I looked out across the city, the fire reflecting into my eyes. Smoke barreled across the horizion in plumes of green, red and black hell. I stood on the edge of the Hotel Taramnto, my eyes gazing out at the infestation below. Zo̱ntanoús Nekroús swarmed the block, chewing at every living thing that crawled. Anger was slowly swirling into a ball of hate in my gut...I hated him...my father...the person who had started all of this...
There had been 8210 casualties in the last six months. That's right- months. Staring out into the sunset usually calmed me, but today I was pumped. Adrenaline flowed through my blood like water across rocks, and my hair was pulled back into a bandana. A pair of transition glasses rest on my nose, and my body was covered in a black wife-beater, a black jacket, and ripped jeans.
I flexed my fingers and a fire ignited in my palm. It was green and white and black all at the same time. In the fire I saw my face, flickering like a rippling image in a lake.
Suddenly there was a hand on my shoulder. My first instinct would have been to attack- out of reflex, of course- but I knew that no zombies could penetrate this hotel. My scouts had set up rather powerful wards around this place, sending off any ZN that got to close.
Instead, it was Octavio- my right-hand man. He was dressed in a sleeveless, pin-striped buisness suit- his usual battle garb- and blue jeans. His Yankees hat was swiveled to the side, and a large Cuban cigar hung out of his mouth, small rings of smoke slipping off of it.
Ocativo's face was firm and set, like a hard worked warrior's should be. He had a black goatee that came to a point near the base of his neck, and his scraggly black hair fell low over his golden eyes which I could clearly see behind his hair. Strapped across his back was his Greek fire-flame thrower.
"Ready to go, Cap?" he said, helping me up from the roof. I looked around. The sun had set completley, and darkness had over run the city. This- of all the times- was the worst part of anyone's day. Blood curdling screams of women, children, and men could be heard throughout the city. The zombies low groans and bellows echoed in and out of the buildings.
I extinguished the flame in my hand and walked over to my long, black desk which sat at the very edge of the roof, overlooking the city. "What's the plan for attack?" Octavio asked me as I yanked open a desk drawer.
Out of the drawer, I pulled out a Ziploc bag of smaller blue packets of Zoi Balm. What's that you ask? Zoi Balm is a magical cream created by moi, that has magic healing properties.
I slid the bag into a black, skull decorated back pack that I slung over my back. On my right leg I clasped a leather holster, equipped with my 9mm Viper Pistol. On the other leg, I hung my silver scabbard, equipped with my Stygian iron sword.
"The plan of attack," I said, tightening my boot laces and ruffling back my hair," is to attack."
We arrived at the church at midnight. Let me tell you, it's not a pretty sight to see zombies eating out the bodies of dead civilians. Our night black Jeep slammed into the side of the church and hit squad barrled out of it. Recovering our footing quickly we drew our weapons. Most of my team were mortals who had learned a little bit of magic over the past weeks. There was only one other demigod on the team- Damian- who was a son of Hephaestus. He was the only other person on the team who could really kill those Zo̱ntanoús Nekroús.
My first method of attack was always offensive. I ignited my hands with fire and charge. Flaming balls of Greek fire soared at the zombies, frying them like eggs on the spot.
One of them, I think, I even decapitated with a razor sharp ring of fire. But there were thousands of them.
I don't see how a church- the holy place of God- can be such a great place for zombies- the living dead creatures of hell- to take refuge, but it worked. They had made thereselves at home in the highest, gothic bell tower, way up in the sky. Up at the top there was a large glow. A smell of pine and death came from the light, and I knew instantly what it was.
Octavio, however, spoke for me. "Merde!" he cursed in perfect French. "They're making a regeneration brew up there! If they succeed, they will have an unlimited power source to heal their zombie buddies!"
I groaned. Why did I have to do all the dirty work?
"I've got it," I huffed, keeping my cool. The fire died in my hands and I jumped. Being a demigod, you see, has its advantages. For one- I'm really strong. However, I wasn't immortal. I landed face first into the church. With a wince of pain, I began to climb to the top.
When I reached the bell tower, the Zo̱ntanoús Nekroús were almost done. Their brew was a black and purple muck now, bubbling and boiling. I would have no problem knocking it over and burning them all to death...which is exactly what I did. I kick flipped off the side of the tower, and dug me feet hard into the giant, scrap metal cauldron the brew was in. It poured out like a waterfall over the zombies, melting them down the last, fleshy, gruesome bit.
But I wasn't done. A trap door beneath my feet exploded and I fell. I bounced off what seemed like stairs, banisters, and finally I landed on a hard, mosaic tile floor. The wind was knocked out of me, and the impact made me lose some of my lunch.
Wiping my mouth, I slowly sat up. The church was large, and apparentley I had interrupted some Zombie Mass, I guess, because they swarmed me. I drew my gun and sword and attacked.
Zombies fell left and right around me, legs, limbs, and blood flying everywhere. My blade cut through heads and my bullets flew through mutated, demonic hearts. But they reformed- all of them. There was no way my weapons could beat them...espically not the big, slimy bloke who came up next.
At first glance, I thought he was a bitter, replica of Jabba the Hut. Then I realized that he had stubby, fat legs and his tail was actually a giant, broken pilliar he was dragging behind him. His face, however, was totally Jabba-worthy. A giant hole had been formed insid of his stomach, and oozing pustiles and boils erupted around his back and face.
With a roar, Zombie the Hut charged. I feinted left, sending a few bullets at his head, but nothing happend. They bounced off, as if the creature were to repulsing for even my bullets to touch.
I thought hard and fast, "What do I do? What do I do!?"
And then it hit me. The only thing that had been able to defeat the normal sized Zo̱ntanoús Nekroús was my fire! What made Fatty McFleshrot any different!?
I lit my hands with all the fire I could sum up, and clapped my hands together. What followed was nothing short of a massive Nuclear-Super Nova-Explosion (why don't I jsut call it Epic Bomb from now on?)
The force of the Epic Bomb sent me flying backwards and I flew out a giant glass mosaic of Jesus.
I landed in the hands of one mortal girl I had saved from a pack of zombies in uptown- blond haired Stephanie.
"Whoa there, Alec," she said. She set me down, and wiped me off. She was the only person who never called me "Cap" or "Captain". I kind of admired it- a girl who didn't play by the rules? Just my type.
I sucked in a cold, raspy breath and exhailed. "Well," I said. "That was fun."
Stephanie laughed and I noticed that there were several dozen smoking ZN bodies lying around us.
"Dead?" I asked Octavio, who slowly approached.
He shook his head. "We'll have to return another time...with reinforcements."
I chuckled at the idea. Yeah. Like someone was gonna risk their lives to help us. I looked around for my other team members. "Where...?"
Octavio cut me off short. "Five casulaties sir..."
My expression dropped and my skin flushed pale white. There were a total of nine people on my team. Three of us were here. I sighed.
"Sean, Karmen, Terrance, Boone, and Ralph..."
I sighed. Sean and Terrance had been two of my best fighters. Ralp was an expert magician, and Boone was the best archer I'd ever known. Karmen- well she'd just been the life of the party. She usually cracked us up with her witty humuor about zombies and their stupid mothers...
I was tempted to cry, but I was a leader. Tears- in this situation- were for the weak. I'd had plenty of time to weep when the apocolpyse had started.
I turned around in circles, suddnly, realizing something. "Hey," I said. "Where's Damian?" I looked around for our red headed son of Hepheastus.
Stephanie shrugged. "I dunno," she sighed. "He just...dissapeared."
My worst fear came to life. Had he been eaten? Or worse- turned into one of them?
I turned and ran my fingers over my face. I was extremley surprised to find that my eyebrows had been singed off. With a groan I turned towards the Jeep...which had been burned to a metal scrap heap.
I cursed low under my breath. "We're not walking home," I said.
The others nodded in agreement. I sat on the edge of the sidewalk, and as I was about to pull out my phone to call for a pick up from my other recruits...when one of them walked up.
It was Harry, a young, tall asian bow with red highlights in his hair. He was dressed in a bulletproof police vest, and had a football helmet on. He was holding dual axes that were shining with red magic- the magic of a follower of Ares.
"Harry?" I said as he approached.
"C-c-Captain," he breathed raspily. The he collapsed into my arms.Untill he fell, I had realized the giant gash across his throat. Scarlet blood, that looked black in the night, spurted from his throat.
"H-Harry..." I moaned. "What happened...?"
"The Hotel...." he managed in his last words. "Attacked...Zo̱ntanoús Nekroús.....death call...find.....others....more...coming..."
And then he died.