Ethan's grip tightened around the metal pipe as he brought it down again and again, each blow aimed squarely at the zombie's skull. Anywhere else was useless—only the head worked.

With every strike, more blood gushed from the creature's cracked scalp, its movements growing sluggish, like a puppet with its strings fraying.

Then, with a final, brutal swing, Ethan caved the skull in. Bone shattered. The zombie collapsed in a heap, twitching once before going still.

For a moment, the rooftop was silent—except for the wet splatter of blood and brain matter painting the concrete.

"Ugh…"

Ethan dropped to his knees and doubled over, dry-heaving. He hadn't thought about it while he was swinging—just focused on surviving, on ending it fast. But now, staring at the mess he'd made, the red and white pulp smeared across the floor, his stomach turned inside out.

There was nothing left in him to throw up. Just bile and the bitter taste of adrenaline.

"Ugh…"

The others, though they'd kept their distance, had seen everything. Their faces went pale, and one by one, they started vomiting too.

They were just college kids. None of them had ever seen anything like this—let alone done it.

Worse still, they couldn't even let go. Their hands were still locked on the other zombies, holding them down. If they slipped, if one got loose… that was it. Game over. So they puked and gagged while still gripping arms and shoulders, trying not to lose their grip—or their minds.

After a long, miserable minute, Ethan finally pushed himself off the ground. He didn't dare look at the corpse again. Instead, he staggered over to Chris and Sean, who were still wrestling with the second zombie.

It snarled and snapped at them, teeth gnashing inches from their faces.

Ethan's voice came out hoarse. "Let's just get rid of this one."

"Yeah. Yeah," Sean and Chris nodded quickly, eager to be done. Neither of them wanted to see Ethan go full skull-crusher again.

Even Sean, who'd always looked up to Ethan, now eyed him with a flicker of fear. Smashing in a human head—even if it was a zombie's—wasn't something he could imagine doing. Not yet. Not ever.

Ethan didn't waste time. He motioned for them to let go, then helped drag the zombie to the edge of the rooftop. Chris and Sean pinned it with a folding chair, just like before, and shoved it over the side.

The second one followed soon after, kicked and pushed until it tumbled into the void.

When it was done, the group collapsed like deflated balloons, sprawled across the rooftop, too drained to move.

It wasn't the fight that had wrecked them. It was the puking. The smell. The sight. The sound of bone giving way.

Every time they glanced at the shattered corpse nearby, their stomachs clenched all over again.

After a while, Ethan sat up. The others watched him warily as he stood and walked—straight toward the body.

"What the hell is he doing?" someone whispered.

Ethan didn't answer. He just stared down at the mangled corpse, forcing himself to look. To really see it.

If I want to survive in this world, he thought, this won't be the last time. I have to get past this. I have to.

He stood there, breathing through his mouth, willing himself not to flinch.

Chris hesitated, then clenched his jaw and followed. He stepped up beside Ethan, eyes locked on the same ruined face.

Sean and the others stared at them like they'd lost their minds. Sean understood, on some level, what they were doing. But knowing didn't make it any easier. He couldn't bring himself to take that step.

After a long silence, Ethan turned to Chris. "You've got guts, man."

Chris nodded. "Whatever you do, I'm with you."

Ethan gave him a small, grim smile. "You're my guy."

"Let's get rid of it."

Together, they lifted the corpse and heaved it over the edge.

The others finally exhaled, the tension easing from their shoulders.

But none of them realized—after this moment, Ethan and Chris had crossed a line the rest hadn't. And in some ways, they were already far ahead.

"Half an hour break, then we go again," Ethan said.

"Okay."

No one argued. At this point, even Sean—usually the cocky one—had started to fear Ethan a little. And he wasn't alone.

"Next time, could you not bring so many at once?" Sean muttered. "We barely held it together."

"I didn't want to," Ethan said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Those three wouldn't split up. Had no choice but to bring the whole pack."

Sean hesitated. "Want me to lure them next time?"

"No need. The next batch is on the seventh floor. I'm worried you'll end up dragging the entire hallway up here."

"And you won't?"

"I've got my ways. But hey, if you're dying to try, I won't stop you. Just know—there's at least thirty or forty zombies down there. If they all come charging, you'll be lucky if they leave enough of you to bury."

Sean shivered involuntarily. "Yeah… on second thought, maybe not."

...

Thirty minutes later, Ethan headed back down.

This time, things went smoother. The seventh-floor hallway was crawling with zombies, sure, but they were scattered—wandering aimlessly, not clumped together. They didn't just stand around either; they drifted, shuffled, meandered like broken wind-up toys.

Ethan crouched at the stairwell, keeping just out of sight. With True Sight, he tracked their movements, waiting for one to drift close. When it did, he tossed a pebble just right—enough to catch its attention without alerting the others. Then he'd bait it to the stairs, lead it up to the rooftop, and the group would shove it off.

Rinse and repeat.

One by one, they picked them off. Ten zombies. Then twelve. Then sixteen. All without a hitch.

But number seventeen… that one changed everything.

Ethan was tucked behind a corner, watching through True Sight as usual. He tossed a stone a few feet ahead of the zombie, just like before.

It worked. The zombie turned, followed the sound, and Ethan lured it to the stairwell.

So far, so good.

Then it saw him—and like the others, it let out a guttural snarl and charged.

Only this one was fast. Way faster than the rest.

Ethan's heart jumped. He turned and bolted, barely staying ahead. If he hadn't started with a lead, it might've caught him before he even reached the rooftop.

The moment the zombie burst onto the roof, the others moved in with the folding ladder, ready to knock it toward the edge like always.

But when the ladder slammed into it, the zombie only staggered a few steps before regaining its balance.

Everyone froze.

"What the hell—?"

Then the thing lunged.

It moved like a linebacker on speed, barreling straight at them. The ladder, suddenly bulky and awkward, slowed them down. They barely had time to react.

Without hesitation, the four of them swung the ladder at it again, then scrambled back.

The zombie batted the ladder aside like it was nothing and kept coming.

That's when Ethan struck.

He darted in from the side and brought the metal pipe down hard on its skull.

Thunk.

The pipe bent slightly from the force of the blow—but the zombie didn't even bleed.

"What the hell?" Ethan's eyes widened. He'd put everything into that swing. Nothing. Not even a crack.

The zombie turned, eyes locking onto him. It let out a roar and lunged.

Ethan rolled to the side, barely dodging. He came up swinging, the pipe smashing into its head again.

Still nothing.

"Something's wrong with this one!" Ethan shouted, ducking another swipe. "It's not normal!"

He kept moving, dodging, trying to stay out of reach. But the thing was fast—too fast. It was all he could do to stay on his feet. Twice it nearly tackled him.

The pipe was useless. It might as well have been a toy.

The others watched, helpless. None of them had weapons that could do any real damage.

Chris grabbed a chunk of concrete and started forward.

Sean grabbed his arm. "You'll get yourself killed! That thing shrugged off a metal pipe—what's that rock gonna do?"

Chris's face twisted in frustration. "Then what the hell do we do? Ethan's not gonna last much longer!"

...

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