It was clearly an infected zombie dog. Its fur had long since rotted away, leaving bare, festering flesh riddled with fat writhing maggots so grotesque that even ordinary zombies paled in comparison.
Despite being kicked hard by Sosuke Kitahara, the beast only staggered before springing back onto its feet, charging once more with unrelenting ferocity.
Canines were naturally faster than humans. This one, a monstrous mastiff-sized hound, slammed its claws into the ground and lunged. In the blink of an eye, it was upon Haruno.
Bang!
A thunderous gunshot rang out, blasting the hound backward before its fangs could clamp down. Yet the bullet had missed its vital spot. Shaking itself violently, the beast roared and turned its hunger on Kitahara instead, saliva spraying as it pounced.
"Die!"
Kitahara's eyes narrowed. He moved without hesitation.
The katana became an extension of his body, merging seamlessly with him. The fear born from his earlier lapse of perception sharpened his focus to an impossible degree. He could feel every stream of power flowing through his muscles like rivulets converging into a single raging torrent.
His grip shifted. The blade hummed.
"Breath of the Moon, First Form: Dark Moon, Palace of the Night."
The sword's trembling cry was like divine music.
The arc of the blade shone with silver brilliance, cutting straight into the zombie dog's open maw. The technique consumed nearly all of Kitahara's strength in a single surge. A crescent moon bloomed from his sword, its radiant slash tearing the creature apart from within a deadly moon of destruction.
The crescent blade carved through skull and sinew, slicing from head to belly in one devastating stroke.
Thud.
The luminous arc dissipated as the beast's body froze. Its twitching limbs jerked once… twice… then fell limp, lifeless.
The fight had lasted only seconds, but to Kitahara it felt like an eternity. As his heightened concentration slipped away, a strange calm flooded him, washing over his exhaustion.
My body feels normal… The Breath of the Moon didn't feel sluggish at all. Could it be that I only lost focus before that's why I failed to sense the hound?
He frowned but found no abnormalities. He chose to believe he had simply let his guard down.
"To kill something like you… I had to use a breathing form. You can brag about that to the other dogs in hell."
He exhaled heavily, pale-faced, gazing at the mangled corpse. Haruno let out a shaky sigh of relief, wiping sweat from her brow. "Thank goodness it was only one. If we'd faced several of those things at once, I'd be dead. These zombie dogs are harder to fight than an entire horde."
"Some owner this guy had. Raising a beast like this and not even putting up a Beware of Dog sign. Irresponsible to the very end."
Kitahara smirked grimly, but turned as Utaha and Yukino rushed over, blades at the ready. Seeing him and Haruno safe, their shoulders sagged in relief. Then their eyes fell on the hulking corpse. Their jaws dropped.
"That's… impossible," Yukino muttered, stunned. "Even a dog this big could turn into one of those things? How are we supposed to survive if more like it appear?"
Unlike humans, dogs possessed terrifying speed and raw aggression. Just the thought of dozens of zombie hounds hunting in packs was enough to freeze one's blood.
"This world wants us dead," Kitahara said bitterly, shaking his head. "Living through it won't be easy. From here on, no more carelessness. Double caution. Triple."
All four of them took his warning to heart. This time, they left nothing unchecked. They intentionally made noise, banging doors, kicking walls, flushing out anything that might be hiding before moving further inside.
"Ugh, the smell!"
Haruno kicked open the door to one warehouse, nearly gagging as a wave of rancid stench rolled out. They covered their noses, peering in.
The hundred-square-meter storage room was a chaotic mess: crates of rotting fruit stacked beside high-end electronics, broken pans piled next to shattered shells, the stench of decay suffocating the air.
"Gross… I can't," Haruno groaned, sprinting inside just long enough to snatch a crate of apples before running back out to the courtyard. Panting, she tore it open, sorted a few intact fruits, and handed them out. "Still edible. Not spoiled yet. You three wait here until the stink clears. I'll check the other warehouses with Kitahara."
Munching on an apple, she led Kitahara toward the next building. This time, he was ready katana raised, every sense taut.
The door slammed open. Nothing rushed out.
Inside were neat rows of gleaming slot machines.
"…A shooting club with gambling machines?" Kitahara raised an eyebrow. "What kind of business was this owner running?"
"Cross-industry trends are all the rage," Haruno said breezily, running her hands across the machines. "These days, even restaurants keep claw machines to lure customers. Gambling machines here? Not strange at all."
Kitahara followed cautiously, scanning the rows of machines. Nothing seemed worth salvaging. Until Haruno, nearing the corner, lit up. She waved him over, eyes shining. "I knew it! The owner must've hidden valuables here. Kitahara, we're rich!"
Suspicious, he stepped closer only to see her haul open a massive wooden chest.
Inside lay a trove of weapons.
From folding knives to full-length katanas, from pistols to ornate blades the crate was packed to the brim with steel.
Kitahara froze, dumbstruck. "This… This can't be real. They kept guns in a wooden chest? No way!"
"Of course not real," Haruno giggled, pulling free a sleek pistol. "They're replicas."
The model was unmistakable the famed Desert Eagle, a staple of every shooting game. Yet the magazine revealed a hidden CO₂ cartridge, the telltale mark of a powerful airsoft gun.
"My father told me once," Haruno explained. "The club's owner was tied to a syndicate. He started by smuggling guns and knives, then used his connections to build this place. Later, when money was no issue, he 'cleaned up' his image."
Kitahara snapped the magazine back in, chambered a round, and fired at a slot machine.
Crack!
The glass shattered, sparks bursting from the display. Haruno blinked, impressed. "The sound is quiet, but the impact is strong. It could kill zombies!"
Kitahara shook his head, tossing it back. "Not unless you hit the eye every time. Against the undead, these are toys. Airsoft can't pierce skulls. At best, they scare people."
Still, they stuffed the bag full. By the time they emerged, they looked like a pair of armed bandits, katanas and pistols strapped across their bodies.
Utaha and Yukino burst out laughing. "You look like carnival vendors! Are those even real?"
Kitahara smirked, aimed, and fired. The steel ball slammed into the concrete wall, leaving a deep crater. Utaha's laugh cut off, eyes wide.
"Not real firearms," Kitahara admitted, "but lethal enough if aimed right. Just don't ever point them at each other. Up close, they're no joke."
Utaha's eyes sparkled. "Give me two! The sharpshooter title belongs to me anyway." She rushed forward, rummaging through the bag. Yukino shook her head shyly. "I'll pass. One real pistol is more than enough. I prefer my blade."
Kitahara nodded. Just as he turned to scout further, a shadow flickered across the second floor. He spun, leveling his pistol at the windows.
"Show yourself!"
The others jerked at his bark. Weapons rose as one, all aimed upward.
For a heartbeat, nothing. The dusty window remained still.
"Kitahara… Could it be a zombie?" Haruno asked cautiously.
"No," Kitahara snapped. "If it were, it would've rushed us or howled. And why were so many zombies crowding this area when we arrived? Doesn't that strike you as odd? There's someone up there. Alive."
He raised his voice. "You up there! I know you're there. I'll count to three. If you don't come out, I'll throw a grenade up and kill you where you hide!"
"One."
"Two."
No hesitation. He even produced a small metal object, pin and all an airsoft CO₂ canister shaped uncannily like a grenade.
"Wait! Don't throw it!"
A woman's voice, trembling and desperate, rang out.
At the window, a disheveled figure appeared long hair falling loose over her shoulders. She wore a revealing dress entirely unsuited to the cold season. Panic filled her eyes as she flung open the window.
"We're not zombies!" she cried, voice cracking. "Please… save us! We haven't eaten in days. Everyone inside… we're starving!"
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