Zombie Domination-Chapter 393- Train

’Damn it. The building’s not even slowing him down.’

Julian burst through the far side of a collapsed office block, chunks of pulverized concrete spraying around him. Behind him, the sound of grinding destruction didn’t fade—it accelerated. Walls tore apart like wet paper. Steel beams screamed as they were shredded into confetti.

’He’s not tracking me. He’s just... erasing everything in a radius.’

Julian slid to a halt behind an overturned cargo container, pressing his back against cold, dented metal. His breathing was controlled, even. His mind, however, raced at a frequency no one else could hear.

’This is what desperation looks like when you’ve already burned your escape routes. He knew he was dead either way. So he chose to become a weapon instead of a corpse. Admirable, in a pathetic sort of way.’

The grinding sound grew louder. Closer. Julian’s fingers twitched around his katana’s hilt.

’But admiration doesn’t win fights.’

He peeled around the corner just as the bladed cyclone chewed through the container behind him. Metal shrapnel whistled past his cheek. He didn’t flinch.

There. The rotation is constant. Predictable. His defense isn’t impenetrable—it’s just always moving. Like a shield you have to time, not break.

Shadow tendrils erupted from the ground, snaking around the spinning man’s ankles, his wrists, his torso. They didn’t stop the rotation—that was impossible—but they slowed it. Introduced friction. Resistance.

Julian moved.

’Now.’

His katana sang through the air, edge aligned with the gap between two passing scythe-limbs. He didn’t aim for center mass. He aimed for the elbow joint—smaller target, less protected, more essential.

The blade bit deep. Black fluid sprayed.

’A hit. Good.’

The spinning stuttered, just slightly. The man—or what was left of him—let out a sound that wasn’t quite human. But he didn’t fall. Didn’t stop. His remaining arm swung around in a wide, brutal arc aimed directly at Julian’s exposed ribs.

’...Not good.’

Julian twisted, but the tip of a bone scythe still caught him across the forearm, tearing through fabric and into flesh. Blood, warm and immediate, slicked down his grip. His Regeneration was already working, but the sting was sharp, distracting.

’He should be dead. His body should be rejecting this transformation. Why is he still...’

Then Julian saw it. The man’s eyes—or what remained of them. No recognition. No pain. Just a dull, mechanical hunger.

’He’s not fighting me. He’s just... operating. His brain’s already gone. The mutation burned through whatever was left. This isn’t a man anymore. It’s a trap with a heartbeat.’

Julian disengaged, putting distance between himself and the relentless spinning blades. His forearm was already knitting closed, but the blood loss had cost him a fraction of his edge.

’Direct confrontation is inefficient. I’m trading blows with a corpse that doesn’t feel pain and won’t stop until its energy reserves hit zero. Which means...’

He looked at the frozen zombie horde still standing like statues at the edge of the battlefield.

’ ..I don’t need to beat him. I just need to wait him out.’

Julian’s eyes hardened. "All units. Surround and delay. Do not engage—just obstruct."

The zombies lurched forward, not to attack, but to wall. To stack themselves in the path of the spinning blade-storm, layer after rotting layer, sacrificing their already-dead bodies to absorb momentum and waste precious seconds.

’Let’s see how long your transformation lasts when you’re grinding through a hundred tons of dead flesh.’

Julian stepped back into the shadows, katana lowered, watching the abomination slowly bury itself in a mountain of its own former kin. His expression was cold, but behind his eyes, a quiet, grim calculation continued to run.

The mutant did not fall.

Even as the mountain of decaying flesh slowed its advance, even as the grinding vortex sputtered and lost coherence—the creature adapted. Its bladed limbs plunged into the shambling corpses surrounding it, not to tear, but to feed. Dark, corrupted energy pulsed along its scythe-like arms, drawing necrotic sustenance from the fallen zombies. Flesh liquefied and was absorbed. Tendons snapped and were reconstituted. The jagged wounds Julian had carved into its torso began to writhe, knitting themselves closed with sick, wet sounds.

’It was learning. Evolving. Right before his eyes.’

Julian exhaled slowly. His stance shifted—lower, heavier. The katana in his hand angled downward, blade catching the faint, sickly light of the ruined street. He did not rush. He did not hesitate.

Lightning surged from his core, coiling up his spine, down his arms, into the steel. Not the frantic, arcing discharge of desperation—this was concentrated. Compressed. The blade sang with contained thunder, its edge glowing a fierce, electric blue-white.

Critical Chance superimposed itself over the strike, not as probability, but as certainty. Every variable calculated. Every angle measured. The point of impact, the trajectory, the exact millisecond of release—all reduced to absolute inevitability.

Boost followed. Muscles tightened. Blood moved faster. Time, for him, stretched like pulled taffy.

Julian moved.

Not a sprint. Not a charge. A crossing—as if the space between him and the mutant was merely a formality that had already been resolved. His shadow stretched behind him like a cloak of displaced darkness.

The mutant perceived the threat. Its bladed limbs snapped up in desperate defense, spinning that vortex of annihilation one final time. A wall of slicing death, ready to shred anything that dared approach.

It didn’t matter.

Julian’s blade traced an arc in the air—a single, perfect, horizontal line.

The vortex stopped.

For a heartbeat, the mutant hung suspended, its limbs still raised, its corrupted core still pulsing with stolen energy. It had no face left to express confusion, no voice left to voice its failure.

Then, along the invisible line Julian had carved, it began to come apart.

Not in chunks. Not in pieces. In sections—clean, geometric, almost beautiful in their precision. The bladed arms separated from the torso. The torso separated at the waist. The head, or what passed for it, tilted slowly, then slid free. Each cross-section revealed not blood and bone, but the hollow, crystallized remains of a man who had burned himself alive for a single, futile kill.

The remains hit the ground in a series of wet, heavy thuds.

Julian straightened. The lightning faded from his blade. His breathing was controlled, measured—the only indication of exertion a thin sheen of sweat at his temple. He looked down at the scattered pieces, his expression calm.

’He was Eclipse. Which means Darwin will know one of his people died here. The question is whether he’ll care enough to investigate, or if this man was already marked as expendable.’

Julian flicked the residual ichor from his katana and sheathed it in a single motion.

’Either way, I have what I need.’

Julian stood amidst the scattered remains, his gaze distant. He flexed his fingers absently, feeling the faint, residual pull of connection to the dozens of motionless zombies standing at attention around him like a silent army awaiting orders.

’It’s getting easier,’ he noted internally. ’The control used to feel like holding back a flood with bare hands. Now it’s more like... breathing. I don’t even think about it anymore.’

A soft chime echoed in his earpiece. Then a familiar, energetic voice crackled through.

"Julian! Where are you right now?" Emma’s tone carried that signature blend of concern and impatience.

Julian turned and began walking, stepping over the crystallized remnants of the mutant. "Scouting for information. I’ll be back soon."

"Ugh, don’t take too long, okay? You’re not supposed to move alone. That’s like, rule number one. It’s dangerous." Her voice pitched higher on the last word, genuine worry bleeding through the scolding.

"I know." Julian’s response was calm, unapologetic. "I wanted to test some parameters. And I stumbled across someone connected to the Eclipse."

There was a brief pause. Then, quieter: "Hmm. Any new intel?"

"None. He chose mutation over providing information."

A sharp exhale crackled through the line. "Hahh... Stupid fanatics. You know what? Let’s just skip the reconnaissance. Go straight to their headquarters. I’ll torch the whole damn place myself. Problem solved."

Despite himself, Julian felt the corner of his mouth twitch. "That’s insane."

"Hey! A guy should never say that to a girl!" Emma shot back instantly, her voice puffing up with mock indignation. Then, softer: "Anyway. Just... get home quick, alright? Before I come drag you back myself."

Julian didn’t answer immediately. His eyes swept the ruined street, the frozen horde, the fading evidence of violence.

"...Understood."

The connection cut with a soft click. Julian lowered his hand, the earpiece silent.

’Emma’s right. Solo movement increases risk. But I need to calibrate these parameters while I have the opportunity. In combat, hesitation between skill transitions costs seconds. Seconds cost lives.’

He bent his knees slightly, channeling Boost through his lower body. Lightning crackled faintly along his calves, not as a weapon—as propulsion. A jolt, precise and controlled, launched him upward.

The ruined building’s facade rushed past. His fingers caught a crumbling ledge, and he pulled himself onto the rooftop in a single, fluid motion. Dust settled around his boots.

Gravity manipulation is more efficient for sustained levitation, but the stamina drain is significant—especially in extended engagements. Lightning-enhanced bursts require finer control but less energy over short distances. ’I need to train my body to default to this.’