#nighty

...Hello?

Yeah, how should I put this? There’s actually a new chapter again.

I’ve really sat down every weekend for the past few weeks and tried to finally post something. And the crazy thing is: this chapter was actually almost finished. All that was missing was the summary and these notes.

But I just couldn’t bring myself to hit “Publish.”

So, what’s actually going on?

Well, a close family member is in the hospital, it’s so hot outside that I’m literally melting in front of my computer, I’m taking on more and more responsibility at work, and at the same time, I’m hanging out with friends more often again and now go to the gym regularly because I’m trying to get my life a little more under control overall.

So it’s not that I don’t feel like writing–quite the opposite, actually. I have an incredible number of ideas, but sometimes I just don’t have enough energy to actually write them down.

Still, I hope you’re excited about this chapter. Even if you don’t make your big entrance here yet, someone else appears who might even become more important to the story.

As always, I hope you enjoy reading it.

---

Marlon had never been so nervous.

And that was saying something.

Even right now, with Brody standing right next to him–and even though he actually has a huge crush on her–she isn’t the reason for the uneasy feeling in his chest.

Normally, just her presence would be enough to make his heart race and cause him to forget every other word.

Not today.

And he isn’t the reason for her nervousness either.

Brody seems just as tense as he is. She’s constantly playing with a strand of hair between her fingers, her gaze wandering repeatedly across the hall as if she’s looking for some explanation that no one has provided yet.

Because just a few hours ago, they suddenly received a call.

No real explanation. No details.

Just the instruction to show up.

And now here they are. Late at night.

In the middle of a deserted stretch of forest.

In a massive hall large enough to hold hundreds of people.

The air feels heavy. Conversations fill the room; hundreds of voices talk over one another, creating a constant background hum of uncertainty and nervousness. Some people are already sitting in the chairs provided, while others are still standing in groups, heatedly discussing what on earth is going on.

Then a voice rings out.

“I’m sure you’re all wondering why exactly we called you here.”

Immediately, things quiet down a bit.

Not silent.

But quieter.

The words echo through the huge hall and bounce off the walls. Even the faint echo makes Marlon feel even more uneasy.

Instinctively, he looks straight ahead.

Brody does the same.

A veritable crowd stretches out before them. Families, students, older people, businesspeople. Some look annoyed, others frightened. A few have their cell phones out and are already filming.

No one seems to really know what’s going on here.

“What on earth is this…?” Brody mutters quietly.

Marlon just shakes his head. “No idea.”

The voice speaks up again.

“A disaster has been foretold.”

Immediately, other conversations quiet down. More people look ahead. More heads turn toward the stage.

“In about a week–actually, even a little less now–an organization that calls itself ‘The Walking Dead’ will kill innocent people to prove their status as... zombies...”

An audible murmur ripples through the entire hall.

People look at one another.

Others laugh nervously.

Some obviously believe this must be a bad joke.

The man on stage doesn’t seem particularly impressive himself. He’s a bit older, already has some gray hair, a slightly rounded belly, and a voice that sounds more like it belongs in an office than in a crisis situation.

He clears his throat audibly.

Then again.

Clearly, he enjoys the attention just as little as the audience enjoys the situation.

“Please stay calm,” he continues, raising his hands in a soothing gesture. “We know that many of you will have a hard time accepting this information.”

“Yeah, no shit,” mutters someone a few rows in front of Marlon.

Some people laugh briefly. Others don’t laugh at all.

Marlon feels his fingers slowly clenching into a fist.

The Walking Dead. Walkers.

Television. The attack on the Grand Hall. The King of the Rain.

No one had talked about it for years…

And now, all of a sudden, they were all standing here.

While some government officials or military guys were talking about a catastrophe in a week.

Next to him, Brody visibly swallows hard.

“Marlon…,” she says softly.

He looks at her.

“Yes?”

“Somehow I have a feeling this is going to get really bad.”

For the first time since they’d arrived, Marlon doesn’t have a lighthearted response.

He looks ahead again.

At the stage. At the huge crowd. At the nervous faces all around him.

And deep in his gut, a feeling arises that he doesn’t like at all.

“...Yeah,” he finally replies.

“I think so, too.”

The words barely escape Marlon’s mouth. They’re almost drowned out by the murmur of the huge crowd. Still, Brody hears them. Maybe because she’s standing right next to him . Maybe also because she’s paying close attention to every sound that might somehow explain to her why they’re here at all.

In front of them, the man clears his throat again.

He still doesn’t look like someone who should be giving a speech about life and death. More like a teacher who forgot to check his students’ homework.

“We are a group with shared governmental interests that has come together to seek out people with whom we can form a unit to fight these beings…”

A brief pause.

“Or rather… to destroy.”

For a moment, Marlon truly believes he’s dreaming.

Not even a particularly good dream.

More like one of those strange dreams where you suddenly find yourself in the middle of a completely absurd situation and no one explains why.

A secret hall.

In the middle of the forest.

Thousands of people.

A government organization.

Monsters.

And now, all of a sudden, they’re supposed to set up a special unit here?

Marlon blinks several times. Nothing changes.

This is really…

Next to him, Brody glances over at him out of the corner of her eye. She doesn’t say anything, but the same question is running through her head over and over again.

Why the hell are we still here, anyway?

Normally, she would have left long ago.

Normally, she would have decided by the time they reached the “abandoned hall in the middle of the forest” that this was a terrible idea.

But now?

Now there are people everywhere.

Too many.

And somehow it feels as if running away would be almost worse at this point.

“Each of you here is being given a chance,” the man continues. “That’s why we’ve also invited many criminals and convicts.”

Marlon’s blood runs cold.

Next to him, Brody’s eyes snap open.

Instinctively, she looks to the left.

Then to the right.

Then back to the front.

Suddenly, the unfamiliar faces around her seem completely different.

The tall guy three rows away…

The woman with the scar on her neck…

The man with his arms crossed, who hasn’t looked at anyone the whole time…

Any one of them could be anything.

A thief…

A thug…

A murderer…

Maybe even something worse.

And they find themselves with them late at night in a warehouse somewhere in the middle of nowhere.

“Oh my God…,” Brody murmurs barely audibly.

Marlon feels sweat slowly trickling down the back of his neck.

He tries to convince himself that the government must surely have taken security measures.

Surely…

Hopefully…

Probably…

...right?

“Before this, it was just a rumor whether these… things exist and whether a unit had actually been formed to combat them,” the man continues. “However, there should also be people here in this hall who witnessed the incident in the Grand Hall a few days ago.”

A palpable murmur ripples through the crowd.

This time, much more so.

People turn around.

Some start talking to each other right away.

Others suddenly fall silent.

Marlon’s heart is beating faster.

The Grand Hall.

Everyone knows the photos. Everyone knows the videos.

The rain. The destruction.

The giant monster.

And the man in the coat who killed it with a single blow.

Even now, Marlon gets goosebumps when he thinks about it.

Brody doesn’t seem to be doing much better.

Right now, she’d love to have any hand to hold onto.

Something familiar. Something normal.

Instead, she just crosses her own arms tighter across her chest.

“We sent strong men there,” the man continues.

His voice grows a little more serious.

A little heavier.

“But they were… taught that they need to become stronger. Let me put it that way.”

The hall slowly grows quieter.

More and more people are now really listening.

“It should already be clear to everyone that these creatures are dangerous. Whether you want to call them zombies, walkers, or something else.”

The man takes a brief breath.

“That is why we are hereby establishing a new unit designed to confront these creatures through training and special preparation.”

He pauses again.

This time, a longer one.

Almost as if he wanted to make sure everyone in the room heard the next words.

“And in a few days, we’ll carry out a raid.”

Immediately, the room grows noisy again. People are talking over each other. Some laugh nervously. Others curse.

Marlon feels his stomach clench.

The man raises his voice.

“A raid against the organization that calls itself The Walking Dead.”

Now the hall is finally silent.

“Our goal is to destroy this group.”

He looks out over the crowd.

“And at the same time, to free the innocent hostages.”

For a moment, there is absolute silence.

The words seem to hang in the air above the crowd. No one speaks. No one moves much. Even the people who had been whispering to each other just moments ago seem to have momentarily forgotten how to speak.

Marlon can feel his heart pounding.

Brody does too.

Hostages.

That means there really are people being held captive out there. Real people. Not just names from a news broadcast or faces on a screen.

Children. Families.

People who are probably sitting somewhere right now, waiting for someone to rescue them.

But then–

“WHOOOOOOOOOOA! I’M GETTING PUMPED!”

The voice shoots through the hall like an explosion.

Several people flinch. Some are downright startled.

“NOW! COME AT ME!”

Marlon immediately forces himself to look in that direction. Brody does exactly the same thing.

And they aren’t the only ones.

Virtually the entire hall turns toward the source of the shout.

People instinctively step back. Some even take several steps away, slowly forming a larger circle in the middle of the crowd.

And there he stands.

A young man.

Tall.

Broad shoulders.

A lean but clearly toned physique.

His short hair sticks out slightly in places, as if he hadn’t even bothered to comb it properly. The black, tight-fitting long-sleeve T-shirt accentuates every muscle in his upper body, while the loose white sweatpants and old sneakers almost give him the look of an athlete.

Or a nutcase.

Depending on who you ask.

And judging by his grin...

probably both.

“IT’D BE A SHAME TO WASTE THIS CHANCE! LET’S SEE WHO’S THE STRONGEST ONE HERE!”

He’s not screaming out of anger. Not out of fear.

He’s screaming out of excitement.

Genuine, unadulterated, completely crazy enthusiasm.

He raises his fist to his chest, as if he were standing in front of a stadium full of fans.

“THAT’S WHY I CAME HERE IN THE FIRST PLACE!”

A loud murmur ripples through the hall.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Was he even listening?”

“They’re talking about monsters and hostages!”

“Is he some kind of influencer or something?”

Brody blinks several times.

“Okay…,” she murmurs quietly. “He kind of scares me more than the criminals.”

Marlon can’t even argue with her.

The guy doesn’t seem like someone who hasn’t grasped the seriousness of the situation.

The worst part is–

he seems to have understood it.

And he’d be happy about it anyway.

Up on stage, the speaker is already rubbing his forehead.

“Stop.” His voice echoes through the speakers. “I didn’t call you all here for such a silly reason.”

The young man immediately looks up.

“Silly?!” It sounds almost offended.

The man on stage sighs audibly. “That’s enough. You can go now.”

His voice doesn’t even sound angry.

More like exhausted.

As if he’d already met a hundred people just like this.

Marlon keeps staring at the stranger’s back.

He estimates the man to be about his age. Maybe a year older. Maybe the same age.

But the mere fact that this guy is standing in front of hundreds of people right now, hearing about monsters, hostages, and an impending battle... and his first thought is to want to fight everyone here...

automatically makes him a total weirdo in Marlon’s eyes.

Brody seems to be thinking exactly the same thing.

“He’s crazy.”

“Yeah.”

“Completely.”

“Yeah.”

The stranger completely ignores the reactions around him. Instead, he looks straight up at the stage.

Then he grins.

“Is that how you treat a guest, Mr. Representative of Justice?”

Some people immediately roll their eyes.

Others start to laugh nervously.

The man spreads his arms wide and points his thumbs over his shoulders at the entire crowd behind him.

“Yeah, yeah... I know what I’ll do.”

His grin widens. It becomes more dangerous. Almost childlike.

“I’ll punish the cowards.”

He straightens up completely.

Slowly. Deliberately.

As if he were stepping onto a stage.

He runs a hand through his hair, pushes a few strands back, and takes a deep breath. His chest rises noticeably before he exhales and pulls his shoulders back. Instantly, he looks taller. Broader.

The attention of the entire hall is now focused on him.

Hundreds of eyes.

And he seems to be enjoying every single one of them.

His arms hang loosely at his sides, but his posture alone makes it clear that he’s far from relaxed. He stands there like a predator deciding whether or not to attack someone.

The muscles beneath his shirt tense slightly.

A broad grin spreads across his face.

Shadows are literally forming under his eyes.

Not real ones.

But that strange feeling some people give off when they’re planning something completely crazy.

“Time to do evil. Let’s turn this into a slaughter party.”

For a moment, there’s silence.

No conversations.

No murmuring.

Not even nervous laughter.

The words just hang in the air.

Then–

“Tsk.”

The man at the front of the podium rubs his forehead. “Another weirdo.”

Some people in the crowd immediately nod in agreement.

Others seem more concerned.

Marlon definitely belongs to the second group. So does Brody.

The man on stage sighs heavily.

“Excuse me,” he finally says into the microphone. “But it looks like you’re going to have to step in and throw him out of here.”

The madman just grins even wider, as if he’d been waiting for exactly that sentence.

The man on the podium glances briefly over his shoulder, and immediately three people step out of the shadows behind the stage.

The conversations in the hall fall silent once more.

Marlon automatically sits up a little straighter.

Brody does the same.

Because the three of them look… different.

The first one is huge. Easily two meters tall. Maybe even a little more.

His shoulders are so broad that he looks like he could easily rip a door off its hinges. Every step seems heavy. Controlled. Even from this distance, Marlon can make out the muscle mass beneath his clothes.

The other two are clearly more average.

Average height. Average build. No noticeable scars. No exaggerated muscles.

And yet they still seem dangerous.

Not because of their bodies. But because of their calmness.

They don’t look nervous. Not tense.

Not even particularly interested.

As if this were routine.

But what catches most people’s attention is something else.

The gear.

The tall man and one of the shorter ones are wearing the same kind of suit.

Or rather–

a kind of mechanical skeleton.

White struts run across their arms, legs, and chests. It almost looks like an endoskeleton that’s been pulled directly over their clothes. In places, the material glistens like glass in the hall’s light, while small technical components are visible in some spots.

“What the hell is that…?” someone mutters behind Marlon.

“Is that the unit?”

“Are those robots?”

“Exoskeletons…?”

Even Brody can’t take his eyes off it.

“Those are the things…,” she says quietly. “Louis said some of them were wearing something like that at the Grand Hall.”

Marlon swallows.

That’s right… he had mentioned that…

He remembers the news broadcast again.

The footage.

The men who had fought against the King of the Rain.

And lost.

The tall man is the first to start moving.

Slowly. Without haste.

Each step echoes faintly through the hall.

The madman in the center watches him closely.

Then his gaze wanders to the podium. To the man with the microphone.

And suddenly, he visibly has to suppress a grin.

Almost as if something incredibly funny were just crossing his mind.

The tall man finally comes to a stop. Not far away. Tall enough to tower over him.

The hall holds its breath. Then the man briefly cracks his neck.

Once to the left.

Once to the right.

And smiles.

“My pleasure.”

---

“Dad, why do we kill the foxes?”

The forest had just fallen silent when the bullet from the rifle immediately whizzed out, striking the fox right between the eyes–a fox that was merely gathering food for its starving cubs.

The body slumped instantly.

Completely motionless.

“Hunter…,” a deep voice growled. “Didn’t I explain this to you before? How many more times do I have to?”

The tall man slowly straightened up and stepped out of the bushes. The rifle rested loosely in his hands, as if he hadn’t just shot an animal right between the eyes. Before him, the fox lay motionless in the grass. Just a few seconds ago, the animal had been searching for food among the roots and ferns.

Now it wasn’t moving anymore.

Behind the man, there was a rustling in the bushes.

“Ouch!”

Hunter fumbled his way through the branches, got caught on a root, and scraped his hand against a rock. He immediately pulled his fingers back and winced. A thin scratch ran across his palm.

His father glanced briefly over his shoulder.

Then he huffed loudly.

“You need to learn to stop questioning things. Believe me, that has many advantages for a fool like you.”

Hunter looked up at him.

He was still small. Maybe seven or eight years old. A thick winter jacket hung loosely on his body, making him look even smaller than he already was. The sleeves were a little too long, his knees were covered in dirt, and his hair stuck out in all directions in several places because he’d just been fighting his way through the brush.

His big eyes seemed far too friendly for someone who was watching his father skin an animal.

And yet he couldn’t look away.

The big man lifted the fox by its hind leg, pulled out a dull knife, and began his work right there in the woods. The blade scraped audibly against the fur and skin.

Hunter watched every move.

“But this monster business isn’t fair!”

His voice echoed surprisingly loudly among the trees.

Tears were already welling up in his eyes.

“The heroes can’t always win! Those stupid heroes are always late, and yet they still win!”

His father didn't answer right away.

Instead, he made another cut, then finally grabbed the pelt and pulled hard on it. With a wet splash, the fox’s skin fell into the grass.

He had obviously hoped to startle his son with it.

But Hunter didn’t even flinch.

He kept his gaze fixed upward.

“Dad… when will there be a monster that defeats the heroes?” The boy wiped his hands on his thick jacket and took a step closer. His big eyes looked almost offended. “The heroes always win… but that doesn’t make any sense!”

He briefly crossed his arms before letting them drop again.

“The monsters work just as hard! But they just always… get killed…”

The wind swept through the treetops.

The knife paused for a moment.

His father looked down at him more intently.

“Hunter… nobody wants that kind of story.” He shook his head slightly. “It’s unfair and boring.”

Hunter stared at him as if he’d just heard something completely ridiculous.

Then he clasped his hands together and pressed them against his jacket.

“Monsters have inspiration, too!” He immediately raised his index finger and pointed emphatically to the side, as if he were giving the most important presentation of his life. “What about my feelings as a monster fan?”

His voice grew louder.

“They’re way cooler than the heroes!”

The tall man looked at him in silence.

Hunter, on the other hand, had by now completely gotten carried away with his argument.

“Heroes always have friends!” He held up a finger. “They always get help!”

Another finger. “And even when they lose, they still get stronger!”

A third finger. “That’s totally unfair!”

He crossed his arms again and visibly pouted.

“The monsters always have to do everything on their own.”

For a moment, no one said anything.

Only the rustling of the leaves and the distant chirping of a bird could still be heard.

The Popular will win.

The hated will lose.

It’s a tragedy.

---

Then I won’t lose to anyone.

Hunter’s arms stiffen around the man’s neck. His fingers dig deeper into the skin as he tightens his grip further and further.

The man tries to say something, but no words have come out of his mouth for a long time. Only choked sounds. Gasps. Gagging. Panicked gasps for air.

Hunter feels the pulse beneath his hands. Feels it growing weaker. Slower. A little more with every passing second.

I’ll become the strongest monster and change this story.

Something moves right behind him.

The mountain of muscle of a man lunges forward and swings his massive fist through the air. The punch is fast. Way too fast for someone his size. The air literally howls as the fist flies straight toward Hunter’s head.

BOOM!

The ground explodes.

Asphalt shatters under the force of the impact, chunks of rock are hurled everywhere, and a web of cracks eats its way through the ground. Dust rises and obscures the view for a moment.

The big man comes to a halt.

Confused.

He looks to the left.

Then to the right.

Hunter isn’t there.

Slowly, a thick vein stands out on his forehead. His breathing grows heavier. More agitated. More tense. Finally, he raises his arm again to get his bearings–

And only now does he see it.

His own arm.

For a moment, even he doesn’t understand what he’s looking at.

His entire forearm is completely shattered. Not in one place. Not in two. The bones are broken in dozens of places, pushing the skin in impossible directions. The arm bends at multiple points.

His fist at the end is barely recognizable as a fist.

Fingers stick out at odd angles, bone fragments protrude, and even the wrist appears to have been completely shattered.

It doesn’t look like an injured arm.

It looks like an arm that was slammed with full force against a wall that didn’t budge a centimeter.

“Awwww...”

The voice comes from right below him.

The tall man slowly looks down.

Hunter is standing there.

Right in front of him.

His hands are loosely in his pants pockets, his head tilted slightly to the side as if he’s watching something interesting. His eyes wander over the shattered arm before a grin slowly spreads across his face.

"It's broken."

He lifts his head slightly so their eyes meet.

“Did you put all your strength into that, Pops?”

For the first time, the muscle-bound giant’s expression changes.

Not to anger. Not to frustration. Not even to hatred.

But to something much simpler.

Sweat slowly trickles down his forehead.

The big man looks down.

Hunter is still standing right in front of him.

Right there.

As if nothing had happened.

As if he hadn’t just shattered his arm with a single blow.

For a brief moment, their eyes meet. The mountain of muscle is still trying to understand what just happened, but his brain can’t keep up. Pain shoots through his body, his pulse pounds against his temples, and his injured arm hangs uselessly at his side.

Hunter, on the other hand, seems completely calm.

Almost bored.

“That shit doesn’t matter at all.” Slowly, he raises his fist. “The strong are the strong, retard!”

Then he strikes.

It doesn’t even look particularly spectacular.

No big wind-up.

No shouting.

No effort.

Just a single punch.

The big man’s skull visibly deforms under the blow. His cheek is dented, saliva and blood spatter through the air, and his entire body is hurled backward as if he’d been hit by a truck.

He flies several meters.

He slams into the ground.

Keeps sliding.

Finally, he lies motionless.

Right next to him, the smaller man–whom Hunter had previously grabbed by the neck–also collapses. His legs give way as if someone had cut the strings of a marionette.

For a moment, there is silence.

Then–

“HAHAHAHAHA!”

“THAT KID IS REALLY KICKING THAT IDIOT’S ASS!”

“GOOD JOB! KEEP IT UP!”

“SHOW THEM!”

“FINALLY, HE’S GETTING A BEATING!”

The voices are coming mainly from one side of the hall.

From the criminals and the convicts.

At some point, they’ve started to gather together. Like a separate group within the huge crowd. Some are laughing loudly; others are even clapping. To them, the whole thing looks more like entertainment than a serious event.

Hunter doesn’t move.

He just stands there.

The crowd is shouting.

People are talking over each other.

The hall is getting louder.

But Hunter doesn’t seem to really notice any of it.

His gaze passes right past the people.

“Hm?” He slowly tilts his head slightly to one side. “No, no, no...”

His face contorts. Not with anger. Not with joy. More with genuine confusion.

“No.” He remains standing motionless. “What are you fools talking about?”

Slowly, he turns his head backward.

Only now does he seem to notice how many people are standing around him.

Criminals. Civilians. Volunteers. Convicts. Onlookers.

Practically the entire hall is now staring at him.

Hunter looks at them.

And immediately, his expression changes.

The smile fades.

The joy disappears.

Everything fades away.

“You’re all going to die, too.” His voice remains completely calm. “Try to stay present, okay?”

Several people blink in confusion. Others frown.

The laughter slowly dies down.

“What the fuck?”

“YOU’RE NOT THE SHIEST!”

“WHAT’S IN IT FOR YOU ANYWAY?!”

“ARE YOU TAKING THE FUCKING PISS?!”

“AREN’T YOU ONE OF US?!”

The mood shifts noticeably.

Just a moment ago, they were cheering him on.

Now they’re looking at him as if he’d suddenly started speaking a different language.

Hunter slowly raises his index finger.

Like a teacher trying to correct a mistake.

“Wrong.” He looks past the crowd. “You guys just don’t understand monsters.”

His gaze sweeps through the crowd.

From face to face.

And suddenly, his smile seems a little wider again.

Not friendly. Not warm. Just strange.

“So listen…”

Hunter takes a step forward. Just one. Yet the crowd moves back almost automatically. Not much, just a little, but enough that a circle slowly forms around him.

No one asked them to. No one planned it. People just do it. Like animals that instinctively sense something in front of them that isn’t quite right.

“Heroes are always too late. Monsters always take the initiative. They show up without rhyme or reason.” As he speaks, Hunter slowly raises his arm and points forward toward the podium.

The man with the microphone is still standing there, but sweat is now visibly running down his forehead. His hands are clutching the microphone so tightly that his knuckles have turned white. Just a few minutes ago, he had been in control of the hall. Now it seems more as if he’s hoping someone else will take charge of the situation.

“You’re incredibly wrong if you think I’m on one side or the other.” Hunter tilts his head slightly and points his finger across the crowd. “You’re all on the side of the humans. And I’m on the side of the monsters.”

For a moment, the man on the podium is completely at a loss. His thoughts are stuck somewhere between fear and confusion. This guy just took out two of his bodyguards as if it were the most normal thing in the world, and at the same time, he actually seems to believe he’s one of those monsters himself. One of those Walkers.

The mere possibility is enough to send a cold shiver down his spine.

“A man who calls himself a monster… What an idiot!”

The voice comes from behind him.

Several heads turn immediately.

The last of the three bodyguards steps forward. At first glance, he seems almost unremarkable. Average height. Average build. Nothing about him looks particularly dangerous. But unlike the others, he’s still wearing his battle suit.

The white exoskeleton fits snugly against his body, and in several places a faint blue light pulses beneath the surface.

He claps his hands together twice in front of his face. Immediately, the people around him step back. Some know his name. Others know only the rumors. But no one seems to want to find out if they’re true.

Except for Hunter.

He simply stands there.

“Rank Number Eight of the unit… The Blue Fire.”

The man spreads his hands apart and steps slightly to the side. The blue lights on his suit begin to glow more brightly.

“Will turn you to ashes!”

Several people swallow nervously.

Even from here, Marlon can feel the temperature rising slightly.

The man holds both hands out in front of him. Blue fire gathers between his palms–small at first, then growing larger–until the air around it begins to shimmer. Some people’s eyes widen. Others step back even further.

Then the flame shoots out.

But before anyone can scream. Before the people even realize what’s happening–

Splash.

The sound is strange.

Wet.

Almost harmless.

“Hohohoho.”

Hunter has barely moved. At least, that’s how it looks.

A few drops of blood land on the cheek of the man who calls himself The Blue Fire. Only now does he realize that something is wrong.

Hunter is still standing in the same spot.

And suddenly he’s holding an arm in his hand.

His own arm.

For a moment, his brain doesn’t process it. It literally refuses to process the information. The battle suit is still attached to it, blood is slowly dripping onto the floor, and the severed cables inside are sputtering tiny sparks.

Hunter looks at the whole scene with curiosity.

Almost intrigued.

“Hmm.” He twists the arm slightly back and forth. “Just as I thought. Just a cheap party trick.”

He tugs at a damaged part of the Battle Suit with two fingers. Inside, a small blue flame flickers desperately, still trying to emit energy.

“Once you know the trick, it’s really nothing special.”

Behind Hunter, people suddenly scream.

Two strangers have been hit by the stray flames. They’re lying on the floor, rolling back and forth in panic and trying to put out the fire. The smell of burnt fabric is slowly spreading through the hall.

Hunter doesn’t even glance at them.

The Blue Fire, on the other hand, just stares at him.

Then slowly downward.

To where his arm had been just a few seconds ago.

Adrenaline hits him with full force.

His heart is racing.

His breath catches.

Sweat instantly breaks out on his forehead and runs down his face. The pain is only setting in now. The realization is only sinking in now.

And with it, something far worse.

For the first time, he realizes that this fight never was one.

And that he is now facing a creature that could kill him just as easily at any moment as it has just taken his arm.

For the first time in his life, he feels a genuine fear of death.

His knees go weak. His heart is pounding so loudly against his chest that he can feel it all the way up to his ears. The pain from his torn-off arm has set in by now, but it hardly matters anymore.

Up on the podium, the man with the microphone seems to have come to the same realization.

“That’s the hall in the woods!” His voice almost breaks. He clutches the radio with both hands and nearly stumbles over his own words. “There’s an incident involving the outsiders we invited because of the impending war against these monsters!”

Hunter slowly turns his head in his direction.

The severed arm falls from his hand.

Splash.

Blood splatters across the floor.

Several people flinch.

Others immediately step back even further.

And then that grin reappears.

“PLEASE SEND EVERYONE FROM THE UNIT INTO THIS BUILDING IMMEDIATELY! AND AN EMERGENCY DOCTOR!” The man on the podium is now practically screaming into the radio. Sweat is dripping from his chin.

And that’s exactly what seems to please Hunter.

His grin widens just a little more.

Suddenly, voices rise again from the crowd of criminals.

Loud. Aggressive. Completely sure of themselves.

“FUCKING PUNK!”

“DON’T GET TOO FULL OF YOURSELF!”

“I’M PRETTY CONFIDENT IN MY FISTS TOO!”

“BEAT HIM TO A PULP!”

“KICK HIS ASS!”

“SHOW HIM WHO HE’S MESSING WITH!”

And finally–

he gets started.

It’s time to hunt.

---

The man on the podium isn’t moving anymore.

He doesn’t dare.

His back is pressed against the cold wall, while his hands tremble. At some point during the chaos, he had stopped giving orders. At some point, he had stopped trying to control the situation. Now, he’s just trying to survive.

Bodies lie right next to him.

Everywhere.

Some on top of each other.

Some with twisted arms.

Others lying motionless on their backs.

The smell of blood, sweat, and dust hangs heavy in the air.

Then–

BAM!

Another body flies across the hall.

The man flinches as someone crashes face-first into the wall less than two meters away from him. A dull crack echoes.

The man slides down the wall.

Then he lies still.

The government official immediately presses both hands to his mouth.

Not because of the sight. But because he’s afraid of making a sound himself.

Because Hunter is still standing there.

And no one seems able to stop him.

The huge hall, which just a few minutes ago had been full of voices, is now barely recognizable. Where people had been standing before, there is now a veritable mound of bodies. Some lie on top of each other, others half-buried under rows of seats, and still others where they fell.

And right in the middle of it all–

stands Hunter.

Like a king on his throne.

In one hand, he’s still gripping a man’s collar. The guy is hanging limply and barely moving.

Hunter looks at him briefly.

Then he lets go.

The body simply falls to the ground.

Splash.

Not even a groan follows.

“Well…” Hunter folds his arms and looks down at his handiwork. “That should be a good start for Hunter the Monster.”

His voice sounds satisfied. Almost proud.

The man behind the wall feels tears welling up in his eyes.

Not because of the injured. Not because of the destroyed hall.

But because this madman is obviously enjoying himself.

Hunter slowly turns in a circle, taking in the people around him.

You can hardly hear a thing anymore.

No murmuring. No discussions. Not even the typical groans of the injured.

Just the hum of the lights under the gym ceiling.

And Hunter’s voice.

“Today was just a declaration of war.” He raises a hand and counts on his fingers. “I’ll admit… fighting several high-ranking members of the unit at the same time might still be a bit difficult for me right now.”

A broad grin spreads across his face. “So, I’m going to make a run for it for now.”

He sounds so casual, as if he were talking about going for a walk.

Not about the dozens of people currently lying on the ground all around him. Not about the fact that he’s just taken out an entire hall.

Not about an impending war.

The man behind the wall starts to tremble more violently.

Then Hunter suddenly looks straight in his direction.

His eyes widen. His grin grows wider.

Wider. Even wider.

Until it looks almost unnatural.

Like the grimace of a demon.

The government official feels his heart skip a beat.

For a moment, he’s certain that Hunter has seen him.

That he’s coming right over to him.

That he’s about to die.

“Until then, I’ll keep training.”

Hunter points to himself.

“In just under a week, there’s already going to be a big war against those Walkers who call themselves The Walking Dead.”

He starts to laugh. Softly at first.

Then louder.

“Ohhhh... that’s going to be fun.”

Under one of the overturned seating areas, Marlon and Brody both hold their breath at the same time.

They’re trapped between several unconscious people.

Marlon has placed one arm protectively over Brody.

Brody holds both hands over his mouth.

Neither of them moves. Neither dares to.

Because even from a distance, Hunter doesn't look like a human.

Not anymore.

Not after what they’ve just seen.

Not after what he did to all those people.

Hunter finally turns toward the large exit door.

Slowly. Leisurely. Almost whistling.

As if this had been a perfectly normal evening.

Meanwhile, the man on the podium can barely catch his breath. His vision blurs. His heart pounds uncontrollably against his chest.

Panic. Pure panic.

He clings to the wall as his legs give way.

Then Hunter stops for a moment.

Right in front of the huge door.

The light from outside falls on his silhouette.

For a moment, he looks like nothing more than a shadow.

A monster in the doorway.

Then he raises a hand.

And waves.

“See you later!”

---

Wow.

So... a declaration of war right at the start? Who exactly is this Hunter who suddenly shows up here and immediately establishes himself as one of the story’s most important characters?

In case it hasn’t become obvious yet: Hunter will be the primary antagonist of this story.

Of course, you’ve only seen a small part of his character so far, but he’ll play one of the most important roles of all in the upcoming raid–in some ways just as important, if not more important, than you, the main character.

Even now, he effortlessly defeats multiple opponents at once, including members of the unit in Battle Suits. And that’s not even close to everything.

Let me put it this way: Hunter is going to get significantly stronger. And eventually, right at the very end, you’ll face off against him.

What’s interesting about him, though, is something else.

Hunter will likely be the first villain I’ve written who isn’t really “in the wrong.” He’ll explain his motives, justify every single one of his decisions, and stick to his convictions consistently right up until the finale. And the embarrassing thing is: he won’t even be completely wrong about some of his views.

But there’s still a long way to go until then.

I really wanted to finally publish another chapter. Even though only Marlon and Brody from the main group showed up this time, don’t worry: Clementine, the university, and the entire group will be back soon. I just want to continue developing the various storylines together and slowly steer the story in its intended direction.

Thank you so much for reading.