And she liked that someone else was carrying her.
Her eyelids immediately began to droop.
"Hold on tight, Dia," Adrian said, turning toward the dark ramp that led up to the surface.
The blue lightning in his chest flared, and a terrifying, raw aura of power began to radiate from him, completely distinct from the gentle warmth he directed at the girl on his shoulder.
"We’ve got a lot of work to do. And a few traitors to introduce to the new me."
His eyes narrowed.
Dia rested her cheek against his shoulder.
She was already tired again.
The warmth was nice.
He was strong.
And, most importantly, he wasn’t putting her down.
Her tiny fingers tightened around his vest.
"Uncle Adrian?"
"Hm?"
"Don’t leave me."
The words were so quiet that Adrian almost didn’t hear them.
He stopped.
For a moment, the terrifying warlord stood completely still.
Then his massive hand gently covered the back of her head.
"I won’t."
His voice was low and absolute.
"Never."
Dia relaxed.
"Okay."
A few seconds later, her head began to bob sleepily against his shoulder.
Adrian looked down at her.
The ruthless commander who had survived countless battles, killed countless monsters, and stared death in the face without flinching suddenly found himself worrying about whether the little girl’s head was comfortable enough.
He adjusted his hold.
More securely.
More gently.
Then he started walking.
As the massive warlord marched up the ramp, ready to unleash apocalyptic fury upon the world, carrying a deadpan six-year-old who was already planning her optimal nap schedule, neither of them mentioned the neon pink dinosaur band-aid glowing brightly on his forehead.
It was a tactical decision. And in the apocalypse, tactics were everything.
***
The silence of the subterranean garage was broken only by the steady, rhythmic dripping of a busted water pipe and the squeak of Dia’s oversized sneakers as Adrian set her down on the relatively clean hood of an abandoned sedan.
"Stay right there, kiddo. Don’t move," Adrian instructed, his voice serious, though the effect was severely undermined by the neon-pink Brachiosaurus Band-Aid still stubbornly stuck to the center of his forehead.
Dia swung her short legs, studying the structural integrity of the car’s hood beneath her.
"Okay," she said obediently. Then, after a moment, she added, "But the zombies will come here eventually."
"I am currently lacking the caloric energy required for ambulation anyway. However, remaining in this highly compromised location is statistically inadvisable. The reanimated biomass outside will eventually navigate the ramp."
Adrian blinked at her, his brain struggling to translate her bizarre vocabulary. He was starting to realize that some times, this child didn’t speak like a normal five-year-old.
She spoke like a battle-hardened AI that had been forced into a toddler’s body.
Adrian blinked.
Dia looked toward the dark ramp leading to the surface.
"I’m also very tired."
That, apparently, was the most important part.
"Right. The zombies," Adrian said, rolling his massive shoulders. "Don’t worry. Your Uncle Adrian has a brand-new trick up his sleeve. Watch this."Adrian stepped back, giving himself some space. He squared his stance, his combat boots grinding against the concrete.
He closed his eyes, digging deep into his chest to tap into the S-Rank Lightning Core that had miraculously saved his life.
He could feel it there.
A swirling, majestic vortex of pure elemental fury.
He envisioned himself as a god of thunder. He pictured a blinding arc of electricity shooting from his fingertips, vaporizing the concrete walls and clearing a path straight to the surface.
He took a deep breath.
Channeled his inner warlord.
Thrust his hand forward.
"Hah!"
Pop.
A tiny, pathetic spark of static electricity, about the size of a firefly, jumped from his index finger, traveled exactly two inches through the air, and fizzled out with a sad little fizz.
Silence descended over the garage.
Adrian stared at his finger.
He shook his hand and tried again.
He squeezed his eyes shut, flexed his massive biceps, and pushed with all his might.
Bzzzt.
A slightly larger spark shot out.
It immediately boomeranged backward and zapped him directly on the nose.
"Ow! Son of a—"
Adrian caught himself just in time.
He slowly turned toward Dia.
Dia was staring at him with her large, unblinking eyes.
Her little face was completely serious.
"Did it hurt?"
Adrian paused.
"...A little."
Dia nodded sympathetically.
"Then maybe don’t do it again."
"Is your internal battery depleted?" she asked mildly.
"Or perhaps your conductive pathways require recalibration? That display was highly inefficient for perimeter defense."
Adrian stared at her, then cleared his throat, his pale cheeks flushing a deep, embarrassing shade of crimson.
The Reaper of the Wastes, a man who had ripped a Tier-3 Mutant in half with his bare hands just yesterday, had just been judged by a five-year-old in a "Princess In Training" shirt, and he had been found lacking.
The System’s holographic marshmallow mascot popped up beside Dia’s head, wearing a tiny digital cheerleader outfit.
[SYSTEM ALERT!]
[Oh no! The Guardian is experiencing Performance Issues!]
[Host, please give him some verbal encouragement! A pat on the head! Tell him, ’Good effort, Uncle!’]
Dia ignored the flashing screen.
She looked at Adrian’s finger instead.
"Maybe your lightning is still sleeping."
Adrian rubbed his nose.
"...Yeah. Let’s go with that."
He cleared his throat.
"It’s a... learning curve," Adrian muttered, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.
He glanced toward the garage entrance.
"The power is new, so my mana channels are probably still clamped down from the neurotoxin. Give me a day to figure out how to be a thunder god. For now, we fall back to the classics."
Adrian turned away from the humiliating failure of his new ability and began a rapid, tactical sweep of the garage.
If he couldn’t vaporize their enemies, he was going to have to crush them the old-fashioned way.
He checked his hip holster.
His heavy custom magnum was still there, but a quick check of the cylinder revealed it was completely empty.