"Snake Staff." Mateo mumbled, staring at the trail of texts left by uncle Pedro's Magic Node. A skill that imbues any staff equipped by the user with snake-like properties, allowing the staff the mobility and power of a viper.

Enhanced Senses worked pretty much what it said it would. A toggle ability just like Mateo's Helios Hands, enhancing the mind and senses of the user two fold.

And lastly, Ouroboros. This one was a bit more intriguing than the last two, being a summoning-type magic. The name alone sent shivers down Mateo's spine.

"Oh right," uncle Pedro said. "I haven't introduced you to little Marie yet."

"Little… Marie?"

Uncle Pedro drew out mana from his fingers. Black streaks flowed out from his fingertips to form mist right at the base of his foot, a vague silhouette of a small snake taking form. The mist then dissipated, leaving a snakeling with its curious eyes staring right back at Mateo.

"This is Marie." Uncle Pedro offered his hand, letting the snake climb up his arm to perch on his shoulder. "And Marie, this is Matty."

The critter turned to Mateo, and with a hiss, it shot out lines of smoke straight to his face.

"Fuck." Mateo spat it out, the lingering aftertaste souring his mouth.

"Don't worry, he's just messing with you." Uncle Pedro chuckled. "If he wasn't, that poison smoke could've killed you by now."

"That was poison?" Mateo gave the snake a nervous smile. He tried to pet the little guy's head, but of course, it hissed against it. It then weaved through air as if it was swimming, floating around uncle Pedro like a corona.

"It can fly?"

"She's amazing, isn't she?"

What uncle Pedro showed off was summoning magic, and just like Mateo's Helios Hands, they both encompass the meaning of magic skills. Akin to the ones in video games and the culture surrounding it, It's becoming more and more apparent how much the Magic Node borrows from the niche terminology.

Mateo's been into video games ever since late elementary when Hans first pestered him to play. Whenever he'd come by Hans' house, the guy would blabber on and on about Dark Souls and Starcraft and whatnot until he'd eventually give in, with his first ever experience playing on Mr. Cruz' old computer setup. It was pretty fun, and he's been coming over more and more to play along ever since. This continued up to senior years, though things took an unexpected turn when Hans got into the top university, and Mateo had to drop out of local college to care for his family.

But still, it was a pretty bizarre experience to read the texts right in front of him, especially when supplied with mana they manifested into real magic. It only seemed like yesterday he was looking up guides on how to kill the Ender Dragon in Minecraft, and now he was trying to survive a real world apocalypse that threatened the extinction of mankind.

But unlike video games, he had no lives to spare.

"So," Uncle Pedro coughed. "What exactly are you here for, Matty?"

Mateo paused, his eyes meeting the full stare of the snake's gaze. As if staring right back at his own soul, it made him pretty uncomfortable, to say the least.

"I'm… here for Ana and lola." Mateo stiffened up. He's been so caught up talking with uncle Pedro about all this magic thing going on that he almost lost the urgency. He stood up, jumping back to the pier before biting his lip.

"I need to go."

"Matty." Uncle Pedro followed behind, leaving the boat rocking. "There's a lot of them waiting there. You think you can take them?"

"It's not about what this idiot thinks. They're my family–that's all there is to it."

Uncle Pedro gave him a half smirk, the bags under his eyes showing. "Then make that two idiots."

* * *

"I can't believe that idiot." Jan said, pacing around Hans' shop nibbling on her thumb with her lips. It was early morning, and Mateo was nowhere to be found inside nor outside.

That idiot made a run for it. He even took the zombies with him for God's sake.

"He could've at least said something–"

"Heads up." Hans threw her a bag. He was on the other side of the counter, hunting for his toolbox. "Stuff that with food and water. They're found at the back. Bring anything else you find useful, but not too much. We'll be walking on foot and–"

"Are you crazy?" Jan said, her pitch dialed up the moment she heard 'on foot.' "We're walking all the way to his place? What about your leg? If you ask me, it's better to run over to your house and get the truck."

Hans waved a nagging finger up the counter. "Third unspoken rule in a zombie apocalypse. Never make unnecessary noise."

"But this is necessary!" Jan clicked her tongue. This guy's watched wayyy too many movies.

Jan didn't push him though. She didn't know how to drive, and if Hans didn't want to take the truck, then that was the end of it, even if she didn't like it.

She started her way to the back before stopping to the double ladder at the center of the shop. Trailing the ladder, it led up into the hole bored into the ceiling then out.

God that idiot just does whatever he wants. This is why–

She paused, stopping herself from thinking up more excuses. She wasn't about to blame Mateo for what happened between them, and given the circumstances right now, it obviously wasn't the time.

But what Mateo did now? That was beyond selfish of him. Sure, he had a sister and grandma to play heroics on, but would it have killed him to ask for help?

Jan sighed. She couldn't do anything about it. She might as well just get to work already. She entered the backroom where the stockpile of canned goods were before filling up the bag, though her eyes wandered to a table with tools scattered all over, and one thing caught her gaze.

"Hey Hans, can I atleast get myself a wrench?"

"What for?"

"I need a weapon, don't I?"

* * *

Mateo slowed to a crawl, his steps light with his heart and chest pounding. He could feel the adrenaline kick in as his limbs tensed up. His eyes glanced around, wary of anything hiding behind the windows and doors of the rundown houses.

He was back in the neighborhood. It was early morning, supposedly, but the darkness around told him anything but. Shadows crept on the dirt streets where kids used to play bato lata with their slippers and tin cans–their laughter lingering like ghosts.

The wind whistled an eerie tone, with the smell of damp air drowning his lungs. Without his jacket, the frost bit hard against his skin, but with the rushing adrenaline it was numbed to just a tickle.

"How many are there?" Mateo whispered, turning to uncle Pedro.

"Six."

Mateo swallowed. He barely escaped three, but now he was well on his way to fight head on against twice that number. Of course, fighting against the odds, he thought he'd make up for it by drawing up some kind of plan, but there was no plan to be made here. If only he knew how the Walkers fought, then maybe he'd have a better chance.

He was having second guesses. Looking over the houses, it was clear as day. Faint black stains on the walls, with tall patches of grass hiding everything else. The snow had stopped for a while, leaving a soggy smell lingering, and within that smell was a faint stench.

He knew what that stench was. To save his sanity, he didn't dare to play detective. Curiosity killed the cat, and he was already halfway under.

Clink. Clank. A tin can rolled across the street. Mateo trailed it back to where it came from, with a pair of dead eyes staring right back at him. A Walker.

"Matty!" Uncle Pedro pushed, sending him stumbling to the side. "Hey! You okay kid?"

Mateo turned, staring at the acid glob sizzling behind. If uncle Pedro hadn't pushed him then, his head wouldn't be–

He let a fist fly through his face.

"Sorry." His face numbed. He needed to knock some sense into that thick skull of his, and this was the only way he knew how. The pain was a reminder. "I'm fine now, Tito."

He turned to stand. He then closed his eyes–for a moment–heeding the whisper inside his head before dousing his arms in fire.

Helios Hands.

The Walker crawled into and out the window, followed by another Walker, and then another, and then another, their claws clicking against concrete as they wormed their way out into the open. Four of them right across the street, flaunting claws and teeth marred in blood. Another two jumped from the rooftop down, the first a giant of a monster that left dust swirling around where it stood, and the other a goblin: small and lithe with elongated fingers.

There they were in all their glory; six Walkers of different shapes and sizes, lined up to a T.

"That's one hell of a dance crew."

They let out erratic shrills before the giant–along with three others–crouched, and pushing off against the ground, they ran to uncle Pedro like rabid dogs.

"Watch out–" An acid ball grazed Mateo's shoulder. It sizzled and burned, with the cloth sticking to his skin, but he didn't have time to lament. Two of the others jumped after him, Spitter the acid spitter and Slasher with the long finger claws.

Mateo surrendered to his instincts.

He sidestepped Spitter's swing, turning, and with the momentum of a spin, he rammed a fire fist right into Slasher behind, sending the goblin rolling down the streets a few blocks down. Mateo barely jinked the acid ball whizzing by, dashing back to draw a safe distance between him and Spitter.

He wasn't about to get hit a second time.

Mateo whisked his wrist back and forth. His knuckles pounded, as if he just landed a hit on solid rock instead of skin. Those bodies of theirs were something else. But a hit was a hit. He couldn't believe it then, but he sent one flying. All the fights he'd gotten himself in school were paying off.

I can do this.

Wind hushed before a fist extended to his face, connecting just before he dashed back again. It was Spitter.

A cut opened on Mateo's lips, blood cold as ice and rustic to the tip of his tongue. It was pooling inside his mouth, and with a spit, he sent it flying back to Spitter's feet.

"I didn't know you were a boxer."

Mateo snapped his fingers, forming a fire orb in his hands before he threw, sending it flying through the air before it popped.

Flashball.

He started, his eyes opened to see Spitter blinded. With a dash, he closed the distance, grabbing both its shoulders before he rammed his knee straight to its face.

Spitter stumbled to the side before lashing out blindly with its arms, landing a cheeky hit on Mateo's chest. Mateo countered, sweeping Spitter's feet off the ground then hammered its face with the full brunt force of two fists, sending it crashing to the ground with dust swirling.

Mateo paused, staring at the body on the ground. He let out a deep sigh before claws gashed him from behind, sending him rolling back, grunting. He clutched his back as blood dripped down. The cuts ran deep. It was Slasher, coming back for another round. The small thing wasn't going down without a fight.

Slasher started, leaping to the air with a shrill. Mateo traced his movement, side stepping the claws before countering with a fist, landing a glancing hit on its shoulder. He didn't get a clean hit; That goblin was nimble. It jumped around like a spider, waving its claws before it then dashed again forward, landing another slash on Mateo's leg.

Mateo's lead was falling behind.

His face and chest numbed, with his back and leg burning from the cuts. The smell of sweat swirled in his lungs, with blood pooling inside his mouth, salty and rustic, and with everything around turning to a static, ringing blur of white. He was going to lose if the fight dragged on.

One last time.

Slasher dashed again, meeting Mateo's gaze before Mateo then popped another Flashball right to its face. Blinded, Slasher panicked back, but it was too late, with Mateo connecting a fist straight to its chest.