THE ZOMBIE SYSTEM-Chapter 67 - 66: Broken Bonds

"Commander down! All Iron-fang units fall back to secondary positions!"

Damian’s voice cut through the chaos as Guild Director Voss’s body disappeared beneath the crystalline golem’s massive fist. Blood pooled around crushed stone where moments before their leader had stood coordinating the defense.

Damian stumbled through the medical district, his mangled arm hanging useless at his side. The demon’s claws had torn through muscle and bone, leaving damage that even emergency healing couldn’t fully repair. But Iron-fang survivors needed direction, and their command structure was collapsing faster than buildings under golem assault.

"Sergeant Morrison, take third squad through the eastern corridor," Damian ordered while pressing his back against a wall to catch his breath. "Civilians are trapped in the medical center’s lower levels."

Morrison stared at Damian’s junior rank insignia. "Sir, with respect, you’re not authorized for field command."

"Director Voss is dead. Captain Henrik is missing. Lieutenant Torres fell to aerial demons twenty minutes ago." Damian’s voice carried authority that had nothing to do with rank. "I’m what’s left."

The sergeant nodded grimly and moved to relay orders. Command fell to whoever could think clearly under pressure, regardless of official hierarchy.

Damian’s enhanced sword technique adapted to one-handed combat out of necessity. His father had drilled basic forms into him since childhood, but desperation taught lessons no training manual could provide. He adjusted his stance, compensating for lost balance and reduced reach.

A crystalline golem rounded the corner ahead of them. Thirty feet tall with faceted armor that reflected magical attacks. Its footsteps cracked foundation stones while debris rained from buildings struggling to support its weight.

"Spread formation!" Damian commanded. "Hit the joints where crystal segments connect!"

Iron-fang survivors rallied around his desperate leadership. Veterans twice his age followed orders from someone barely out of academy training because he was the only one thinking tactically instead of panicking.

Damian’s sword blazed with enhancement magic as he targeted the golem’s knee joint. Silver energy crackled along the blade’s edge, amplifying cutting power beyond normal limits. The strike connected with surgical precision, finding the gap between armor plates.

Crystal fragments exploded outward as the joint destabilized. The golem stumbled but didn’t fall. Its massive hand swept toward Damian in retaliation.

Sergeant Morrison’s shield caught the blow meant for their impromptu commander. The impact drove him to his knees, but his defensive magic held firm. "Orders, sir?"

"Tactical withdrawal. We can’t kill these things with conventional weapons." Damian assessed their situation with cold logic his father would have recognized. "Fall back to rendezvous point seven. Coordinate with Sanctuary healers for protected evacuation routes."

They moved through ruined streets where emergency protocols meant nothing without functional communication systems. Hunter interfaces had failed completely, leaving tactical coordination dependent on shouted orders and hand signals.

Association reinforcements arrived from the northern districts, but they lacked coordination without their primary tools. Individual hunters fought with skill and courage, but their efforts scattered across too many crisis points to achieve decisive results.

Damian’s tactical experience watching his father command district guard forces proved invaluable. He understood crowd control, resource allocation, and battlefield communication. Military principles translated to monster hunting when basic equipment failed.

"Establish chokepoints at intersections twelve and fifteen," he ordered arriving Association squads. "Channel civilian flow toward protected corridors. Priority evacuation for medical personnel and injured hunters."

A group of ARES remnants emerged from a damaged building, their blood-red armor torn and stained. They moved with the desperate efficiency of survivors who’d lost everything except their lives.

Their squad leader recognized Damian’s Iron-fang insignia. "You’re coordinating sector seven?"

"Until someone with higher authority shows up," Damian replied.

"ARES officially dissolved when Tobias died," the man said bitterly. "Leon Graves destroyed our entire guild structure in one night."

Other ARES members gathered around them. Some faces showed anger when Leon’s name was mentioned. They blamed the necromancer for their guild’s destruction, for the chaos that followed Tobias’s death.

"He killed our leader in cold blood," a woman spat. "Personal revenge disguised as justice."

But others disagreed. A scarred veteran stepped forward. "Tobias attacked that boy’s mother. Leon did what any of us would do."

"Leon’s the only one who might unify what’s left of us," another added. "Guild politics mean nothing when demons walk our streets."

Damian defended Leon’s reputation while privately questioning his friend’s choices. "Leon acted to protect his family. Tobias crossed lines that should never be crossed."

The ARES survivors debated among themselves. Some wanted revenge against the necromancer who’d shattered their lives. Others saw him as potential salvation from the current crisis.

"Where is he now?" the squad leader asked.

"Shadow Quarter," Damian replied. "Last reports placed him in the residential districts."

Reports reached him about Leon’s activities through scattered communication attempts. His friend was moving through the chaos with undead servants that somehow remained functional despite the interface failures affecting everyone else.

More troubling were descriptions of Leon’s behavior. Witnesses described cold efficiency that didn’t match the person Damian remembered. Strategic thinking that prioritized results over sentiment.

A messenger arrived from Association command, covered in dust and blood from fighting through creature-infested streets. "Commander Falken, urgent intelligence from Chairman Ethella."

Damian accepted the sealed message despite knowing he wasn’t actually a commander. Emergency protocols granted field promotions to anyone capable of maintaining order.

The message contained information that changed everything.

The dimensional entity wasn’t targeting the city randomly. It was hunting someone specific. Reports indicated the commander showed particular interest in necromantic energy signatures. Leon’s location.

Damian learned about the commander specifically hunting Leon and realized his friend was at the center of something much larger than guild politics. The invasion, the coordinated attacks, the systematic destruction of communication networks - all designed to isolate and locate a single individual.

"Sir, what are your orders?" Sergeant Morrison asked.

Damian stared at the message while calculating odds that didn’t favor anyone’s survival. The evacuation was proceeding as well as possible under impossible circumstances. Iron-fang survivors had found their rhythm under his leadership. Association reinforcements were establishing defensive perimeters.

They could continue this holding action for hours, maybe days. But unless someone dealt with the source of the invasion, their efforts would only delay inevitable defeat.

Leon was facing something that required abilities beyond conventional hunting. Whatever entity had torn through dimensional barriers to reach their reality wanted his friend specifically.

Damian made the painful decision to abandon his evacuation duties and head toward Leon’s location. The choice violated every principle of military leadership he’d learned from his father. You didn’t abandon your post. You didn’t leave subordinates without command structure.

But Leon had stood alone against impossible odds before. During their tournament fight, facing Tobias’s overwhelming power, challenging an entire guild to protect his mother. Each time, Damian had been elsewhere when his friend needed support.

Not this time.

"Morrison, you have field command," Damian announced. "Continue evacuation protocols. Coordinate with Association reinforcements. Establish fallback positions if the defensive line fails."

"Sir, where are you going?"

Damian checked his sword’s condition and adjusted his armor’s straps to compensate for his injured arm. "To find someone who might actually be able to stop this invasion."

The sergeant’s eyes widened with understanding. "The necromancer."

"Leon Graves," Damian corrected. "My friend."

He turned toward the Shadow Quarter, knowing they’d need to face this threat together regardless of whatever had changed between them. Their friendship had survived rank differences, guild politics, and personal betrayals.

It would survive whatever Leon was becoming as well.

This content is taken from (f)reewe(b)novel.𝗰𝗼𝐦