I stepped forward slowly.

  The dirt beneath my shoes was churned and dark, packed down by countless dragging feet. The smell hit first—rot, old blood, damp decay baked into the soil itself. Beyond the broken fence, the property stretched wide and overrun, the remnants of something that might once have been beautiful now reduced to a feeding ground for the dead.

  They were everywhere.

  Zombies wandered aimlessly between the trees and along the collapsed road, some alone, others clustering together in loose, drifting packs. Ghouls crouched or paced in crooked circles, twitchy and half-alert, their movements sharper but no less broken. The sound of them was constant.

  The first few steps were the hardest. Every instinct I still possessed screamed at me to summon something, to raise my guard, to prepare for violence. This was the distance where things lunged. Where teeth sank in and claws tore flesh. Where mistakes were punished permanently. Was I being stupid? Absolutely.

  A zombie shuffled past me close enough that its shoulder brushed my chest. The contact was clumsy and unintentional, like someone bumping into you in a crowd. It didn’t turn in my direction. Didn’t even react. I was… invisible.

  I slowed, then stopped entirely. They flowed around me. My skin crawled as if hundreds of ants raced across my skin.

  A ghoul glanced in my direction, head tilting slightly as if something had caught its attention—but whatever instinct sparked there fizzled out just as quickly. It turned away, distracted by nothing at all, and skittered off into the brush.

  No aggression. No recognition. I took another step, and then another. I was in the middle of them now, surrounded on all sides by the dead. The smell was overwhelming. I could hear everything—the wet drag of ruined lungs pulling air that did nothing for them, the soft thud of bodies brushing past one another, the occasional sharp crack of bone grinding where cartilage no longer existed.

  Bone armor covered me from neck to wrist, layered plates interlocked smoothly over skin and cloth. It felt solid. Protective, comforting even, in its own unsettling way. Still, I had to be sure.

  “Alright,” I murmured. “Let’s see.” If I didn’t speak outright I don’t think I could have mustered the courage to do what needed done.

  With a thought, the armor obeyed—the plates along my forearm peeled back, sliding away from my skin as if retreating beneath it. Cool air brushed against exposed flesh. The contrast was immediate, jarring, refreshing.

  I held my arm out, a low sheen of sweat covered my skin.

  The nearest zombie didn’t react at first. It drifted closer by accident, head lolling to one side, jaw slack. Its eyes slid over me without focus. Then—slowly—it paused.

  Its head turned. Not with hunger, or sudden violence. It turned with the faintest hint of some lesser instinct, some basic recognition. Something in its broken brain clicked into place at that moment it saw ‘living’ flesh. Maybe smell was the correct word. It moved closer, and then suddenly lunged.

  It took all the willpower I possessed to not use Vast Shadows. To not summon forth power and decapitate it instantly. To stand still long enough for this horrid ‘test’ with results that seemed all but guaranteed.

  The zombie’s hands closed around my arm with surprising strength, fingers digging in hard enough to break skin. I didn’t pull away. I didn’t resist. Its mouth opened wide, teeth blackened and chipped, gums raw and bleeding.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Pain exploded as it bit down. Despite the level difference, the difference in our stats, sharp stabby objects and human skin never went well together.

  The sensation of pain was immediate and visceral: the crushing pressure, the tearing burn as teeth broke skin. I sucked in a sharp breath and clenched my jaw, forcing myself not to react, not to summon bone armor back instinctively.

  This was the test I wanted to go through. ‘Wanted’ was pulling some serious weight here.

  The zombie chewed once, twice, then jerked back as if confused. It released me and staggered away, interest already fading. Blood ran freely down my arm, warm and slick, dripping from my fingers into the dirt below.

  I stood there, breathing hard. Adrenaline, pain, a mix of emotions flooded my senses. Seconds passed excruciatingly slow, and yet nothing happened.

  No warmth spread through my veins. No gentle pull of regeneration knitting flesh back together. The pain remained sharp and vivid, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. But there was no toxin affect either, even with the level difference I should have felt something from the wound, some lingering negative effect.

  Yet the effect of the zombie did nothing to me, and even worse still, I wasn’t healing. The truth had been there already, but the disappointment hit me all the same.

  I stuck around longer than I should have.

  Long enough for the pain to dull into something heavier and more persistent. Long enough for the bleeding to slow, and yet my HP didn’t tick upward. I placed a bandage over it to allow it to at least close up. Only then did I let the bone armor return.

  The plates flowed back over my forearm, smooth and seamless, hiding the wound completely. If I hadn’t felt it—if my arm wasn’t throbbing relentlessly—I might have believed the lie that all was well.

  The undead continued to wander around me unperturbed. A few passed close enough that I could touch them, feel their brittle bones brush against my frame. One stumbled, limbs tangling awkwardly, then slowly pushed itself upright.

  None of them looked at me twice. That, more than the pain, unsettled me.

  I wasn’t invisible. I wasn’t intangible. I cast a shadow. I disturbed the dirt beneath my feet. But whatever instinct drove them—the hunger, the aggression, the recognition of life—it missed me.

  I exhaled slowly and turned away, waded through a literal river of corpses. Every step I half-expected instinct to override whatever link—or lack thereof—had formed between us. No, begged for it—but it never did. I reached the fence without incident, climbed it with stiff movements, and didn’t allow myself to relax until my shoes hit asphalt again.

  I looked behind to see not a single zombie or ghoul had followed me out. There was a tinge of disappointment that none did. It was… final. Only then did I let myself breathe.

  The road stretched out ahead of me, empty and quiet. Clouds had rolled in while I was gone, heavy and low. The air felt thicker, charged, like the world itself was bracing for something. It probably was.

  Eleven days.

  That number surfaced. Eleven days until the next demon wave. Enough time to prepare, hopefully enough time to plan. But now it just felt like we were living on borrowed time.

  I rolled my shoulder which caused my arm to throb in response. Still no regeneration. No creeping warmth. No passive correction. I wasn’t wounded anymore on account of the bandage, and yet my HP didn’t go up.

  “Alright,” I muttered to no one. “Message received.” Any hope I had that maybe I was in some transitional period left me. This was my new permanent.

  As I started back toward the abode, my thoughts drifted—persistent and unwelcome—to Jessica.

  She was out there now, moving through territory far less forgiving than this. But, unlike me, she didn’t have the luxury of being ignored. Every ghoul, every demon, every desperate survivor would see her exactly as she was: living, breathing… alive.

  I pictured her moving through the world the way she always did—efficient, deliberate, choosing her battles carefully. Camouflage helped, but it wasn’t invisibility. It was just another tool in her arsenal. A strong one at least.

  I wondered if she’d sleep alright tonight. She hated stopping when there was ground to cover. She’d push herself until exhaustion forced the issue, then find somewhere defensible and rest lightly, ready to vanish at a moment’s notice.

  She wouldn’t complain, and that was the part that scared me the most. She would complete this task regardless of the outcome, regardless of the danger. I always felt like she had something she desperately wanted to prove.

  By the time the abode came into view my thoughts were mostly clear. Mostly.