Mark - 108
Michael - 60
Martin - 13
Mario - 13
I scanned the surrounding streets before stepping out of the church. Nothing moved. The wind barely stirred, and the usual groans or chirps of corrupted creatures were absent. It made me uneasy.
My eyes settled on the house directly across from the church. It was close, just beyond a low fence. I hopped over, keeping low to avoid drawing any attention. Crouched, I moved slowly to the windows and peered inside.
The place was a wreck. Chairs were broken, tables overturned, and debris scattered across the floor like a whirlwind had swept through. It was chaotic—too chaotic for someone to be living there. Even the most desperate survivor would try to keep things somewhat organized. I wasn't sure what had caused the mess, but the absence of order suggested no one had been here in a long time. Hopefully, if there had been corrupted here, the apex nearby had scared them off—or eaten them.
The church was nestled in the corner of the block. That could be an advantage or a liability. If we were planning to stay long, we'd need to clear the surrounding houses to eliminate any latent threats. Every unsecured building was a potential danger waiting to wake up.
I slipped through the front door of the house and made a beeline for the kitchen. If there was anything useful left, that's where I'd find it. The second I stepped in, a wave of stench hit me like a wall. The fridge was definitely off, and whatever had been inside had rotted long ago. I didn't even consider opening it.
Instead, I turned to the cabinets. Jackpot—at least, at first glance. Cans, dry goods, and even some pots and pans. We didn't have any cookware at the church, so these were valuable. As I started collecting, I noticed holes—small gnawed ones. Rats. The bastards had gone through most of the food. Dry goods especially. Why do rats always go for the dry stuff?
I salvaged what I could: a few intact cans, two pots, and a couple of sealed dry packs. Not much, but something. I stuffed everything into my bag and made my way back, keeping my steps light and careful despite the clanging pots.
The church was more alive when I returned. The kids were moving around, cleaning the floors, rearranging broken furniture. Mark sat upright in a battered chair that looked one breath away from collapsing.
"That was quick. No problems?" he asked with a tired smile.
"No, nothing happened. I found a bag full of supplies and some pots," I said, brushing past him on my way to the back room. I dumped the contents of the bag on the second bed, grabbed it again, and turned to leave when Mark called out.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm planning on scavenging the nearby houses," I replied, glancing back. "Plus, I need to find materials for weapons. We're going to be here for a while. You need time to recover."
"Okay," he said, pausing. "Just be careful."
I nodded and slipped out again.
Over the next couple of hours, I cleared three more houses, one after another. I moved fast but carefully, grabbing anything useful: canned food, knives, blankets, clothes that still held together, and even a toolbox full of nails, screwdrivers, and pliers. Every time I returned to the church to drop off my findings, it looked a little cleaner, a little more like a home. Mark was directing the kids efficiently, despite his own injuries.
The sun still hung above the rooftops, but it was dropping. I had enough time for one more house before dark. I picked the closest one and entered through the back door. It was more intact than the others. Cabinets held a few meager supplies—nothing great, but I collected what I could.
Then I found something strange.
In one of the bedrooms, tucked away in a corner, was an egg-shaped object—massive, nearly as tall as my waist. It pulsed faintly, its surface glossy and veined with glowing RME strands. My heart pounded. I'd seen enough corrupted growths to recognize something was happening here. This was no ordinary egg. This was an apex.
But it wasn't just forming a stronger body. No… this thing was changing. Maybe trying to become a spirit. Or ascend a tier. Either option was bad. Very bad.
I stepped around it slowly, trying not to touch anything. The front of the egg was thinner, nearly translucent. That's when I saw it.
A baby.
It floated in the red-pink fluid inside the egg, its small form twisted, demonic. Its skin was a cracked green, mirroring the shell around it. It looked innocent in some twisted way, but I knew better.
If it completed its transformation, it would become a nightmare.
I didn't know how to kill it, and worse, I didn't know if I could. I had only a knife and a metal pipe—neither were great weapons, but the pipe was better for blunt force. Still, the egg seemed resistant. I'd need to cut it open first, then kill it fast—before it could fully awaken.
I wrapped my hand around the knife, steeling myself. I pressed it against the shell and sliced.
The shell resisted at first, stretching like tough rubber. But I pushed harder, and it gave way. The pink fluid gushed out, drenching me in sticky warmth. The baby dropped with a sickening thud and started to scream.
A splitting pain shot through my head like a spike. I stumbled, clutching my temples as the screech bored into my brain. Then, silence. I looked up.
The baby stared at me with pitch-black eyes, unblinking. I froze. Its body twitched as the last of the fluid drained. The egg's flexible skin wrapped tighter around it, and it began to move.
Scratching. Tearing.
I didn't wait. I lunged forward, knife in hand, and stabbed. It screamed again, a sound worse than before. I stabbed again. And again. I lost count. I kept stabbing until it stopped moving, until its tiny form went still and the screaming finally stopped.
Panting, drenched in blood and fluid, I stared at it. Then an idea hit me.
The egg's material—it was strong, elastic, resistant. If I could harvest it… I could make weapons. Strong ones. Maybe even armor.
I cut the thick threads that had supported the egg, then wrapped the entire thing, body and all, in an old carpet I found in the hallway. Grunting with effort, I hoisted the bundle onto my back and carried it back to the church.
When I arrived, everyone went quiet.
Mark's eyes widened as he saw what I was carrying. The kids backed away, looking confused and afraid.
"Don't worry," I said, setting it down with a heavy thump. "It's dead."
Mark limped closer, scowling. "What is that? And why did you bring it here?"
"I'm planning on making weapons," I replied bluntly.
"Weapons?" He looked down at the wrapped form, then back at me. I held his gaze.
He sighed, shaking his head. "Alright. Do what you need to do."
He turned and began giving instructions to the kids again. I stood over the bundle, wiping blood off my hands, already planning how to strip and cure the material.
This world didn't give you second chances. If we were going to survive, we had to turn every threat into a tool.
Even demon babies.