Chapter 2

The squelching sounds in the corridor grew maddeningly dense.

Slither... Slither...

It sounded like a horde of boneless leviathans thrashing wildly across the carpet. Coupled with the guttural, starving groans echoing from their throats, the dead silence of the air was brutally ripped to shreds.

Driven by the scent of blood, the Mimic swarm was rapidly closing the perimeter.

Trapped in a room smaller than a closet, defending our position meant certain death.

We had to figure out a route to the bottom-deck security vault before the swarm entirely barricaded this level.

I whipped my head around, my gaze locking onto a small ventilation observation window near the ceiling.

"Step on the boxes. See which side of the corridor is clear of them," I barked at Elena, yanking two plastic storage crates over and stacking them.

She didn't hesitate for a fraction of a second.

My display of brutal suppression had shattered her aristocratic pride; she now followed my orders purely on survival instinct.

She kicked off her cumbersome heels and stepped onto the wobbly crates bare-footed.

But the cheap plastic couldn't support her weight. The top crate slid violently to the side, and she cried out as she began to fall.

I lunged forward, shooting both hands out, and clamped them firmly onto either side of her waist.

The softness was startling. The haute couture gown was so form-fitting that I could clearly feel the slender, flawless curve of her waist. Through the sheer, expensive material, the scalding heat of a mature woman burned against my palms.

Elena shuddered like she'd been electrocuted. But she bit her lip and, borrowing the massive upward force of my hands, steadied her balance enough to peer through the glass.

But from my vantage point below, my breathing involuntarily skipped a beat.

To climb, she had parted her legs slightly.

The hem of her tight-fitting skirt hung directly above my face.

Under the flickering red emergency lights, following the graceful curves of her long legs upward... due to the severe angle, a tantalizing sliver of snow-white skin flashed in and out of the shadows.

A potent mix of adrenaline-laced sweat and pure feminine fragrance invaded my nostrils.

This extreme, primal seduction, birthed in the very shadow of impending death, was a devastating test of any man's willpower.

I simply tightened the muscles in my arms for all I was worth, violently suppressing the fire threatening to ignite in my gut.

"The left... the left staircase is clear! They're all swarming the corridor towards the banquet hall to the right!" Elena whispered, her voice laced with panic.

"Move!"

Without missing a beat, I flexed my arms and half-pulled, half-carried her out of mid-air. I kicked aside the mangled iron door, grabbed her hand, and dragged her out into the gloom.

Riiiip—!

The second we bolted, a piercing sound of tearing fabric echoed sharply in the quiet hallway.

Elena's already damaged gown had caught onto a jagged edge of the doorframe.

Propelled by the massive force of our sprint, the expensive fabric tore entirely down her right side, from her waist all the way down to the hem!

A massive expanse of alabaster skin was instantly exposed to the freezing air.

With every overlapping stride of those striking legs as she ran, she teetered madly on the edge of complete exposure.

But we didn't have a single second to care. Behind us, the shrieks of the frenzied Mimics erupted from the hallway.

It was a dead sprint to the stairwell leading to the lower decks.

Just as we rounded the landing, the pale backup lights above flickered wildly.

Two twisted shadows lunged out of the blind spot beneath the stairs!

They were two straggler Mimics wearing sailor uniforms. Their mandibles, split all the way down to their chests, dripped with rancid acid. Four barbed tentacles whipped through the air like lashes, aiming straight for Elena.

"Ah!" Elena’s scream broke in pitch. Terrified out of her mind, her brain flatlined, and her legs locked up completely.

But my muscle memory was faster than conscious thought.

I grabbed her by the bare, smooth shoulder, using an incredibly rough and violent force to yank her viciously behind me. My broad back formed an absolute wall of flesh protecting her.

Simultaneously, the muscles in my back arched like a fully drawn bow. The veins in my right arm bulged. The heavy fire axe swung in a terrifying, howling arc, aiming directly for the monster's skull!

CRACK!!!

Again, no flashy moves. Just a kinetic display of violence pushed to its absolute limit.

The blade pulverized the first Mimic's skull on impact and embedded deeply into its chest cavity.

I didn't even bother pulling the axe out. Instead, I drove my heavy combat boot directly into the second Mimic's knee joint.

Amidst the sickening crunch of bone, the beast shrieked and fell to its knees.

Gripping the handle with one hand, I used the momentum of ripping the blade out of the first monster to draw a bloody half-moon arc in the air—cleanly slicing off half of the second monster's head.

Foul black blood splashed against the walls like tossed ink. A few warm droplets landed heavily on the back of my hand.

Instant kill.

The movements were ruthlessly efficient.

Hiding behind me, Elena watched numbly as I shook the gore off my weapon.

In the old world, she was a queen on an untouchable pedestal, surrounded by suit-wearing gentlemen and polite, corporate deceit.

But here, in the face of raw, unadulterated slaughter, her social status had been ground into dust.

Absolute terror collided with the borderline-psychotic sense of security my violence provided.

Her sanity fractured. Like a terrified little girl, she lunged forward and desperately wrapped both arms around my axe-wielding arm. Her body, once so cold and haughty, was now pressed seamlessly against my back, shivering uncontrollably.

In this claustrophobic hell built on life and death, she had developed a severe, consuming dependency on me.

"Don't stop, they're catching up," I said coldly. Reaching back, I wrapped an arm around her exposed waist and half-carried, half-dragged her down toward the end of the bottom-level corridor.

The shrieks behind us clung to us like a disease.

We tore through the hallway until, finally, that silver-grey expanse of absolute solidity—the titanium blast door—appeared in our sights.

I kicked the slightly ajar mechanical lock, and the heavy hinges groaned as a gap opened.

I shoved a disheveled, half-naked Elena inside, immediately pivoting to brace my shoulder against the heavy metal, shoving it shut.

CLANG—!

I violently spun the mechanical wheel all the way to the right. With a heavy clack, the six titanium locking bolts sank deep into the frame.

A barrage of muffled thuds rained down on the door behind me. The monsters clawed madly at the steel, but this C4-rated blast door definitively locked hell on the outside.

Safe.

Leaning back against the icy metal door, my chest heaved rapidly in exhaustion.

Unable to hold herself up any longer, Elena’s legs gave out, and she collapsed onto the floor.

A second later, as if possessed, she crawled toward me. Her body—fragile, sweet-smelling, and burning hot—slumped weakly into my arms, hugging my waist tightly.

The impenetrable boundaries of our social classes had been permanently trampled beneath the rhythm of our pounding hearts and heavy breathing.

However, our momentary respite lasted less than ten seconds.

The two pale emergency lights overhead suddenly buzzed, casting a harsh glare across the massive, enclosed supply vault.

Holding Elena, I instinctively raised my head to scan the room, only for every muscle in my body to instantly snap taut again.

What should have been a deserted, highly-classified safe zone was actually crowded.

Sitting amidst the rows of metal shelves, huddled by the crates of compressed rations and purified water, were dozens of people.

There were guards in uniform, sailors, socialites, casino dealers, and cleaners.

Dozens of pairs of eyes—filled with an unstable mixture of terror, vigilance, greed, and numbness—locked onto us from the shadows, staring dead at me and Elena, two blood-soaked intruders.

Sitting on top of the front-most row of supply crates was a man I recognized: Jack, the Deputy Chief of Ship Security.

Twirling a black tungsten combat knife in his fingers, his dark, sinister gaze licked hungrily over Elena's exposed thigh, before drifting up to meet my eyes with a cynical smirk.

I slowly tightened my grip on the handle of the fire axe, which was still dripping with black sludge. My knuckles turned white from the force.

On this isolated, apocalyptic island, the monsters might be bloodthirsty... but the true, ultimate wildcard was always our own kind.