The Zombie Slayer was taken aback by the Zombie King's peculiar question about the pipe wrench. Confusion flickered across their face as they shifted their attention back to the zombie puppeteer. Why would he ask something so trivial in this moment? Still, something told them the wrench stirred memories in him—memories they had no interest in.
"It's just a pipe wrench I found two years ago. It belonged to someone who didn't survive. The virus had just broken out, and so many were already dead." The Zombie Slayer's answer was blunt; it wasn't an important question. "Why do you care?"
Jarlath remained silent for a moment, his expression darkening, before he looked at them with a fierceness that hadn't been there before. "Where exactly did you find it?"
"Why are you so obsessed with my pipe wrench?" The Zombie Slayer's confusion only grew. "I found it in a supermarket. Satisfied?"
"HL Supermarket?" Jarlath's hand moved toward the pistol at his side.
The Slayer froze, startled. "How do you kn—?"
Before they could finish, Jarlath fired four shots in quick succession. Instinctively, the Zombie Slayer darted back toward the Goodlife clothing store, not expecting him to waste precious bullets, especially when ammunition had become so scarce. What had set him off? Why did the mention of the supermarket trigger such anger?
"I don't know who you think you are," Jarlath snarled, his voice edged with desperation, "but I suggest you hand over that wrench. Now."
Memories Jarlath had long suppressed began clawing their way to the surface—fragments of a day he had buried deep. The wrench was a piece of the past he had worked hard to forget. He didn't care to remember the bodies that had fallen around him that day, or how the chaos had bestowed upon him the power to control the undead. But that pipe wrench—that was a symbol of the past, and it had to be destroyed.
The Zombie Slayer, still puzzled, emerged from their cover, only to be caught off guard as Jarlath lunged at them with the wild ferocity of a zombie. He tackled them to the ground, his fists hammering down, each punch raw and unrefined. His eyes were wide with a crazed intensity, his expression almost feral.
Disgusted by how animalistic he'd become, the Zombie Slayer managed to grab his collar, pulling him forward before delivering a brutal headbutt. The blow sent Jarlath stumbling back, dazed for a brief moment.
The Slayer quickly got to their feet, seizing the advantage, and kicked him square in the knee, forcing him to the ground. They followed up with two strikes to his face, blood spraying from his nose and mouth as he crumpled in pain, struggling to breathe.
The Zombie Slayer towered over him, their gaze cold and detached, like a predator regarding its prey.
Jarlath's mind flashed back to the torments of his past—the same look had been in the eyes of those who once tormented him.
"You bastard!" he roared, fury consuming him as he staggered to his feet.
Blinded by rage, he charged at the Zombie Slayer, but they remained calm, easily sidestepping his wild punches. With fluid precision, they parried his attacks using the pipe wrench, striking him in the neck with a quick, calculated blow.
His eyes widened in shock. Jarlath tried to kick them, but the Slayer deflected the attack effortlessly, countering with two more strikes to his face. He swayed, nearly collapsing again as he desperately swung at them.
The Zombie Slayer couldn't help but be bewildered by his recklessness. Here was the legendary Lone Wolf, reduced to this—an enraged, pathetic figure. Though the Slayer had initially thought of killing him, his pitiful state made them feel something akin to pity.
With cold efficiency, they deflected each of his moves, landing blows to critical points—punctuated by a brutal kick to the bullet wound they had inflicted earlier.
They gave Jarlath no quarter, pressing forward with relentless strikes from the pipe wrench. Each blow landed with force, sending him reeling, too dazed to recover.
Blood and sweat matted his face as he fought to remain conscious, but the Slayer was merciless. With a final elbow to his stomach and a swift kick, they sent him crashing to the ground, writhing in agony.
"You're a fool for throwing your life away like this," the Zombie Slayer muttered, unimpressed by his futile resistance. "I don't know what your story is, but the way you act—you enjoy tormenting others. If you were beaten down before, you probably deserved it."
Despite the searing pain and the blood loss, Jarlath remained silent, his glare now full of seething hatred, as though staring into the pits of hell itself. "You...!" he hissed. "Kill her! Rip her apart!"
The Zombie Slayer tensed, hearing the low growls of the undead drawing near. Before they could fully turn around, two feral Walkers lunged at them.
During the night, the zombies became more vicious, and the Slayer, caught off guard, barely managed to throw one off before kicking it toward the glass railing. It toppled over, crashing to the floor below.
The Zombie Slayer let out a groan as the second zombie sank its teeth into the side of their stomach. With a fierce shove, they sent it flying back and proceeded to bash its head into the ground repeatedly until it was nothing more than a bloody pulp. "You damn bastard! You lured them in and distracted me!"
Jarlath laughed maniacally, despite the intense pain coursing through his body, slowly dragging himself to his feet. "That's what you get for messing with me! You underestimated me, and now you'll pay the price. Once you turn into a zombie—after fifteen seconds—you'll become my puppet! I'm going to love tearing you apart for the humiliation!"
"Why are you acting like a spoiled child?" The Zombie Slayer asked, their voice calm despite the fresh bite wound. They stretched their arms lazily, spinning the pipe wrench in their hand. "Do you really think you're the only one with 'special' abilities?"
Jarlath's maniacal grin faltered as he watched, wide-eyed. The Zombie Slayer wasn't turning. They should've begun transforming any second now, but instead, they stood there, unphased, their deep wound seemingly irrelevant.
Worse, they weren't even breathing heavily. Despite the fight and the countless zombies they'd dispatched before this confrontation, they didn't show the slightest sign of exhaustion.
"How the hell...?" Jarlath stammered, backing up as more feral zombies gathered behind him. His eyes darted between them and the Zombie Slayer, fear creeping into his mind. Whoever this person was, they weren't a typical survivor. No wonder the person he'd spared had warned him about them.
The realization hit him: the Zombie Slayer was his antithesis. They were his doomsday. He couldn't understand how there could be another like him, someone with unnatural abilities. It didn't make sense.
"How am I supposed to know?" The Zombie Slayer continued, their voice steady. "These abilities just emerged, and I accepted them! Didn't you?"
Jarlath's confusion deepened as the Slayer's words sank in.
"This is why I don't fear your minions," the Zombie Slayer added, twirling the pipe wrench with casual ease. "I can kill them, again and again! I never tire! And I'll never become one of them! I will kill every last zombie in this polluted world!"
Jarlath scoffed. "What a delusional dream. There are millions of them! And only one of you!"
"If it takes my entire life to kill them all, then it's not a dream!" The Zombie Slayer's voice was steely as they tightened their grip on the pipe wrench. "You, on the other hand, won't live to see that day!"
Jarlath clenched his fists, his face twisting in frustration. "Alright, you self-righteous lunatic. My 'friends' will take care of you tonight. This is your last hunt! Rip her to pieces!"
At his command, the feral zombies surged forward, their speed demonic and unrelenting. But the Zombie Slayer was ready. With each swing of the pipe wrench, they crushed skulls, sending zombies crashing into one another.
Some, they kicked over the glass railings, their bodies plummeting to the floor below. They were an unstoppable force, a machine of destruction, each blow smearing the undead's heads like overripe fruit.
Though bitten and scratched multiple times, the Slayer fought through the pain, pulling a knife from their belt and expertly stabbing zombies in the head. They grabbed one by the neck, slamming it against the wall three times before four others tackled them.
Unfazed, the Slayer skewered each of them with precise stabs to the skull.
A Runner charged at them, but the Zombie Slayer sidestepped it, and the creature smashed headlong through a wall. The Slayer wasted no time. They kicked a chair across the room, tripping a line of ten zombies, and hurled another chair with deadly accuracy, striking the advancing horde.
With renewed fury, they swung the pipe wrench, smashing into the remaining zombies' heads. One after another, they fell until none were left standing.
Noticing that the Zombie Slayer appeared unfazed by the overwhelming odds and the feral state of the zombies at night, Jarlath realized he needed to coordinate their attacks to bring her down.
"The rest of you, step back," Jarlath commanded the remaining feral zombies.
The undead obeyed, freezing in place just before the Slayer struck. The Slayer looked at Jarlath, who wore a sinister, enthusiastic smirk that was both disgusting and villainous.
The stillness of the zombies indicated that the Zombie King intended to make them effective fighters.
With that realization, the Slayer charged at Jarlath, determined to eliminate the puppeteer once and for all.
Frustration boiled within Jarlath. "You seriously underestimate me!"
As he began issuing orders, two Runners lunged at the Zombie Slayer, successfully pinning them down by grabbing their legs and sending them crashing to the ground. The Slayer kicked one off, only to be stomped on the stomach by three Walkers, leaving them gasping for air.
The moment one of the Walkers released its grip, the Slayer swung their pipe wrench, but the zombies deftly dodged and parried their blows, responding to Jarlath's commands.
Suddenly, a Runner seized the Slayer from behind, rendering their arms immobile. The Walkers unleashed a barrage of punches, each strike feeling like a truck colliding with the Slayer's body.
As the others closed in, trying to bite the head, the Zombie Slayer twisted and turned to evade them, forcing their hoodie off and revealing their identity.
Jarlath's eyes widened in shock. "Priscilla?"
Her face was a canvas of contrasts and depths, a reflection of her struggles and resilience. Her pale complexion starkly contrasted with the faint silvery scars adorning her cheeks and forehead. Her large, almond-shaped eyes burned with intensity—golden and vibrant, they conveyed an internal fire and unwavering determination.
Her eyebrows mirrored her gaze, always alert, while her slender nose and well-defined lips hinted at a complexity of emotions. High cheekbones lent her an air of elegance, and her delicate jawline exuded strength.
A subtly pointed chin accentuated her determined expression, while dark hair framed her face, lending a sense of purpose to her otherwise untamed appearance. Strands fell across her forehead and cheeks, softening her fierce demeanor.
Glaring with fury, she struggled to break free from the zombies' grasp before being kicked in the face, blood splattering from her lips. "Who the hell is Priscilla? Get these abominations off me!"
Snapping out of his surprise, Jarlath couldn't shake the feeling of familiarity. This woman bore a striking resemblance to an old friend, albeit with some differences—her golden eyes and the ferocity of her expression.
He had never imagined that the Zombie Slayer, prophesied by some survivors to be the world's savior, would remind him of someone from his past. Life seemed to mock him, an endless cycle of humiliation and torment.
"Who the hell are you!?" Jarlath demanded, his tone laced with annoyance as he pressed for answers before his 'friends' could devour her.
As he dropped his guard, the zombies momentarily loosened their grip. Seizing the opportunity, the Zombie Slayer sprang to her feet, delivering a headbutt to the nearest zombies before stabbing each of them through the skull.
Jarlath watched in shock as they crumpled to the ground. The horde had fallen silent, and she turned to him with a determined yet aggressive glare.
She charged at him the moment Jarlath turned toward the escalator, quickly closing the distance due to her remarkable stamina. With a fierce stomp, she planted her foot on his chest, pinning him down as he squirmed, desperately trying to free himself.
She then proceeded to stomp on his face repeatedly, reducing it to a bloody mess before hoisting him back up and striking him with her pipe wrench, knocking him to the ground once more.
"Get... away from me!" Jarlath shouted, struggling to hold back tears as painful memories of bullying, betrayal, and the death of his parents surged back into his consciousness after the brutal beating.
"Just like the survivors wanted to escape from you so they could live!? One of them had a child," the Zombie Slayer reminded him, her voice cold and resolute. "Your reign of terror is ending! Consider this your punishment for your tyranny!"
"Punishment!? Then why weren't those bastards who tormented me ever punished!? I've endured their cruelty for years, but they were never held accountable!" Jarlath unleashed his pent-up anger, surprising her with the intensity of his emotion. "Every single day, I suffered! My parents worried about me, but I hid my pain from them! Those monsters were relentless! Even in my new life in America, my torment continued! Why weren't they punished, huh?"
The Zombie Slayer was momentarily speechless. She wanted to refute his excuses—every notorious person she had killed shared his mentality—but something about this man was different. His rant didn't feel like a justification for his heinous actions; it was a genuine expression of anguish. The look on his face was that of a frightened boy who had never known normalcy.
Jarlath struggled to his feet despite his critical injuries. "What makes you the judge, jury, and executioner!? You live a normal life! You've never faced any real torment, so what gives you the right to judge me? Why can't I have fun? Yes, I killed some people, but I never flaunted it unless you provoked me! You're just an idealistic b*tch who thinks she can take on the entire world!"
Her irritation flared at his words as she seized him by the collar. "You have no idea about my struggles! I've lost someone, so you don't—"
Jarlath slapped her arm away in a fit of rage. "Someone? I lost everyone! My parents are dead, my sister is dead, a girl I cared for is dead, and the survivors who sheltered us are gone! My life is in ruins, but I found comfort in my new abilities! I found solace in playing a king! I don't want to remember the horrors I've witnessed, but you? You lost one person and decided to play the hero? Dream on! If I'm going to be killed by you, at least I won't die clinging to a foolish dream!"
The Zombie Slayer struggled to find a retort, her resolve shaken. Though she was aware that her desire to eradicate the undead was idealistic and perhaps impossible, she could not deny the sincerity in his tone. It was difficult to reconcile this man with the psychopath she had fought earlier.
"I'm sorry for accusing you," she said, her voice softening. "I didn't know you had such a difficult life, but—" She plunged her knife into his shoulder. "Your past doesn't absolve you of the people you've killed. You could have chosen a different path, but instead, you became what you despised the most."
"Bitch!" Jarlath shouted as she removed the knife, blood pouring from the wound.
Boom!
An explosion erupted behind them before either could react further, sending them both reeling. The mall was consumed by chaos as explosions rocked the structure, drawing a swarm of zombies.
When the Zombie Slayer regained her footing, she saw Jarlath struggling to rise. She considered ending him.
Boom!
But another explosion sent her crashing into the escalator, while Jarlath was hurled to the ground floor as the floor beneath him crumbled.
Groaning, the Zombie Slayer pushed herself back up, slamming her arm against the wall to relocate it. "What the hell just happened?"
Hearing laughter nearby, she sprinted toward the source, temporarily ignoring the Zombie King. She would track him down later; for now, she had to confront whoever was causing the explosions and attracting the undead horde, all while avoiding falling debris and the shockwaves of destruction.
Meanwhile, Jarlath lay trapped beneath debris, surrounded by jewels from the Piaget store. He struggled to escape, but his efforts were in vain until the sound of approaching zombies reached his ears. As they drew near, poised to feast on him, he commanded them to stop.
"Get this off me!" Jarlath ordered, and the zombies began to clear the debris from his body.
Once freed, he resolved to escape, knowing the Zombie Slayer was preoccupied with whoever had caused the explosion.
With an army of eight zombies at his command, he decided to follow her, allowing his minions to rip apart any undead that fell outside his control. He would confront her and those responsible for the chaos.
If it meant returning to a life of comfort, he was determined to eliminate her—he would not let a bully go unpunished. Not anymore.