Royale clung to Nanami Minami's toned frame like a giant koala cub, arms wrapped around her neck and legs clamped around her waist as they descended face-to-face.
Despite the intimate position, the thick chest armor and tactical vest between them killed any hint of real sensuality, leaving only an awkward tension hanging in the air. Thankfully, the descent was swift. Minami touched down smoothly on the second-floor platform moments later.
The other three S.A.T. members were busy clearing nearby The Dead with their rifles and didn't notice the pair's unorthodox landing. Royale leapt down, his blade [Meitō·Fuguhaitō - River Puffer Poison] flashing from its scabbard. In one fluid motion, he slid past the S.A.T. members and bisected the remaining five corpses at the waist.
"Sergeant! Look down below!" One S.A.T. officer, peering over the railing, paled visibly.
Bathing in the crimson moonlight filtering through the fifth-floor atrium, the vast expanse of the first floor revealed itself—a charnel house. Thousands of bodies lay strewn across the thousand-square-meter space, piled in grotesque mounds and clusters. The overwhelming stench of decay and congealed blood hung thickly in the air. Scattered limbs and viscera floated in the sea of dark gore, transforming the once-bustling lobby into a scene ripped straight from hell.
Minami wasn't some battle-hardened veteran. The detached violence of sniping criminals through a scope was nothing compared to the visceral horror of this corpse-choked abattoir. Her grip on the rappel line faltered; she started to slip backwards—only to be yanked forward sharply by a strong hand gripping her wrist.
"Careful. Second floor isn't high, but landing wrong? That'll hurt," Royale cautioned, not joking. He vividly recalled being shoved down an escalator by a horde of The Dead—the impact nearly ruptured his organs.
Minami found herself pulled against Royale's chest, her hand resting on the surprisingly warm, solid plate armor. Her breathing hitched slightly—whether from the near-fall or the proximity was unclear. "The Dead... down there... you did this?"
"No," Royale denied flatly.
"You expect me to believe that?" Minami shot him a withering glare. The distinctive curved piles of bodies were identical to the ones littering the fifth floor. The lie was blatant.
"You already know the answer. Why ask?" Royale shrugged, feigning reluctance. "If I deny it, I'm a liar. If I admit it, I sound arrogant. Goes against my whole 'low-key' philosophy..."
Minami didn't smile this time. Her violet eyes locked onto his face, searching. After a tense moment, she demanded, "Are you an Esper?"
"Esper? What's that?" Royale had an inkling, but feigned ignorance was safer.
"The Dead Virus... it doesn't just create The Dead. In rare cases, it triggers two divergent mutations: Mutants and Espers."
"Mutants are like supercharged Dead. Unbelievably strong, utterly mindless."
"Espers... people like you, I suspect. They manifest one or more extraordinary abilities. Most can fight hordes of The Dead alone. A few have non-combat powers, no stronger than a normal person..." She paused, her gaze intense. "But an Esper as powerful as you? That's a first."
Clearly, Minami had pegged him as a newly manifested Esper. It was convenient—saving him the trouble of explaining his actual power source. "Sergeant, this information—"
"Don't ask questions you shouldn't. Telling you this much is already breaking protocol." Minami cut him off sharply. Her reaction confirmed she knew far more than she was saying.
Royale shrugged indifferently. Ever since spotting the red-and-white umbrella logo in the Fujimi High infirmary, he'd guessed the true source of this global nightmare.
With the immediate area cleared, Minami signaled her team forward with two sharp gestures, deeper into the second-floor women's apparel department.
"Hold." Royale's left arm snapped out, barring their path.
"What is it?" Trusting his combat instincts after the rappel incident, Minami instantly halted her team. She moved up beside him, weapon ready. "What did you find?"
"Something's off." Royale gestured for her tactical light to illuminate the floor near the bodies he'd just cut down. "Notice anything? All males. Not a single female Dead down here."
Minami stiffened. He was right. Large shopping centers, especially the women's clothing floor, always had a female majority. The complete absence of female corpses here wasn't just odd; it was deeply unsettling.
"You still want to proceed?" Royale asked, already knowing the answer but looking to Minami anyway.
A veteran of countless operations, Minami knew exactly what such an anomaly usually meant: extreme danger. She hesitated only a fraction of a second before gritting her teeth. "It's the mission."
"Alright then. As you wish." Royale shrugged again, outwardly nonchalant but inwardly shifting to high alert.
Compared to the chaos of other floors, the second floor was unnervingly silent. Even their carefully muffled footsteps echoed loudly in the cavernous space. Tactical lights swept over clusters of mannequins, casting long, dancing shadows. The occasional guttural moan of a Dead echoed from unseen locations, fraying everyone's nerves. Only Royale, with senses and reflexes far beyond human norms, moved with his usual calm assurance at the point position.
"Stop! Lights out!" Royale's sharp command cut through the tension.
The S.A.T. team, conditioned by his earlier displays of prowess, obeyed instantly. Lights died. They melted into nearby cover.
Minami slid up beside Royale, tapping his shoulder, her eyes questioning in the gloom.
"You hear that?" Royale whispered. "Something... strange."
Minami closed her eyes, focusing. Faintly, a sound drifted from the depths of the department store. Indistinct at first, but growing clearer as they crept forward. It sounded like the moans of many female Dead... but warped. Not the usual rasping death rattle. This was a disturbing blend of pain and twisted ecstasy—a low, rhythmic, collective keening.
Royale and Minami exchanged a look. Mutual confusion and deepening dread.
"Let's check it out." Royale dismissed [Meitō·Fuguhaitō] in a shimmer of blue-white data streams. In its place, his left hand gripped the ornately patterned [Quetzalcoatl's Indigenous Bow]. His right hand smoothly drew a [Kabane Black Feather Arrow]—worth 200 points—and notched it silently against the bowstring.