THE ZOMBIE SYSTEM-Chapter 35: The Call

Meanwhile... in the Heart of the Nation

At the top of the central tower of the Hunter Association—an angular spire of white steel and mirrored glass stretching above the city skyline—a red alarm sliced through the air like a siren in a war zone.

Inside the Operations Center, the atmosphere had shifted from routine monitoring to full-scale crisis.

Walls of holo-screens lit up in rapid succession, each showing different angles of the ARES Guild building. Flames danced in wide drone shots. Street-level cams showed fleeing civilians, ruptured pavement, and magical aftershocks burning through parked cars. The feed from traffic surveillance was pure chaos—blurs of light, collapsing facades, explosions.

At the center of the room, framed by a circular array of consoles and trembling junior analysts, stood Grandmaster Saria Velstein, Director of National Guild Affairs. Tall, stern, composed like carved granite beneath pressure.

Her white coat shimmered faintly with enchantment, the Hunter Association crest pinned at her collar like a silent threat.

She stared at the data scrolling across the main interface. Kill counts. Seismic readings. Mana pressure spikes.

"Confirmed casualties: eighty-seven," a nearby operator reported, voice tight. "Seventy-two from ARES, fifteen civilians. Reports from the upper floors suggest the damage is escalating. We’ve lost interior drone feeds after floor four."

Another voice added, "Mana distortion is increasing. He’s still climbing."

Saria’s jaw clenched.

The room held its breath.

She turned slowly, heels clicking against polished tile.

"Get me Director Cormund," she said, her voice low—but sharp enough to cut through steel.

No panic. Just control. Barely.

The command was relayed instantly.

The war wasn’t just on the battlefield anymore.

Now, it was at their doorstep.

Down on the Enforcement Level—two floors below the glass sanctum of the Operations Tower—Director Cormund Veyr stood alone in his command chamber, sleeves rolled to the elbows, coat draped over the back of a chair.

The walls were thick steel, lined with weapons racks and mission maps glowing with enchantment.

He was watching a silent feed on one of the plasma screens—flashes of conflict, warped by magical interference.

The emergency line blinked red.

He picked it up with a grimace, jaw tight.

Cormund was in his mid-fifties, built like an ex-gladiator who hadn’t slowed down since his twenties. A wide scar cut across the bridge of his nose and cheekbone—earned during the third S-Rank breach in the northern zone. He’d shut it down personally.

He’d survived assassination attempts, system crashes, and guild insurrections. He’d buried friends and enemies alike.

But nothing he had ever seen looked like this.

He put the call on speaker. "What now?"

Grandmaster Saria Velstein’s voice came through sharp and clear. "ARES HQ. Leon Graves. It’s a warzone."

Cormund didn’t flinch.

He didn’t argue. Didn’t ask how.

He just turned to his personal console, fingers already inputting rapid-response protocols.

"Send everything we have," he said. "Top team. Crowd control. Full deployment. Make sure the city shield is reinforced. And I want a live scryline on Leon Graves starting five minutes ago."

Around him, the room came alive.

Lights blinked. Walls slid open. Magic circuits snapped into place across the floor.

He stepped into his armored coat, fastened the shoulder guards with a click.

A junior officer leaned in the doorway, pale. "Sir, the casualty projection—"

"I didn’t ask for projections," Cormund growled. "I asked for boots on the ground."

The officer vanished.

Cormund grabbed his comm crystal and spoke two words into it.

"Task Force Onyx."

Arrival of the Enforcers

Ten minutes later, the ground outside ARES HQ trembled beneath the weight of armored transports skidding to a stop.

Their reinforced doors hissed open.

Dozens of Association operatives poured out in full combat gear—spellcasters, elementalists, anti-summon specialists. Drones zipped through the air, scanning for magical residue and ambient mana pressure. The surrounding street had been cleared, cordoned off with glowing barrier pylons. Fire crews stood at the edge of the line, hoses ready, but unable to breach the Guild’s chaotic interior.

Smoke poured from shattered windows like black tongues. The building’s upper floors shimmered with leftover spellfire.

At the head of the task force stood Captain Riven Darse, commander of the Association’s Elite Enforcement Unit.

His crimson coat fluttered as he scanned the building’s façade. His jaw was set, his eyes storm-gray and hard. His hand rested casually on the hilt of the weapon at his hip—a mana-etched longsword with five engraved kill-runes, each one earned during raids against S-class threats.

He’d faced warlocks, void-beasts, chimera factions.

But this?

This didn’t look like a guild war.

This looked like an exorcism.

His second-in-command, Gilda Marren, jogged up beside him, her braid tucked tight beneath her helmet. She handed over a blacksteel tablet glowing with condensed battlefield telemetry.

"Sir," she said without preamble. "Confirmed report—Leon Graves engaged the ARES Guild directly. No sign of backup. Civilians evacuated. Magical shockwaves recorded on floors three through six. We lost two surveillance drones to ambient mana pressure alone."

Riven didn’t blink. He stared up at the burning structure as if trying to see through the fire itself.

From the fourth floor, a window exploded outward—blasted from within.

Chunks of reinforced glass scattered across the street.

No one flinched.

Riven’s voice was low. 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

"What the fuck happened here?"

He didn’t wait for an answer.

He jabbed a finger toward two approaching hunters.

"You. Torin —track his mana trail. Look for volatile echoes, side-channel flows, burst discharges. Ezra Marnix—get ready to blink us through floor transitions if the elevator’s shot."

Torin nodded, wind already circling his boots. Ezra flicked a blade into existence with a grin.

"Yes, sir."

Riven turned toward the gaping lobby.

His boots crunched over broken glass, past the torn ARES banners still fluttering from broken poles.

They moved fast—through ash and blood and hollow halls. Past the reception, the ruined stairwell, up five levels of battle-scarred stone and melted steel.

By the time they reached the top floor, the air was thick with pressure.

Static crawled across their skin.

Outside the shattered double doors of the penthouse, smoke curled in lazy spirals. The wall opposite the office had been blown outward entirely. Fires still burned in the corners. The distant city skyline blinked through the hole, wind howling in.

The three hunters stepped inside.

And stopped.

Captain Riven Darse looked around the ruined suite. At the scorched floors. The craters. The jagged shadows cast by twisted metal.

At the two figures in the center of the room.

His voice came out low, stunned.

"...These guys aren’t people."

His fingers slid toward his weapon.

And then—

The screen cut to black.