Chapter 41
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 41
Chapter Title: Sky Tower Purge
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I bound them tightly with iron chains. Confirmed they were Salvation Cultists. The cross around their necks like a dog collar was proof enough, but the canned goods found on the floor sealed it.
Inside the half-empty cans were fingers. Human fingers, most likely—not zombie ones. And these bastards ate from those cans at every meal...
Even for me, who'd seen my share of brutality, the scene made bile rise in my throat. I grimaced and hurled the can to the floor.
In this apocalyptic world, the only ones who ate human flesh were zombies, lunatics, and the Salvation Cult. Well, the last two were one and the same as far as I was concerned.
A killing rage boiled up inside me. I wanted to erase these vermin from existence—scum who hid behind the Salvation Cult's name and zombies to slaughter innocent survivors, then gorged on their corpses.
But I shook my head.
They were trash whose mouths would just ache from more talk, but I needed intel first.
Like why they were holed up in Sky Tower, and how many more Salvation Cult believers were lurking there.
Their faces twisted in fanatic rage as they spat curses and invectives, but they shut up quick when I leveled my gun at them. I kicked them and asked what I'd planned.
"What brings such exalted folks all the way out here?"
"Ptooey!"
I swung my fist at the middle-aged man who spat like he had no intention of answering. Thwack! I'd held back, but his face turned into a bloody mess in one blow.
"Better answer nice and easy. Unless you wanna end up like that guy over there."
"Will you let us live if we do?"
The fresh-faced kid beside him—looked about high school age—asked with eyes twitching in fear.
The middle-aged bastard who'd taken my punch snarled at him. Traitor's eyes—like he'd throttle the kid the second those chains came off.
Of course, I wasn't about to let that slide. Who the hell's giving me the stink-eye? I booted the middle-aged prick. He tumbled backward like a Weebles toy, then popped right back up. I turned to the young guy.
"Won't let you live."
Only then did he start talking.
"W-We were sent to monitor Shelter C..."
"For what purpose?"
"Th-The bishop ordered it. Said they'd bring down heavenly wrath on Shelter C for rejecting the leader's proposal..."
No clue what the proposal was, but it was obvious what the Salvation Cult would offer a shelter. Submit to them or cough up tribute, no doubt.
Refusal meant they'd planned an attack on Shelter C, parking these assholes in Sky Tower to keep tabs on its survivors.
I nodded and pressed on.
"When do you hit Shelter C?"
"I-I don't really know..."
I toyed with the trigger instead of answering. One pull, and the bullet would punch through his skull. The kid shrieked in panic.
"I d-don't know, but this old fart does!"
"That so?"
"You bastard!"
The middle-aged man cursed the kid, then hawked a loogie at me. What, he think he's some kinda hydra?
"You think I'll talk? You filthy heretic!"
No way he'd spill easy. I pressed the gun to his head and threatened to blow his brains out, but he didn't budge. Fanatic fire blazed in his eyes—he'd die before bending to a heretic.
I finally lowered the gun. No exact time, but knowing they were gunning for Shelter C was valuable enough intel.
"Second question. You got comrades elsewhere in Sky Tower?"
"Yeah! Six on 50, eight on 100, five on the top floor!"
The kid blurted it out. He even tacked on one more plea.
"Y-You'll spare me, right?"
The middle-aged bastard bellowed at me then.
"You know what this little shit did? Raped a live woman and ate her eyeballs!"
"That was on orders! And you loved it—joined right in!"
The two turned on each other, spilling dirt. Ordered or not, they were human garbage all the same. I'd said I'd spare them, sure... but I never meant it.
The kid's baby face had stirred a flicker of pity at first, true. But watching them rat each other out snuffed that right out.
Not that I'd kill 'em myself, anyway. I trussed them up tight, then used Metal Transformation to bore a hole in the thick metal wall—big enough for three.
"Mmph! Mmph!"
The kid finally clocked what was coming, staring at me with teary, betrayed eyes. No mercy from me—I hoisted them up and chucked them into the hole.
Last glimpse: the middle-aged man's despairing stare. Then Metal Transformation sealed them away, traceless inside the wall.
No more muffled groans leaking through the gags.
Unless someone dug 'em out, they'd starve in there.
I headed up to 50 the same way. Bored a hole with Metal Transformation and peered in. Salvation Cult assholes inside.
Counted: five.
Where's the sixth?
Deep in thought, I caught footsteps from the stairs above. Bang! A young woman blasted her shotgun. Lucky for me, Aegis deflected it.
She gasped as the slug ricocheted. I charged and smashed a fist into her.
Thwack! One punch dropped her cold. Chained her up, eyed the door. It creaked open soon after. Survivors poured out.
All packing shotguns. I Metal Created a slab of aluminum, transformed it into a massive net, and hurled it at them.
They flailed, caught in the mesh. Guns barked amid the struggle. None tagged me, thank fuck—I took 'em down.
Interrogation went like on 10.
"Heard you're raiding Shelter C. When?"
"Like we'd tell you!?"
The young woman shot me a venomous glare.
"Talk, and I'll let you live."
The answer came from the guy behind her. Every eye turned his way.
"Th-Three days from now."
I studied his face. It twitched with raw terror. No way for me to tell truth from lie.
Three days it was, then—at least for now.
Pressed the others, got nothing. That damn faith. Walled 'em up whole, just like on 10.
51, 52...
Side note: the stair landings were transparent glass—dizzying drop visible below.
Acrophobe like me, but climbing that broadcast tower last time must've toughened me up. Went up no sweat.
Finally hit 100. Peered inside—my face soured. Survivors roped up, getting tortured.
Tools galore, too. Miracle any were alive. Hang on—not just survivors tied down. A zombie too.
It gnashed its teeth, starving for survivor chow. Why strip the zombie?
Then it clicked. One cultist cackled from afar—but my boosted cognition sharpened my hearing crystal clear.
"Any bitches wanna take a zombie ride?"
Zombie for sex torture. In a 15+ game, it'd be a vague hint. Here? Raw as hell.
'Psycho fucks.'
No time to waste, no hesitation.
Booted the door open, squeezed the trigger at the prayer-chanting, laughing cultist. The rifle slug drilled straight through his skull.
He faceplanted. Nearby cultists—treating it like a show—switched to shock. I hosed them down too.
Slugs shredded their torsos. Last three ducked behind cover. Metal Created a lump, transformed it into a grenade.
Fake one—just a model. Lobbed it their way.
It arced down; they freaked and bolted from cover.
Survivors nearby screamed too—not that it exploded, being a mock-up. I ventilated every last one.
Grabbed a barely-breathing cultist.
"I-I wanna live..."
"Keep talking straight, then. Shelter C raid—when?"
"A week from now..."
Three days on 50, now a week here.
Who to believe? Guy hacked up blood and flatlined before I could push.
Started unchaining the survivors. No surprise—their shape was rough. A few clung to life by a thread.
A man with half his face charred bowed low. Shelter C survivor, he said. Out farming, got nabbed.
"If I may... what's your group?"
"Team Apocalypse."
"Team Apocalypse?"
Wary glint in his eyes for a split second. Why the look? Before I could ask, he bowed again.
"Thanks for the save! Heading top floor? I'll tag along. Body's shot, won't fight great, but..."
"I'm good."
Meant it, but he stuck to me anyway. His condition matched the rest—legs shredded, four fingers gone.
Still, following me? That was willpower talking.
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