The smile of the Gravecursed widened. Its rotten teeth—jagged and black—glinted beneath cracked lips.
Kael yanked his spear free from the creature's spine. Not giving it a chance to react, he lunged again, driving his weapon toward its chest—aiming to pierce the armor and end it fast.
The tip clanged off, skidding harmlessly across the bone-plated flesh.
'Shit!' Kael cursed internally, breath catching.
He barely ducked as the Gravecursed retaliated—its staff whistling past his head in a blur of black motion. It struck the ground beside him with a deafening boom, stone shattering like glass under its weight.
'It's fast.'
Kael pivoted, spun low, and tried to jab at the exposed back of the knee—but the Gravecursed twisted unnaturally, as if its spine bent both ways, and swung again.
Kael jumped back—barely avoiding another brutal arc. The staff passed just inches from his ribs, close enough for the wind to scrape his skin.
'It's strong. Too strong. Not just a brute—it fights with intent.'
Sweat dripped down his brow. His lungs burned. He was already tired before this fight started—and the bastard was barely moving like it cared.
The Gravecursed surged forward with terrifying grace, staff sweeping horizontally.
Kael dropped into a roll, felt the wind of the strike pass just overhead, and came up with his spear raised—only to get caught flat-footed by a sudden reverse swing.
'SHIT!'
CRACK!
The staff slammed across his forearm, bone meeting bone.
Pain exploded through him.
He flew back, crashing through debris and slamming into a cracked support column.
He gasped, barely able to breathe. His vision swam. Blood dripped from his lip.
His ribs screamed. His arm dangled uselessly. The spear clattered to the ground beside him.
The Gravecursed advanced slowly, staff dragging across the stone, its body twitching with insect-like jerks. A wet, gurgling sound bubbled from its throat—half laughter, half mockery. Its roach-like vocals echoed across the battlefield like chittering hell.
Kael coughed and spat more blood.
"Now would be a good time for some thick skin, Seraph," he muttered, his voice raw.
"Working on it," Seraphiel replied sharply in his mind. "Just keep him busy… a little longer."
Kael reached for his spear with trembling fingers.
'That's easy for you to say.'
His heart pounded.
And still… he pushed himself to his feet.
"Come at me you bitch I ain't done yet." Kael says holding the spear in his only good hand.
Kael's body screamed in protest as he faced the Gravecursed head-on, sweat and blood mixing in his eyes. Every muscle trembled. His lungs burned like fire.
The creature stood before him—towering, silent, staff raised high like an executioner's blade.
It was going to come down like a guillotine.
His jacket's sixth sense screamed.
Move. Or die.
Kael rolled.
It wasn't clean. It wasn't fast. More of a clumsy collapse than an actual dodge—his limbs barely obeying as he tumbled across the broken stone, like an old man shoved down a staircase.
Pain blossomed with every bounce. Bruises stacked on bruises. Bone scraped muscle. His breath hitched, shallow and sharp.
He hit the ground and kept moving.
He crawled.
Dragged himself forward like an animal clinging to instinct. The cold bite of stone scraped his palms, painted his hands with blood.
His feet found purchase. Somehow, he stood.
'Don't look back.'
No time.
His plan was gone—shattered the moment his spear bounced off that plated neck.
He needed something.
Anything.
A new plan. A miracle.
He stumbled into the alley.
Tight. Cramped. Smothering.
A rusted streetlamp hung low over the narrow path like the neck of some watching beast. The air stank of rot and dust. Broken bricks littered the ground like teeth.
Too narrow to fight in. Too narrow for wide swings.
Good.
Behind him, the Gravecursed entered—its movements slow, deliberate. It ducked beneath the lamp, black eyes glinting beneath shadow.
No roar. No sound.
Only death.
Kael kept moving, heart pounding in his throat. Every step was a war.
The staff scraped behind him. The sound of stone screaming.
Then it lifted.
The world dropped away.
'Now.'
His jacket pulsed. His nerves screamed. His gut twisted.
Kael twisted too.
The staff came down with a scream of metal.
But it didn't strike clean.
It clipped the bent streetlamp overhead—just barely.
The impact threw off the swing's arc, shaving off momentum and shifting its angle.
[Tough Skin – Passive Activated]
A brief flash of warmth pulsed through Kael's body as the system's voice echoed in his mind.
Finally.
Kael caught the brunt of the blow on his already-injured arm.
CRACK!
Pain erupted—white-hot, blinding, as his bones screamed with agony.
But it didn't crush him.
The deflection had saved his ribs. Saved his life.
He staggered sideways, crashing into the alley wall—but his good hand still gripped the spear. Solid. Steady.
The Gravecursed, crammed into the tight alley, lacked the room to move. The staff was too long, its reach turned useless. It had no space to defend.
It had cornered itself.
Kael staggered.
Screamed.
And struck.
His spear came up in a blur of motion, faster than it had any right to.
The blade caught the Gravecursed in the throat.
It punched through blackened flesh and snapped bone—deep, deep, until the hilt hit wet muscle.
Black ichor sprayed across the alley walls, hot and vile. It burned Kael's hands, his arms, his face—
But he didn't stop.
The creature thrashed, claws raking across his shoulder, shredding cloth.
Kael snarled and shoved harder, bracing one foot against the alley wall. The spear twisted. Cracked.
He drove it deeper, all the way through.
The Gravecursed let out a wet, choking gasp. Its limbs spasmed. Its staff clattered to the stone with a hollow clang.
It dropped to its knees.
Then, finally—
It fell.
Kael stood there—barely—watching as a pale green Soulshard dropped with the corpse.
Chest heaving. Spear buried to the shaft in a monster that had nearly ended him.
Blood ran down his face. His arm shook violently.
But he didn't collapse.
Not yet.
Just because the alley went silent doesn't mean the horde disappear.
He needed to get to safety—fast—unless he wanted to bleed out in some forgotten alley.
Grabbing the Soulshard and ripping his spear free from the corpse, Kael limped his way out.
The light of the red sun cast long shadows across the broken courtyard as he stepped back into the open. Sweat and blood clung to him like second skin.
He looked out over the chaos.
The horde had changed.
No longer fully focused on the dorm barricades, the zombies now scattered across the yard in loose, broken groups. Some still clawed at the walls. Others wandered aimlessly, sniffing the air or turning on easier prey.
Many had shifted their attention to Elis.
Kael watched from the distance as the blade of Micheal danced between the rotting swarm, golden blade flashing like a holy flame. Elis's blade art cut through the chaos—graceful, practiced, and relentless. He was still running circles around them, but it was clear: even he couldn't do it forever.
"I can't help him," Kael muttered through clenched teeth, watching Elis weave between the undead like a thread of gold. "I'll only get in the way."
His side throbbed. His vision swam. His arm was barely functional.
"Best to get to safety and hope he can handle himself."
He turned and limped toward the east side of the building, rounding the outer edge of the courtyard. The noise of the horde dulled behind him, replaced by the dull hum of blood in his ears. The back entrance came into view—a reinforced steel door tucked behind two dumpsters and a collapsed bench.
Kael reached into his shredded jacket and pulled out the dorm key. One of the few things he still had from before.
The lock clicked open.
He shoved the door inward and stumbled through.
The hallway was dim. Dust hung in the air. Furniture had been shoved up against the walls—crude barricades made of desks, chairs, and cracked bookshelves. The stink of sweat and fear was thick.
Then he stepped into the commons.
Voices broke off. Heads snapped toward him.
A dozen students stared as Kael limped in, bloodied and holding a gore-slicked spear. Some gasped. One of the younger ones screamed. A few scrambled back, tripping over their own feet.
Kael didn't flinch.
He just scowled.
"Relax," he barked. "I'm not a damn zombie."
No one moved.
Then someone spoke.
"Keep barricading the door! Stop standing around—we don't have time for breakdowns!"
The voice rang out sharp and clear—firm, commanding. Someone in charge. Someone trying to keep the survivors from falling apart.
"Wait—Kael? Is that you?"
From the crowd of shaken students the voice that order the student step out. A girl with who looked like she hadn't slept in days. Her dark brown eyes were sunken and sharp, framed by a tangled mess of chestnut curls pulled back into a low braid. A torn hoodie clung to her frame, streaked with dried blood and gore—more battlefield relic than clothing.
"Lily?" Kael asked, barely recognizing her.
"Oh my god, what happened to you?!" she cried, rushing toward him.
Kael waved her off, staggering but still moving.
"No time for that," he rasped. "I need you to help Elis. He's out there, holding the horde off by himself."
Lily blinked. "Who?"
"The man who's single-handedly stopping the horde," Kael said, limping to the barricade at the front door, where the clawed arms of zombies reached through the gaps, still trying to break in.
He shoved a chair out of the way and leaned against the barricade, peering through a narrow slit between the boards. He pointed. "There. See him?"
Lily squinted through the dusty glass. Smoke curled up from the courtyard. The horde had spread—scattered—but they were still moving, still surging in chaotic waves.
Near the center of it all was a blur of light. Golden. Flickering.
"That guy?" she asked, pointing.
Kael nodded.
Even from this distance, it was clear—Elis was still moving, still cutting down undead with every breath. His blade flashed like a divine flare with every motion.
But he was slowing.
Stumbling.
His left arm hung limp. Blood marked his path like breadcrumbs.
"He won't last much longer," Kael muttered. "Not alone."
He turned back to Lily, voice low but sharp.
"Get anyone with a weapon. I don't care what it is—knives, bottles, pipes, nails in a stick. Get to the windows and start thinning the horde. Buy him space. If he falls, we all fall."
Lily hesitated for only a second before nodding and spinning around.
"Anyone with a weapon—take up arms and help thin this horde!" Lily barked. "We need to help that guy outside now—unless you want the horde breaking through this door!"
Her voice cut through the panic like a whip. Commanding. Unshaking. In that moment, there was no hesitation—no fear. Just clarity. And the others responded to it.
As if this wasn't the first time she'd barked orders.
The students moved, falling into position. And among them, Kael saw familiar faces.
The first to act were the ones he'd saved from the wolves. The three who'd nearly died—and the one he'd given the health potion to.
The bearded man still gripped his bone axe, knuckles white. The girl who'd bowed to him before had her fang-blade strapped to her hip, moving with the confidence of someone who wanted to fight. The lanky guy with shaky hands was helping an injured student line up bottles and bricks by the windows.
And then—Kael saw the fourth.
The kid he'd healed.
His arm was wrapped in a torn shirt. His face still pale. But he was upright. Alive. And helping.
Kael watched them all—students fighting together, shouting orders, throwing what they had. The chaos hadn't stopped, but something had changed.
Something good.
He felt it rising in his chest.
Pride?
Relief?
Hope?
He didn't know what to call it.
But it was good.
Real.
Earned.
All the running. All the blood. All the broken ribs and near-deaths—
It had meant something.
Especially this one.
[Congratulations. You are now Level 10.]