The emergence of the system was like a lifeline thrown into the depths of Luther's despair, releasing the tension that had been tightening his mind. For the first time, he felt a flicker of hope; a chance to carve a path to survival, however grueling that path might be. This road was fraught with dangers, but at least it offered him a direction, a means to live.
He knew he would have to proceed methodically, tackling each obstacle step by step. His first challenge: the unsettling reality of zombies that had begun to emerge in Eternal Night Town. Could these undead creatures, these ghouls, be killed?
He had no answer. But he had a ready-made subject to test, a reanimated corpse right in the treatment room.
In his former life, Luther had spent many nights in anatomy labs, working through cadavers and pushing the boundaries of medical knowledge. He was no stranger to the macabre. Now, this experience gave him an edge as he prepared to confront the writhing, bound creature that had once been Dr. Joseph.
To ensure his safety, he first took a heavy oak stick and used it to smash the ghoul's exposed teeth, rendering its bite harmless. Then, with grim efficiency, he sawed off its flailing limbs, reducing the creature to little more than a torso struggling on the floor.
"Interesting," Luther murmured, a glimmer of curiosity flashing in his eyes.
He took a knife and drove it into the creature's chest, aiming for the heart, but nothing happened. The zombie continued to writhe, unaffected by the fatal wound. Undeterred, he tried various other vital points; the lungs, the stomach, even the spine. Still, the creature remained active, growling with a low, metallic rasp that filled the room.
Despite the frustration, Luther's excitement grew with each attempt. This was an extraordinary discovery, a living dead entity immune to the very vulnerabilities that defined human mortality. He could feel the pulse of scientific curiosity driving him forward, transforming the horror of the scene into an opportunity for groundbreaking research.
Finally, abandoning the knife, he picked up the saw again. He approached the zombie, turned its body over, and made a careful gesture along its neck. Then, with a swift motion, he brought the saw down and severed the head. Dark green pus gushed from the wound, splattering across the floor, but Luther nimbly sidestepped the foul spray.
The body twitched violently, then began to shrink and wither, as though all life were draining from it. The head, however, continued to snarl and snap, its mouth opening and closing in grotesque animation. Realization dawned on Luther: the brain held the key to ending these creatures.
With this knowledge in hand, his experiments would be much simpler from now on.
He was about to conduct a few more tests when a soft beep from his pocket interrupted him. Glancing down, he pulled out a small, silver pocket watch, its scarlet hands glinting under the dim light. This relic, a keepsake from his predecessor, was his only reliable means of tracking time in this forsaken place.
"Tsk," he muttered, noting the hour. "Have I really been at it this long?"
A twisted smile played on his lips, and he felt his sharp teeth scrape against each other unconsciously, a habit he had picked up recently.
Reluctantly, he pocketed the watch and prepared to resume his work. But as he reached for his gloves, he noticed the grime on them, dark stains from his grisly experiments. An unexpected urge stirred within him; a hunger, primal and disturbing. He felt his mouth water, his lips parting slightly as he caught the scent of decay. He licked his lips without thinking, a pulse of desire shooting through him.
"Damn it," he cursed under his breath, snapping himself out of it. "What the hell am I thinking?"
Inwardly, he chastised himself, disturbed by the feral impulse. His body's craving was becoming harder to control, a twisted hunger gnawing at his mind. He realized he was nearing a breaking point, as though some monstrous instinct was coiling tighter within him, eager to be unleashed.
With no other choice, he bit down on his thumb, suppressing the urge. It looked absurd, a grown man standing in the dim room, sucking his thumb like a child. But it was the only way to keep the hunger at bay.
After a moment, he regained control, slipping his gloves back on and securing the bird-beak mask over his face. Steeling himself, he returned to the clinic and grabbed the severed zombie head, now reduced to little more than a grotesque relic. He placed it in a gray jar, the lid snapping shut over its muffled, angry roars. Luther set the jar on the shelf, satisfied that he could revisit it later, ready for further experimentation.
With a clear mind and renewed focus, he turned to gather supplies; hemostatic herbs, clean linen, anything that would aid in the grim work that lay ahead. Luther understood now that the blood plague wasn't just a threat; it was a doorway to knowledge, a dark path that might just lead to answers.
As he prepared himself for the trials to come, he felt more certain than ever: the horrors in Eternal Night Town had only just begun.
With Carol gone, Luther was left to handle the patient's care alone. One of his first tasks was to change the dressing for the patient who had recently undergone an amputation. This had been Carol's responsibility, but now, with the clinic emptier than ever, it fell to him.
Gathering the necessary supplies on a tray, Luther made his way down the hallway toward the resettlement room at the far end of the first floor. But as he neared the room, a low, guttural growl echoed through the quiet clinic.
The sound froze him in place. He recognized it instantly, the unmistakable, unsettling rasp of a zombie. Heart pounding, he set the tray down on a nearby table, careful to make no noise. Moving closer, he peered cautiously through the small glass window in the door.
Inside, the patient lay bound to the bed, just as Carol had left him. The ropes held tight, preventing the reanimated corpse from breaking free, but the creature thrashed and snarled, its bloodshot eyes wild with hunger.
Luther felt a pang of relief. Carol, always cautious with post-surgery patients, had insisted on restraining them until they were fully stabilized. That precaution had spared Luther an immediate confrontation with the infected.
He quietly locked the door, making sure the undead patient would remain securely contained. He wasn't ready to engage it just yet. Beyond finding their weakness, Luther needed to understand these creatures more thoroughly. How did they behave? What drove their actions? What were their instincts?
Every creature in nature had a survival strategy, and he intended to uncover the ghoul's. Knowledge, after all, was the best weapon. To know your enemy is to prepare yourself for every battle, and right now, understanding these ghouls was paramount.
---
In the grand manor on the outskirts of town, a thin, elderly man with silver-gray hair slicked back and a pipe in his mouth stood on the lawn, his gaze distant. Servants rushed around him, their brows damp with sweat as they hurried to pack and load the carriages waiting at the edge of the property.
The old man's face was lined with exhaustion and regret. His eyes drifted over the familiar estate, a home his family had cherished for generations.
"Master," a voice interrupted. It was his butler, Cress, a dignified man in a tailored suit who approached him respectfully. "Everything is ready. Are we truly leaving?"
The old man took a long, reflective drag on his pipe, smoke curling around his head. "If it weren't for what's coming, I'd never leave. This… this is my home." His voice was heavy, layered with sadness and an unspoken fear.
"Our family, the Bermans, has weathered the rise and fall of three dynasties. I thought we'd finally found a place to settle, a town we could call our own." His gaze darkened. "But it seems even I cannot escape the inevitable."
With a resigned sigh, he turned and began walking toward the line of carriages waiting at the edge of the estate. The setting sun cast a long shadow behind him, stretching his figure over the manicured lawn and into the wildflowers growing along the edge of the property.
As he neared the front carriage, he stumbled, a sudden wave of dizziness making his steps falter. Before he could fall, a woman emerged from the shadows beside him, catching his arm with a gentle yet firm grip. She was graceful, her face veiled, her movements as fluid as silk.
"Master, please be careful," she said softly.
"Ah, Maria… thank you." He looked at her gratefully. "I need to rest for a bit. Please, oversee the convoy. Make sure we leave this place swiftly."
"Of course, sir," Maria replied with a nod.
As dusk settled, the Berman family's convoy moved out, slipping away from the town as the last light faded. Soon, the manor stood in silence, its windows dark and empty, like hollow eyes staring out over the deserted landscape.
---
Not long after, a small figure emerged from the flower bushes near the manor. It was a young girl with wide, innocent eyes, a look of bewilderment on her face as she glanced around the empty grounds.
"Grandma Maria?" she called softly, her voice echoing in the silence. "Grandpa Riley? Butler Cress?"
She searched the shadows, her heart sinking as each moment passed without a reply. "Are we… are we playing hide and seek?" She tried to sound hopeful, but a flicker of worry crossed her face.
As the sun dipped below the horizon and the manor was cloaked in darkness, Harley began to feel the first prickles of fear. The silence was overwhelming, each room she peeked into empty and lifeless. Where had everyone gone?
Finally, frightened and alone, she returned to the bushes where she'd hidden before, curling up tightly and wrapping her arms around her knees. Her soft sobs broke the stillness, a sound of heartbreak and betrayal.
"Grandma Maria… you're a liar. You promised you'd never leave…" she whispered between hiccups. "A big liar… a big villain…" Her voice faded into the quiet night, blending with the growing shadows around the deserted manor, her cries the only sign of life in a place now abandoned to silence.