The dim glow of the wall lamp flickered to life, casting a soft, white light across the kitchen's worn tiles. Shadows danced along the walls as Luther moved deftly around, his figure absorbed in the quiet rhythm of preparing dinner. Outside, night had fully settled, the world beyond the windows blanketed in darkness.
Luther, tired from the afternoon's tense decision-making, had retreated earlier to Joseph's office, where he cleaned his bird-beak suit. With the smell of disinfectant lingering faintly in the air, he had stretched out on the cramped bed and drifted into a short but deep nap, hoping to shake off the mental fatigue that hung over him.
Now, freshly awake, he was shirtless, a plain linen apron tied around his waist. He hummed a peculiar, exotic tune under his breath, the notes unfamiliar and haunting, as he moved with an odd, almost joyous energy, slicing, peeling, and stirring with practiced ease. The simple meal began to take shape; a rough supper of two slices of dark, coarse bread, a stewed potato the size of his fist, and half a small onion, softened and fragrant from the pot. He arranged everything neatly on a tray, his hands steady and precise.
But this was no solitary meal. Tonight, dinner was for two.
The dining room, if it could be called that, was the small accommodation room at the back of the clinic. Luther had a purpose beyond nourishment, he intended to share this meal with one of the Zombies. The creatures fascinated him, and tonight, he wanted to observe how it might interact with food. Would it swallow, chew, or perhaps even show a flicker of memory from its human past?
With a quick strike, he lit a match, bringing a kerosene lamp at the doorway to life. The faint, smoky light filled the space, chasing away shadows. Joseph, ever frugal, hadn't seen the need for modern wall lamps in every room of the clinic, so the outdated lamp remained a fixture, an essential in these dim hours.
The light spilled into the room, stirring the Zombie from its restless slumber in the corner. Its body tensed, and its eyes opened, glistening with a hint of awareness—or perhaps hunger. Luther approached calmly, holding the tray in one hand and setting it on the bedside stool. Then he turned to examine the creature with clinical interest.
The Zombie's reaction was immediate. Its limbs jerked, and it thrashed, mouth wide open, emitting a low, guttural growl as it struggled against its restraints, gnashing its teeth with a primal ferocity.
"Someone's grumpy upon waking, aren't we?" Luther murmured, arching an eyebrow as he observed its raw agitation.
"Hungry?" he inquired, half to himself, leaning in for a closer look. The Zombie's breath, foul and rancid, washed over him, making him recoil slightly. The stench was like rot and decay wrapped in something far worse; a reminder of its corrupted nature.
Luther frowned and, almost instinctively, raised a gloved hand and smacked the Zombie's bald, discolored forehead.
'Thud!'
The impact sent the Zombie's head crashing back against the bed, a stunned look crossing its dead, glassy eyes. Luther glanced down at his own hand, surprised at the force he'd delivered with such casual ease.
"When did I get this strong?" he muttered, a flicker of curiosity sparking. There was something different, something… more, pulsing beneath his skin. Intrigued, he decided to test his strength again, curious if his earlier hit was a mere fluke.
As the Zombie lifted its head, snarling and snapping once more, Luther pulled his hand back for another strike. This time, however, the creature anticipated him. The instant his hand descended, it lunged, mouth open, ready to bite.
Seeing its quick reaction, Luther tried to pull back, but he was a split second too slow. Rather than retreat, he shifted strategy, his hand curling into a tight fist, driving forward into the Zombie's mouth with an unexpected surge of strength.
'Crack!'
A sickening crunch echoed as the Zombie's brittle, decayed teeth shattered beneath his knuckles. His fist lodged firmly in its mouth, pinning its head to the bed.
Luther took a step back, exhaling sharply through his teeth. "Tsk," he muttered, his tone both exasperated and amused as he studied the Zombie beneath him, its jaw slack from the force of his blow.
It was clear he had changed in ways he didn't yet fully understand; strength, resilience, something strange was at work. But there was no fear in his eyes, only fascination, a glint of something approaching excitement as he looked at the broken creature lying before him.
"Well then," he said with a wry smile, removing his fist from the Zombie's mouth, wiping it absently on his apron. "Let's see what else you've got."
As Luther felt a warm, wet sensation on his gloved hand, he recoiled slightly, realizing that the Zombie's broken, bloodied tongue had grazed his skin. The corners of his mouth twitched in a mix of revulsion and surprise. Pulling his hand back, he glanced at his once-pristine white glove, now smudged with grime and speckled with fragments of shattered teeth. Despite the mess, a strange excitement bubbled up within him.
He had truly become stronger.
The thought was electrifying. But it also seemed absurd, could he really have gained this strength from a mere nap? The notion felt too fantastical, even in this twisted world. Deciding there might be more to it, he shifted his focus to the upper left corner of his vision, a place where he'd noticed peculiar prompts appear before. Sure enough, a tiny exclamation mark was flashing there, pulsing with a soft glow.
Concentrating his mind on it, the prompts began to unfold:
- [Host attacked by blood plague]
- [Immunity takes effect, host successfully exempted from blood plague]
- [The host successfully absorbed the blood plague and gained a slight improvement in physical fitness]
- [The host is completely immune to the blood plague, and the body is no longer strengthened]
Luther's eyes widened as he processed this strange sequence. 'So… I was attacked by the blood plague multiple times while I was sleeping?' he thought, a thrill mingling with apprehension. He had absorbed the plague without even knowing it, emerging stronger; though apparently, he wouldn't gain any more strength from it. He inhaled deeply, steadying himself as he let the new reality settle in.
His newfound strength was exhilarating, yes, but the implications were chilling. This world was a relentless threat, the blood plague merely one of its many lurking dangers. Even if he had a system that offered some protection, it couldn't shield him from everything. He'd have to be vigilant, now more than ever.
Luther glanced back at the Zombie, its dislocated jaw hanging at a grotesque angle, tongue lolled out and stained. It continued to thrash feebly on the bed, still "alive" in some horrifying semblance of the word. The sight turned his stomach, and any thoughts of eating vanished. But his purpose here wasn't entirely abandoned. He approached the creature with a resigned sigh, picking up the plate of food.
"Guess you're the lucky one tonight," he muttered, grabbing its face and prying its mouth open. He dumped the food into its mouth, then manipulated its jaw, forcing it to chew and swallow. With a faint squelching sound, the Zombie's throat convulsed, swallowing the meal in a grotesque parody of life. Luther stepped back, wiping his hands as he watched for a few moments, curiosity flickering in his eyes before he finally turned to leave.
As he closed the door, the strange, labored swallowing sounds continued to echo softly in the dark room.
---
The next morning arrived quietly. Luther rose early, washed up, and felt a strange sense of purpose as he glanced around Joseph's office. Remembering a small safe at the head of the bed, he pried it open and extracted a few shillings. If he was going to stay here permanently, he would need supplies. Sustaining this space as a base would allow him to conduct his research without interruptions and for that, he needed resources.
Stepping outside, Luther was immediately met with a sharp chill. The world was coated in a damp whiteness, a thick fog blanketing the entire town, swallowing sound and movement in its depths. He scanned the empty space in front of the clinic, half-expecting to see the woman and her cart from yesterday, but they were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps they had moved on, leaving only the eerie silence behind.
The wind howled, biting through his thin gray robe, and Luther shivered involuntarily. Pinching his nose against the cold, he pulled his hood up, cocooning himself as best he could in the tattered fabric. With one last glance at the clinic, he set off down the street, heading west before turning left toward the market.
The closer he got, the more sounds of life seeped through the fog. Voices called out, vendors hawking their wares as if nothing had happened, no hint of the bloodshed or dark events that had transpired so close to their lives. Luther wandered through the market, casting glances at the stalls, the goods, the faces.
But as he observed, he noticed something beneath the surface. While the people moved and bartered, their expressions were taut, shoulders hunched, eyes darting with wary glances. The lively chatter masked a collective tension, a weariness that spoke of constant vigilance. Even as they haggled over bread and vegetables, their voices carried an edge, an unspoken fear threading through the crowd.
'They all feel it,' he realized. 'The quiet dread of living on the edge of a world that's rotting from within.'
Pushing down his own growing unease, Luther continued through the market, focused on his task. He would buy supplies, tools, and whatever else he could find to support his new life here. He'd make a sanctuary for himself amidst the decay, a place where he could not only survive but learn; learn about this strange new world, about his own evolving power, and perhaps, about the secrets that lay beyond the blood plague and the creatures it had twisted.
For now, he moved through the fog like a shadow, blending in with the tense faces around him, but aware that he was already becoming something more.