Chapter 116 — The Corruption’s Reach

  The First Strike

  A Sudden Shift

  Seven bursted out of the cafeteria in a blur of frantic, survival-driven motion. Aether-shapes moved behind him, shambling, twitching, reanimating under the corrupted ambient energy.

  He spun, fired, and the hallway erupted in a blast of raw mana. Metal warped. Fixtures blew apart. The shockwave rattled the ceiling supports.

  He slammed his shoulder into a support pillar—

  —then kicked.

  With Enchanted strength, the pillar buckled and toppled, collapsing across the cafeteria doorway and sealing the undead inside… for now.

  But even under the weight of tons of debris, something still moved beneath the rubble.

  Corrupted Aether pulsed like a heartbeat.

  And the dead responded.

  “Perfect,” Seven muttered between breaths. “This place is a death trap… and getting worse.”

  He pivoted, instincts honed from old-world battles forcing him to keep his back to solid cover—

  But he wasn’t alone.

  Not anymore.

  The corridor opened into a broad, frost-bitten chamber—what once might have been a common hall before the war.

  Shadows pooled unnaturally at the edges.

  And from those shadows, two golden eyes gleamed.

  Kinata watched silently from above, perched on a rusted vent shaft like a lioness watching a wounded stag.

  But the closer presence—

  Lyra.

  She stepped from the shadows with slow, measured grace, her silhouette shifting as a dark sigil-mask formed across her lower face. Her kunai glinted faintly at her hips.

  Seven had no idea she stood directly within striking distance.

  But he did sense something.

  Something wrong.

  Something other.

  Before he could turn—

  A corpse behind Lyra spasmed violently, its Aether-burned ligaments snapping taut. Number 856 glowed like molten iron across its neck. It twitched forward with a convulsive lunge—

  straight at Lyra.

  Lyra exhaled sharply, annoyed.

  “Tch. Should’ve finished you the first time.”

  The undead lurched faster, reacting to her voice, Aether veins flaring like molten wires.

  It lunged.

  Seven didn’t think.

  He moved.

  A soldier’s reflex—pure instinct.

  BOOM!

  His rifle snapped up and fired, the mana-fueled round shearing past Lyra’s cheek and exploding against the corrupted human’s torso.

  The creature staggered—

  —but kept coming, held together by the very corruption eating it alive.

  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

  “What—?!” Seven realized too late what he’d done:

  He’d given away his position.

  And exposed his back.

  The Rush of the Dead

  Another corpse—this one more intact—clawed its way over the fallen pillar. It dropped to all fours, limbs bending backwards, Aether residue dripping from its mouth in thick black strings.

  It shrieked—

  —and jumped.

  Seven sidestepped, his body screaming in fatigue, but the thing’s reach was longer than expected.

  Its claws sank into his bionic arm.

  The effect was instantaneous.

  Aether corruption surged along metal channels. His limb convulsed, servos shrieking, joints locking as the undead attempted to pull mana directly through the arm’s conduit.

  “Shit shit—!”

  Seven slammed his back against the wall—but that was a mistake.

  He exposed his flank.

  Lyra’s Amusement — Kinata’s Calculation

  Lyra tilted her head as if watching a mildly interesting spectacle.

  Her golden eyes gleamed with dark amusement.

  “Your new friends cling worse than kittens,” she teased, stepping closer.

  Her boots made no sound—even in the stillness.

  Kinata, hidden above, wasn’t smiling.

  Her eyes were narrowed—not at Seven, but at the reaction between his arm and the corrupted Aether.

  “The corrupted Aether… it’s trying to integrate with him,” she murmured.

  “He’s resisting—for now.”

  Lyra arched a brow.

  “Too bad. He’ll make a messy prize if he mutates.”

  Kinata didn’t answer.

  She was analyzing.

  Waiting.

  Judging.

  Seven gritted his teeth.

  He didn’t have seconds.

  He had one.

  He pushed mana into his arm—

  —then overloaded it.

  A burst of clean Mana detonated from the prosthetic like a shock grenade.

  CRRRR-CHAK!

  The undead spasmed violently, its grip loosening just long enough.

  Seven ripped his pistol free, swung it up—

  BANG!

  The round connected with the creature’s skull, dissolving it into a cloud of crackling black smoke.

  Seven staggered back, chest heaving. His limbs trembled from exposure to corruption, the weight of the Aether pressing down like lead.

  Before he could catch even one breath—

  he turned—

  and found her.

  Seven vs. Lyra — First Words

  Lyra stood comfortably within striking distance, head tilted, eyes glowing like predatory jewels.

  Her voice was smooth, amused.

  “Mm. You fall apart slower than I expected.”

  Seven raised his pistol again, stance adjusting instinctively—

  —but something about her froze him.

  Her hair—jet black.

  Her eyes—gold.

  Her movements—too controlled.

  She looked human-sized.

  But her aura—

  absolutely Aku.

  “Who are you?” Seven demanded, voice raw.

  Lyra smiled beneath the shadow mask.

  She answered in her tongue—silken, sharp, unintelligible:

  ?Kuroi kemono no seishin… kimi wa daiji na kagi.?

  Seven’s eyes narrowed.

  “Yeah. Real helpful.”

  They began circling each other—

  neither breaking eye contact.

  neither turning their back.

  Running was death.

  Approaching was worse.

  And Lyra’s expression…

  She wasn’t here to kill him.

  Not immediately.

  “Come on,” she whispered, shifting her stance.

  “Show me how much fight you really have.”

  Her kunai glimmered.

  Seven braced.

  He had no idea what she was.

  But the one thing he knew—

  He wasn’t the hunter anymore.

  The hunt had officially begun.

  The Skirmish — Seconds to Decide Life or Death

  The moment Seven and Lyra began circling each other, the atmosphere shifted.

  No wind.

  No groans from the corrupted undead.

  No sound except controlled breathing and the faint hum of Seven’s bionic arm.

  Any real fight between trained killers lasted seconds.

  Seven knew that better than most.

  Aiming a gun meant nothing.

  Every stance, every twitch of a muscle, every breath could betray your next move.

  Lyra was reading him like a seasoned predator.

  Seven kept the pistol leveled toward her chest, eyes tracking every micro-movement.

  She didn’t blink.

  Then—

  Lyra moved.

  Shadow sigils flared across her wrists. A burst of dark mana rippled outward, tendrils erupting from behind her like silent, serpentine whips.

  Seven fired twice—

  BOOM–BOOM!

  —but Lyra blurred aside, closing the gap with breathtaking ease.

  “Damn—!”

  Seven barely raised his guard before Lyra caught his forearm. Her petite frame hid frightening strength; she pivoted and threw him as if he weighed nothing.

  Seven hit the ground hard, sliding across cracked tile and debris.

  He forced his body into a roll.

  “Not falling for that—!”

  He came up to one knee, raising his guard again.

  Lyra’s eyes gleamed behind her shadow mask. She sounded amused.

  ?Umai… torikata wa kantan da.?

  (Easy. He’s predictable.)

  Seven’s brow tightened. “Why don’t you speak a language I understand?”

  Lyra smirked beneath the mask.

  Because every word she spoke was information meant for Kinata…

  and none for him.

  Seven rushed forward, switching to close-quarters military training, tight strikes, controlled breath. He didn’t overextend. He didn’t give openings.

  Lyra danced around every blow, her footwork silent, her speed unnervingly smooth.

  Seven swung the Nameless Wing Rifle like a blunt weapon. Lyra parried with crossed kunai, sparks flying.

  Then—she flicked one blade.

  Seven barely ducked.

  The kunai embedded in the wall behind him with a metallic thk, poison sizzling on contact with the air.

  Seven hissed.

  “Trying to poison me too? You’re a real piece of work.”

  Lyra’s eyes curved in a smile.

  ?Kono chikara… mada hakken shi kirenai.?

  (You still don’t understand your own strength.)

  Seven tightened his grip on the rifle. He couldn’t tell if she was mocking him… or disappointed.

  Then—

  A scream.

  A human one.

  Seven’s head snapped to the side—but only for a second.

  Lyra moved instantly.

  Shadow tendrils erupted beneath him, trying to coil around his legs. Seven kicked off the wall, avoiding the bind—only to watch a half-rotted survivor drop from a doorway.

  Number 356, glowing faintly.

  Not undead.

  Not alive.

  Something in between.

  “Get behind me—!” Seven tried to reach him.

  Lyra didn’t allow it.

  She stepped in and chopped the survivor across the neck with precise force. The man collapsed, unconscious.

  Seven’s blood ran cold.

  She wasn’t trying to kill that one.

  She was removing a variable.

  He repositioned—

  —but he didn’t realize Lyra had been angling him into a perfect position the entire time.

  Her eyes flicked upward.

  The signal.

  The air pressure changed.

  Seven felt it—

  a presence like a lightning storm gathering behind his spine.

  Too fast.

  Too close.

  Too perfect.

  He’d been played.

  Something blurred behind him—

  And then—

  PAIN.

  Claws sank into his bicep with precise, terrifying control, avoiding arteries but locking his arm in place. His knees buckled as a powerful weight smashed him to the ground, pinning him on his chest.

  A tail coiled around his thigh, cinching tight like a living steel cable.

  A warm breath touched his ear.

  “Enough.”

  Kinata’s voice was low, silky, and horribly calm.

  "You didn’t even notice me coming. I had hoped for a little more awareness from you."

  Seven grit his teeth, trying to push up—but Kinata’s grip didn’t budge. She twisted his arm just enough to paralyze movement without breaking the bone.

  He couldn’t breathe.

  He couldn’t reach his rifle.

  He couldn’t turn.

  All he could see was Lyra approaching, brushing dust from her gloves, entirely unbothered.

  “Took you long enough, Kinata,” she hummed. “He’s all yours.”

  Kinata leaned closer, her golden eyes glowing like molten metal.

  “You ran fast. You fought hard. But you were never escaping us.”

  Her words hit him harder than her claws.

  He’d survived corrupted undead.

  A collapsing facility.

  Feral Aether.

  His own arm nearly failing him.

  But these two…

  They were hunting him for sport.

  Seven’s breath hitched.

  He realized—

  too late—

  He hadn’t been exploring a ruins.

  He’d walked straight into a trap set by the most dangerous apex predators alive.

  And this time…

  There was no getting away.