Alexander watched as Dad tore through shelves, stuffing any medical supplies he could into a large backpack he’d found in the middle of a street yesterday. Occasionally he stopped to read the labels but he didn’t know the language—Mom always teased him for it and talked behind his back: [Your father’s an oaf!] and [His arms has more muscles than his brain!]. Resigning himself, Dad shoveled everything, not really caring about what did what.

Nothing would help them.

It didn’t matter.

Alexander itched at his arm, at his face. He’d washed himself in a creek, scrubbing away at the dried blood and dirt stuck to his skin. No amount of water and soap would help him feel clean again.

“...Dad,” muttered Alexander as his father had turned into a madman. This was the first time he felt afraid of him. And for him. Despite his size and strength the Dad he knew was warm and loving, but the man before him was hunched over, exhausted and sweaty and dirty. His hair was thinning and his eyes were bloodshot, small pupils darting around paranoid and fearful.

Even Dad knew fear.

Accidentally his large shoulder bumped into a near-empty row of metal shelves. Like dominos it tipped over and crashed wickedly loud, startling Alexander although he saw it play out from beginning-to-end. Both of the Shens jumped.

They waited, looked outside through the broken glass and dark streets, holding their breaths. There was not a growl nor a voice. A small relief.

“Ugh…” Dad shook his head and held a clenched fist close to his mouth, stressed to the point of nausea.

“We need to go,” Alexander told him, instinctively reaching for his [Protector’s Shortsword] stashed on his hip. “You made too much noise.”

“In a few minutes. There’s a lot here we can take back—”

“Your backpack’s half-full and that’s bigger than a six-year-old,” Alexander pointed out. “Whatever you’re trying to find here, you didn’t find it. We need to go now—”

“Don’t argue with me, Alex!” Dad raised his voice and his son’s blood went cold. Briefly his heart jumped and whatever expression he had, Dad noticed and immediately turned apologetic. Then ashamed, looking away from his boy.

A quiet few heartbeats dropped between them.

“...You’re right,” Dad said at the end. “I’m sorry. Let’s go. I tagged a convenience store on the way back; we’ll get some drinks for your mother and sister.”

***

“Hup!” Alexander slid the [Protector’s Shortsword] through the stomach of a junior orc. Intestines spilled from the gash, and the next slice went awkwardly into the green bastard’s neck, stuck halfway through. A failure of edge alignment. Gritting his teeth, he pulled out, stepped back as the orc shambled about, hands wrapped around its bleeding neck.

“Die, dammit!” With another strike, the head was free and tumbled to the ground.

He caught his breath but something hard and fast knocked him onto his belly, face smashing against the chest of the orc he had just killed. A shadow covered them. Alexander rolled out of the way just before an axe split the corpse’s sternum in half lengthwise, hopped onto his feet and saw a much bigger orc aiming for him.

He clenched his sword-hand and felt callouses. His [Shortsword] was on the ground. Too little time to snatch it back up.

The strong orc licked his lips and raised the axe, but in times like these, when your opponent had a long weapon, the best counter was getting in kissing distance so the long range became a detriment.

Thus Alexander charged in, thrusted his forearms against the orc’s own and prevented him from making a full-swing. A knee shot into the groin, staggering the beast. Quickly his fingers latched onto the smooth hilt of his [Steel Dagger] dangling at his belt, withdrew it and multiple stabs occurred in a flash of a second, scratching ribs. The final stab went up the chin and into the bottom of his mouth, twisted it free and slashed the throat.

The orc fell, bleeding. Alexander stomped the skull in with his boots until he was sure the orc was dead—you had to be thorough about things like this. Picking up his [Shortsword] again, he wanted to vomit. Covered in foul-smelling blood for the umpteenth time.

That was it.

He found Dad had finished with his side of the affair, surrounded by mangled corpses with a heavy broadsword in one hand. He’d killed a lot more. A blue screen was up and he was checking the Slayer System.

“That’s the second patrol we found,” Alexander greeted him clinically before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a multi-colored sash. His father wasn’t listening. “Dad.” Still wasn’t. “Dad!”

That time got his attention, and he looked over his shoulder to see what was up.

“It’s the second patrol we found,” repeated his son, “apart of the same tribe too. They’re looking for us. Looking for you. You’re the Fatherman who killed a couple dozen of their brethren by himself.”

Dad didn’t respond.

“...We can’t kill them all. We’re extraordinary low-rankers but we can’t do that. It’s impossible.”

“The System didn’t give me enough standards for getting rid of the patrol,” Dad said, staring at Alexander but beyond him. “If I get rid of the rest of that fucking tribe, then maybe I’ll have enough.”

An uncharacteristic desperation was plain on his face. This was hope in its most horrible form. In the darkest of tunnels, the smallest glimmer of light was the sun. In reality it was a freight train but you’d continue to live in that delusion until it hit you right in the face. Exterminating the tribe was the fastest option. The other was…

“...We can make it to the nearest blue zone,” Alexander believed. The government and relevant authorities had divided Hangzhou into color areas: green, all safe; blue, active outbreak but contained; and red, dangerous. Of course they were in the middle of a red zone, stuck in the Shangcheng District. Most of the district was red; the closest blue was going across the Qiantang River to Xiaoshan. They would need to venture half the district and get over the river.

A long shot, but a longer shot was killing a band of vengeful orcs. A part of him wasn’t convinced but they had to do it.

“No,” Dad told him and seemed angry at the idea. “We don’t have the time or the means to go that far—”

“And we sure as heck can’t take down a whole tribe! It takes whole Slayer Teams to do something like that! Did you talk in the [Public Channels]—?!”

“I’ve sent an SOS in every [Channel] I had access to and I begged anyone in their [Private Message] but no one was willing to listen to a goddamned word I say! They ignored me, blocked me, reported me enough times where the System locked me out of the [Channels]—!”

“But—!”

“There’s no buts about this! No one is coming to help us, Alex! No one is—!” Dad lowered his arms, shoulders dropping in defeat, “—no one will save us. The people-in-charge don’t know what they’re doing. They’re arbitrarily coming up with shit to look productive but they don’t know a thing. Thousands will die because of it. Thousands! And…! And…!”

Dad’s furious expression broke into sobering despair. His bloody eyes became mixed with tears. “I don’t care what I have to do. I will save your mother even if it kills me.”

***

But Mom was too far along.

Yesterday, they had heard about a concentrated effort to lead civilians to a blue zone south, protected by armed soldiers and Slayers. They managed to find their way to the caravan, assimilating into the like-minded crowd of refugees seeking safety behind their trusted guardians. But quickly things fell apart, and Alexander had realized then just how fragile order truly was.

They had come from the windows and from the roads, raving mad armies of bloodthirsty monsters wanting human-flesh. It was chaos and the so-called ‘people-in-charge’ was put in complete disarray. They couldn’t fend against the monsters while guarding civilians; the battle formation broke as soon as contact was made.

Alexander still didn’t know how he survived without a scratch; With Althea, Dad had shoved them underneath a car and waited it out. Watching legs scatter and bodies drop and scream after scream echo. When Dad had fetched them some time later, they escaped down an alleyway and through the luck of God, they survived.

But Mom had a crossbow bolt buried deep into her side.

It was poisoned, they had discovered a few hours later, when Mom could barely walk anymore. The crossbowmen had laced the arrowtips with otherworldly poison. Something you couldn’t fix with practical medicine nor something a [Healing Potion] could cure, and all the antidotes in the [Slayer Shop] were expensive and they didn’t know the exact poison she had.

Dad had brought Alexander to pharmacies and artisan centers against the fact, tried calling for help in the [Channels], believing there was a miracle to be scavenged somewhere. Nothing, nowhere. All they could do was give Mom painkillers and water.

Unless Dad sought out the warband, he couldn’t find them in time.

So they had to travel to the blue zone across the river.

“Bastien…” Mom whispered weakly. She was so pale that you could see her dismal veins. She no longer had the strength to move. All she could do was talk like this, leaning against her husband’s back as though they were young again and madly in love. “Bastien…” she said again, blinking slowly.

“...What is it?” he replied, carrying his sick wife in a piggyback. It was the only way they could move her.

Alexander and Althea followed close behind. The former kept watch, and sometimes he’d let his eyes wander to his little sister. She used to be so talkative and annoying; she wasn’t saying a word now.

“I never thought I would love a brute like you…” Mom said. “You’re dumb, you’re intimidating, you’re a thug, only an ogre would see you as handsome.”

Dad was quiet.

She laughed. “I may be the idiot in reality. Against the advice of everyone, my family and my relatives, I fell for you and never once stopped. It is a woman’s power to see beauty behind a man’s scars and I found a glimpse of our universe in the dark. How lucky am I for finding the sight within you first… How lucky am I that you gave me the full sky…”

“Xiuying…”

“Alexander, when you graduate college and find a good job, you’ll be so rich and famous and sought after. I hope you find a woman as perceptive as I am, who sees you more than a mirror can.”

Chills went down his skin and he nodded, but Mom couldn’t see that.

“Althea, you inherited too much from me. You’re too smart for your own good. Too smart… I need you to be humble but strong; you could create a paradise, I’m certain of it, as long as you stay kind and sweet.”

“Okay…” Althea muttered, “...okay.”

“Good…” Mom sighed into her husband’s back like she was at home again. “We were gifted with such wonderful children, Bastien… What did we do to deserve kids like them?”

“They had the perfect mother,” Dad replied, tone split between happy and grief. “I’ve never seen anyone better.”

“I am perfect, aren’t I?”

“Mhm. Only you could cook the most delicious food,” recounted Dad, licking his lips at the thought of it. “Only you know how to deal with our kids. I can barely handle our son myself, but my little Althea? I don’t know two things about women, and that’s why I have you. You’ve always been the smarter one out of us.”

Mom’s nod was near-imperceptible.

Dad continued, breathing hard, “You don’t know how nervous I was when we started dating. I constantly bothered Ali for advice—’I’m a systemic therapist, not a love expert,’ he’d tell me all the time—but I could never get over myself. Never, not once. Sometimes when I wake up in the morning, I’m shocked to have such a pretty woman lying next to me in bed.

“It was like amnesia. How did this woman get in my bed? Why is she in my bed? But then, suddenly all at once, I remember everything. Not the scenes themselves. I’m getting old after all. I might be strong still but my brain isn’t. I can’t remember our first dates, I can’t remember most dates—but what never left me were the…” He exhaled, transported back to when he was a young man, “...were the things you made me feel, Xiuying.”

There was a ding from the System. Alexander shut down.

“They stay with a man forever. We will forget your face, your voice, your touch, but as long as these feelings were created then they’re engraved in us until we die. They’re the greatest magic us regular humans can do.

“The most…” he choked, “...powerful magic.”

Althea found her brother paralyzed and was confused, unsure whether to say something or keep following Dad as he continued to ramble. It didn’t take long for her to discover why Alexander had stopped.

The worst pain coiled in her.

“Dad…” Alexander called out to him, shattering.

He continued to walk.

“Dad.”

He kept walking.

“Dad…!”

Bastien Shen was a strongman who refused to kneel to anyone. His rebellious spirit was an ever-lit fire; you had better luck breaking his legs than forcing him to admit defeat. In his entire life, he willingly kneeled four times. Only four.

The first happened under a starry night as he held his hands behind his back, fingering a velvet box. The second had an ear pressed against a belly, listening to the thumping of his unborn son’s heart. The third was for his daughter’s.

The fourth was today: when his wife and the mother of his children passed in his arms.

Alexander, for the first time just like so many firsts deep inside the Hangzhou Disaster, saw the greatest man in the world crumple to his knees and sob into his mother’s body.

Mom.

Mom who taught him how to cook. Mom who taught him to speak her native language. Mom who listened. Mom who supported him. Mom who knew love and kindness.

It had been her.

And she was…

She was…

She was—!

***

The river was closely monitored by the military when they got there. Through a remote-controlled drone, they guided the Shens to safety and brought them into the security of a blue zone. A refugee center populated with tragedies like them. Unlike most they weren’t Pseudo-Slayers having dealt with monsters like the real ones.

Dad refused to part with Mom and argued with the guards, their voices escalating to new volumes and aggressive action. They were afraid of Bastien Shen, a few inches short of seven feet and had more muscle than five men put together. Plus the added strength of a Slayer, he was as dangerous as any monster.

But at the end of the day he was a father to his motherless children. They exploited that, threatened to lock Alexander and Althea up.

Reluctantly, he handed Mom’s corpse to them where she’ll be placed with the others. Others: wives and husbands, mothers and fathers, daughters and sons. She was like them now. The realization was unceremonious. Callous.

It didn’t quite help that the guards went back on their word right afterwards.

They detained the family of three, implied they would bug them (with contra-system) if they didn’t follow directions, and led them by gunpoint to a designated area for Pseudos like them—which was explained to be some sort of precaution for everyone’s safety. A child-friendly way of saying ‘prison’. They were separated and a whirlwind of procedures happened next. A blur. Disease control and poisons and injuries but nothing serious was found. That was the easy part. The next part was tougher: an interrogation.

Alexander had no clue why but he gathered the context by reading between the lines: they were suspected criminals on the merits of emerging as Pseudo-Slayers, thus more likely to commit crimes during a national disaster. Like looting or killing or somehow ‘obstructing’ the recovery process.

He spoke to an unamused team led by a pock-cheeked Chinese man wearing a business suit too clean for the times. Accompanying him was an English translator—Alexander admitted that he spoke Mandarin just fine—a couple of rifles and a Slayer too. He got questioned about what’d happen since the beginning. Told them the barebones story, neglecting to spill any details. Said nothing about Dad killing a band of orcs by himself, said nothing about the patrols they’d encountered together. His account was met with scorn but luckily they were satisfied for now. Until he was forced to empty his [Inventory]—Althea was exempted considering she was too young to emerge as a Slayer—and had everything confiscated under the guise of being ‘evidence’.

He thought about lying and keeping a thing or two, but the Slayer explained that she had a skill to know what was inside his [Inventory].

Could be a lie. Maybe not. Was he willing to risk it? Ultimately he obeyed; his priority was keeping Dad and Althea alive. He couldn’t do while bugged and-or beaten half-to-death.

So they took everything from him: stuff he scavenged, the rewards that the System handed him, including the [Protector’s Shortsword] and [Steel Dagger].

Some hours later, he reunited with Dad and Althea. He was relieved that they hadn’t shoved his little sister into the general population; he considered the possibility because she wasn’t a Pseudo like the stupid men in her family. But as that worry was resolved, a dozen more popped up in its place.

Shoved with a small backpack of spare clothes and rations for the three of them, they were caged in by a metal fence with at least one hundred other Pseudos. Not strong enough to keep Pseudos back but full magazines of bullets could.

This was home for the time being.

Home, without the warm bed or food. Home, without safety and comfort. Home, without Mom.

Alexander couldn’t cry despite grief ripping inside him. Dad did, so he couldn’t. Without needing instruction, he sat next to Althea and offered her the smallest security of his presence. That little thing—being there for someone—made all the difference in the world and she banished numbness through tears.

He promised her, after all, to be kind and compassionate and empathetic, and protect Althea no matter what.

Although they finally had authorities protecting them—’protecting them’—Alexander knew the buck stopped with him.

There was no time to be complacent.

Alexander was weaponless. His [Calloused Knuckles] weren’t enough.

He had to work.

***

After they had migrated to XS-16 (the name of the blue zone, Alexander discovered), he spent three days scouring.

As it turned out, the government had established a temporary department to investigate and prosecute any Pseudo-Slayers of uncivilized crimes during the crisis (what about non-systemic users? were they focusing on Pseudos because they were an easier target?). Meanwhile, XS-16 regularly transferred refugees twice a day to safer locations—nine in the morning and nine at night. Shame then, that the Pseudos inside the makeshift holding cell weren’t considered to be refugees.

Alexander gathered why from eavesdropping on conversations. According to a few of the soldiers, the Pseudos were supposed to be transferred into a proper facility. The plan went bust for two reasons: one, plainly not enough transportation; two, it’d look bad on the people-in-charge if they brought potential criminals to safety first but not civilians. So the latter was prioritized.

Unfortunately there were a lot more civilians than Pseudos.

In a nutshell, they weren’t going anywhere.

Except on the second day when one Pseudo strode freely from the cage all while a pretentious smile marked him hideously. The guards opened the gates for him as though leaving a luxurious car with an entourage of private security.

[He paid off the officials, or promised to anyhow,] one Pseudo told Alexander in Mandarin. A man in his sixties, maybe. [In standards.]

[Only Ordo uses it as its official currency,] Alexander replied. About half the guys here were staring daggers into the rich asshole. He himself was pissed too but there was nothing you could do about it. Times like these you had to move on. Dad taught him that.

[Money’s money, boy. Most of the politicians and bureaucrats you see have businesses or accounts or what-have-you dealing in standards. It’s better for their pockets that way.]

[Huh. It’s a shame we’re poor.]

[Poor in wealth and in power. They took everything from us thinking we are thieves. Gave us this shit—] the Pseudo gestured to his half-eaten ration and a small water bottle, [—thinking we’ll be fed for the day. For years, there were concerns of an outbreak because Hangzhou doesn’t have the same level of security like the other portal cities. It seems there was finally a series of mistakes large enough to light the fire.]

[Do you think anyone’s gonna pay for ‘em?]

[Maybe but the resolution won’t satisfy everyone. Here,] the Pseudo suddenly grasped Alexander close and took his hand. He placed something inside his palm. [I’m giving you food for your sister. I know you’ve been searching for scraps.]

A blood-crusted [Steel Dagger] was exchanged, and Alexander tucked it away into his [Inventory].

That was a hidden message: I know you’ve been looking for a weapon. The first sentence was a lie if the guards ever asked. At first Alexander was startled at this man’s ingenuity; he was smart and conniving, but given the snarl behind his words, they indicated to a long and rough history with authority.

The uncle was also perceptive. For the past forty-eight hours, Alexander had roamed around, checking for weaknesses in the fences, paying attention to the guards and their shifts, noting the times of notable events—such as the twice-daily transfers—and speaking with the other Pseudos awaiting a speedy bus to the penitentiary. Getting information from them, trading once or twice for extra food, trying to discreetly talk around getting a weapon somehow.

You couldn’t be blatantly asking outright. The guards could hear you or worse, getting told on. No one wanted to be here. If anyone thought they could weasel out by being a tattletale then they would.

After taking the [Dagger], Alexander stepped back a reasonable distance so they wouldn’t look suspicious. [She’ll appreciate this, but you need to be fed yourself, Uncle.]

[If I starve, I starve. I have no faith in the current system or anyone here.] He gestured to the other prisoners. Gray in the face, weary with hunger and grief. Many turned to the sky for a miracle to come, others had mile-long stares. The authorities had stolen their belongings but the Disaster had stolen their time. They existed forever in the present.

Alexander grimaced. Althea and Dad hadn’t fallen to despair quite yet but they were a few stages behind. As long as they stuck together and trusted each other, they could finally go back home.

As the rich asshole integrated with the common population, most likely having first priority to leave this place, the Pseudo continued, [I’d rather put faith in the young man who’s searching for advantages for his widower of a father and sister. The food isn’t much, not in this world, but as I heard one time in America: a smart man is one who could turn a penny into a million.]

For the rest of the second day and third, Alexander kept a closer ear on the conversations. The guards liked to talk a lot. They had nothing else to do otherwise and couldn’t interact with the detainees unless for discipline purposes. Through subtle spying he had a better outlook on the outbreak status across Hangzhou.

In a nutshell, more zones were turning red from the intensity and a dabble of government incompetence and negligence.

On the third night, Alexander watched tracer rounds create a lightshow.

“It’s pretty,” Althea said, absently drinking the last drops of her water bottle.

“Pretty close,” countered Alexander. “Closer than yesterday. I can hear ‘em growling in my ear. Hey Dad. Dad!”

Dad lifted his head and revealed red baggy eyes; he was weak. The only time he’d been this unenergetic was when he caught a bad fever a few years ago. It had been scary hearing him so quiet. Still scary now.

“Scoot closer, I don’t want anyone to hear.” Once the two of them did, he said in a whisper, “I found a weak link in the fence: you can just lift up the netting and duck under. It’s ‘round the back, facing the riverbanks, near a patch of grass.”

“You want us to launch a prison break?” asked Althea, already hating the idea.

“I dunno, if bad gets badder, then I doubt we’d wanna go through the front gates.” Alexander pointed there. “Think ‘bout it: let’s say a monster attack happens here in XS-16. First thing these guys do? Flee to the front, bang on the fence with their Pseudo-power. After that it’s anyone’s guess. Flip the chessboard, what’re the soldiers gonna do? Nothing. Won’t have time to open ‘em, not when their priority’s with the civilians and not the guilty-before-innocent. We’d die from getting stomped on before a monster does us in. Or we get shot, I dunno.”

“So we escape out the back,” Althea finished.

“Exactly. Go out the back and get as far away from here as possible.”

“...You’re smart, conqueror,” Dad muttered above a whisper. He’d been loosely listening to his son’s reasoning, more focused on the pretty lights above them. Not really, no. He was paying attention to them as much as you’d pay attention to a TV show while thinking about life. “I should’ve been helping you instead of sitting around and doing nothing with myself.”

“Don’t say that, Dad. We…” Alexander didn’t want to say the words. “...You needed the rest. Someone had to watch Thea.”

“It doesn’t matter what happens to a man, he should provide for his family instead of loafing around.”

“That cuts both ways, y’know.” If I loved someone as much as you loved Mom, then I’d be in your place right now.

“You don’t know how scared I am. For you and Althea.” Dad, for the first time in days, looked Alexander straight in the eye. “This world is changing you so much already. You’re becoming a capable man.”

As kind as those words were, Dad was getting at something. A subject that only the two of them knew, something Althea wasn’t ready to hear.

Am I morphing into the monster that you’re afraid of? thought Alexander, reminding himself of Head Officer Ringwonder.

“If…” Dad began, “...If anything happens to me—”

“Don’t say that—”

“If anything happens, Alex, are you willing to do anything to protect your sister? Anything, even if it means selling a piece of yourself to some demon?”

That wasn’t a choice. When it came to family, it was never a choice.

“Yeah,” answered Alexander, doing his best to smile. “Anything. I will. They can put me in any Hell they can imagine but I’m gonna find a way to escape. You okay with that answer, Dad? I’ll do anything and I’ll fret ‘bout the consequences later.”

“I’m satisfied,” Dad replied before bringing both his arms around his children, hugging them close. “Don’t ever lose sight of yourself, but don’t waver. It’s the tightrope we have to walk as people.”

Together, they watched the containment in action.

***

It’d happened on the fourth night.

Alexander slept on a measly roll of blankets that he was given, having been forced by Dad. He wasn’t quite sure what was better: no rest or awful rest, but he didn’t want to upset him. Either way they were both preferable to the alternate: waking up to an orange midnight sky where flames had the only light.

That was the first thing he noticed after the fire: the electricity was down, so that meant no lamps or spotlights.

The second thing were flashes of faces. Emerged in darkness, bathed in fire-light. Pseudos like him, running to the front gate or banging on the fence with their fists. Some braved and began to climb over, risking their chances with the stringy barb wire on top.

And the third was the fighting. XS-16 was under attack. Gunfire, monster snarls, people communicating in Chinese and English and Japanese and every language in the world—but all Alexander could fixate at were figures standing at the fires. Orcs, lots of them. A few carried flags, all of them sported sashes and gowns and small flags of a certain color.

The same color of the tribe that was chasing after them.

“Shit!” Alexander exclaimed, hopped onto his feet. He searched a few meters around him and couldn’t find Dad or Althea—but they anticipated this. In this exact event, they were going to regroup at the vulnerability he’d spoke about earlier. He showed them the spot, so hopefully they would be there.

Pushing his way through the fleeing Pseudos, one had rammed into his shoulder and fell, but Alexander ignored them and kept going. Making it around the back and there he spotted a familiar someone whose face was half-illuminated by red: Althea.

“Thea!” he cried, sliding to her. “Where’s Dad?!”

“I don’t know, we got separated somehow and I just came here and—!”

Stopping Althea in the middle of her panicked ramblings, a heavy-footed man suddenly dropped next to them. Alexander didn’t need much to know it was him. “Thank God, let’s get the hell out of here!”

Taking it upon himself, Dad lifted the loose fencing near the bottom and with his brute strength, seemingly boosted by a skill he’d activated, he folded it and snapped some of the links, providing enough space for his kids to duck under and then himself.

The first part of their escape went successfully. The next stages were yet to be determined, not when they had a vengeful tribe coming after their hides.

Dad stepped in front of Alexander, determined to bring his kids home. “We need to distance ourselves from them as much as possible.”

“Yeah.” Turning his head, Alexander gave the temporary holding cell one last look. This was his home for four days and it’d been awful, but he hoped everybody could find someplace safe.

***

It didn’t take long for the orcs to notice them. They had tamed ravens or crows to use as some sort of scouts, able to utilize their eyes and ears to detect and alert them of targets. Within fifteen minutes of escaping XS-16 and inexplicably returning back into the hellhole of a red zone, they were spotted.

After that, it was a game of cat and mouse.

They hid within abandoned stores before having to move again; they fought small pods of orcs of two or three, getting the drop of them; trying to inform fellow Slayers through the [Public Channels] about the event but little responded; constantly moving and fighting (and protecting Althea).

Occasionally they’d meet fellow survivors but they couldn’t linger, lest they wanted to give the orcs more bodies. One time they met a small cluster of rifles. Didn’t last long as the orcs found them afterwards.

Alexander was exhausted and he didn’t know the way out. The Shens had been at this for at least two to three hours now. While he prided himself on his endurance, going this long this hard was too much for him. Not when his stomach was pretty empty and he barely had any good sleep.

It was getting to Althea, who pretty much had to be half-carried at this point.

It was getting to Dad, as tough as he was.

“Hurry up, I can hear them,” he said once after winning a scuffle against three rangers which laid dead around them. Dad did all the work but for his reward, he earned a nasty cut across his left thigh.

Alexander gingerly wrapped the gauze around him as Dad gobbled down a [Healing Potion] he’d found somewhere. Occasionally he observed his father’s scuffed face. Drenched in sweat and dirt, but his eyes were sharp as though in the ring, dressing down the opposition.

Dad noticed his staring. “As long as we find some Slayers, we’ll be home free.”

“Yeah,” his son replied as he finished his shoddy first aid. “Home free.”

The tribe was getting frustrated, now. Several hours had passed and the Fatherman continued to slip through their fingers like a slimy eel. They were never fast enough, and the times they’d encountered him, they were few in number. Not enough to kill the bastard, so instead they changed tactics.

If your prey was uncatchable in its habitat, then burn it down.

Like how XS-16 was ashes, they began setting fire to any buildings they came across. Suddenly it got a lot harder to flee. The fire was one problem but it had led to an arguably larger one: escalation. Survivors rushed to the streets to run from the inferno, soldiers clamored on trucks, Slayers came, and monsters were attracted to the chaos and targets to feast on.

In minutes, the streets were wilder than a riot.

There were two types of walls, Alexander discovered: the fires and its toxic fumes, then people and monsters. Couldn’t get past both, and so the rats were gradually being led to a dead end.

“Stay behind me, Thea!” Alexander shouted as one of his hunters decided to target him specifically. A large one, a head taller and had a body thicker than a grand oak. His tongue slathered on his cracked lips, inches away from tasting blood on the heavy greatsword he was lugging around.

All Alexander had was a hatchet he took from an orc earlier.

Shoving Althea into the nearest building, Alexander stepped out onto the sidewalk gripping tightly on the diminutive weapon he had. His challenge prompted the orc to speak in a foreign language and he didn’t bother to make an attempt to understand. They had understood each other already: one was going to leave here alive.

The orc rushed, sword raised high. Alexander reciprocated. He played aggressive—you had to be. Being put on the defensive meant more time spent in the fight. When you were faced with a gauntlet with virtually no recovery time, you had to end things quickly to save yourself the energy.

Seeing the tiny human coming after him, the greenskin didn’t bring his greatsword down, which would bisect Alexander down to the collarbone. Instead a leg lurched out; there was enough power in the kick that it’d break the feeble human’s ribs and leave him gasping on the ground, ripe for the kill.

But he underestimated his opponent. Alexander was far from the average young man; because of his father’s tutelage, he had spent thousands of hours practicing and training and sparring, utilizing his innate talents. Predicting his opponents’ moves was one such skill he cultivated. He could read people better than bookworms and their novels.

Alexander spun outwards and avoided the kick from the moment the foot was lifted off the ground. Light on his toes like a skater on ice, he came around the large green bastard and sunk the hatchet-blade deep into the back of his left thigh. Bit deep, earned a shrill cry. You had to target these places against a better threat: immobilize the legs, take out the arms, then go for the kill once the opportunity grinned.

The orc fell on one knee belonging to his newly-developed bad leg, a hiss clattering from his teeth like hot steam from a teapot. The Fatherman’s son was behind him, probably smiling too. Viciously over his shoulder, the greatsword swung around in a blind furious arc. The gray-steel hacked at nothing.

Alexander had disappeared.

He searched for the boy. It lasted a couple moments before a black blur took him. A hatchet chopped through the cheek and caused his jaw to hang lopsided. Angrily he batted an arm but it got caught halfway through the motions by Alexander, who tucked it underneath his own. There, he had free range. First the hatchet was brought down onto his shoulder and chopped halfway through.

That hurt, but it was incomparable when the boy pulled on the arm, stretching it out like stubborn old taffy. Alexander wasn’t strong enough to literally tear it out but he didn’t need to be. Even the most brutal of orcs would cry when they had their half-flopping arm tugged on like some toy.

Thus, the orc was helpless when one last blow went for the head and split his skull open. The next widened the gap between the hemispheres, and the one after followed. Alexander continued until pink brain matter was made visible—really, he would’ve done more if it wasn’t for the fact that the hatchet’s head snapped off.

A scream alerted him. From behind.

Tossing the broken handle aside, he lifted the fallen greatsword laying in a puddle of blood and brains—too heavy to comfortably use, he discovered—and darted where he’d heard Althea’s voice. “C’mere!” he shouted.

At the building he’d thrown Althea in, there she was scrambling out the door, terrified and fleeing to the protection of her elder brother. Right as she left, a second orc was hairs behind. Right as he emerged, Alexander was moments away. With this hulkish sword, a good swing was impossible. However, swords typically had another use other than slashing and cutting.

Like a joister on a stallion, the greatsword was speared through the orc’s guts before he knew what’d happened to him, pushed in until only a few inches were left at the front.

Alexander released and retreated to Althea, triple-checking to ensure she was behind him. While the orc was still alive (not for long), it was a stupid idea to pull Excalibur out and be coronated as a corpse.

A horrible groan left the orc who was feeling more fury than pain, high on adrenaline and whatever else. He stepped towards the siblings clenching white on his machete-like blade, determined to kill them before his clock ran out. But physics was not on his side. There was a sword in him, a heavy one, making it too awkward to walk.

Plus the wound.

Alexander backtracked with his sister. They watched as the orc gradually got slower and slower; once his body was drained of its energy, he fell, slamming the back of his head against a wall, mouth barely moving.

Taking his blade, Alexander finished him off. This was a lot easier to use.

“Gah!” squawked a familiar voice.

Alexander’s chest flared with panic.

Dad had taken a knife near the shoulder-blade, done by a very arrogant orc who was mighty pleased with himself. He wasn’t so pleased when an elbow smashed into his mouth, knocked a few teeth out and sent him to the ground, wheezing.

Reaching around to try and snatch the knife, Dad realized its futility and gave up. No use, no time. Not when he had three on him and he had nothing but his fists. Well, for most people that was a bad thing, but this man knew how to use his hands more than any weapon in the world.

[Skill Activation: Forged Knuckles]

His fists heated red.

“Rah—!” howled the nearest orc before an overhand right greeted him. Alexander had experienced his father’s punches before, he’d watched his old fights and see what he did to other men. So it was no surprise when the orc was snatched off his legs and ragdolled through the air, skull cracking against the asphalt of the flame-illuminated street.

The second orc couldn’t fare any better either. A quick combo of jabs and hooks engulfed him, rapid and powerful strikes, each impact sounding more similar to gunfire than punches. He was finished off when Dad’s arm literally punctured through his chest.

The final orc was the one he’d elbowed earlier, slowly climbing to his feet as he clutched his mouth.

Dad pulled his arm out and they met in the middle.

[Skill Activation: Endless Flurry]

It took as many punches as it needed for Dad to kill him.

By the end, he was kneeling over the corpse he’d brutalized beyond recognition, the head turned into a pulpy mess of bone fragments and goo. Dad hunched over and gasped for air, but the environment didn’t let him. It was mildly toxic from black smoke and caused him to hack out painful breaths. The knife was still in his back, and right now it was probably doing him a lot of hurt.

He pushed off his legs to stand but he couldn’t. Fell right back down, almost face-planting in a gorey mess of his own doing. His hands clutched at the pebbles, but his arms went weak for a moment and he nearly face-planted again.

Alexander, after seeing there were no more orcs, ran to his father’s side with Althea. Seeing Dad so exhausted though, his own body suddenly realized he should feel the same. His legs went weak and he stumbled, tripping on everything and miraculously didn’t fall until he was at Dad’s side.

“C’mon, get up!” he encouraged his slacker of a father, taking one arm over a shoulder, “let’s get going! Thea, y’got him?!”

“I got him!” Althea said as she took the other arm.

Unfortunately his two children were definitely not strong enough to carry a six-foot-eight athlete. Not at home nor in an outbreak. Together they tried, making their grand escape one step at a time. Eventually Dad had the energy to move with them, his breath hot and distant.

Slowly, gradually finding the nearest building or alley to slip through—

Reverberating across the flaming urban districts of Hangzhou was a dishonorable horn that only sounded during mass acts of terror. It was meant to inflict dread. It was meant to implant despair. There was no reassurance other than a slow, brutal demise.

Alexander choked back a sob. They had been so close.

The Shens, standing in the middle of the lonesome burning road, had been cornered by their quarry after hours of running. Their enemy was a tribe of orcs that Dad had slighted during the first days of the Disaster.

They arrived barbarically and pathetically as their future acts would imply. A whittled-down tribe having been almost eliminated. Down to less than fifty members left, dressed in bloody and ruined garments, wielding weapons that had seen recent use. They were snarling and biting and glowering—of them all, the tribe leader was the most angered.

The largest one there. The most armored one, the most colorful one, the greatest one.

“Fatherman!” said the Tribe Leader in a thick accent, “you’ve destroyed us, you and your world! We will never know the love of pillages and raids again!”

A surprisingly eloquent speaker.

Dad licked his lips pensively before shoving his children behind him, standing on his own two shaking legs. He couldn’t straighten his back anymore, could barely breathe right let alone stare the Leader in the eye.

But Bastien Shen was a fighter to the end, an undying rebel fueled by stubbornness and spite. He picked up a longsword from the ground and used it as a third leg, then forced himself to stand with his spine straight.

Who could get him to kneel? Nobody. Who would he shed tears for? Nobody. Who will he spare? Nobody.

Because they did not spare his wife, the only one who he kneeled and cried for.

“…I don’t care,” Dad declared, and those words unsettled the tribe’s remnants. “My Xiuying is gone. You’ve attacked the camp that had her body and burned her. You’ve stolen my children’s innocence, forced my son to kill and made my daughter afraid. You’re standing in my family’s way so I’ll make sure you will never stand again.

“I will kill all of you here.”

A promise too impossible to keep.

Promises like that were only made when…

When…

Alexander stammered, shaking his head, “Dad—?”

“Go, conqueror,” Dad told him. “I’m sorry I wasn’t a better man, but you are. You’ll be so much better than your father, who couldn't protect his wife or his children to the end.”

Too many emotions and sensations attacked Alexander all at once. Anger, grief, fury, confusion. He wanted to scream at Dad, tell him off for being a dumbass. He wanted to hug him and refuse to let him go. So many things he had to say, so many promises and futures they had yet to accomplish. None of them could be spoken.

Slowly, Dad lifted up his shirt and revealed a black stab wound at his side. It looked like a small knife did that. From the infected flesh, polluted veins sprawled outwards like a tumor—they weren’t veins at all, actually. It was poison. Not the same that had killed Mom, but it was poison.

“At some point, somewhere, I found this and it’s been eating me alive ever since,” Dad explained. “They killed me a long time ago. I’m just meeting the consequences now.”

Alexander desperately wanted to deny reality.

“Take your sister and run. Survive. That’s all…” Dad coughed and leaned against the sword. He looked over his shoulder as the flaming street was a background for his figure. On his face was the proudest smile that the world had ever seen—because his kids were here. He raised them, those brats. He changed their diapers and drove them to school. Every time he blinked, they grew. Time had a funny way of doing that. One day, they wanted a bottle of milk; the next, a new phone for their birthday. You cradled them in your arms, then they were too big to be rocked to sleep.

He should’ve treasured his time more.

It was never enough. It will never be enough.

For the last time, Bastien said, “Run.”

Carried by the strength in his useless father’s words, Alexander lifted Althea into his arms and ran into the red streets of Hangzhou, disappearing amongst the smoky inferno. Their silhouettes vanished. Gone.

“What can I do now, Xiuying?” Bastien whispered to himself. “Two decades of my life ran away from me.”

“We will find them, Fatherman,” promised the Tribe Leader as he was given a ridiculously large club. Right, they were here.

He almost forgot about them.

“No, you’re going to find me in Hell,” Bastien countered as he took the beginning steps towards the last act of his life.

His body was failing. He felt himself getting weaker. In a few swings, he might not be strong enough to properly carry a sword. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to make a hard fist. His mind was drowning in everything, but through the fog he found a memory of his family and it guided him.

He was taken home. Alexander was bickering with his sister for the umpteenth time while Xiuying was humming in the kitchen, waiting for her husband.

These were his favorite memories, a mundane life of a father. He had enough excitement already. As a young boy surviving on the streets with Alistair, then as a professional fighter in the ring. Having a boring family was the perfect thing to conclude his life.

Now the idyllic life was gone. He had to avenge that.

Yelling at the top of his lungs, he entered the lights of his final match.

I’m sorry, Alex. I’m sorry, Thea. I’m sorry, Xiuying.

He decapitated an orc and sprayed blood everywhere.

I should’ve listened to my own lessons. I taught Alex to be humble and modest, but I never learned. I wasn’t strong enough to protect any of you. For all the blood I spilled, yours joined the pool.

A crossbow bolt loosened into his shoulder, but he continued to push through the line, breaking the ranks.

I couldn’t keep myself alive. I was looking forward to so many things: my son walking on stage and receiving his diploma, my daughter taking a limousine to prom, meeting my children-in-law for the first time and holding my grandkids.

A spear jutted into his back, but the head broke off inside.

It’s up to you, Alex, to create those memories for us. Find a way to escape this hell and be happy. If you want to be a hero, then be a hero. If you want to be a criminal, then be one.

His left eye was slashed out.

Even if that means hating me for abandoning you. If you forget me, if you forsake the time we spent together, then that’s okay. Hate me all you want, forget me as much as you need to. As long as you and Althea are happy, that’s all that matters.

Your stupid father loves you.

Bastien’s back was stuck with broken spearheads and arrows and bolts and sword fragments, but he was still-standing. He had killed many orcs already but not enough. The Leader was still alive.

“Please…” he muttered, gasping, “…System, give me the means to protect my children.”

[Request Granted]

[You have developed [Still-Standing Bastion]. Your son has witnessed your sacrifice and will inherit this skill from you.]

Bastien Shen swore to exterminate the tribe without fail.

In seven minutes and forty-three seconds, the bell rung and he was the only one standing.

***

[Skill]

Still-Standing Bastion [S]

Your father passed this promise to you: As long as you still stand, all tragedy shall be vanquished. After receiving a near-death experience, increase your Power by three ranks for seven minutes and forty-three seconds.

When this skill activates, your death is probable.

***

[The skill [Still-Standing Bastion] has developed into [Bastion of Dawn].]

“Kreutz…” growled Alexander, standing in the center of a fiery road as the final adversary of the long night hovered at the end, “…I will kill you.”