A/N: Im so glad to return to writing this but it was fun going back. The Arbitrator is back on the field with a fresh pool of new ideas for more stories. I hope you enjoy the read as much as I enjoyed writing this one. Hope I hadnt gone rusty this entire time after a long time.

REVIEW RESPONSES:

Aramud13, Theparadoxic, Savior16, Kopul – glad that you all think so and like this. Hope you enjoy this and the rest

Shadow Sword, superpierce – glad you caught up on the confusion part. All will be made clear on the later chapters but for now I am so happy you are entertained by that tidbit

WREN-PL – do tell. How would the GCPD act in this situation? I am curious rather.

AlphaHost – thanks for the insight but it'd be more to your loss than mine. All misunderstandings will be made clear in the later chapters. The door is always open when you decide to return or otherwise

The Mexican Taco Overlord – Love the name by the way. Thanks for the review. And tes. Fuck those pamsy knife eared Eldar.

DomR1997 – thanks for that. I bought myself on a week after you said it and yes. It did wonders. Haha

Now without further adieu, here is Chapter 8

XXXXX

Act 1: Outbreak

The wind shifted in the forgotten labyrinths of Gotham's Underworld. Echoing sounds of frantic rodents skittered en-masse to the cracks hidden in the shadows. Escaping and hiding from an unseen threat.

A foul and suffocating odor permeated the air as looming shadows materialized on the moss-layered walls. Silhouettes that were slowly growing ever larger as its shambling footsteps approached. The sounds of their soaked feet echoed for miles on out.

The Blackfyre Cult was on the move.

Vagabonds scattered before their presence appeared. Intoxicated loiterers sobered from fear and ran from the sight of them. Squatters cowered from under mounds of their dishevelled hovels. Praying with hushed breaths between quivering hands while those above walked passed. Rodents skittered to escape them. Hordes of the frantic vermin disappeared between cracks and shadows en masse. Running like the rest from those marching behind them.

These devout masses of sickly and filthy vagrants gathered in a large decrepit chamber. A chorale of rusted pipes welcomed their steps. An orchestra of dripping water and echoing cold wind sang its haunting song. Cold murky water embraced their every step as they approached a towering structure in the middle of the chamber. A great black stone towered over them. A shining obelisk of polished rock marred by hamd carved figures, glyphs, and symbols.

A massive collection surrounded it upon massive stacks. An amalgamation of trash, wreckage, and rotting refuse. Planks of driftwood, torn iron slabs, mounds of crumpled paper, and other such discarded materials. A bastardized play of an offering to a bastardized play on faith.

Upon that curious black rock was an equally curious figure, a hooded man leaning heavily on a crooked staff. With a swipe of his staff, embers flew out from the stone and fell upon the offerings gathered below him. A pyre was set on fire theat brought light to the dreary black chamber.

The man casted a great shadow over the masses. Fiery tongues light danced under him and revealed a glimpse of the shrouded fiendish old man with black beady eyes and wild flowing white beard. His long tattered robes danced with the wind. Flapping like crippled wings and crawling tendrils. A fearsome sight to the superstitious and large enough for him to be seen by the lot watching from afar. Enough for all to know the High Priest of the Blackfyre Cult.

Deacon Joseph Blackfyre.

A dozen of his closest confidants gathered at the foot of the pyre. His Acolytes. His most faithful disciples. Fanatical men and women wrapped in long tattered robes. Hiding every inch of their skin and their faces masked undermthe cover of their hoods. Silently they watched as the masses gathered and graduallt trickled down.

Many have come but it was a far cry frommthe ones before. For what was once a chamber that could house a thousand people, barely a hundred remained. Sparse enough for the pyre to bathe them with its light. Enough for Deacon Blackfyre to see every one of their faces. Every one of them donned the same usual faces as before. Hungry. Misshapen. Angry. Most notable was fear. Only now, it was not one they reserved for the Deacon.

The last few days have been troublesome for the Blackfyre Cult. The Blackfyre Cult. The Brotherhood that Deacon Blackfyre spent years building was teethering on the edge of collapse. All that he made was becoming undone in the short course of a few days. Blackfyre planned to remedy that.

Once again the rock was struck and a bellowing clang echoed throughout the near empty chamber. Many of the crowds shuddered save for the Deacon and his Acolytes. They cowered and stepped back but not too far from the fire's warm embrace. All of them turned their sights to the ominous figure that stood above all of them.

"Children of the Blackfire Cult. We gather once more. Here. To the place where we began." Deacon Blackfyre spoke. "We stand here! For I want you all to remember. Remember our days of hunger. Remember our suffering. Of loss. I gather you here to remember your days before the Cult. And remember how we all gathered under one vision. One dream. One promise. Of a new age where all will be freed from the shackles of darkness. Of a new dawn where we will be bathed in light. Of a new life where we and our children will be safe. Satisfied. That dream drove us out of the shadows. That desire helped us to rule the Underworld. Our will transformed hell into our home. Our faith has delivered us from fear. Our strength gave us freedom."

His voice was coarse but was loud and clear enough to be heard by those in the back. His tone were harsh but did not accuse them. His words were simple and it piqued the masses' ears as they yearned to know more. Blackfyre has caught them in his net and now they were now listening. Some were even found weeping..

He paused to give these little people the chance to digest his words. To reflect and recall those dark days. The days they spent cowering in the dark. Of days spent lying bruised and violated in the mercy of the strong. Of nights spent hungry and intoxicated. Nights that Deacon Blackfyre knew himself. He made them remember the days when all that changed.

"Many have forgotten this." Deacon Blackfyre lamented. "For I see what has become of my devoted flock. I see all that was left. Paltry dozens of crusty bitches. A spit full of rag-tags?"

Blackfyre sighed heavily and leaned just as much to his staff.

"The days past have not been kind to us." Blackfyre hissed. "Monsters stalk our halls. But no more is it just the Devil Batman. But a Red-Eyed Wraith as well! Harbringers! The both of them! Of our misfortune. Not only did they cost us many of our kin. But much of the faith of those we called Brothers. Abandoning us! Betraying us! Lying! To us!"

"YES!" the crowds cried back amidst lies and howls.

"Our enemies are many!" Deacon Blackfyre shouted. "More so now than before. Many of whom are our own kin! And what fate do they all deserve, my children?!"

"Death!" the crowds cried amidst cheers.

"As you stood by faith! It has been delivered!" Deacon Blackfyre hailed. "But oh so few. You all proved yourselves well. Proved yourselves worthy. Worthy of the next step. Worthy of ascention."

Blackfyre struck his rock once more and pointed it to the ground in front of him. His Acolytes marched forward to the crowds. Half of them were armed with torches while the other half had crowbars. They parted the crowds and gathered before a massive manhole cover that was imbedded in the middle of the chamber.

The Acolytes finally finished with their task and revealed its contents. Curious onlookers peaked forward only to recoil from the putrid air and a flock of insects that came gushing out.

"I was as lost as you, my children. For I am human as well." Deacon Blackfyre said. "I was lethargic. Defeated. My faith slipping. Our enemies are too many. Most of which cross between monsters and foul sourceries. How else can we combat these? Unity and strength are not enough. But in my despair did I find solace in prayer. I whispered for days into the void. Awaiting for an answer. It was there at my darkest hour that I was answered. I bade communion with a being of great power. He has blessed me! He has chosen me! He has delivered me to spread his Word to all who could hear. The same truth He has said onto me!"

Deacon Blackfyre removed his cloak and revealed to the horrified crowds his bare naked flesh. Pulsating boils were scattered amidst his leathery skin. Cracking scabs marred his sagging flesh. Spitting sores trickled puss and slime down his neck. It was disgusting, putrid, and revolting. Yet Deacon Blackfyre has never felt so alive. The power of his voice alone was testament to that.

"Humans are weak! Abandon it for strength!" Blackfyre cried aloud. "Humans are sickly! Come and be cured. Humans are fated to die. I come bearing immortality. All of it can be yours. All of it is promised. All of it is given. By our true god! His name Nurgle! He is our salvation! My faith earned me eternal life. I ask you, my children. My blood. My people. I share this all to you! For my name is Nurgle! Father of Life and Death!"

The crowds spoke amongst themselves in hushed voices. Torn as they were on the subject, fear was paramount in their minds. Some were curious and were swayed to obey for the sake of power. Many were hesitant with some turning their gaze from what they saw was a crazed man. A sickly and old one at that. A madman who was inches away from death.

"I am sure that doubt plagues itself amidst my flock." Blackfyre said. "And so a demonstration shall be in order. As proof of our Lord's power over Death. Of the blessings and the power He can imbue unto you all. Bring them forth!"

Shouting erupted amidst the gathered crowds. Three Pairs of Brutish men and women parted the curious crowds while each was dragging a struggling or unconscious vagabond between them. Young to middle aged men with torture etched itself on their bodies. Blood seeped in and pooled from their gagged mouths. Dried stains splotched the rags hanging atop their bruished skin.

They kicked and screamed for help to deaf ears. None raised a hand or got in anyone's way. In fact, every living soul in the chamber looked at them coldly or with malevolent faces. They poured their hate towards the men with fists and kicks. Throwing curses and trash at their faces as the 3 men and their escorts traversed the gauntlet. The commotion fell silent the moment the 3 were thrown before Deacon Blackfyre's feet.

"You stand before the Blackfyre Cult for your trial in this court." Deacon Blackfyre said. "You are in chains for the crimes you have committed. You are in your knees for you seek redemption. Your heads bend low for penance. You. All you three. Are here for your sentence. DEATH!"

The crowds elated. Thunderously cheering with vitalised sounds that echoed throughout the chamber. All this fell silent when of the prisoners loosened his gag and spat a tirade aimed solely aimed at Deacon Blackfyre.

"YOU'RE A FUCKING HACK!" He shouted amidst the crowd's noise. "A DYING OLD MAN! PLAYING WITH SICK PEOPLE'S HEADS! IN A SICKER GAME NOW THAT THINGS ARE FUCKING LOW!"

An Acolyte silenced the prisoner with a swing from its makeshift club. The others made a move for the battered man with their own wicked instruments. A gesture from the Deacon's hand however made them stop theirs from spilling more blood than what was already spent.

Deacon Blackfyre leapt from his rock and gracelfuly landed on his feet. His fluttering black robes gave a visage of black wings. Giving the old man an image of an angel to the watching crowds. Hovered in the air as before he met the ground.

The prisoner recoiled as the Deacon knelt before him. The stench of the old man's close proximity was as noxious as it was suffocating. Drawing back even further when the Deacon raised a bony finger at him. A thick yellow nail traced across the prisoner's neck before grasping it tight. With strength that defied the Deacon's skeletal like frame, the old man lifted the much larger man by the neck with his feet dangling in the air.

"If you're looking for the guilty. Why not look into a mirror, Brother Gil?" Deacon Blackfyre croaked. "You. And your cohorts. Betrayed us. Led the Batman to us. Uniting him with that other Devil against us. The blood of our Brothers and Sisters stain your hands. All of yours!"

Deacon Blackfyre dropped the prisoner next to the others. The man known as Gil was pinned to the ground by his rasping choughs and his greedy wheezes for breath.

"The fault was not caused by yours alone." Deacon Blackfyre said. "You were not the catalyst of this Cult's fall to ruin. Tis Pride cometh 'fore the fall. Twas our own hubris that rotted our Order's foundations. Our net was casted too wide. Welcomed too many hungry mouths instead of hungry hearts. Our great numbers weakened us. Our power corrupted us. We have lost our way. Thus we needed to be purged."

Deacon Blackfyres beady eyes gleaned over the cowering prisoner's faces. The veins on the old man's body pulsed wildly. The bulging sores and warts on his skin threatened itself to bursting.

"So we have all but naught you to thank, gentlemen." Deacon Blackfyre made a wide grin. "For this gift would not have been delivered if not for you. A gift I will bestow upon all three of you. The gift of new life!"

Before Gil or his fellow prisoners could give a second's thought, a rusty blade pierced their necks. The cut, much like the blades, were not clean and forced the Acolytes to saw the knives across their neck. All 3 prisoners screamed and vainly resisted in between gurgling gasps until their strength sliped away with their spilling blood that poured down into the noxious pit. The Acolytes ceremoniously threw what remained of thrir pale corpses into the hole once the last quarts of blood was pumped out of their strained veins.

Deacon Blackfyre struck the pit's rims with his iron staff all the while his Acolytes committed his murderous will. Every strike summoned sent a spark and a glow of green light while he mouthed prayers in strange tongues. His Acolytes sung haunting hymns and rovetting chants alongside the old Deacon.

Green light emanated from the black pit all the while. Light that grew stronger from with every drop of blood. Glowing all the brighter once fed with flesh. The black tarred waters in the pit bubbled and splashed in fury. Faint smokey tendrils emerged from its rims. Stalking above the murky waters and coiling at anything that came within reach before melting away.

The ritual came to an abrupt end when a booming roar bursted from within the pit. A colossal gray arm followed not long after as it fell upon an unsuspecting Acolyte. The poor begar was crushed to past that sent a teeth clenching sound to all nearby at the sound of snapping bones.

Crowds scattered in panic as the giant slowly emerged from the pit. Crushing the rims to compensate its titanic size. Pools of slime and tar spouted from its patchwork of grey skin as it stood towering over even the massive stone obelisk.

The creature was a marriage of strength and sorcery. Its immense size and misshapen limbs oozed green mist from its many bulbous glands. The same green glow emanated from its bulging veins amidst stone slabs of cold iron muscles. Gaping scars spewed flesh and organs that hung lazily under the creature's exposed belly.

But the horror was complete without its misshapen face. One that is contorted to a nightmare unfamiliar to any course of humanity. A menacing scowl was shaped by its sagging bloated face. Sunken black sockets made home to an uneven pair of eerie white eyes. Torn cheeks loosley hung onto a maw of rotting chipped teeth. And a booming roar that shattered stones and made parked cars in the surface blare sirens.

Contrast to everyone else, Deacon Blackfyre was enjoyed the entire ordeal while everyone else ran in terror. He laughed while everyone else screamed. He beemed at the creature in pride while all else looked upon it in horror. Even as he stood alone before the creature's great looming shadow, the old man was unmoved. And so did the creature.

With a wave of his hand, the creature obeyed and knelt down with both knees. Meeting the Deacon's eyes with its own mismatched ones on equal footing. The surreal scene was enough to garner a few eyes from the cowering masses.

"Gil. Gregor. Marko." Deacon Blackfyre broke the spell of silence. "God-given names. As you have been reborn anew. So too will you be renamed as our god Nurgle has rebirthed you anew! In the His name, I dub thee Solomon. Our usherer of peace! Our vanguard in war! Hail Nurgle!"

"Hail Nurgle!" The crowds cheer.

"Hail Nurgle!" Deacon Blackfyre repeated.

"HAIL NURGLE!" The crowds cheered louder.

"GROOOOOOOOOOO!" Solomon roared with them.

"Now! Who wishes to be blessed!" Deacon Blackfyre shouted. "Who wishes to begin life anew! On the right hand of god! On the path of his salvation!"

There was no pause amongst the crowds. Not a single soul hesitated when they gathered around the pool. Every single one of them bath their heads, to cup their hands, and some even threw themselves in the unholy pool. All of them were blinded by the heathen promises. Damning themselves in body and soul for something their own minds could fully the type of pawns Deacon Blackfyre wanted in his ranks.

"Now my children! Scour the Underworld! Spread the word to its people! Take every soul willing back to this holy place! We share this gift to all! Kill any one else who denies it! And let them serve as our slaves in death!"

"YES!" The crowd cheered ecstatically. Drunk by the promise and the power it imbued it.

Deacon Blackfyre turned to the surface. Weeping tears of joy for at long last his life was given purpose. At long last he has heard his life's call.

"And then! My children! We make for the Gotham! And I know just the place to raise our banner! To spread the Word of Nurgle! All in His Name!"

"HAIL NURGLE!"

XXXXXXXXXX

It was supposed to be just another night for Brianna, the Front Desk Woman. Though she had to admit that it has been a busy week Gotham General Hospital. People were coming in and out of her lobby like it was a revolving door. Injured people were the usual normal but most have been sick people lately. Brianna never remembered a time when she used copy paste so many times on these people's symptoms.

High fever. Coughs. Colds. Sore throats. Pox. And something close to gangrene. The number of people afflicted by these were enough to fill 3 pages in her records. News from a few days ago mentioned a possible outbreak coming from Gotham's outskirt slums. But now its been appearing in the middle of the city too.

Protocol has her wear protective gear like the doctors but it was the cops on hand that made her feel safer. Brianna never knew the details as to why but she didn't care. Part of their job now was to keep the hospital safe from both crazed druggies prowling the streets and dumb asses that come through those doors for the stupidest of reasons. If any of them are going to be spitting on anyone, it better be on those cops than her. Saves her the trouble of doing paperwork if they get escorted out of her lobby in handcuffs.

Brianna could have never guessed the kind of trouble barging through those doors would shatter all forms of normalcy in her life and ruin everyones night that evening.

Gunfire from outside got her face glued to the windows and found the streets in full disarray. At first she thought that a riot broke out given how many silhouettes of people were violently running about.

There she found police men being butchered alive by sickly half naked men and women with tatoos. Gunfire didn't faze them and continued to swarm the surrounded cops before being ripped to shreds in front of her. The rioters eyes soon met with Brianna's and proceeded to climbed the steps of the Hospital.

"Oh hell no!" Brianna exclaimed and quickly ducked under her desk. She did however took out her untrusty 9mm from her drawer before settling in her hiding spot.

Brianna squeeled the moment the doors bursted open and heard over dozens to pit-pattering footsteps run into her lobby amidst cheers and cries. Glass were broken. Wood were smashed. Gunfire was heard all around. None however compared to the innocent screams and dying screeching dominated.

Tears flooded her eyes as the doors were loudly being beaten down. She cupped her mouth to stifle her cries while whispering a wordless prayer that all will be well. Half her mind was spent thinking that this was all a dream and that she would simply wake up in her bed to another day.

Fate however would not be so kind. Brianna opens her eyes and still found herself huddled under a desk amidst the chaos flaring around her. This realisation only gave her heavier tears. Amidst her hushed cries, little did she know that someone stood in front of her desk listening. A three fingered hand burst through the wooden panel in front of Brianna and grabbed hold of her. She was then forcefully pulled out from her hiding spot and into the light in the middle of the lobby.

"Shit!" Brianna exclaimed.

Her body ached from both the bruises on her neck and the splinters gnawing on her body. Her eyes then darted around her and found herself surrounded by 5 men in heavy robes. Instinct made her get up to her feet and pointed her pistol at the intruders.

"Look! I don't want no trouble." Brianna spoke with the deepest and most intimidating voice she could muster but that contrast to that, her mind screamed in panic and at the same time aimed for the door. "This is your barbecue and you like what your cooking. But I'd like to uninvite myself here. So I'll be on my way out, y'hear. Else you'd be eating lead. You got it?"

The hooded men were unmoved by her words. Worse still was that they looked unperturbed by her threats. The man in the middle held a curved iron staff. By the looks of things, he was their leader. Brianna made sure to point her gun at him. Especially since he was moving.

"Don't test me, you bastard." Brianna warned but took a step back.

Their leader kept his pace and kept moving towards her. His bare feet slapped on the marble tile floor at his every step. All the while Brianna kept stepping backwards while her gun shook wildly in front of her. Threat as much as she wants, she knew it was all hot air. They may see her with a gun but to her it might as well be a hand grenade that takes her hands with it. Desperate as she was, she wasn't that stupid to risk it..

Like the men closing in around her, Brianna was besieged from all side by her the poison of her panicked thoughts. Brianna didn't realize her back was on the wall until it poked her there. Her heart stopped at that very moment. She realized that she was on her last legs now with nowhere else to go.

The hooded man with the staff stopped in front of her too. His bare chest pressed in front of the barrel of her gun. As if daring her to fire. As if mocking her for her hollow bluff. A wide grin appeared under the hood and revealed a face that drained the color from her skin.

"Deacon Blackfyre," Brianna whispered.

"The one and only." He chuckled between hoarse coughs.

The man's face was plastered in nearly every bullettin in the city along with the other Rogues of Gotham. Brianna easily recognized the man from his distinct tattoo on his chest. A psycopathic cult leader with a fanatic following that practiced kidnapping, murder, and cannibalism. A monster amongst many in Gotham and he now stood in front of Brianna's face.

"Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit." Brianna said. Panic consumed everything else around her.

"Let me take that from you. You have no need of it." Blackfyre said with an eary calm as he pulled the gun from Brianna's hands and pocketed it under his robes.

"L-l-let me go?" Brianna pleaded. Her legs trembled along with her hands.

"Of course child." Blackfyre replied. "That is why we are here. Our purpose. To free all from the chains of weakness. From the inevitable hand of death. This is a gift I share to all. The same gift I will give to you."

Blackfyre gave the gentless touch to the middle of Brianna's brow with the tip of his boney finger then left without another word. The other hooded men bowed to him and his shadow before following his every step.

"What the fu—" Brianna wanted to ask but her words were cut short when a seathing migraine erupted in her head.

She screamed as loud as her lungs could carry until her voice became dry and hoarse. Her fingers raced around her head and felt the pain coming from a tiny hole in the spot where Blackfyre touched her. It felt as though a massive drill was digging into her skull and spread itself down her neck to the rest of her body like a flame.

The skin around the wound flaked off at even her gentlest touch. As did her hair that began falling off by the root and stem. Blood sputtered out of her lips until she could not speak another word. She could feel her lungs rupture in itself from the inside and her airways blocked off by thick globuous mucus.

Death was a mercy and but Brianna had no desire for her hand. She might as well had slapped it away when it was offered to her with an open palm. Selfish as it was, it was still her choice to live and it was a choice that damned her forever.

By the time the pain ended, Brianna found herself standing upright. But it was no actipn of her own. Her limbs moved as it did while her feet dragged behind in between hobbled steps. Her cries for help turned to frantic screams but all she could hear were deep long moans from a disobedient mouth. It then dawned her that she was a prisoner of her own choice. Damned forever to walk inside a cage of mindless rotting flesh that desired only to spread its disease and to sate an incurable hunger that burns her all the same.

Brianna wanted to close her eyes and wish all this away. But her eyes lay wide open and forced her to experience the price and the horrors of what she had wrought for herself. She sought Death and found no end to it all. She begged for Death but She never answered. It did not take long for Brianna to give up. Soon her mind became as dead as the rotting prison she was trapped in. No different from the countless damned souls around her that shambled endlessly to nowhere.

XXXXXXXXXX

On that auspicious evening on the 30th of June, Leslie found herself standing at an impasse. Her back was on the wall. Trapped between the eyes of two dangerous men.

One stood barring the door. A vagabond akin to a rabid street dog growling with broken teeth. A sick man with a patchwork body of every disease in the book but none sicker than the one plaguing his mind. A walking cadaver of barely living flesh with eyes starved for murder. Adding to the damage were carved runes of an ancient tongue that traced along their skins. Markings made by cuts and scabs instead of ink. Most notable was one carved around his eye. A carving of what looked like a pinwheel with seven arrows pointing out.

The other was a patient of hers. Mateus Nidarr. An injured youth from another world but now lied handcuffed to a gurney across the room. Contrasting to the former, he was covered from head to toe with clean white bandages and casted in cement. None would have guessed him as anything of a threat given his condition, but Leslie knew better. She might even consider him as the biggest threat in the room given her altercation with him a few seconds ago.

The vagabond was a man that looked like a monster but Mateus was a true monster in the trappings of a man. The very sight of him in those bandages made him less human than the filthy vagabond at the door. His red eye was the only visible part of his body that lay exposed, save for his mouth that was attached to the respirator of his oxygen tank. An unblinking and inhuman device that was as cold as the aura emanated around him.

That same strange miasma was coursing throughout Leslie's body. A fleeting feeling of terror that coiled around her in a deadly embrace. Her instincts screamed danger the entire time while her body was turned to stone in place. She was frozen in place by fear while her heart beat hard on her chest like drums.

This terror was not reserved for Leslie alone. The same sensation afflicted the vagabond as well. The effect it had on him however was of a different and more profound degree. He recoiled back and shrank before Mateus's growing shadow. His body was quaking. Relapsing like a junkie with jittering fingers and manic blinking. Sweat and slime shot itself from him like bullets. All the while light tinge of mist seeped from his inflamed wart-covered skin.

Leslie had hoped that this was enough to convince the vagabond to run away. Give in to the same fear that was gripping her. Fall apart and escape from its blaring presence. The man instead acted differently. Fear was reacted to differently as he leapt across the room with inhuman strength. His rusted, blood soaked shiv was held high. His mouth was slobbering the entire time with yellow and green slime, spitting curses in foreign words.

Her legs gave way. Falling to the ground just as the vagabond fell upon Mateus. She could not bare to look at what comes next and turned away just as the blade shimmered as it fell. Tears trickled down her cheeks as Leslie prepared for what came next. But it never did. What came instead pierced her ears as a booming sound reverberated around her. A thunderous crash erupted. The cracking of bones snap. The cringing pop of mash that splattered itself on Leslie's face.

Leslie didn't need to see to know what just happened. Years working in a Gotham hospital made sure of that. But her curiosity for the aftermath how introduced her to a grisly sight. The Vagabond lay dead in front of her. Foul stench of blood and bile permeated the room as it oozed out from its half flattened head that splattered itself on the wall like a modern art piece.

"Yu…'live? M'dikay?" Mateus croaked.

Most of his face was bound by thick white bandages. The only parts that exposed his skin were kept under a plastic oxygen mask that hissed at his every breath. A small gap for his nose and a cut out for his parched lips that made his vocabulary harsh and croaking. Added with his injuries, these limited his speech to grunts and makeshift words. A 100lb metal oxygen tank providing his air and it was stained by fresh blood and leaned heavily under his palm.

This did little to reassure Leslie of the boy's alignment but for some reason she found herself breathing easily again. The coiling sensation on her chest was gone. Her petrifying feeling of dread lifted itself from her like a veil and there she found her footing at last.

Leslie bolted for the door without a moment's pause. Eager to escape the madness only to literally open the door to more of it. Her hospital's once white walls were stained in red. A faint breeze engulfed her with a powerful foul stench of death. In front of her lay Officer Levin and her partner Officer Jack. Their mangled bodies were crumpled in front of her. Officer Levin turned to Leslie in between gurgling breaths. Eyes pleading for help before falling eerily still when her pulse pumped its last.

Frantic sounds and gunshots echoed down the left wing of the hall. Shadows emerged from around the corner. Leslie slammed the heavy doors shut and locking it tight before any of them came to view.

"What the hell is going on?" Leslie asked aloud in hushed whisper only to have an unwanted voice answer her.

"Ya gt'n. 'festayshun. M'dikay." Mateus grunted to Leslie's cries. The man was in the middle of pulling off the plugs and chords attached to his body amidst the blaring noise of the machines around him.

"Infestation?" Leslie asked. "Yes. I can see as much. But what kind?"

"Heretiks" Mateus snarled venomously.

Before Leslie could ask, Mateus pulled off his sheets as he leapt off the bed. He expected his legs to catch his fall but instead fell hard on his knees and then dropped flat on the ground with a loud thud.

"Gah!" Mateus groaned. His hands reached for his legs but recoiled after finding empty stumps below his knees.

"Me legz!" He cried. His red eye turned to Leslie with accusation. Glowing to an ever brighter and sinister hue that perfectly represents the boiling rage peaking beneath his bandages. "Wer ar…mai legz! WER! AR! DEY! WITCH!"

Those words struck Leslie like a whip as though an invisible force pushed her back to the wall. Helpless against a familiar suffocating spell that coiled around her once more. Terror coursed through her veins as the boy crawled towards her with an ever growing shadow. His oxygen tank scraped on the floor with every hand striking the floor.

Mateus red eye glared at her with searing heat. His face was so close that Leslie could hear the greed in its breath and by the coarseness of its throat. Her own heartbeat was pumping wildly. Leslie could feel it drumming the entire room to the point that she feared that it would burst. Along with the rest of her senses that screamed madness.

And then there was nothing.

The crippling and coiling sensation left Leslie's body. She felt the terror was away from her like a retreating fever. Cleaned of what her imagination has wrought but left behind torrents of sweat and dried tears. The air returned to her and the good doctor was allowed to breathe once more.

All that came rushing out to a gasp when she opened her eyes to Mateus kneeling in front of her like a gargoyle. Nothing could be read of his stance or his intentions. The bandages wrapped around him masked any window to his being save for the inhuman unblinking red eye that clicked while it peered at her.

"Dun maik…me ashk. Agein." Mateus hissed.

"The storage area. I-in the lower Basement Area." Leslie answered quickly. "That's where we keep everything."

"Mai efeks? Wepn's?" Mateus asked in urgency.

"It'll be there too." Leslie assured. "Its under locked and key though."

"An' d'you 'ave eet? Da key?"

"I do. Unfortunately." Lelsie pulled a set of keys she had chained to her belt.

Both paused to loud footsteps from outside. There was haste in their steps as they ran down the from one end of the hall to another. The sounds that grew as loud as heartbeats was quick to become as soft as a ticking clock till they disappeared. Leslie's gaze turned back towards the legless man the moment she hear the sound of scraping. Matteus began dragging himself and the oxygen tank across the room.

"You're not planning on going out there are you?" Leslie asked.

"Ai am. Ai...vill." Mateus grunted. "An' yer…gunna taik…me der."

"Like hell, I am!" Leslie exclaimed. Appalled at the mere mention of it.

"Eiver yu wok owt. Dat dor wiv me. Or. Owt dat window. Alown."

Leslie couldn't help herself but look out the window and see how far of a drop it was from where she was standing. Crippled as Mateus was, she deduced that he wont need to raise a hand to do the deed. Let alone get close to her to do it. She knew enough of what he's capable off. She knows that he has the power to make her do it herself. To throw herself out that wide window. Something that he appears to be able to do without raising a hand while Leslie's own hands were already pushing against the glass.

Leslie found herself at another impasse once again. Standing between two perilous road that both led to certain death.

"Da sentensh. For atemp. Ted merder. Ovan Arbyte. Ish deff. Am mite cunsidr. Alawing yu. Penanss. Ta lait'n. Yer sentensh. Ov yer cryme." Mateus spoke. Some of his non-verbal cues, such as his tapping finger, suggested haste. He wanted her to make a decision. "Hwell?"

"Do I even have a choice?" Leslie sighed and felt the heavy burden disappear again. Enough for her to regain some of her usual snark. "So what now? In case you haven't noticed, I'm no fighter. And you're in no condition to fight. Let alone walk out of this room."

"Not yet. Am not." Mateus growled. Grabbing hold of a pair of crutches in the supply closet, he easily bent and snapped both of its legs off.

Before Leslie could ask or do anything, Mateus inserted the crutchbars into his legs. Securely fastening it in place with yards of rolled bandages, Mateus made himself a pair of make shift peg-legs to compensate his missing limbs. Sheer willpower and good balance did the rest. Allowing Mateus to stand upright once more but with a slight hint of discomfort between every step.

Leslie could only look at him in surprise at what he had done. Stunned with her mouth left agape in disbelief at what she had seen. Her eyes grew wide in shock as she watched what he intended to do.

"God help us." Leslie gasped.

"Yesh. He ish. An' He vill." Mateus grunted. He then raised his head to the ceiling for a moment before moving to crack his neck.

The sounds of frantic noises brought both their heads trained for the door. Pattering bare footsteps and rampant whooping grew louder as it made its way down the hall.

"Shtay bak!" Mateus barked.

He pulled Leslie aside by the collar and sent her sliding to the far corner of the room behind him. The doors slammed open in time for four armed men to come charging in. Each were just as filth stricken and rotten as the vagrant from earlier and bore similar symbols on their forehead. They entered in a frenzy. Mouths hailed curses and shrieking cheers. All that was silenced the moment they encountered a towering nightmare. Their footsteps were put to a halt before the cyclopean wraith with flowing tendrils and iron limbs.

Mateus played his part as a monster well and sent two of the Infected Cultists flying with a swing from his oxygen tank. The room clanged bells at the solid strike that left a neck and a back broken. Another clang followed shortly when the tank fell square on another Cultist's head. Smashing it like a ripe fruit that scattered bone and brains all over.

The last Cultist was left stunned from the haste of his friend's demise whose blood were splattered all over it. Wiping the blood off its face in time catch a glimpse of Mateus's flying fist. The infected's head spun around the room chasing stars. Its dislocated jaw followed close behind while sowing shattered teeth all over the floor.

The Infected Cultists barely kissed the floor when it was impaled in the eye by Mateus's peg leg. There was as much hatred as there was weight on every blow. Even as its head was turned to a beaten mush, Mateus kept going and stopped only until he was left panting raggedly. The intense exercise left him rasping at the throat.

This pause made Leslie realise that Mateus was still in the recovering stage of his treatment. Tall as he was, he was in no state to keep this up. Even now the youth leaned heavily on his oxygen tank for support while using it as it was built. Greedily swallowing its contents with every wheezing breath until he was satisfied.

"Ay can manedch." Mateus growled. "Ay can shtill. Foit."

"I do hope so. But for how long?" Leslie said until an idea came to mind. "Give me a second."

Leslie bore no hatred for Mateus nor did she approve of his actions in terms of both morality and his health. She did however believe that if they were going to survive this Outbreak, they would meed to work together. That goal was focused on keeping the boy alive and in the best condition to fight.

That said, she took one side of the room where she rummaged for two items. A syringe and a pair of tiny bottles filled with clear liquid.

It was stress and not age that shook her hands but Leslie forcefully held them down as she carefully siphoned the medicine in one of the bottles with a syringe before offering it to Mateus.

"I know you are tough but nothing's tougher than fixing a battered body." Leslie said while she carefully siphoned one of the bottle's contents with the syringe. "As your doctor, i'd prescribe time and recuperation. But given the circumstances, i'll just settle for this."

"Wot izzit?" Mateus growled. Pulling his arm back while his red eye glared at the syringe's contents.

"Adrenaline." Leslie explained. "Given your…unique anatomy, a double dose would be appropriate. Suffice to say this will put you up to speed if not more. But you will still be limited due to your condition. What do you say?"

His face was masked but it was easy to see that the youth remained unconvinced. Hesitant to believe her and what she planned on putting in him. He distanced himself from her and kept his motions tight. Ever on the defensive against the tiny pinprick on her hand.

"Wordz ar wind. Yor intenshunsz ar… suspishus. Ta me. Proov yer troof."

"Fine." Leslie relented and pulled up her sleeve. "Chances are that this kill me more than it'll help you, but since youre that thick…"

Most of the syringe's contents were drained back into its bottle down to a few CCs for Leslie's safety. Being at her golden years, the possible of an overdose by even a smidgeon of the adrenaline might give her a cardiac arrest. This though made her hesitate for a moment. The needle hung idly on her flesh for a moment before she gathered enough of herself to push it in.

The medicine did not take long to work as it shot Leslie upright moments after. Her heart did not hesitate to punch the insides of her chest. Her veins and arteries widened as a surplus of blood raced in her body. She might as well have gasped a gallon of air to compensate her rapid heartbeats while the pupils in her eyes grew 3 sizes larger. Stress and exhaustion became a distant memory. Her mind was more awake than it was before but took a considerable strain for her old age. It took much out of her to control her breathing and at the same time calm the rapids coursing in her veins.

The fact that she was still standing was proof enough for Mateus. Without saying a word, he offered her his arm. Ripping off the bandage over his vein. As it was to Leslie, the drug acted fast. The change in Mateus's breathing clearly showed and with it was how lighter he began to carry himself . Suffice to say, he handled it a lot better than Leslie did though she begrudgingly admits that it was because of his youth.

"How do you feel?" Leslie asked.

"Am gonna need…mor o'dat fer laitr. Medicae." Mateus replied.

"Life is wasted on the young." Leslie sighed while reaching for a few more bottles.

"Shtay close." Mateus ordered and he marched out the door with his oxygen tank in tow over his shoulder. "Cleer!" He called from outside seconds later.

Clear or not, Leslie bothered peaked around the corners before walking out only to stop short before the bodies of the two Police Officers she knew. Shifting around their blood, Leslie knelt next to them and held both of their hands. The warmth in them was gone or anything close to human. Only cold hands that felt like clay.

"I'm sorry." Leslie whispered.

Mateus's looming shadow casted over her but Leslie didn't care. This was important for her. She was however thankful that he let her be. For now at least. As for the fallen two, the very least she could do for them was closing their empty eyes shut with the upmost care and respect.

Leslie motioned to leave but not without grabbing on the late Officer Levin's gun that was safely kept on her holster. Doctor's oath or not, Leslie knew when to put her foot down against reality. Her hospital hadnt last that long from good graces and morals alone. Leslie has yet to kill anyone nor does she desire it, but she's more than capable of scaring or incapacitating anyone with a gun.

Before she could set her hands properly on its handle, Mateus's peg-leg appeared and pinned the gun in place.

"Hand mee. Da wep'n" Mateus ordered.

"I know how to use it." Leslie retorted.

"Dat so? Naw yoo nid ta giv't to me mor." Mateus said before lifting his foot off of the weapon.

Leslie sighed again and complied by handing the pistol over with her hand on its barrel.

"You don't trust me with a gun?" Leslie asked.

"Ay do not. Trusht you. Atall." Mateus replied. His red eye glanced at Officer Jack and smashed his pistol along with the hand that held it.

"Will it kill you to try?"

"All-mosht did. Sho many taims. Nevar agen.".

"Jotting it down, I patched you up. I cleaned your bandages. I watched over you when you were comatose." Leslie counted fingers. "Not to mention I gave you medicine not long earlier. I saved your life. What more do I need to do for you to trust me?"

"Yoo try'd too. Kill mee. Erliar dan dat. Shtars dai fashter. 'For ai taik favorz."

He left Leslie there in silence. Leaving her to suffer in shame alone while he held a curiosity in his hands. The weapon twiddled in Mateus's hands. Treating it like a foreign object but also as something of reverence. His red eye changed in tone as it glazed over the weapon. As though observing it with care and paying close attention to the details on its sights, its unique mechanism, and down to the ammunition inside its magazine.

"Ammo. Bring it." Mateus ordered as he walked off down the hall. "Dis dress dos not. Carry pokets."

Mateus was a bastard. In both Leslie's eyes and thoughts it was hard to think of him as anything else. A bastard he may be but at least he was on her side. Even if he doesn't fly with the angels. Almost like a certain someone she knew all too well. What that other one never was, was a bastard to her. Although that was not something she could blame Mateus for. She DID try to kill him a few minutes ago and it would continue to haunt her for the rest of her days unless she did something about it.

Whether it was out of the selfish desire to feel good and get rid of this crippling feeling beating on her chest or saw this as a blind means of proving herself as a good person, she walked after him to right her wrongs. It was Guilt, not Self-Preservation that made her follow him. The latter was only a bonus given to whatever awaited them behind every closed door.

XXXXXXXXXX

The path Leslie led was short. Nothing more than a few turns around a couple of halls before taking a short trip down the elevator. Little did she know that each of those halls would house more savage butchery from the hands of more Infected Cultists. Worse still were what they did to the patients housed there.

The Cultists were anything but subtle. They forcefully pulled patients off their beds. Violently pushed them out the door. Punching, kicking, and berating them regardless of condition and injury. Some were even hacked and stabbed along the way. The blood spilt on the floor eased the effort of dragging them in place. No matter the offence, the destination was the same and gathered their victims in the middle of the hall. The worse came after when they vomited right into their faces or onto their gaping wounds. The disgusting display made Leslie feel bile rising up her throat.

Mateus shared her disgust and acted on it accordingly. Distracted by their quarry, the Cultists failed to notice the mummy-bandaged man limping towards them until it drew its pistol at them. The halls, along with their bodies, shuddered at the first shot that struck one of them in the neck. All heads, save for one, turned their gaze to its source in time for a second shot that dug itself in someone's throat.

XXXXXXXXXX

Clara fell to her knees with hands clasped around her neck. Around her the battle raged with deafening gunfire and booming clangs of hollow metal. Clara's own battle however was the storm she coughed while choking on the bullet lodged deep inside her windpipe.

But in the back of her mind, she knew that she was in no threat. Deacon Blackfyre's promise held true. Pain became a memory as was every feeling and sensation in her body. There was no pain. Not from the hole in her throat. Not from the red hot bullet sizzling in her throat. She was no where near death's grasp. Even now, she felt her wounds slowly close up at her fingertips. What held back any celebration however was the bullet suffocating her. She felt no pain but it did not prevent her from suffering. The bullet was still in her throat and it was giving her lime skin a shade of blue.

With a final heave, she wheezed a push and vomited on the floor. Blood and bile mixed together on the floor. Her stomach continued to empty itself on the floor until the brass bullet found itself in her mouth.

Clara's sigh of relief was short lived. What she heard next made her shudder in fear as she was met by absolute silence.

Her eyes peered behind the thin strands of her hair to a startling scene of bodies strewn around her. Yakob. Milly. Cho. Cenzo. Vic. Dev. Friends and names she knew amongst many were slumped of over on the walls and on the floor. Many seeping holes littered their bodies. Their heads were shattered. Their limbs bent. All of them lie silent and unmoving.

The bullet in her mouth slipped from her lips and fell to the floor. Flattened to a coin, it cluttered and rolled itself away to a stop when it struck a curious metal pole that planted itself in the middle of the hall. It was only when it moved did she realise what it was and who was approaching.

Tears and panic made Clara envision Mateus as a great shadow of tendrils with a gleaming red eye. Every step it made sent her blood to a frenzy until it felt as though they immolating themselves inside her veins. The pain that slumbered under her curse reawakened and forced Clara to prostate herself to hold it at bay. Slowly she began feeling the tips of her fingers again. The aches from her limbs. The familiar prickling sensation on her skim. Most curious of all and to her horror, the wound on her throat began to open once more. Unraveling itself like melting glue and paved way for the spewing bile.

The red-eyed wraith glowered over her. Clara was petrified. Barely having the will or strength to fight or defend herself. Just enough raise her head with pleading eyes. She begged for mercy but could not find the words for it. She was desperate to find her voice only for it to elude her completely.

By then it was too late. The red-eyed wraith was determined. Its club was raised above her head. The most Clara could do was give off a gargled cry before being silenced by a metal clang. Dead before touching the ground. All her thoughts and regrets were spilled all over the floor along with the rest.

XXXXXXXXXX

Leslie did not sit idly by during the chaos. She sprung to action at the same moment Mateus charged forward. But instead of throwing herself into the carnage, she instead threw herself at the hands of its victims. Her patients who suffered at the hands of the Infected.

The battle raged around her and all the while Leslie did her best to pull them out of harms way. Helping people stand up to their feet or pulling the ones who couldn't off behind cover. Namely behind an overturned vending machine. There she treated them with what little supplies she had on hand and as quickly as she could while keeping them safe from the flying debris. Many were injured and others were shaken in light of their assault. But all the same, their voices cried out with the same tune.

"It's hurts!" They wailed. "It hurts!"

"I'm burning!" They howled. "Burning me alive!"

"It's inside me!" They panicked. "Crawling under my skin!"

It was no exaggeration. Leslie's hand was pricked by the heat emanating from their brows. It felt almost surmised it as a fever but quickly saw something different. That something showed itself right in front of her. Leslie felt it from her palms wriggling while holding a patient's arm. The discovery made her recoil in surprise. A second look at it revealed a freakish sight of bulging veins with something slithering in it.

Their skin lost colour. Dehydrating to cracked tissue in a shade of yellow that paved the way for horned warts to easily tear through their flesh. Their hair fell from their rotting scalps in droves as they writhed on the floor in agony. Their bodies twisting and turning in ways Leslie knew was impossible for a normal human. All of this happened before Leslie's very eyes while theirs turned glassy red in between tears of blood. Their pain was relayed through manic screams that could almost shatter glass.

"What the hell's going on?" Leslie asked just as she felt a massive shadow behind her.

"Dey'r infec-ted." Mateus answered. "Dey duwnt 'av long."

Leslie turned to him in shock. His short fight took a toll on the young man. His once pristine bandages were now strained and torn with many strands billowing in the wind. The blood that soaked deep in those folds added a more grisly appearance to his already intimidating state.

"W-what can we do for them?" Leslie dissuaded and changed the attention back to her suffering patients.

"Wot ve can." Mateus replied and pulled grabbed a fresh magazine from Leslie's pocket. Leslie didn't didn't think twice to know what he intended.

"No!" Leslie cried as she grabbed Mateus's wrist. "You cant do this!"

"I can. 'nd I musht!" Mateus pressed.

"There has to be another way!" Leslie gripped his arm tighter but it would not budge an inch away.

"Diz iz d'onlee vay. Deir laivsh 'r forfit. It'sh too late fer dem now.

If she was unable to stop the trigger, Leslie decided that she can stop the bullet. Desperation threw her caution to the wind and placed herself right in front of the gun. Between her patients and Mateus. Leslie was never a betting woman, but she hoped that her cards were on the right play.

"I wont let you kill them!" Leslie exclaimed defiantly.

"It'sh not up t'yoo." Mateus replied indifferently. His tone was unmoved as the pistol that was still trained at Leslie's chest.

"But you do?" Leslie challenged. "Who gave you the right over their lives! And they need all the help we can give them to keep it! You have no right to kill them!"

Leslie expected a response but it wasn't anything she expected. Something with what she said in her tirade must have struck Mateus. Enough of a slight to send the young man reeling back if only for a moment. A pause in his step. Leslie almost blinked and almost missed spotting his red eye blink in a split second only to glow menacingly bright as if glowering at her.

The fresh breath of relief took to Leslie's face when she saw Mateus holstering his gun. That same breath was squeezed out of her when he clasped his hand around her neck. The floor sunk beneath her feet as she was lifted off the ground. The hand grasping at her collar felt as cold as clay. Refusing to budge no matter how hard she tried to pry it open. Being so close to Mateus's face, she saw the bandages tear open from inside his respirator and gave way to his dry parched lips.

"I. AM. D'EMPRAHS WORD! CIVILIAN." Mateus proclaimed loudly. "I! 'AVE!. EVERY RIGHT! OVER ALL IN! HIS! WILL! HIS LAWS! AND THE ONLY FING! I 'AVE NO RIGHT TO! Is letting them live."

Leslie was struck silent by his tirade. Nevertheless she stood her ground. Even as her feet dangled inches above the floor, he mind was made up. She did not give in because she knew in every fibre of her being that she was in the right.

"A life is a life." Leslie spoke.

A part of her surmised that these words might just be her last. Leslie agreed that it was. These were fitting last words if things didn't go her way. By some miracle, it turned out it did.

"So be it." Mateus said and released her back to her feet.

This was a cause for celebration to Leslie. The thought of saving her patients more so over her victory over Mateus. But that came to a screeching halt when she noticed that something amiss. The deathly silence. Enough to make her skin turn pale as a ghost.

The hallway was eerily quiet. Only her heartbeat made the only hint of noise to her ears. Thoughts and eyes immediately flew to her patients only to find them lying still on the cold white floors behind her. Seeing them all like that sapped the strength out of her and reminded her of her age that weighed her down along with her heart. Despair took her like hooks wrenching at her chest as she berated herself of her failure for not doing enough.

But her patients were not dead. At least not entirely. What hope Leslie had for their recovery was quickly shattered and what had become of them made her wished that they were. Her elation transformed into agonised horror just as her once dead patients transformed into twisted undead wretches. Plague zombies rose from the floor like weeds.

The mob of rotting corpses of boils and sores that moaned haunting tunes of pain. Disproportionate limbs, bloated from the swelling, swayed lazily at every step. Their mouths gaped open to a grotesque display of rotting teeth on black tarred gums and worm festered tongues that whipped out like tentacles. Thick stomach acid melted through their bloated stomachs that spilled their guts hanging on the floor.

The worse of the lot was a pregnant woman. Her deformed infant tore out of her bulging belly with scaled skin and blank-white eyes. Its first breath of the world was a blood curdling cry as it reached out with webbed fingers.

There was no grace in their steps. Only stiff joints and clumsy movements. Not a hint of life sparked in their eyes. Only shambling wretches with an eternal hunger that dragged themselves to the only two morsels worth eating within their reach. Before they could do any of that however, the zombies stopped their march a mere few feet away from them.

It was as though an invisible wall was barring their way. Stopping them from daring another step. They were within reach from their succulent prey yet they could do was hiss and snap at Leslie and Mateus like the starved animals they were. Or better yet, like animals brought to heel. Terrified as she was, the same could not be said when she saw Mateus. The boy was not surprised of the outcome in any way. Nor was he moved by the horrors appearing in front of him. One could also wonder if he expected all of this to play out to his tune.

"Look at yor folly, Medicae." Mateus hissed at Leslie's while the latter stood petrified. "Look upon wot you 'ave wrought. Your naivety damned dem to a fate worse than death."

Mateus pushed Leslie down and began shot at the zombies. The latter bunched themselves nicely that it helped spared him precious ammunition. A single shot at that close range easily tore through their ranks that sent 3 or 4 of the shambling cannibals collapsing like dominoes. A handful more shots later and that side of the corridor were easily and quickly cleared.

The zombies behind them were in the same state but Mateus gave them a different ending. He scattered them like flies with one heavy swing from his oxygen tank. The heads of the pair on the right most side exploded after taking the brunt of the blow. The ones next to them either had their necks snapped in two, their jaws ripped off, teeth shooting out from their gums, or their heads squashed like ripe fruit with their eyes popping out from their sockets.

All the same, they flew to a crash on the wall and on each other. Piling atop themselves like modern art before collapsing all the same. The handful that remained and upright followed suite shortly. Mateus made sure that they join the rest under the sound of bells clanging.

"Dis's d'enemy we face." Mateus said atop a mountain of carnage. "Dey take many victims. D'only way to save them. Is to spare dem of deir suffering. Dey are a plague. We are da cure."

Shattered dead and bloodied corpses were added to the piles by the time the smoke cleared. A few still had fingers curling aimlessly towards nowhere. Fewer still had wide blinking eyes. Eyes that looked straight at Leslie with pleading eyes. Leslie turned away from all of this. Her attention was aimed elsewhere. Her eyes instead stared warily straight at Mateus.

It was the third time that evening she experienced that familiar coiling and suffocating sensation. At first she thought that it was simply Mateus's intimidating presence. A spine chilling aura not unlike the ones given by killers or even Bruce as the Batman. But at the same time it was not. None of what she felt from Mateus felt normal to her. The miasma fear he emitted was unlike anything she has knew or could describe before. All that she could say about it was that it felt wrong. Not evil in a sense. Just a great unknown.

Three times Leslie felt it chill her bones. Three times she felt it disappear like a light switch turning off. Matteus had some control over it. Almost like a power. Whats more was that Leslie saw that it did more than scare his enemies. It had a profound effect on the Infected and the Zombies. Namely halting their ability to regenerate.

It was here that a realisation dawned on her. Too much of her attention was spent asking the wrong questions. Curious as it was, nothing about this evening was about this otherworldly boy. It was about this mysterious outbreak besieging her hospital. A mystery that could only be unlocked by the very boy whose shadow she treaded behind.

"This infection. This outbreak." Leslie said. "You know about this. You've seen this before."

"Yes." Mateus answered. "Many times."

"What do you know about it?" Leslie asked enthusiastically.

"Enuff."

"Such as?" Leslie probed.

"How to shtop it. Mainly."

"How do you plan on doing that?"

"Aiming fer da head."

The answer did not sit well for Leslie. Not one bit. As cruel as the world could be and given her decades spent witnessing the grimness of Gotham's seedy underbelly, Lelsie remains a staunch pacifist. Believing herself as a shimmer of hope to the darkness that was in Mankind's hearts.

"I cant accept that. There has to be another way. Is there a cure to this disease? A treatment to this madness?"

"Der is."

"What is it?" Leslie brightened.

"This." Mateus motioned to his bloodied oxygen tank. "And faith. Der ish no saving dhem. Dey are tainted. Only death will free dem."

"Tainted? Tainted with what?"

"Dat's Classified." Matteus growled at the question.

"Where is it all coming from then?"

"Classified."

"Hang your bullshit protocols!" Leslie fumed. Having had enough of his vague and blunt answers. "Lives are at risk! People are dying!" She slammed her hand on the wall to underline her point.

"People die everyday." Mateus shot back with calm indifference. He did however stop and turned to her to say, "As someone of your profeshun and age, I am surprised dat you've yet to get used to dat."

"I don't know how you treat your kind at your planet," Leslie stamped. "but we treat ours here like actual fucking people."

"Dat makes two of us. In a way." Matteus said and motioned to the corpses they were walking past. "Dese sold deir humanity. Dey lost deir right to be 'people'. You cant treat dem your ways, Medicae. You can only treat dem wid mine."

"Is it all riddles with you, boy?" Leslie fumed. "Cant you give me a straight damned answer instead of going around every question I goddamn ask you?"

"Dats all yool be getting', Medicae. Yoo are in no position. No authority to know more than yoo already do. Dat's being generous. Consider dis awer compromize. I wont speak another word more of it."

The two came to a stop at the elevators. Three intersecting halls surrounded them. All three lay empty yet cluttered by discarded debris and made ominous by flickering lights.

Turning back, Leslie found Mateus staring at the elevator's buttons. Paying two simple buttons a moment's pause before all else. Almost as of dissecting the mechanism and intricacies behind the two keys. Leslie was close to push the buttons herself when Mateus did it himself and pressed the right button that would bring them to the lower floors.

"Da truth yoo want." Mateus said. "Is a truth that will destroy you. Destroy how yoo see yur world."

"I'm a Gothamite, young man." Leslie scoffed. "We eat Nightmares like this for breakfast."

"Yer about ta lose dat appetite 'fore dis day ends, Medicae." Matteus snidely remarked.

The elevator's arrival was not greeted by fanfare nor was it welcoming. Only loud rumblings heralded its approach until it came to a booming stop. It welcomed them under the symphony of rusted clicking gears and the whining screech of its yellowing doors. Once inside the two were greeted by a sputtering lamp hanging lazily above their heads. Leslie found Mateus blankly staring at it with her before turning to her for the obvious question.

"This is government's doing." Leslie sighed. "Tax payer's money never finds its way here. Its things like this that makes me want to move to Canada."

"Unsurprising." Mateus grunted.

The elevator carriage rumbled to life at the press of a button. Its rusted gears groaned as it slowly pushed its old grinding doors. Another ear-piercing screech added to the cacophony of noise when it appeared from the end of all three halls. A group of hellish infected barrelled towards them amidst startling war cries. Smashing and wrecking everything in their wake like a storm.

A shambling mob of disfigured and half-naked zombies followed close behind them. Dragging their feet with arms outstretched like puppets being pulled by strings. The pitiful creatures moaned solemnly in their march or screamed in painful agony.

"They found us!" Leslie cried. Desperately pressing the elevator's CLOSE button repeatedly. "Never thought this damned thing will be the death of me. It brought every infected of this floor to us."

"Saved me da trouble!" Mateus spoke with unmistaken glee.

The elevators doors were stopped short as he forcefully wrenched them wide open. and confidently stepped out into the halls. His bloodied iron oxygen tank rested readily over his right shoulder as he stepped put of the carriage. His hand was securely tied onto the tank's valve by the same bandages he tore from his forearm.

"HERETICS! TRAITORS! DEMON SPAWNS!" Mateus bellowed at them with a thunderous voice that shook walls around him. "IN DA D'GOD EMPRAH's NAME!" Mateus swung his iron club at the corner of a wall and turned a large part of it to splinters. "I SENTENSH YOU ALL! TO DEATH!"

His oxygen tank hummed in the air as it wound up for a swing at the first Infected who came close. A resounding clang erupted on impact as it forced the infected to bow penitently with a literal more open head. A similar fate to the rest as a chorus as the entire floor rang a choir of bells. Infected and zombies alike were scattered like leaves only to crash onto walls or among their comrades. Confusion sowed in their ranks amidst the chaos. Disorienting the mob enough for the wind up of the next swing.

From inside the elevator's carriage, Leslie watched the boy tear through the ranks with shock and awe. Watching Mateus's fight made her notice some parallels with how heroes like Bruce fights. Like Bruce, there was meticulous calculations behind Mateus's every move. Using the narrow corridors to his advantage and preventing anything from surrounding him. His towering height and long oxygen tank gave him a much longer reach than any hand or weapon in the Infected's arsenal. Barely anyone got close to him. Those that did ended up facing either the wrong end of an oxygen tank or had their faces rearranged by Mateus's casted cement fist.

Leslie also saw how Mateus weaponised fear not unlike how Bruce uses the Batman against their foes. The towering build. Fearsome attire. Brazen unblinking eyes. Mateus checked all the marks and it did wonders for him. The Infected hesitated their swings or stopped short to blink when facing him. Zombies stopped in their tracks and took a step back as Mateus stepped forward. Clumping themselves to a corner and pinning the infected between them in place. All of which were openings that Mateus exploited and overpower them despite being clearly outnumbered.

All similarities ended there. Bruce had no love for his enemies but he would never cross the line of killing them. Mateus on the other hand hated them to near mania. His bellowing roars and string of hateful curses were unmistakably heard above the chaos. Shouting every time he splattered heads, shattered limbs, and sent them flying like broken rag dolls in all directions. Each fell still with a shattered head.

He held nothing back behind every blow. Every kill. Every swing erupted with an explosion of gore. Every punch left craters on what were once their faces or sent them vomiting their innards while bleeding inside. Even going as far as to throw and crash them into the dry partition walls. Cries of mercy fell to his deaf ears. Especially the ones writhing on the ground. Raised hands did little to soften the killing blows and only prolonged their anguish with their splintered arms. What Leslie saw before her now was nothing short of a massacre.

"Come here!" A slobbering voice appeared next to her.

Distracted by the brutal scene, a leathery hand pulled Leslie by the collar out of the elevator carriage. The foul stench of Infected's yellow tarred mouth could knock Leslie out cold faster than any blow to the head. Leslie quickly snapped out of it when the man threw her to the ground.

"Not too long in this world, Gramma!" The Infected man mocked. His knee pinned Leslie down with a knee Pressing heavily on her chest while dangerously hovered a wooden stake over her head. "Lemme punch your ticket!"

Leslie's breath was stifled. Her mind raced in panic. Her sight was marred by the Infected man's saliva dripping on her face and only saw a silhouette of the man's weapon coming down at her. It took a miracle for Leslie to catch the blow and two hands to stop it on its tracks at the last second. Her glasses were the only casualty as the wooden stake's serrated point cut deep into the glass. A mere few centimetres away from one of Leslie's eyes.

"Gyah!" Leslie cried and forced her thumb into the Infected man's eye.

Blood and slime pooled out from the man's sockets. Sticking itself onto her hands like tar. Nonetheless, Leslie pressed it harder until she finally pushed the man off of her.

"AGH! FUCKING BITCH!" The Infected man shouted in alarm. Wasting his time with this allowed Leslie to send him tumbling to a wall with a heavy kick.

His wooden stake slipped his hand, cluttered on the floor, and found itself in Leslie's outstretched hands. Furious, the infected man leapt at her with a manic yell. Leslie barely had time or moment to think but she managed to impale the man in the chest when he threw himself at her. The wooden stake pressed itself on Leslie for the weight but that pales in comparison to the man in the other end. The Infected man was pierced deep in the center of his chest. Cutting its way right through his heart and everything else behind it.

An injury that severe made death an absolute but the Infected man showed none of its symptoms. He did not slump over or swayed still but instead blinked and recoiled. Throwing himself backwards in surprise with no sign of pain etched on his face. Leslie slipped her grip on the wooden stake and there it remained lodged into the man's chest. He pulled himself up like a drunkard with rubber legs in a boneless acrobatic display until he got back to his feet.

"Would ya look at that." The Infected man said groggily out at his predicament in amusement.

His dirty nailed finger ran up and down the piece of wood sticking out of his body. In a grotesque display, he slowly pulled his weapon out of his body. Blood spurted out of his chest at every tug until the weapon was freed with much of it covered in black tar-like slime.

"Luckiest day of me life." The Infected said with the ugliest smile. "Cant same the same for you, bitch."

A gunshot rung on the man's first step. His wooden stake was broken in two and fell from his hands along with several fingers. Two more gunshots rang and struck his side before he got a chance to look at his missing digits. It was not enough to take him down but the ones that shattered his knees did and it left him leaning on the wall.

The hallways echoed with the sounds of slow hobbling footsteps. Mateus emerged from the shadows with a smoking gun and a grizzled appearance that revealed the monster hiding beneath the bandages. Every inch of his once white linens were soaked in blood that continued to drip from the ends of his fingertips. His red glowing eye finally matched the rest of his body and added to it as the light it emitted gave the rest an eerie crimson glow.

"And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all." Leslie said. Recalling the demented works of Edgar Allan Poe's most morbid works. She figured it best described the morbid scene and the grim bodied man before her.

Mateus has become death. A fact made testament from the mountains of dead bodies he left in his wake. Death literally followed his every step as streams of blood followed him like a shadow behind him. His oxygen tank dragged behind him. The hollow slab of metal was now dented and battered on all sides. Bits of teeth and bone found their way stuck between the cracks of the metal. Some even had strands of human tissue hanging from it.

He stopped right in front of Leslie's wounded attacker who was propped up by the wall. Both men stared at each other with blank eyes. Both men raised a hand slowly. One held an open palm. The other held a gun. The shot that followed sent both the palm and the man's head falling limp with a sizzling hole tearing through both.

"Lets go." Mateus said to Leslie from over his shoulder as he passed by her.

Exhaustion was declared by his posture that made him appear smaller in size than he was before. His head slumped forward. His shoulders drooped from the weight of his arms. His legs were being half dragged along the marble floor. Even tripping a few times between every step.

By the time she closed the elevator's doors, Leslie found Mateus leaning heavily on the wall. She had forgotten that the boy was still not at his peak. His old wounds were never fully healed. That and the new ones he's earned in his last fight had put a considerable strain it had in his body. His oxygen mask was stained by his own blood from his bouts with cough.

"Are you all right?" Leslie asked.

"Adrenaline. Now." Mateus instead ordered.

"I dont think thats advisable." Leslie held on her breast pocket where she kept the syringes. "Your body is at its limit and taking more would risk overdose or shut down your heart."

"I can take it, Medicae. I dont have much of a heart left

"Irrelevant!" Mateus barked. "Give me wat i need. I can take it. Der're more uv dem downstairs."

"How'd you reckon that?" She asked. Hoping that he was joking.

"I can see them." Mateus pointed at his red eye. "I see dem clear as day. Been looking at dem fer a while now. Even as dey huddle in shadows. D'filths multiply wid yer dead. Dey took d'entire floor below."

"The morgue." Leslie said in horror. "The hospital has 4 and each are now packed with corpses. If those people get their hands on them. Thats enough zombies to start a massive outbreak."

"Not if i 'ave anyfing t'say about it." Mateus grunted. Gripping his side tight. "But i am not in d'best condition. As you know well, Medicae. Nor do i have d'proper tools. Dats wer you commin. An' y'can start by givin' me wot i need."

With little other choice, Leslie obeyed. She administered Mateus another heavy dose of adrenaline into his system. The effects were the same as before and without incident. Mateus was refreshed and was able to lift his head up again. His breathing return to normal while his body became much lighter in stance to the point that he could stand on his feet again.

"Last one." Leslie said when she gave him a magazine for his pistol. "Will it be enough?"

"It will have t'do." Mateus replied.

There was no end to this evening's surprises but the next one took the cake. After reloading the weapon, Mateus offered it to Leslie by the grip.

"Take it." He said.

"What?" Leslie asked in surprise. Not knowing how to react to the gesture. "Are you sure?"

"Its in front o'you. Is it not?" Mateus assured and tossed the gun at Leslie. "I meant what i said. I cant do this without you."

"So does that mean you trust me now?" Leslie raised a brow.

"Tha's pushin it far." Mateus coughed up a chuckle. "Dis's a gamble. I've seen you handle yourself well. That stubber in yer hands tips d'odds t'our favor."

"What's the plan?" Leslie asked.

"Wat room are my weapons kept?" Mateus asked in turn.

"The storage room is the door on the left down the end of the hall." Leslie carefully recalled. "Right past the morgue."

"Right past all of them. Stay close. Kill d'ones who get past me." Mateus said and slammed the button.

The elevator rumbled to life and began its slow descent towards the basement.

Leslie looked at the gun that was placed on her hands. Contrary to being a doctor and her Hippocratic Oarh, she knew how to use one. She even has a license to carry one which she does in her purse that she left in her office. A girl living in a place like Gotham needs something handy while walking down its streets. The decades that passed however, no matter how dire, not once has she ever pulled a trigger on anyone. The issue was not of her age nor her ability to do it but the question her Will to take a life.

"Nun ov'em are truly alive, Medicae." Mateus spoke as if he read what was plagued Lelsie's mind. "Do not hesitate. Do not doubt. Put dem out uv der mizery. 'Fore dey take you outta yours."

The elevator screeched to a halt. Their carriage shuddered on its final stop. The doors to hell slowly creaked open. No doubt the sounds would attract every lost soul in the basement to them.

"Know no fear." Mateus said as he raised his oxygen tank over his shoulder. "And follow my every command."

A wide hallway of doors was opened before them. Rows of Flourescent lights swayed above their heads. Debris from gurneys and furniture littered about. All looked empty at first glance but hundreds of footprints were quickly seen marring the once polished white tiles.

The familiar chorale of croaks and groans heralded their approach. A dozen hands with bony fingers emerged from all the doors as endless throngs of naked plague zombies filled the entire halls. All of them were rudely awakened from their slumber. All of them walk and stumble in a perverted imitation of life from unholy spells

The purveyors of the plague, the Infected men and women in tattered clothing and weapons, took the helm of the macabre parade. Leslie could barely stomache to look at them. Each one was more grotesque than the last. Some lost the last vestiges of their humanity and only stood before them as a shadow of what they once were. Lost bodies and minds that were beyond saving.

Numbers were on their side but not one dared take the first step. There was fear in their eyes. They instead whispered to each other with clicks and hushed chatter. A few of which reached Leslie's ears.

"Is that him? The one the prophet said?" They asked each other.

"It is! I am sure of it! I know that eye anywhere!" One affirmed.

"The Red Wraith!" They hissed among themselves. "Tis the Red Wraith! Its him!"

"I don't like the looks of him. I don't like how he smells. I don't like seeing him!" Another panicked.

"He has appeared! He has come! Like how the prophet predicted!" They cried.

"AnD as tHe prOphET pRediCTed! So sHaLl wE pREvAil!" A booming and gravelly voice that gargled stones reverberated around them.

The voice silenced hall. All eyes turned to the very rear of the hall. That included Leslie's as well as Mateus by her guess. Apart for his breathing was no change in the boy's posture the entire time.

There was movement among the zombies and the infected. All of them parted ways for two curious figures to tread with a form of reverence. Bowing profusely to the 2 hooded creatures who appeared to have stolen all the air in the room. Both were tall and stood over all the heads in the hall. Their forms were forboding and unlike all the other Infected were covered from head to toe in long filthy and green robes.

Both figures stood at the head of the procession. Both opened their wretched mouths to a hollow dry voice.

"ALaS! We haVe bEEn AnSwERed. ReJoICe! FoR ouR rEVenGe is niGh! GlORy! FoR oUr falLeN kiN in tHe eMbRAce of oUR gOd! PrEPaRe tHySElvEs! ThE dEAth of ThE Red-EyED WrAItH shALl be BY Our haNd!"

A piercing sound of metal striking stone silenced any attempt for the infected to cheer. Enough to silence even the two hooded figures who prepped to say more. All eyes fell on Mateus across the hall. The young man stood tall around a small crater of broken tiles in front of the elevator. His oxygen tank was propped upright next to him with half an inch of it buried in the floor. The way his hand was gripping tightly on the metal and the way his seething deep breath in his respirator hinted at the anger boiling underneath those bloodied bandages.

"I would like t'see you try!" Mateus barked at the crowds. Strands of his blooded bandages fluttered at them.

The silence that followed was better felt that the ones uttered by the two hooded figures before. The silence made Mateus's breath sound more prevalent as well as his metal footsteps that echoed after his every step. The tension along with a familiar cold chill began to rise down the hall.

Leslie knew well enough what it was and instinctively moved back to avoid the miasma of terror Mateus was permeating. She could only get so far from the space inside the elevator and took the brunt of the petrifying aura. Familiar as she was to its suffocating embrace, it remained a sensation she despised and did not want to keep experiencing.

This curious yet crippling miasma slowly released its grip on Leslie. It did not disappear like the last time however. The hairs on her skin still shot themselves straight in alarm while some of her muscles continued to be unresponsive and tense. But at the very least she could move somewhat and breath easier. But curiously enough it coinsided with Mateus's every step. It was here that Leslie realised that whatever power Mateus had, there was a limit to it. No different from a radio signal that either strengthens or weakens at a given signal.

By the time Mateus stood before the horde of Infected, the miasma had all but left Leslie's system. The horde on the other hand took the very brunt of it. Already the zombies were being pushed back along with most of the Infected. Only a handful their ground but they struggled to keep it that way or maintain their sanity before Mateus's fearsome presence.

The same cant be said for the hooded ones however. The pair seemed to be unaffected and unmoved by Mateus's strange power. Then again, the two could hide a lot inside their heavy robes.

"I am not surprised. Dat dis's all what your pig sty of a god could muster." Mateus mocked. "Yer d'kind o'lot he'd lure fer'is shit covered cause. Cowards. Idiots. Failures. You say such words but who among you. Scum. Have d'guts to act on it? Who among ye want ders spilled on d'floor?! Allow me to teach you. Filth. To kneel in the Emperor's presence."

Mateus pointed at the first hooded man on the left with his weapon as he approached.

"I'll start with you!" Mateus pointed at the first hooded man.

With both hands, he wound up for a swing over his head. With a bellowing roar he sent it down for the hooded man's head like a hammer to a nail. It would have ended no different than all the rest until man's raised palm that caught caught brunt of the blow. The booming clang cracked the tiles beneath their feet. The bones of his fingers snapped out of place along with a bone that stuck itself out of his arm amidst a crackle of popping veins. The palm held firm despite the damage it took on its arm. Going as far as to have a few fingers dent the slab of metal. Nonetheless, the hooded man kept the oxygen tank at bay.

"YoU faCe no PawN hErE, bOy." The first hooded man spoke. "We aRe AcOLytEs of ThE PrOpheT BLackFyRe. THe cHosEN to SprEAd hiS wiLL aNd ouR LORD'S giFt. OuR mIgHt caNNoT bE mAtCHed. Our WilL is uNteNaBLe. YoU ArE a GnaT. FaCiNG OfF aGaINst An oX!"

With unnatural strength, the first hooded man shoved Mateus's weapon aside like a toy. A hard kick knocked the wind from Mateus's chest that sent him flying backwards and collapse on his knees. A bout of violent coughs spilled more blood that dripped out of his oxygen mask. All the while a hand held tight on his broken ribs. Frustrated, he punched the floor hard and scattered pieces of tiles. No doubt glaring daggers at the two men the entire time.

All the while the Acolytes spoke and acted on the situation indifferently. Speaking to each other as if it they were the only ones in the room. Treating Mateus as a passing nuisance.

"ThIS oNe IS inTRiGuiNg. IS hE noT brOThEr?" The first Acolyte asked to the other while staring absent mindedlt his shattered hand like it was nothing more than a pinprick "My wOUnDs aRE noT hEAliNg. OdD."

"IndEEd iT iS, brOTher. NO DouBt HE! hAs sOmetHiNG tO do wiTh it." The second Acolyte replied. "ThE veRy sIGhT oF hIm Is EnOUgH maKes Me sHIvEr."

"He iS teNAciOus. mOst UnlikE a hErO. TheRe is InteNT tO KiLL. He Is AlSo StroNG." The first Acolyte observed. His face glanced at hus shattered arm and closed it to a fist. "bUt NoT StrONG EnoUgH aGaINst uS."

"We ArE FiNiShED hERe." The second one reminded. "We HaVe gATHeReD enOUgH. ThE PrOpHET eXpECtS uS. WiTh tHe OtherS. FiniSh thIS. TheN LeT Us Be on oUR wAy."

"GLadLeY."

The first Acolyte, a large beast of a man, approached him while rolling his sleeve over his wounded arm like a makeshift turniquet. His long robes glided behind him like wings at his every barefoot step.

"i HeaRD Of YoUR eXplOIts in UnDeRWorlD. I mUSt sAy tHaT i Was inTrIgUEd." The man said. "AlrEADy. yOU mADe a NaMe For yOUrself. imMorTaliZed aS a BoOgEYman neXt tO ThE BaT. ThE ReD eYEd WrAIth. WHISpERed IN FeAr."

The Acolyte looked down on Mateus, who remained kneeling on the ground below him.

"BuT ThiS EnCOuntEr leFt mE DiSApPoInTED."

"I relish. Disappointing. Filthy. Heretics." Mateus rasped in between stifled breaths.

"Any lAst wORds, BaSTaRd?" The Acolyte asked.

"Plenty. Already. But not to you." Mateus croaked in between hoarse chuckles. "You lot though. You are gonna. Need it more."

Leslie watched the unfolding scene in alarm from behind her hiding spot. The large hooded man grabbed hold Mateus by the neck and lifted him high in the air. Oxygen tank and all with one hand. Mateus did no move to resist. His arms hung limp from his shoulders.

There was a need for her to act and so she did. Gun in hand, she peaked around her cover trained her sights on the hooded man. There was no doubt in her mind that her bullets would not kill the monster. She however knew that any distraction or injury she could bring to the table might help Mateus in any way.

With a deep breath, Leslie pulled the trigger but found herself unable to. Her mind was clouded. Held back by her morals and her oaths towards life. Much as she tells herself to do it, she was unable to pull the trigger. As much as she tried, Leslie lamented. She could not find herself to take a life.

Mateus had other plans in mind. With the broken tiles in hand, he crammed the dust and rubble onto the Acolyte's face and was freed from his hold. Freed from his grip and facing a disoriented foe. Mateus found and took the opportunity to counterattack. The oxygen tank clanged against the hooded man's head and sent the man kneeling with a broken neck.

Disoriented and reeling, the Acolyte's ears rang bells as the world swayed around him. Stars danced above his head while everything around him turned red and black. His neck swayed from his shoulders while blood, bile, and flesh spilled out from the man's enclosed hood.

Any person would have died from injuries like this, but this Acolyte was no were near close to death. His fingers did more than twitch around. As if bound by a mind of its own, his hands blindly crawled its way around for his head. Groping around in a vain and slow attempt to reattach it back to his neck.

Mateus did not give him that chance. Instead he used this a chance to swing his iron club again for another blow. A thick cloud of red mist followed after the loud hollow clang. By the time the mist cleared, the hooded man's head dissapeared from its shoulders. Decapitated. Torn from its neck and shattered by steel, the hooded man's broken head was shot out like a bullet and struck a few zombies on impact. Exploding like a primed grenade that scattered bits of bone like shrapnel.

"No. Last words then?" Mateus tipped his oxygen mask to spit at the corpse. He then faced the mob and shouted at them with all the air his lungs could muster. "WHO'S! NEXT!"

Mateus's words were loud and his challenge was powerful that it shook the entire floor but not as much as the second hooded man who stood aghast at what had just transpired. His air of authority and control was shattered the moment his fellow acolyte's head did the same. He was left dumbfounded by what had seen.

"NO!" The remaining hooded man cried out. Sputtering madness and blight from his lips. "ImPosSiBLe! iT caNNoT be! WE! wE WeRE FaitHful! Yet hE. He. he LiEs DeAD! The PrOPhEt's proMISe—"

"Are empty. And are lies." Mateus mocked. "All ya dark gods will offer. You're all fools t'believe it."

Mateus kicked the decapitated corpse aside in full view of the cultists.

"Now. You pay d'price."

"KILL HIM!" The hooded man screeched at the top of his lungs. "TEAR! HIM! APART! IN NURGLES NAME!"

The eyes of every damned soul in that hall glew with a faint ethereal light. Powered by the hellish whispers chanted by the hooded man that both strengthened his servants and hardened their wills. The Infected Cultists charged past the hooded man amidst cries and howls. Their weapons were bared. Their faces were fierce. But their eyes betrayed them for it remained wide and fearful. The zombies followed close and shambled from behind amidst haunting moans.

Mateus stood aside and grabbed hold one of the discarded gurneys with his free hand. With a great heave and a loud yell, he sent the heavy gurney to the crowd. The solid steel bed fell upon every Infected cultist that came its way with a booming crash as it kept rolling down the breadth of hall. Men and women alike were thrown back left and right or splattering a few along the way while scattering the rest.

The gurney barrelled its way towards the hooded man but was sliced in half with a quick draw of his fire axe. The pieces of what's left of the gurney kept its moment and crashed onto many of the zombies behind him. Even go as far as to pin one with it when it came to a thunderous stop inside the a sizeable hole it made on the wall.

Whether it was by luck or by design, the spell woven onto the zombies and Infected Cultists became undone. Preventing his own bodily harm broke his concentration and left his forces weakened. The glimmer in their eyes and the strength coursing in their bodies had all but disappeared. Leaving them all vulnerable to Mateus's counterattack

"Medicae! Now!" Mateus yelled the moment he threw the heavy gurney before bolting to a run.

"Right!" Leslie cried and ran as fast as her legs could take her.

The Infected Cultists and zombies were in complete disarray. All of them were heavily reeling from Mateus's first attack. Confusion sowed deep in their ranks as many of their number fell flat on the ground or were piled atop each other from the onslaught. Getting back up to ones feet became a difficult endeavour amidst the chaos thus allowed Mateus and Leslie to run past.

A handful of Cultists were lucky or fast enough to stay on their feet. Leslie did her best to stay close and avoid them. Mere Inches away from their reach. Mateus however saw this as an opportunity. Whether it was a wise attempts to thin their numbers or fell to just him falling to his manic desires, Mateus fell on them like a bolt of lightning.

"FOR THE EMPEROR!" Mateus cried out as he charged onto the breach.

Anything that stood down that hall was struck down without prejudice as he zigzagged. Hit after solid hit sent bodies flying onto each other or crumbling to the ground. Heads were rammed through walls or grinded their faces off along the hard pavement. Bones were snapped and shattered after every blow.

"KEEP GOING, MEDICAE!" Mateus ordered Leslie over his shoulder. "HEAD FO—"

"Look out!" Lelsie cut him short with a frantic warning and pointed her gun at the 3 Cultists baring down on Mateus.

The boy caught on before she could pull the trigger. He made weapon sing when it swung at the two Cultists. The third much larger one plunged his knife down for Mateus's head but the latter caught it mid-air before it could do the deed. An iron grip shattered the Cultist's wrist that forced the man to drop his knife. In one expert and fluid motion, Mateus released his hold on the wrist to catch the knife before sliding it deep into the Cultists's neck. Blink and you would have missed it. Leslie would preferred it if she had.

By the time Leslie did, Mateus tossed the oversized deadweight forward with a loud heave onto the Acolyte who stood in the middle of it all. The corpse careened towards him in the air only for its fall to be cut short by a one hand swing his axe. A blow so strong that the axe cut through both the leather skinned corpse and the concrete below it.

Mateus dug the axe's blade deeper under the heel of his peg leg. Pinning it it place for a winding strike aimed for the Acolyte's head. The speed of the Acolyte's axe hand however matched the other as the man easily parried off the attack. Unperturbed, Mateus kept up the momentum and threw himself at the Acolyte. Tackling the Cultist to the ground with a flurry of punches and pinning the man down under the weight of the oxygen tank.

"GO!" Mateus barked at Leslie before landing another punch.

Leslie didn't think twice and ran past the two fighting men. Braving the epicentre of Mateus's mind flaying miasma through her sheer Will and strong desire to survive. Though with great effort. That same power helped pave a clear path for her almost bereft of enemies as many either retreated or were frozen in place in fear. But past that invisible mark, Leslie was still forced dodging hostiles barring her way. She twirled and ducked away from the hostiles in her way. Some of which easy enough to be shoved aside or small enough to be bolted through.

A turn around the bend brought her in front of the storage room's locked door. Panic and stress made it difficult to dig her pockets for the key. Haste sent spare change and ball-pens cluttering on the floor before she could get her hands on the key. Trembling hands took her a few tries to fit it to the lock but she gave off the biggest sigh of relief in her life when the door unlocked.

"Yes!" Leslie elated and pushed herself through the door.

Lights flickered to long aisles of lockers and racks. Each were filled to the brim with items and tools necessary for all hospital needs. Welcome as it was, Leslie was hesitant to go further. She scanned the room with her pistol on hand and was satisfied to find nothing moving inside. That said, she went back out for Mateus only to find him flat on the ground. Struggling from the green eyed Cultists bearing down at him from all sides. All the while the Acolyte loomed over him with a wide grin under his hood.

"Mateus!" Leslie cried out. Her voice was drowned out by the many voices crying for Mateus's head.

Thinking quickly, her eyes turned to the ceiling lamps hanging above them. Gun in hand, Leslie trained those to her sights. Her mind was clear enough that thankfully made her pull the trigger. Sparks shot out off the lamps and snuffed out the light. Glass and debris fell on the cultists. Added with the thunderous gunfire, distracted them long enough for Mateus to get back on their feet. All the while waving his oxygen tank wildly at anything that got close.

"Let's go!" Lelsie beckoned.

Mateus thankfully saw her amidst the chaos. Nodding back, he hobbled towards her at the head of an unruly mob. A dozen hands held him back but he pulled through. He persisted. Turning to them only for a wide swing that scattered their numbers. The second swing was caught by the Acolyte who followed it with a solid punch to the face.

That fist shattered Mateus's oxygen mask pieces but the boy admirably stayed on his feet. Another punch struck Mateus in the forehead and sent the boy flying to the floor in front of Lelsie. The aftermath however showed the Acolyte's hand shattered to pieces.

"EnOuGH oF tHis!" The Acolyte tore off his robes and revealed the monster hiding within.

He was a gaunt man of with black empty sockets for eyes. His jaw split open to a blossom of teeth and a long warty tongue drenched in slime. His body was a mix of ruddy green and rotting brown with symbols and markings etching every inch of his flesh with fields of spiked hair bristling awake. His stomach was torn open from the inside with guts and organs spilling out. Each spewing acid and poison that melted and smoked on the floor. None of that compared to his repulsive smell that brought tears to Leslie's eyes.

"RIP THEM APART!" The Acolyte yelled and led the charge.

"Shit!" Leslie cried and knelt beside Mateus. Blood seeped on his forehead and spat from his mouth. The light on his eye was dimmed while the rest of his body fell limp

"You picked the best time to be unconscious, boy!" Leslie grabbed hold of his shoulders and began pulling him back to the safety of the storage room. But try as she must, she could barely get a few inches out of every heavy tug. All the while calling for the Mateus to awaken.

"Wake up you idiot!" Leslie called out. "We're gonna die if you don't! Get up!"

She struck him in the head without thinking to great effect. His red eye started blinking and his mouth immediately gasped for air as though it was the his first breath in the world.

The mutated Acolyte was upon them at the same time. Leaping head first into the air with bared teeth and bony claws. His mouth spat out a barbed tongue that lashed in the air like a whip. Mateus's caught the filthy tendril with his oxygen tank where it coiled itself around it.

The Acolyte's mouth followed close behind and enveloped itself around the oxygen tank's entire bottom. Its pointed teeth effortlessly sank into the metal. Chomping on the oxygen tank however caused it to explode on the Acolyte's face. Compressed air from the oxygen tank shot the Acolyte into the crowd. Broken pieces of shrapnel tore half of the Acolyte's face off and struck a few of his followers who were all sent reeling from the thunderous eruption that made the hollow halls tremble.

The blast also sent Leslie and Mateus skidding far enough to enter the storage room. Pushing Mateus aside, Leslie raced to the door. Shutting and locking it in time for a sizeable dent to mark it. More fists and tools followed and relentlessly banged on the door. Threatening to burst it open.

Turning to the lockers, Leslie tipped one over and barred the door with it. Another locker was tipped over it to add more weight while a table was propped up on it to hold it all in place. The banging persisted however but the lockers and the table held firm.

"That ought to hold them." Leslie sighed in relief. "But for how long?"

The trail of blood on the floor led to a corner where Leslie found Mateus. Slouching on the floor while leaning heavily on the wall and violently coughing blood. His bandages soaked in red and black were torn to ribbons from dozens of deep and shallow cuts.

"Long. Enough." Mateus panted.

He tore off the bandages from his hand and discarded his broken weapon. The bandages on his face followed. Revealing a battered face pocked with purple bruises and a bleeding forehead to Leslie. His one human eye was barely open from under all those stitches and the black bags but it was as blank as his artificial red eye opposite to it.

"I will need. New bandages. Medicae." Mateus growled as he slowly got back on his feet.

He took hold a cache of bottled water and greedily drank down two of them. The third bottle was poured down his face. Wiping off the caked blood and grime off of him.

"Medicae?" Mateus offered.

"Sure." Leslie nodded and helped herself with the bottle. Warm as it was, water never tasted so good to her.

"Let's go. To what we came here for." Mateus said.

"Your possessions. Weapons and stuff. Right." Leslie nodded and beckoned the boy to follow her. "Its should be around the corner."

"Should be?"

"Interns takes care of these things." Leslie elaborated. " Surgeons like me takes care of patients like you. It may be my hospital but I don't micromanage."

"Fair enough." Mateus shrugged.

"So what kind of firepower are you packing? Hope it doesn't blow up my hospital."

"Nothing. Of the sort. But appropriate. To finish the job."

"Fair enough." Leslie shrugged.

The two stopped in front of one of the many identical lockers in the room. A name tag on the handle appropriately labelled it with Mateus's name. 'M. Nidarr'.

"Finally." Mateus sighed relief.

That said, Mateus opened the locker and found it empty. Every inch of it was picked clean of all of Mateus's tools and items. The sound of crumpling locker door underlined his seething anger. Even Leslie was shocked by the discovery. She quickly stepped back out of fear and prepared herself from any retribution Mateus would lash out or blame her for. But that never came. Instead, Mateus simply stared at the empty locker for a time.

"No Fingerprints." Mateus observed.

Leslie flinched when he spoke but was relieved that it was not what she expected.

"What do you mean?" Leslie asked.

"This locker. It has no fingerprints." Mateus repeated. "Or anything. As if they. Disappeared. Without a trace. Whoever took my items. They are good. Not amateurs. They are very. Good."

Mateus shot a glance at Leslie.

"Do you know. Anything of this?" Mateus asked.

Yes. Leslie's mind said. What came out of her mouth however was, "No."

"You lie." Mateus said as he slammed the locker door shut. His voice was calm. But it was anything but serene or comforting. He spoke like a snake rearing to strike. "Do not insult me. Medicae. From one end. Of the galaxy. To the other. Humans all act the same. Especially when lying. You have one last chance. Lie to me again. And you outlive your usefulness."

"Yes," Leslie relented. She knew what Mateus was capable of. He would not hesitate to do to her what he has been doing all evening.

"Who is it?"

Bruce, Leslie thought. But what she said instead was. "The Batman"

"The Bat-man." Mateus rolled the words in his mouth.

His red eye glared at her brightly as though searching for the truth on her face. Leslie was confident however. She knew that she said no lie.

"Very well." Mateus said. "This Bat-man will be dealt with. Soon. But for now. We deal with what is outside our door."

"How?" Leslie asked. "This is a hospital. There are no weapons here."

"Anything. Can be a weapon. Once you set your mind to it." Mateus smiled as his eyes turned to the many lockers and items in the room around them. "This fight's not over yet."

XXXXX

A/N: Thus another chapter finished. A story that might hit everyone closer to home given the times. I hope you enjoyed this chapter as fun as it was to write it. More chapters to come that will fill your minds with wonder and entertainment during these days of closed doors amidst the Outbreak in our own world

Stay safe. Stay healthy. And as always, send a Review. I'd like to know your thoughts and I entertain questions and reactions to my work. Feel free to message me as well and I'd be sure for a chat.

Till then, till next time. The Emperor Protects.