive this world to claim it.
The cliffhanger of the new threat had been resolved, only to be replaced by a more terrifying one: the realization that the enemy was learning. And it was learning fast.