THE ZOMBIE SYSTEM-Chapter 32: The Fall

A Line Crossed

The system alert came while Leon was mid-repair—his gun half-disassembled on the workbench, calibration runes flickering.

[Priority Alert: Home Intrusion Detected — AI Ward System Breached]

His hand froze above the trigger assembly.

A second alert followed.

[Magical Overload: Class-C Shock Artifact Detonated — Casualties Possible]

He was already gone.

The ride to the residential sector blurred past—buildings, lights, people—all unimportant.

When he reached the block, the damage was obvious.

The front gate had been blown open. Smoke lingered in the doorway. Security drones lay in pieces, their glowing cores cracked and sparking.

Leon didn't walk in.

He stepped through the rubble like a ghost.

Inside, everything had been torn apart. Walls scorched. Furniture overturned. Spell residue still burned on the floor in oily green streaks.

And in the middle of it all—his mother.

Collapsed beside the kitchen counter, unconscious.

Her hand still clutching the edge of the counter like she'd tried to stay standing.

He knelt beside her instantly.

Still breathing.

But barely.

The paramedics arrived thirty seconds later. He didn't remember calling them. He didn't remember speaking. Just sirens. A stretcher. An oxygen mask. A bloodied trail across the floor.

The artifact that triggered the blast lay on the tile nearby—a small metal sphere laced with necro-energy. Not meant to kill. Just incapacitate. Cruel by design.

ARES.

They hadn't gone for him this time.

They went for her.

The hospital lights were too bright. Too clean. Too quiet.

Leon stood by her bedside, silent.

IV lines ran down her arm. Her breathing was shallow, but steady.

The doctor had already explained the damage. Magical shock trauma. Neuro-system disruption. A few days of rest. She'd recover—physically.

But Leon didn't hear most of it.

He was still watching her.

Still not blinking.

A long moment passed.

Then another.

And finally, he spoke—barely a whisper:

"They want war... They'll have it."

His shadow stretched long across the tile as he turned and walked out.

Door swinging shut behind him.

The city didn't stop for him.

Trams rushed overhead, banners of rising guilds fluttered in the wind, and civilians passed through the capital's guild district with their usual hum of purpose. None of them realized the storm that had just stepped into their midst.

Leon walked through it all without a word, black coat trailing behind him, boots echoing sharp across the polished stone as he moved toward the tower at the district's center—ARES Guild HQ.

The building was everything its master was—tall, sharp-edged, arrogant. Black steel and blood-red glass. Reinforced walls, automated turrets, private guards stationed behind rune-woven barricades.

He stepped right through the front doors.

Inside, a wide open lobby stretched upward, dozens of floors visible from the grand atrium. A fountain hissed in the middle, guild banners hung overhead like trophies. People moved across polished marble, dressed in tailored uniforms—agents, recruiters, mid-level hunters, staff.

Leon didn't slow down.

He walked to the center of the room.

Straight to the guild's public terminal.

And picked up the mic.

His voice crackled through the speakers, bouncing off walls, echoing across the entire first floor and into the open air beyond the tower.

"This is not a challenge."

His words were calm. Measured.

"This is a reckoning."

Heads turned. Conversations stopped. Laughter died in throats.

"Tobias Virell." He raised his eyes to the upper levels—toward the executive floors.

"Come down... or I'll tear your guild down floor by floor."

Silence followed.

Absolute.

People stood frozen, unsure whether to run or draw weapons.

The calm didn't last.

Up above, behind the curtain of blood-red tinted glass on the 15th floor, something shifted.

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A whisper of static cut through the building's comm network. Lights dimmed. Elevators froze. And then—

A voice.

It didn't come from the building's speakers.

It came from inside every ARES member's earpiece, guild badge, and comm interface. Direct. Personal. Command-level override.

"Seven million," Tobias Virell's voice said, smooth as glass and cold as steel.

It rang through every corridor, into every office, every armory, every simulation room.

"That's what you'll get if you bring me Leon Graves alive."

There was a beat of silence—just long enough for it to sink in.

"Kill him," the voice added, "and I'll make it fifty."

A whisper at the end, like a blade being unsheathed.

The building changed.

As if it had taken a breath.

Then—exhaled chaos.

Doors slammed open in unison.

Hatches in the floor split apart, revealing tactical weapon crates and reinforced racks of enchanted gear. Lights along the walls shifted from white to a deep crimson—combat mode.

The open lobby became a fortress.

Dozens—no, scores—of hunters poured out from the guild's interior levels. Hallways that had once held ordinary staff now funneled through with battle-ready elites, faces grim beneath enchanted helms and visors.

Leon stood still.

Watching.

Counting.

There were at least sixty.

Kinetic Breakers in grav-boosted armor.

Rune Engineers with floating casting disks.

Shieldbearers, forming a living wall of reinforced auras and physical plating.

Tactical casters barking orders, runes flaring from their palms.

Marksmen with long-barreled cannons and anti-spirit rounds already locked in.

Barriers began to shimmer across the floors, overlapping defense spells and magic-null grids snapping into place like a net. Smoke rounds were loaded. Mana suppressors activated. High-density elemental traps were being channeled across the ceiling.

One guild member, a high-ranking battle priest with the emblem of Tobias' personal guard, raised a glowing spear toward Leon.

"Target locked," he growled. "Graves is alone. Form the trident formation—cut off escape."

They didn't shout threats. Didn't waste breath.

This wasn't a duel.

It was an execution order.

Sixty hunters. Trained, enhanced, and blood-tested.

All for one man.

Except—

He wasn't alone.

Leon exhaled once.

Then spoke.

"Summon."

The temperature dropped.

Not from cold—but from presence.

Dark mist spiraled from beneath his feet, crawling up his legs like smoke. The marble cracked beneath the force of it.

Three figures materialized behind him—tall, armed, and very much not human.

First came the Elite Undead Sorcerer, draped in torn black robes, staff humming with unstable mana. Its eye sockets flickered with arcane flame.

Second, the Armored Bladewraith, body encased in obsidian bone-armor, dual cleavers hanging loose at its sides, twitching with anticipation.

Last, the Warrior Commander Zombie, taller than the rest—its plated armor now reforged, bearing the marks of dozens of battles. A massive hammer rested across its back, crackling faintly with undead energy.

Leon lifted his hand, opened his system window.

[Undead Upgrade Available – XP Overflow Detected]

He didn't hesitate.

He dumped it all.

A surge of blue light flared as each summon shuddered—growing, twisting, their frames evolving. Runes lit across their limbs as power warped through them.

[New Rank Achieved: General-Class Undead]

The glow faded.

What stood behind Leon now weren't summons.

They were commanders of death.

And they moved in perfect unison, their stances shifting into tactical formation—flanking him without command. Synchronized. Sharp. Ready.

Tactical AI Mode v2 kicked in—real-time adaptation, reactive movement, and formation logic based on battlefield data.

Leon drew his upgraded mana gun from its holster. The barrel was longer now, its frame embedded with spectral glyphs. It purred when charged—like something alive.

He didn't lift it yet.

He just started walking.

Straight into the coming storm.