Scattered flesh and spraying blood. Clad in melted skin and dragging decayed organs, living corpses—humans infected by the Necros virus, zombies—sense the heat signatures of Danang and Eve. They lurch forward, some crushing their own broken legs, others flailing arms wildly, grinning grotesquely with yellowed teeth.

  Some collapse, others use them as stepping stones, driven by the delusion they’re still alive, blood spurting despite stopped hearts. Called Regenerators, these creatures, manipulated by Necros in their brains, see beautiful hallucinations, spreading infection.

  Crushing organs like hearts or livers is pointless. Only destroying the head, where Necros projects illusions, stops them. Swapping his assault rifle’s magazine for hollow-point explosive rounds, Danang uses his mechanical arm’s auto-aim, gunning down zombies, crushing their outstretched arms, and advancing with Eve.

  “So many Necros infected. Surprising,” Eve says.

  “Zombies, right?” Danang replies.

  “They used to be called infected or patients. Danang, duck,” she warns.

  As Danang drops, Eve’s silver wings sweep overhead, decapitating a wall of zombies in one strike, shredding them to pieces as the blades pierce.

  “The past?” Danang asks.

  “Yeah, Necros wasn’t made for these monsters. It was a medical virus originally,” Eve explains.

  “Ridiculous… Where’d you learn that, Eve?” he asks.

  “Scanned tons of data, stored it in my wings. Lumina holds more than it needs too,” she says.

  Eve’s silver wings, a body-mounted weapon, are overwhelming. Their versatility—attacking, defending, hovering, high-speed movement—makes guns and close combat seem foolish. Each of the six wings operates independently, giving her unmatched battlefield control.

  Even surrounded by zombies, two wings carve a path. Eve’s reliability is tinged with a dangerous boldness and confidence. Spotting mucus dripping from a ceiling crack, Danang grabs her, deploying his mechanical arm’s blade.

  “What? What’s wrong?” Eve asks.

  “Trouble after trouble… Eve, use your wings as a shield. I’ll handle the zombies ahead,” he says.

  A transparent mass with tiny, rust-like hearts inside. Understanding, Eve shifts her wings from attack to defense, forming a shield around them.

  Exploding hearts trigger a massive blast, far beyond their size. The mucus, nitroglycerin-based, with hearts as detonators, coats scorched zombies as a semi-liquid lab creature leaks from the ceiling.

  “Is that… a Type-A bioweapon variant?” Eve asks.

  “You mean blast daphnia?” Danang says.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  The giant daphnia, devouring blackened zombie corpses, defies gravity, crawling back to the ceiling, relentlessly tracking them.

  A lab creature, enlarged from microbes with restructured cells. Single-celled organisms couldn’t handle complex traits, but multicellular daphnia could, engineered into bioweapons called blast daphnia through experiments and modifications.

  Slithering through gaps, coating surfaces with jelly-like skin without damaging machinery, it reshapes itself, pursuing prey. Endlessly dividing, it produces smaller bodies filled with nitroglycerin fluid, detonating via tiny hearts.

  Uncontrolled by nanotech or viruses, this cell-modification bioweapon kills intruders, even zombie diggers.

  Continuous explosions and blazing flames. Gasping, turning a corner, Danang sees the water-molecule nanobot runaway from earlier.

  Deflecting a liquid tube with his mechanical arm, Danang is blown back. Eve leaps off, blocking a jet cutter with her wings. Rising swiftly, he notices a different sound—dodging the sharp fangs of a metal-eating centipede lunging to crush his head.

  “Nephtys!” Danang shouts.

  “Yes, Danang?” the AI replies.

  “Distance, direction, and exact enemy count!” he demands.

  “Five hundred meters, three o’clock. Enemies: Necros, shadow wolves, lindwurms, metal-eating centipedes, blast daphnia, water-molecule nanobot runaway—correction, Undine. Recommendation to Administrator Eve: use Code Onimus or bio-metal,” Nephtys says.

  “…Time limit?” Danang asks.

  “As stated. Decide quickly,” Nephtys replies.

  Explosion heat, jets piercing wings, zombie groans. Killing machine hums and chainsaw screeches batter their eardrums.

  “Eve,” Danang says.

  “…”

  “Apply Code Onimus partially,” he says.

  “…”

  “If you won’t decide, I will. Nephtys, prep Code Onimus,” he orders.

  “Impossible. Administrator permission required; individual activation denied,” Nephtys says.

  Slicing a centipede from the ceiling with his blade, Danang glares at a hesitating Eve.

  They’ll be worn down. Lumina can heal fatal wounds, but endless enemies render it useless. Stepping on spent shells, reeling from a blast, Danang feels searing pain in his back.

  “Danang,” Eve says.

  “—?”

  Trust me. Murmuring, Eve pierces Danang’s back with her wings, her prismatic eyes glowing, each feather shimmering with electronic light.

  “Miniature wave cannon, deployed,” Nephtys announces.

  “Eve?! Are you insane—” Danang starts.

  “It’s fine,” she says.

  “How can you say that?!” he demands.

  “Because I trust you. Is that not enough?” she replies.

  His mechanical arm morphs into a gun, its palm armor unfolding to reveal a dull muzzle.

  Triggering Lumina’s semi-runaway state now is risky. If one of them falters, reducing their fighting strength, death is certain. Against his will, Eve’s wings seize Lumina’s control, surging Danang’s blood and cells.

  His body burns like it’s dipped in lava. The heat shifts to wave energy, forming antimatter, distorting gravity.

  “Aiming… adjusting. Energy efficiency optimized. Convergence set, targeting locked, all processes complete. Nephtys, assist,” Eve says.

  “Understood, Administrator Eve. Danang, firing orders,” Nephtys says.

  Eve said she trusts him. He wants to trust her. Firing the wave cannon’s consequences are obvious, but no better option exists. He’ll trust her judgment. If it goes wrong, they’ll deal with it.

  “Eve,” he says.

  “What?” she replies.

  “I trust you,” he says.

  “Leave it to me,” she says.

  Catastrophic energy converges, piercing steel walls. The wave cannon’s aftermath—antimatter and warped gravity—obliterates and twists enemies, shielded by Eve’s barrier.

  “…See? I said trust me,” Eve says.

  “…Yeah,” Danang replies.

  “Enemy elimination confirmed. Rapid movement advised,” Nephtys says.

  Supporting Danang’s staggering frame, Eve smiles gently, stroking his exhausted back.

  “Can you walk, Danang?” she asks.

  “…Somehow,” he says.

  “No ‘I’m fine’ this time?” she teases.

  “…There’s a problem, Eve,” he says.

  “Talking back means you’re fine. Walk slowly, steadily,” she says.

  The controlled wave cannon cleared a path to the data hub, erasing enemies. With a faint, exasperated smile, Danang mutters, “Thanks, Eve,” and starts walking.