Chapter 56: Fat Ass
’I should hurry. That distraction won’t last long.’
Dion’s feet carried him down the alleyway path straight for the back door.
Adam had been the one to tell him about the Blackout Armoury gun shop,, as well as this more discreet entryway into the building.
Dion hadn’t wanted to speculate on whether the owner of the shop had been a friend of his or something else, so he hadn’t asked anything beyond what he would have particularly needed.
With this being said, another crucial piece of information had been the fact that the shop was always closed on Fridays.
Should he have come here through the front, he would have had to make noise to bust through into the building.
Having arrived at the door, his shoulder hit the back door and it buckled inward off its hinges.
The crash echoed through the room on the other side, revealing a stockroom with shelves running floor to ceiling on both sides, stacked with boxes of ammunition and cases he didn’t have the leisure to read the labels of because he was immediately struck by a repugnant stench.
It reeked so badly of rot that it cut through even the gunpowder and metal scent of the room.
He gradually slowed to a halt as his eyelids opened wider, and his expression loosened from its immediate disgust.
Standin at the far end, between the last row of shelves and the door that led further into the shop, and enormous zombie stood.
It was tall enough that its head nearly touched the ceiling, and wide enough that it filled a lot of the gap between the shelves on either side.
Its body was swollen with fat that hung in thick folds over itself, and its skin had gone a grey-green colour that looked ready to split at the slightest urge.
It turned to face him slowly, and the floor groaned under its weight.
A low, wet gurgle came from its throat, thick and bubbling, like air forcing its way through phlegm.
Dion didn’t hesitate, his expression mangling with disgust once more.
Blood left his wrist and shaped itself into a single dense arrow aimed straight through the temple. It had been the thickest one that he had ever formed.
The arrow punched into the side of the head, and the zombie’s skull rocked from the impact.
But it didn’t drop, and the arrow itself hadn’t been able to punch fully through its head.
The bone beneath all that flesh and fat was too thick, and too dense.
The zombie reached up with one swollen hand and slapped the side of its own head as if swatting at an insect, and the arrow cracked loose and clattered to the floor.
Dion’s expression darkened at that. Rather than his concern about the attack not killing it, his back chilled at its response to it.
’I have to kill it directly...’
Suddenly, the zombie roared as Dion burst into a run, approaching it.
The sound was deep enough that the boxes on the shelves rattled, and a massive arm swung for him.
He threw himself sideways.
The swing caught the shelf beside him and the whole unit came down with a deafening crash, boxes of ammunition scattering and bouncing across the concrete.
Dion hit the ground and rolled up against the opposite shelf.
The zombie was already coming for him, each step a heavy thud that he could feel through the floor, and even slow as it was, the stockroom was narrow enough that each step closed the distance fast.
Blood seeped from his wrist and thickened into spears ahead of him.
The first one drove into its right knee with a wet crack. It buckled, but only slightly, and it kept coming regardless.
The second burst into its left thigh, unable to punch straight through.
The zombie stumbled this time, letting out a guttural bark, and one hand caught the shelf beside it.
The metal squealed under the grip.
It tore a section of the shelf clean off the wall, bolts popping and ringing off the floor, and swung it.
Dion ducked rapidly, and in those moments, the metal shelf whistled over him and smashed into the wall behind, punching a hole through the plaster with a crunch that sent dust raining down.
Before the zombie could pull back for a second swing, he sent a third spear into its gut, driving it backwards.
The shelving behind it bent with a long groan.
The spears that he had made were transformed with the minimal mana that he could afford them for their purpose.
So naturally, it wasn’t enough to do serious damage.
The thing grabbed the spear in its stomach with its free hand and pulled, growling through clenched teeth, a sound like grinding stone.
There, Dion made the last two of them, and these he didn’t skimp on their power.
They formed high above them both, angled downward into the floor.
He drove one through each shoulder and the concrete cracked where they struck the beast into, against the lower wall, and the arms dropped, the torn shelf clattering out of its grip.
"You fat ass zombie, stay down!"
Dion roared as he watched its legs push hard against the floor, its massive body straining against the spears, even snapping the two that had been lodged into its legs.
Dion had lunged forward right then, and blood had crawled up both of his fists, hardening, and from the surface of each one long spikes grew outward until his hands looked more like the heads of maces.
The crack of bone was loud enough to echo with the first hard punch, and pulling back briefly, he hit it again, and again.
Its jaw broke loose on the fourth hit, hanging by a strip of flesh, and still the body was pushing forward. He kept hitting with increasingly powerful grunts grating from his own throat as each blow landed with a thick, wet crunch, chunks of bone and matter coming away stuck to the spikes.
He didn’t stop until there was nothing left above the neck but a ragged stump, and the body finally went slack against the spears.
Dion stood there breathing hard, his arms coated to the elbows.