“The weather really is lovely today.” Granny Maggie’s trembling hands passed the freshly washed clothes to Lucian.
Sunlight filtered through her graying hair, casting tiny specks of light onto the blue cotton garments.
Lucian took the clothes and turned toward the clothesline beside the house.
The sea breeze, heavy with the smell of salt and brine, brushed past his nose.
He was just reaching out to spread a shirt open when, out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly caught something strange on the horizon.
Baru and the others, who should not have returned until evening, were now rowing their little boat frantically toward the shore.
“Hide!
Quick!
Pirates are coming!” Baru’s hoarse roar cut through the wind.
Behind him, Toby and the other young men were so panicked that one of them even dropped an oar, splashing through the water as they scrambled onto the sand.
Looking in the direction they were fleeing from, several ships flying black flags with skull emblems were slicing through the waves, barreling toward the fishing village’s port like greedy sharks.
“Pirates!”
No one knew who unleashed that cry first, but the bustling fishing village froze in an instant.
Women screamed and dragged their children indoors, wooden doors slamming shut with urgent thuds.
The men gathered at the village entrance, clutching harpoons and axes.
The veins on the backs of their hands bulged, yet their legs felt as heavy as if weighed down by lead.
Staring at those ferocious figures brandishing long blades on the pirate ship’s deck, even their breathing trembled.
Lucian clutched the half-damp shirt and stood there, dazed and lost.
He did not understand the meaning of the word “pirates,” but he could clearly smell the fear that had erupted in the air.
It was a lot like the stench of despair that had hung over the broken walls and rubble of the world he once inhabited.
“Boys, take everything!”
The pirates charged up from the beach.
Their leader, a scar-faced man with a single eye, kicked over a fish basket by the roadside with one boot.
Silver-scaled fish flopped on the sand, soon crushed into pulp under his leather soles.
He brandished his blade savagely, and his underlings immediately surged forward like mad dogs.
The sound of clashing weapons stabbed at Lucian’s eardrums, making them buzz.
He saw Baru rush forward with his harpoon raised, only to be slashed across the shoulder by a pirate’s backhanded strike.
The coarse fabric of his clothes instantly bloomed with dark red flowers of blood.
The pirate grinned viciously and raised his blade again, poised to strike a finishing blow.
From behind the door came a soft cry of pain.
Granny Maggie, who had been peeking through the crack in the door, was so frantic to rush out that she tripped over the threshold and fell to the ground.
At that moment, it was as if a rusted wire snapped inside Lucian’s mind.
The instincts he had kept suppressed with such effort burst through their chains, more ferocious than ever before.
A rasping, guttural growl escaped his throat.
His originally hollow eyes clouded over in an instant with turbidity.
Dark veins bulged across his face like blackish-blue vines.
His fingernails, at a speed visible to the naked eye, turned jet black and razor sharp.
The blood vessels beneath his skin throbbed violently, taking on an eerie bluish-purple hue.
The zombie instinct had completely taken over his body.
His speed was such that only a blurry shadow remained.
In the next second, he had already pounced behind that pirate.
Before the man could even turn his head, those sharp nails had already pierced the back of his neck with deadly precision.
The barbed fingertips tore through the cervical spine.
“Gaaah—!”
The scream was cut short.
Lucian opened his mouth and bit down.
Warm blood splattered across his face.
The familiar, sweet, metallic taste made the agitation in his throat spiral completely out of control.
This sight made everyone freeze where they stood.
The pirates’ hands, holding their blades aloft, stopped in mid-air.
The villagers forgot to hide.
Even the cries and wails were swallowed back.
Everyone stared fixedly at the young man biting into that pirate’s neck, their pupils contracting with sheer terror.
“Monster!
You’re dead!” The one-eyed leader snapped back to his senses, roaring as he pulled a pistol from his chest and pulled the trigger.
Without even turning his head, Lucian’s body twisted with an eerie, boneless contortion.
The bullet struck his shoulder, yet he only swayed slightly.
Then, with a backhanded grab, his five fingers clamped onto the man’s gun arm like an iron vise.
A sickening rip followed—the entire arm was torn clean off.
Blood gushed forth like a fountain, splattering the beach crimson.
Right after that, he rampaged through the group of pirates like a wild beast out of control, barreling into them and biting.
Those pirates who had been so overbearing before the villagers were now as fragile as paper constructs, falling with shrieks of agony.
But soon, the pirates Lucian had killed began to rise again, staggering and swaying.
Their skin lost all color.
Their eyes became discolored and clouded.
Those he had bitten and scratched were transforming, at an alarming speed, into monsters just like him.
In the blink of an eye, the port became a living hell on earth.
Lucian’s consciousness was locked in a fierce tug-of-war between instinct and lucidity.
When he saw those newly turned zombies snarling and lunging toward the villagers cowering in the distance, a faint thread of reason made him stop dead in his tracks.
He turned his head and looked at those “kindred.” Lucian shook his head hard and finally regained his clarity.
‘What happened to me?’ He looked down at his own hands, drenched in blood.
But he was immediately jolted alert by a startled cry.
The zombified pirates were already rushing toward the villagers, their throats producing those rasping, guttural sounds.
Lucian charged behind the pirate zombies, his nails piercing skulls, twisting and snapping necks with clean, decisive efficiency.
Only when the last zombie collapsed to the ground, utterly motionless, did Lucian stop moving.
Covered from head to toe in gore, he stood at the center of the corpse-strewn port, his chest heaving violently.
His wild eyes had already reverted to their original hollow state.
The wind carried a cloying, impenetrable stench of blood.
The entire port was dead silent.
The villagers hid far away, their eyes filled with nothing but terror as they looked at him.
Toby, the young man who had once handed him sea urchins, was now gripping his companion’s arm so tightly his knuckles had gone white, his body shaking like a leaf in the wind.
Balu, clutching his bleeding shoulder, looked at Lucian with an expression that held not only lingering fear, but also an indescribable dread.
No one spoke.
No one dared approach.
Even those he had just saved subconsciously stepped backward, quietly widening the distance.
Lucian stood where he was, watching those familiar faces filled with fear and wariness.
He tilted his head to the side with a hint of confusion.
He opened his mouth, trying to make some sound, but only a dry, rasping noise squeezed out of his throat.
Just then, a hunched figure slowly shuffled over.
It was Granny Maggie.
Her hands were trembling violently, her face still smeared with the sand and dirt from her earlier fall.
Her eyes were full of terror, yet she still walked, step by unsteady step, until she stood before him.
From within her clothes, she pulled out a neatly folded piece of coarse cloth.
Standing on her tiptoes, she clumsily tried to wipe the bloodstains from his face.
“Lu…
cian.” Her voice was shaking uncontrollably, yet it still pronounced his name clearly.
Lucian obediently stood still, letting that cloth, still carrying her body warmth, wipe across his cheek.
The villagers in the distance watched this scene.
Someone instinctively wanted to shout “Don’t go near him!” but was quietly held back by the person beside them.
“Let’s…
go back.” Granny Maggie glanced up at the villagers cowering far away, then turned back and gently took hold of Lucian’s wrist.
The villagers silently parted to make a path.
Lucian, like a child being led by an adult, obediently allowed Granny Maggie to pull him along into that familiar thatched hut.
The door creaked shut, and immediately, a chorus of relieved exhales rose from outside.
Once inside, Lucian sat silently in a corner, his eyes fixed on the floor with a somewhat vacant expression.
Granny Maggie brought over a basin of clean water, crouched down before him, and carefully began cleaning the wound on his shoulder.
The warmth of her palm transmitted through his rough skin.
“Lucian, thank you for saving the entire village.
Thank you!” Granny Maggie’s eyes brimmed with tears as she looked at the bullet hole piercing through his shoulder.
Lucian slowly raised his head, his hollow eyes looking at the old woman.
His bloodstained face held no particular expression.
Only his Adam’s apple moved slightly, as though he was struggling to understand the meaning of her words.
The sky outside the house gradually darkened.
The sea wind slipped through the cracks in the door, carrying the stench of blood and a salty, bitter chill.
Under Granny Maggie’s arrangements, Lucian took a bath and changed into a fresh set of clothes.