Breathing heavily, he gasped for air.
The tightness in his chest felt like it might burst, and his body seemed almost detached.
With one hand clutching a knife and the other gripping a gun, his fingers were stiff with cramp. Weakly propped against a crumbling wall, he worked to control his breathing, eyes fixed on the scene before him.
The pile of bodies looked more like a heap of shapeless flesh, and the pools of blood on the ground spread a pungent stench. Despite this, he had no reaction of disgust for blood— it was merely the unpleasant aroma that bothered him, one he had grown accustomed to every time he killed these creatures.
He removed his mask and grimaced at the dampness from the blood splatter. No wonder he had been struggling to breathe due to the smell. Swearing quietly, he took out a handkerchief to wipe his face and put on a new mask to cover his mouth and nose.
As the adrenaline gradually subsided, the pain from his earlier actions became more apparent.
"Ah, are you really Mad Lucifer?"
In truth, he had heard footsteps approaching before the unknown man spoke. Since the newcomer was clearly an ordinary person, as indicated by the rhythm of his steps, he stayed nonchalantly where he was. His hand, holding the pistol, remained raised and pointed at the man.
"This is amazing. You single-handedly wiped out all the zombies here? I guess you're more than just a rumor."
The man seems weak, he thought. Despite the bravado, he could detect the quiver in the stranger's voice.
So, he lowered his hand and decided to ignore the man. He meticulously cleaned the knife, its surface nearly dried with blood—better to clean it now than face the trouble of a blunt blade later.
"Hey, are you listening to me?"
The man continued talking despite his evident fear of his presence. Once the knife was clean enough to see his reflection in the blade, he put it away in his pocket.
"Are you deaf or something?" The man persisted, trying to draw a reaction from someone who wasn't even looking at him. He hesitated to approach further, assuming that the distance might be too great for his target to hear him properly. "Platinum blonde hair often stained brown from blood splatter, heterochromatic eyes—blue on the right and green on the left, always covering half his face with a mask, a slim build with long legs making his movements highly flexible... the zombie hunter who operates alone, known as Mad Lucifer... that's you, right?"
The description seemed to fit you perfectly, the man muttered, examining him from head to toe.
Clicking his tongue, he stood up from where he had been sitting. Honestly, he still wanted to rest, but this intrusion was quite bothersome. He could find another place to rest— staying silent was a way of rejecting the man's presence. Hopefully, the special forces officer would take the hint and leave him alone.
This wasn't the first time security personnel had sought him out. Didn't they get tired of constantly sending soldiers to someone who clearly had no interest? It was exhausting.
"Mad Lucifer!"
The name made his head throb, as if the vein in his temple might burst. That ridiculous nickname, which had spread like wildfire without his consent, had been used to address him for years.
He was far from pleased with it. Mad Lucifer? Seriously, it made him feel like a villain. Everyone knows who Lucifer is in Christian theology, and he felt he had none of the traits associated with such a figure.
"My leader knows about your sister."
Tired of everything, he was about to move on when the mention of something so sensitive made him quickly turn around. He raised his hand and aimed the pistol at the uniformed man.
"Do you think you can keep saying that to me? Do you really expect me to believe you just like that?"
The uniformed man instinctively raised both hands in a gesture of surrender. "Well, this is my first time coming to see you, so I didn't know if someone else had already mentioned it to you."
"...."
"Okay, maybe my previous leader did often send Matthew to track you. He's sick now, so this is the first time the leader has sent me to approach you. But believe me, the leader is telling the truth."
"That's complete nonsense."
"Also, please reconsider the leader's offer, Mad Lucifer. You obviously know why the leader always sends someone to approach you... Not once has anyone sent by the leader harmed you. At the very least, you should trust that I'm not here to threaten your life... So, could you lower your pistol?"
"I don't know how your leader found out I have a younger sister... or maybe he just guessed and assumed I do after seeing my reaction."
He lowered the pistol, tucking it into his pants pocket and adjusting his bag. A sharp pain in his head briefly blurred his vision and made his legs unsteady, but he quickly composed himself. Damn, this must be the result of exhaustion from spending relentless hours fighting zombies in the area. Not to mention, he hadn't slept at all the previous night—who could sleep with zombies constantly appearing whenever they caught a whiff of human scent? He didn't want to be the next decaying corpse, spending the whole day searching for a safe spot, only to be interrupted by this unknown stupid uniformed man when he finally found a seemingly sturdy building.
"It's been a long time since my sister died." He continued, cursing inwardly when he realized his voice was somewhat hoarse. Clearing his throat, he turned away. "I want to rest, and I hope you have enough humanity left not to disturb someone who has been fighting zombies in this area all day. If you're inviting me to join your organization, guild, special forces, group, or whatever your leader has set up, my answer will always be the same. No—I will not join you."
"I knew you'd say that. The leader has been offering for months, and you keep refusing… it's unlikely you'll change your mind quickly…"
"Then why are you so persistent? I'm curious about who this stubborn leader of yours is."
"He can't leave our hideout in situations like this… though even if he could, it's too risky for the team. You know, our group is independent, with no government interference. The leader is even better than any official military organization in the world!"
Hearing the man's enthusiastic praise for someone he called the leader, he raised an eyebrow and turned to scrutinize the man from top to bottom at the moment 'our group is independent' spewed out from his mouth. Tall and muscular, wearing a special forces uniform he had encountered before—and that organization had also been quite persistent in trying to recruit him.
Noting the direction of the man known as Mad Lucifer's gaze, he scratched his head. "Is it because I'm wearing this uniform that you're rejecting me? I used to work for this official organization and resigned a long time ago. This uniform is the only clean one I have, and the other clothes aren't dry yet, so I had no choice but to wear this."
"I'm not asking." He let out a harsh snort. "Even if you're from an independent group with no ties to the government, I still don't want to join."
The platinum blonde man continued on his way. The building he was targeting was not far from here, he could already see the tall structure that would be his resting place for the night. He had been without sleep for days, barely managing to nap for a few minutes before being jolted awake by zombies breaking into the house where he had been staying. This time, he hoped that the building's walls and doors were sturdy enough and not easily breached by zombies.
"How many days has it been since you last had food?"
The man in uniform jogged behind him. He warned, "Stop following me." But the uniformed man remained persistent.
"I've got food in my bag. Do you want some?"
One thing about him— he never turned down food. He halted in his tracks and looked back at the man in uniform, saying nothing. His eyes sullen, clearly indicated that whatever food the man had should be handed over immediately.
"Here." The man offered a plastic bag, chuckling softly as Mad Lucifer snatched it quickly. "Matthew was right, you never refuse food."
"Ah, Matthew? Is that the guy your stupid leader often sends after me?"
He tried to recall the various people who had tried to recruit him into their group. One stood out—a unique man who, every time he approached him and made an offer to join his group, always brought food. No matter how often he refused the invitation, the man still handed over supplies, which he never declined.
"If you join our group, you'll eat every day, no more going hungry for days, no more struggling to find a place to sleep," the uniformed man added as he watched him turn to continue walking.
The blonde man he was speaking to remained silent until they reached the building where he intended to rest.
"Zombies will come here again. My leader said so, so you won't be able to rest here for long, maybe just an hour or two. If you head west, you'll be safe temporarily ... Why are you so stubborn about refusing the leader's offer? You won't be forced to work, our leader isn't tied with official military. There's a balanced division of duties— and you can eat as much as you want."
The reason he always refused, despite the tempting offers he kept hearing? Let's just say he had his reasons for living this way for years. Surviving alone against zombies, avoiding refugee camps, and wandering in search of a safe place—he believed that humans were just as dangerous as zombies, especially when they were on the brink of death, they behaved more savagely than animals.
So even though he often went days without food, struggled to get even an hour or two of sleep, he preferred this life over being in a refugee camp or part of a government organization that promised safety. That's nonsense, he thought. Even now, being called by the strange nickname 'Mad Lucifer' he still chose to be on his own.
He would never forget.
The day he was humiliated by those who promised safety.
"...And the leader knows about your sister."
The moment those words left the uniformed man's mouth, he reflexively swung his fist, landing a punch square on the man's cheek. The man fell, wincing as he held his face, in his opinion, the punch wasn't even that strong—so the man's reaction was exaggerated. It was just a warning blow.
"My sister is dead! Do you really want to piss me off so bad? Do you think I'll believe that?! I saw with my own eyes how that damned creature tore her flesh apart!!! So don't say that word to me again unless you want to die."
"....Damn, that actually didn't hurt much. Thanks for holding back." Rubbing his cheek a few times, the man straightened up to stand. "Sorry if that's a sensitive topic for you, but our leader never lies. Well, maybe sometimes for the greater good, but not about this."
"You'd better leave me alone. I've killed plenty of zombies and humans, one more body won't make a difference." He pulled out a pistol from his pocket, raising it to aim at the man's head. "I'm exhausted, my head feels like it's going to burst, and I hope you don't waste my time with an answer you already know. I'm refusing your invitation. Tell that to your beloved leader."
"Haha, I've told leader many times that if he really wanted you, wouldn't it be easier to take you by force?"
"Fucker!"
"Relax, there's no order to take you by force… that's what I find puzzling. And that…," the man pointed at the pistol with his index finger, "I'm pretty sure it's out of ammo."
His hand twitched, and he lowered the pistol, letting out a grunt.
This guy in uniform was quite sharp—how long had he been watching him kill zombies before approaching him? He was different from the many others who had come to him, those who would cower at his threats and give up.
"Shit... I don't want to keep doing this over and over. If I fail today, the leader will send me again ... but if I don't tell you this secret, you'll think our leader is lying, and if I do tell you... it's risky." The man mumbled tiredly, running his hands roughly through his hair in frustration.
"Stop your rambling and leave. Give up and don't come back."
"You don't have enough food or water, even your pistol is out of ammo, and you're struggling to get any sleep. How has someone like you survived alone this long? I guess the nickname Mad Lucifer really does suit you. By the way, can I know your real name?"
The blonde man, Mad Lucifer, he was speaking to rolled his eyes, his hand trying to push the entrance door, but as expected, it was locked. If he forced it open and accidentally broke the lock, it would be difficult to secure it again to keep zombies out, though if there were items big enough to block the broken door, it could be managed. He took a few steps back, preparing to ram the door—yet the next words from the man made his body freeze instantly.
"The leader is immune to zombie virus, and it seems your sister as well ... considering the leader knows your sister."
"Shut your fucking mouth!!!"
Without giving the uniformed man time to finish his sentence, he swung his pistol to strike his head, but before the blow could land, the man blocked it. However, he lost his balance and fell to the ground. Seizing the opportunity, he pressed his full weight on the man's stomach and began pounding his head with a barrage of strong punches.
Even though most of his blows were blocked directly by the man.
"Isn't it enough that you're bothering me? Now you're making up stories to provoke me!"
BAM—again and again, the punches he aimed at vital points were deflected, landing elsewhere. In his furious rage, with his eyes trembling, he forgot the obvious fact that this man in uniform was larger and heavier than him. So when the man used a move to reverse their positions and retaliate with his own punches, he was quickly pinned to the ground, with his right hand skillfully restrained by the man.
The table had turned.
Now it was the man in uniform who held him down with his weight.
"Hah... Shit, are you trying to kill me? Huh—"
"I would kill you, bastard, get off me!" The blond man spat out, struggled beneath the weight of the other man.
The uniformed man's eyes suddenly widened as he saw the face of the man, now uncovered by the mask. His mouth hung slightly open in awe, and the hand he had raised to strike unconsciously lowered. Seeing the man freeze above him, the blond man straightened his body and rammed his forehead into the other man's, causing him to grimace in pain. Finally, he was freed from the weight of the bastard in uniform.
Adjusting the mask that had slipped down unnoticed, no longer covering his face, he scoffed and immediately started pounding the door several times until it finally gave way and opened.
"Don't come looking for me again, and don't ever mention about my sister to me ever again, bastard..."
"I'm not lying!"
"Stop following me!"
"Mad Lucifer!!!! At least hear me out, shit, if I knew you'd react like this, I wouldn't have mentioned the leader's secret. Damn, damn, damn!"
Shit, wincing from the pain in his left shoulder that had just slammed against the door, he ignored the man behind him who kept calling out that strange nickname, 'Mad Lucifer, please, listen to me!' He repeated it over and over. As he tried to close the door, his vision began to blur, and the floor beneath him seemed to sway. Fuck, he knew he wasn't in good shape due to not eating or sleeping for days—but he didn't expect to collapse at a moment like this. To be fair, the number of zombies he had taken down was more than he usually handled, and he knew that as a normal human being, there was a limit to how long his strength would last.
Still, he didn't want this to happen today, didn't want it at all, and he cursed his luck as his body fell to the ground. The last sound he heard was once again the voice of the bastard he didn't want to hear, "Mad Lucifer?! Hey! Are you okay? Hey!"
*