Demon Lord's Reincarnation

If blood getting all over our clothes and protective equipment was a problem, imagine getting bits and pieces of someone who died—and turned into a living corpse and roamed a good part of a year under the sun—get all over you.

It was like those juices with pulp but fucking way, way~ worse.

In any case, the reason Ibarra lobbed the grenade was that there was movement in the upturned van— no, it’s because the van moved itself and we’re not fucking playing around to see what comes out of the box.

And right as it landed beside it, there were more chunks of meat and sinew that flew in the air than scrap metal.

The van in question was just ruptured as a pig part of its interior was like one of those normal, everyday items that were actually cake but instead replaced with human body parts.

It just made me double-tap the van as I lobbed another grenade at its “entrance” before the two of us took a few more steps back.

“What the fuck’s in there, sir?!”

“At least it’s all over the place now! On your right!”

“Got it, thanks!”

At that point, we were still in the middle of clearing a horde and while both of us still had some of our focus on the ones beyond our melee range, we still had blindspots from where our backs were turned. It was up to us to catch each other or straight-up focus on one thing when we were alone.

But yeah, Ibarra easily juked the one I pointed out at him before he pulled out his sidearm instead of his rifle because the fucking crawler wearing an “I LOVE MEAT” shirt didn’t allow him to maneuver his M16 around and point the barrel at its temple.

It was just the wrong equipment at the wrong time but his 9mm easily entered below its chin and made its way up to its victim’s dome after creating the most gnarly wound channel.

And right after that, Kaley made several shots whizz over our heads as she took down the cluster that formed as our advance halted.

She made sure she was conserving bullets in a way while keeping each deadhead’s space between each other just right for each of us to have a proper swing and/or enough clearance so that they wouldn’t be able to flank from both sides.

It was something hard to pull off in the real world—and usually, the space provided would only last for a few seconds—but we were making it work in a way and taking advantage of the opportunity presented to us.

“I’M HERE YOU FUCKS, LET’S FUCKING GO!”

“QUINN?! WHERE’S—”

“SHE’S NAKED FROM THE WAIST UP! DON’T ASK WHY! I ALSO AIN’T SITTING ON THAT LAME-ASS SEAT WHILE YOU GUYS HAVE FUN LIKE THIS—”

“WE’RE NOT PLAYING AROUND!”

“WHY CAN’T IT BE BOTH?! MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!”

To our surprise, Quinn came in with her huge-ass halberd/polearm hybrid and wreaked havoc with one swing. She took the initiative to be at the forefront while Ibarra and I supported her by fanning on either side where her weapon couldn’t reach us.

Everytime Ibarra and I would move, we’d use the least amount of force necessary to put down our enemies to conserve stamina, but Quinn was just on the opposite end of the spectrum as if she was trying to instill fear onto these abominations that couldn’t receive certain mental status effects.

But yeah, Quinn going all-out somehow made us amped up as we followed her advance.

With Kaley and Jared making sure that no one would be surprising us from our blindspots, I almost took over the advance from the left as I split open three heads and beheaded four horse-looking deadheads in a few seconds.

I didn’t even bother cutting up their chewed-up arms first—like my usually setup—as I aimed just for their heads to meet with my blade.

From a flick of a wrist, a deadhead who looked like it needed a father figure got a good look at the asphalt as its head slid from its neck while my next victim figured out a way if it would come across a fork in the road because I split its body in half.

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, WHO HURT YOU?!”

“SHADDAP!”

“FUCK YOU, DON’T SHOW ME UP THE MOMENT I ARRIVED!”

On that note, I just saw Quinn charge up an attack by taking a split second more to wind up before swinging at a morbidly obese mukbanger and taking out three more that could fit in its back that weren’t even involved or an intended target.

And right after that, she used the momentum of her swing to somehow flourish his 20kg plus weapon and smack down onto the head of this undead midget and then rolling it back again like it weighed nothing to thrust several times to a group that she couldn’t take out with a wide swing.

Quinn’s weapon was the perfect choice for someone who didn’t want to stick to a single attack type or if they wanted a multi-tool imagined as a two-handed axe, spear, hammer, etc.

She didn’t even break a sweat by swinging it like she was a flagbearer except for the time when Kaley tried to whizz past a bullet through the gaps from her muscular body.

“HEEEEEY! DON’T FUCKING DO THAT!”

“QUINN, ON YOUR RIGHT—”

“I GOT IT! I GOT IT!” Ibarra followed as he stabbed a lanky motherfucker with the tip of his spear.

At this point, we must’ve piled a couple hundred of rotting corpses with chicken breading so we called on a few reinforcements to drag the bodies to the side. We can’t just advance and advance because of the crossfire but while we were retreating at set intervals, our space to move around was getting smaller and smaller.

So yeah, Ruben, #1, and #2 eventually showed up with their thick gloves to help move around the bodies we put down.

“HEY! THIS ONE JUST MOVED—”