Chapter 23: Those Who Seek

  Raven moved swiftly, his steps light and calculated as he swept the perimeter. He had covered nearly three-quarters of the area without encountering anything of real concern. The streets were eerily still, the silence pressing against him like an unseen weight. The few goblins he had stumbled upon were isolated or in groups no larger than three—easy enough to take down. He dispatched them quickly and efficiently, their bodies left to rot in the shadows.

  But something was off.

  He hadn't seen a single lizard. The day before, they had been everywhere—skulking between buildings, watching from rooftops, hunting. Their sudden absence made his skin crawl. Either something had forced them to move, or they were lying in wait. Neither possibility sat well with him.

  As he rounded a corner at the end of a narrow alley, he caught sight of something that made him freeze.

  Across the road, a barricaded shop stood out against the empty streets. Reinforced windows, stacked debris, and makeshift defences showed clear signs of habitation—but something was wrong.

  Very wrong.

  Strung up with rope, dangling grotesquely from the storefront, were monster bodies—dozens of them. Goblins, lizards, even twisted, mutated animals. Their corpses had been displayed like trophies. The air was thick with the stench of death, the sickly-sweet rot curling into Raven’s nose. His grip tightened on his weapon as his eyes flicked to the building itself.

  Inside the shop, there was movement—shifting figures behind the barricades. He couldn’t see clearly from here.

  A deep unease settled in his gut. Something about this felt... wrong.

  He needed a closer look.

  Slipping back the way he came, he circled behind a nearby building, keeping low as he moved. He crossed an empty lot, avoiding the open road, his instincts screaming caution. As he neared the shop’s side window, he crouched, pressing himself close to the wall, listening. No voices. No footsteps. Only the faint shuffle of movement inside.

  Carefully, he lifted his head and peered through the grimy glass.

  His breath hitched.

  Behind a security mesh, in a caged-off area, was a group of at least two dozen people—mostly women. Their clothes were tattered, their bodies bruised and battered. Some clung to each other, eyes hollow and distant. Others sat still, their faces expressionless, too broken to react to their surroundings.

  Raven’s jaw clenched. Who the hell did this?

  He shifted slightly, trying to see past the cage into the main room of the shop, where the flickers of movement had come from.

  Then—

  Shk-click.

  The distinct, unmistakable sound of a shotgun being pumped sent ice down his spine.

  “Turn around. Real slow.”

  The voice came from above.

  Raven’s stomach dropped as he slowly pivoted and looked up. Leaning over the edge of the adjacent building, shotgun in hand, was a man—dirty, unshaven, eyes filled with suspicion and something darker.

  And the barrel of his gun was aimed right at Raven’s head.

  Raven kept his expression calm, his voice steady. "Take it easy, pal. No need to get twitchy."

  The man sneered, shifting slightly to get a better angle on Raven. "What the hell do you think you're doing? This is our turf. We claimed it fair and square. We fought for everything we have here. You trying to poach?"

  Raven slowly shook his head. "No, no. I just saw movement and came to check it out."

  The man’s eyes flicked over Raven’s gear—his bow and knife—and narrowed. "Drop ‘em. Now."

  Raven let out a breath, sizing up the situation. "Not gonna happen."

  The man's grip on the shotgun tightened. "You'll do what you're fucking told, kid."

  He lifted the barrel, aiming it squarely at Raven’s head.

  Raven flipped him the bird.

  Before the man could react, Raven bolted forward, phasing straight through the wall below him as the shotgun roared—the blast ripping through the air where he had just stood. Ether surged through him, exhilarating and electric, like a cold wind brushing against his nerves as he slipped through reality.

  Emerging on the other side, Raven sprinted through the building, phasing again as he reached the far end, slipping into an alleyway. He didn’t stop—circling the structure until he reached a vantage on the rooftop the man had fired from.

  The sound of the gunshot had stirred the nest.

  From the front of the store, they came pouring out—a dozen men, weapons in hand, scanning the area for a threat. Raven recognized some of them immediately—the same bastards who had tried to drag him to the hospital the day before.

  Fucking scum.

  First day of the apocalypse and they were already raping and pillaging.

  Something dark and cold settled in Raven’s chest. His hand tightened around the hilt of his knife.

  He knew, without a shadow of a doubt—

  None of them were leaving here alive.

  Raven scanned the group below, quickly identifying at least three men with pistols. He didn’t know how many bullets they had left, but he had no intention of finding out. No matter how fast he was, dodging bullets wasn’t exactly an option.

  His eyes flicked between the men, assessing their positions. Aside from the scout he’d already taken down, he didn’t see any other lookouts—but that didn’t mean there weren’t more hiding in the shadows

  Then his gaze locked onto the leader.

  The bastard who had been calling the shots yesterday stood near the centre of the group, barking orders. But that wasn’t what caught Raven’s attention. In his hands was a weapon—one he recognized instantly.

  The mace.

  The same one the big green bastard had been carrying before Raven killed him.

  That fucker looted my kill.

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  Cold realization settled over him. For them to have taken that mace, they had to have been much closer to the hospital than he had thought. That meant they’d been watching, possibly even testing the defences. That spelled trouble.

  These men couldn’t leave here alive.

  Raven weighed his options, then silently climbed onto the roof of the building he had retreated to, keeping low behind vents and ducting. He moved into position, drew an arrow, and took aim at the scout with the shotgun.

  The moment the shot was lined up, he released.

  The arrow whistled through the air, striking true—right through the man’s eye socket. The scout toppled off the roof, landing hard with a sickening crunch.

  Serves you right, fucker. Shoot at me, will ya?

  The group erupted into chaos, shouting and spinning in every direction, trying to pinpoint the attacker.

  Raven stayed low, watching. One of them turned his back for just a second too long. That was all he needed.

  Another arrow. Another clean shot. The man let out a strangled scream as the arrow buried itself near his heart. He crumpled onto the pavement.

  One of the others—smarter than the rest—spotted the angle the arrow had come from. Raven saw it in his eyes the moment he figured it out.

  Shit.

  "UP THERE!" the man roared.

  Gunfire exploded in response. Bullets ricocheted off the vent in front of Raven, tearing through the metal. He didn’t trust it to stop another round.

  Without hesitation, he phased downward, dropping into the building below just as the bullets shredded through the spot he had been crouching.

  A voice outside barked orders.

  "Stop wasting fucking bullets, you morons!"

  Raven smirked. Good advice. Too bad it won’t save you.

  He moved to a window, carefully peering outside. The leader was regrouping, sending teams of two down different paths, closing in. Each pair carried a gun and a melee weapon—knives, clubs, even a fire axe.

  No wonder they were able to take down monsters. They weren’t just brutes—they had some level of tactics.

  Too bad they didn’t have his advantages.

  Raven phased through a wall opposite to their approach, dropping into an alley. He sprinted toward another two-story building, phased through the outer wall, and dashed up the stairs, making his way to a window overlooking one of the paths they were taking.

  Sure enough, two of them were moving cautiously along, scanning the area.

  Raven drew his bow and fired.

  The first shot hit the gunman in the throat—he dropped instantly, choking on his own blood.

  The second man dove for the fallen pistol, scrambling to grab it.

  Raven’s second shot pierced his arm, making him scream in pain as he clutched the injury. He tried to flee, staggering toward cover—

  Raven fired again.

  Right through the heart.

  The man collapsed, dead before he hit the ground.

  Raven took a breath, lowering his bow. His eyes flicked toward the pistol lying on the ground. That could be useful.

  He moved quickly, jumping from the window and landing heavily in the street. His legs protested the impact, but he ignored it.

  He rushed toward the fallen gun, reaching out—

  BANG!

  Pain exploded in his arm.

  A pistol shot.

  Raven gritted his teeth, grabbing the gun before phasing straight through the nearest wall.

  "Fuck, fuck, fuck—"

  The pain was sharp and searing. He glanced down. The bullet had gone through his arm. No exit wound. That meant the damn thing was still lodged inside.

  Shock hit him.

  He had been one second away from death.

  Raven shoved the pain down, ripping a bandage from his pack and quickly wrapping the wound. His fingers shook slightly as he tied it off. He didn’t have time to dig out the bullet now.

  He needed to keep moving.

  But as he secured the bandage, something flickered inside him.

  Rage.

  Cold, quiet, deadly rage.

  He would kill every last one of these bastards.

  Breathing hard, he moved back to the window, scanning the area. Who the fuck shot him?

  Nothing. The fading light made it hard to see.

  He needed a new vantage point. Moving carefully, he crept to another window, watching the street where he had been shot.

  Sure enough, after a couple of minutes, two men emerged from the shadows.

  "I know I got him," one said, scanning the area. "He can’t have gone far. And he won’t be shooting that bow with a bullet in him."

  The fucker was right.

  Raven’s arm wouldn’t hold a drawn bow now.

  He would have to do this a different way.

  He waited, watching them get closer and closer to his position.

  As they passed his window, Raven phased through, appearing right behind them.

  His blade plunged into the throat of the armed man, silencing him instantly. Blood spurted onto the pavement as Raven ripped the blade across.

  The second man reacted fast, swinging a baseball bat—Raven ducked under it, rolling to the side.

  Before the man could recover, Raven slashed his leg, cutting deep. The man screamed, dropping to one knee.

  Raven didn’t let him suffer.

  In one swift motion, he drove his blade into the man’s heart, twisting the knife.

  The screaming cut off instantly.

  Raven yanked the blade free and was already moving.

  More would be coming.

  He had to keep hunting.

  Raven crouched low; his breath steady despite the dull throb in his injured arm. Seven left.

  He circled back toward where he had first been on the rooftop, moving carefully, his instincts screaming at him to stay alert. Two men were there, scanning the area. Why hadn’t they moved on?

  Something wasn’t right.

  He stayed hidden, watching, waiting. Then he saw it—one of the men glanced across the alley toward a darkened doorway. A third man was lurking in the shadows, watching the other two’s backs.

  Clever bastards.

  If Raven had rushed in, he never would have seen the third man. He would have walked right into an ambush.

  His grip tightened on his knife. Not so clever now.

  He pressed himself against the building he was using for cover and phased straight through, emerging into the darkness behind the hidden man.

  The third man never even saw it coming.

  Raven’s blade slid between his ribs, a quick, clean kill. The body sagged against him, and Raven eased it to the ground, barely making a sound.

  But the other two noticed.

  One of them shouted, “Shit! What was that?” They rushed forward, weapons raised, approaching their fallen comrade.

  Raven phased back through the wall just as his vision swam for a second—too much blood loss, too much phasing in quick succession. He gritted his teeth and pushed through the haze, waiting.

  The moment the two men reached their fallen companion, Raven appeared behind them.

  He slashed at the first man, but the bastard was fast—diving forward at the last second, barely avoiding the blade.

  Raven shifted targets, slashing at the second man instead. His knife cut deep into the man’s arm, blood spraying against the pavement as he stumbled over the corpse at his feet.

  The first man came at him fast, swinging a crowbar in a blind panic. Raven ducked—the air howled as the metal bar missed his head by inches.

  The fool had overcommitted. The weight of the weapon pulled him off balance, and Raven was already moving. His knife flashed, a single clean strike.

  The man gurgled. His throat was gone.

  The second man was scrambling back to his feet, still clutching his wounded arm. Too slow.

  Raven closed the distance in an instant, plunging his knife into the base of the man’s skull. His body went limp before he even hit the ground.

  Raven exhaled, shaking off the adrenaline surge. His vision blurred for half a second. He had to stop bleeding soon or he would pass out.

  He gritted his teeth and forced himself forward.

  Four left.

  Raven made his way back to the street where he had first seen the barricaded shopfront. The last four men stood in front of it, weapons drawn, their heads swivelling in search of him.

  But it wasn’t their posture or readiness that stopped Raven in his tracks.

  The leader had a hostage.

  A young girl, fifteen or sixteen, was held tightly in front of him, a knife pressed against her throat. She was trembling, her wide, terrified eyes darting around for any chance of escape. The leader’s smug grin made Raven’s blood boil.

  “I know you’re out there,” the leader called, his voice echoing through the street. “Come out, or I start killing hostages until you do.”

  Raven froze.

  His rage had let him play fast and loose with his own life, but the girl? She had nothing to do with this. She was just a kid.

  His body screamed no—he knew that stepping out meant death. The moment he showed himself, he’d be shot.

  But how could he let her die?

  His jaw clenched. His pulse thundered in his ears. There had to be another way.

  But the girl’s eyes locked onto his, wide with terror. Waiting. Hoping.

  There wasn’t.

  There was no choice. He stepped out from cover, hands slightly raised, the tension in his muscles coiled like a spring. The leader’s face split into laughter.

  “All that effort,” he taunted, shaking his head. “And you’re going to die for some little bitch you’ve never even seen before? Incredible. What a fucking moron.”

  One of the men beside him raised the last pistol.

  Raven barely had time to process what was happening when the man’s head exploded, a muffled crack sounding through the dimming dusk.

  The leader let out a strangled noise and threw the girl to the ground, staggering as if he’d been hit. Raven’s eyes flicked past him and saw it—a crystalline object buried in his back.

  Before he could react, the other two men collapsed, foreign objects protruding from their torsos.

  The leader, still stumbling, let out a growl and whirled toward something in the shadows. With a swift, desperate movement, he hurled a knife toward the darkness.

  A woman cried out.

  Raven’s instincts kicked in. He rushed toward the sound, his heart pounding in his chest.

  As he skidded to a stop near the alleyway, he saw her.

  Uri was crouched beside a woman—one of the most beautiful Raven had ever seen. A knife was buried in her shoulder, blood spreading fast as Uri worked to stop the bleeding.

  “Fuck.”

  Raven barely registered the leader slumping over, a projectile lodged in his skull.

  He turned to Uri, stunned, his mind scrambling to piece together what had just happened.

  “Where the fuck have you been?”