The horde moved fast.

Too fast.

Their forms—

All wrong.

Some still looked close to human at a glance, but the moment stretched long enough, the details broke that illusion.

Arms bent where they shouldn’t, elbows angled backward or twisted inward unnaturally as they pumped with erratic force.

Legs dragged behind some of them at partial angles, joints misaligned yet still functioning enough to drive motion forward.

Others were worse.

Faces torn open where skin had split, one eye hanging loose against the cheek, bouncing with each step—

Mouths stretched too wide, jaws misaligned but still snapping open and shut in uneven patterns.

Hands—

Some stripped down to bone, fingers exposed where flesh had been worn away or ripped off entirely, yet still clawing at anything in front of them.

They ran.

Not cleanly.

Not uniformly.

But relentlessly.

Some moved low, almost crawling while still maintaining speed, shoulders driving their bodies forward in jerking motions.

Others lurched side to side, their gait uneven due to broken hips or damaged legs, yet still covering ground with disturbing efficiency.

A few—

Stood out.

Their bodies held together better.

Less damage.

Muscle intact.

Movement sharper.

Their eyes—

Not empty.

Not like the usual.

There was something behind them.

Not thought.

Not awareness.

But something closer to direction.

They didn’t hesitate at obstacles.

They adjusted.

Moved around them.

Used them.

The horde spread the moment it breached the floor.

Like liquid released into open space.

They fanned outward in all directions, filling the ruined level with alarming speed.

Some slammed into walls and rebounded, correcting their path instantly.

Others vaulted over debris without breaking stride, hands slamming down against broken surfaces to propel themselves forward—

Metal bars that jutted from the collapsed stairwell caught several of them mid-charge, tearing into their torsos or limbs—

SKRCH—!

—but even impaled, they kept moving, forcing themselves free with raw momentum, leaving pieces of themselves behind as they pushed deeper into the floor.

Within seconds—

The space was full.

Completely.

Bodies moved over bodies, stepping on each other without pause, using whatever surface they could to keep advancing.

Those that fell didn’t stay down—others ran over them, trampling, crushing, or dragging them along until they forced themselves back up into motion again.

Then—

Up.

The broken sections of the ceiling—the parts that had collapsed unevenly, leaving gaps toward the next floor—became targets.

They didn’t wait.

Didn’t assess.

They climbed.

Not clean or controlled.

But piled.

Some leapt, catching broken edges with ruined hands, fingers scraping against metal and concrete as they pulled themselves up—

Others climbed over those already climbing, stepping on shoulders, heads, backs—forcing their way higher regardless of whether the bodies beneath could support it.

A few lost grip—

Fell—

SLAM—!

—but were immediately replaced by others taking their place.

The stronger ones moved faster.

More direct.

They scaled the broken structure with disturbing speed, using any stable point to launch themselves upward toward the next level.

Their movements carried intent—not random scrambling, but a constant push toward higher ground.

Below—

The rest kept flooding in.

Endless.

Unbroken.

The ruined floor held.

For now.

But under the weight—

Under the movement—

Under the sheer volume pressing into it—

The structure groaned again and again

And still—

They just kept coming.

——

At the same time—

At SHU—

The lounge of the main academic building held.

Not because it was safe.

Because no one dared to break what had already been set by Mr. Xiao.

Students and staff remained scattered across the space, seated or standing in small clusters, their voices reduced to low murmurs when they spoke at all.

Conversations didn’t carry anymore—each word kept close, guarded, as if raising one’s voice might trigger something worse than what already loomed outside.

Every so often—

The outside reminded them.

A distant blast rolled through the air—

BOOM—~

The glass walls trembled faintly, a soft vibration running along their surface before settling.

Some heads turned at the sound, shoulders tightening, fingers gripping tighter around phones, bags, anything they held.

But no one made a scene.

Mr. Xiao had made sure of that.

Near the entrance—

He stood just outside the glass doors.

One hand rested in his pocket, posture straight, while the other held his phone firmly to his ear.

His expression had settled into something firm, controlled, but the faint tightening around his eyes gave away the pressure building underneath.

"Yes... well I understand, General," he said, voice low, measured, each word carefully chosen. "But by the time your people arrive, whatever that mass of infected may be—it cannot be allowed to overwhelm SHU."

Another distant sound—

A scream.

Faint.

Cut short—

"A—gh—!"

Then nothing.

Xiao didn’t react outwardly.

"This isn’t about property damage, General," he continued, tone lowering further. "Tell whatever committee is in charge of this operation that if they don’t allow me—as the only S-Class citizen asset in immediate proximity—to engage..."

His gaze shifted slightly, scanning the grounds beyond the building, where distant movement flickered between structures.

"...they may lose multiple talents to this. And face far more severe consequences afterward."

He stopped speaking.

Waited.

The line remained open.

For several seconds—

Nothing came through.

Inside—

Frostbite leaned against the glass wall a few steps away from the doors, arms loosely crossed, her shoulder pressed lightly against the surface.

Her eyes stayed on Xiao, watching him closely, her head tilted just slightly as she focused.

She could hear things most couldn’t.

That was never the issue.

But now—

There was nothing.

Not from him.

The explosions outside still reached her—

BOOM—!

Distant metal collapse—

Faint running footsteps somewhere beyond—

But his voice—

Didn’t.

Her eyes narrowed.

’That’s not normal...’

She pushed herself slightly off the glass, leaning forward just enough to adjust her angle. Her gaze sharpened, focusing past the reflection, past the obvious—

And then she saw it.

Faint.

Barely there.

Distortions.

The air around Xiao wasn’t still.

It shifted.

Thin, wave-like patterns hovered around him, bending outward in subtle ripples that spread and faded almost instantly, only to reform again.

They surrounded him in a loose field, expanding and contracting with each word he spoke, each breath he took.

Not visible to normal sight.

But to her—

It was clear enough.

’Sound isolation...? No... more than that.’

’The realization settled slowly.’

’He’s blocking everything...’

Outside—

The call resumed.

A voice came through.

Older.

Measured.

Female.

"We are aware of the threats, Mr. Xiao."

The tone carried authority without needing to raise volume. Each word came through clearly, controlled, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

"And we have already made a decision as the committee."

Xiao’s brow furrowed slightly, his posture stiffening just enough to show the shift.

"We have settled on a different S-Class to provide tactical support only."

A pause followed.

Short.

Inside—

Frostbite’s eyes narrowed further, her gaze flicking between Xiao and the faint distortions around him.

Outside—

Xiao’s expression tightened.

"I’m the only S-Class close enough to act and—"

He stopped mid-sentence.

Something clicked.

His brows pulled together more deeply.

"...you don’t mean."

His grip on the phone shifted slightly, fingers tightening.

"You can’t possibly—"

Another explosion sounded in the distance—

BOOOOM—!!

The ground gave a faint tremor beneath his feet, dust shifting along the pavement outside the building.

But Xiao didn’t move.

Didn’t look away.

He waited—

For the answer he already suspected.

Inside—

Frostbite exhaled slowly, her arms lowering from their crossed position as her posture straightened.

Her gaze didn’t leave him.

’Just what are you playing at...’

The waves around him continued to ripple.

And whatever was about to be said—

He already didn’t like it.