Chapter 15: Chapter 15: Knock Knock
Elise couldn’t understand it.
She’d watched him drain seven people. Watched him rip a man’s heart out with his bare hands. Watched him pop a woman’s head like a grape. And yet here she was, walking down an apocalyptic street beside him, alive and unharmed.
Why am I still alive?
The question burned in her mind, but she didn’t dare ask. The silver-haired devil beside her moved with a casual confidence that suggested he owned the world, and Elise had learned — in the most brutal way possible — that questioning him was a bad idea.
They walked in silence until Lucian spoke.
"What’s your name?"
She blinked. "...Elise."
"Uh-huh."
They kept walking, his crimson eyes scanning the streets through those dark sunglasses, his silver hair catching the sunlight that should have been burning him alive.
How is he doing that?
Elise’s mind raced, piecing together fragments of what she’d witnessed. Super speed — he’d moved faster than her eyes could track when he killed Marcus. Blood powers — the spikes, the spear, the needle that had killed the Mid Neophyte man. And the shadow storage — he’d pulled food from literally nowhere, then stored an entire hospital’s worth of blood bags into thin air.
Three abilities. Maybe more. That’s impossible. Even dual awakeners are rare, and he—
Is he a vampire?
The thought surfaced unbidden. Vampires were myths. Everyone knew that.
No. That’s crazy. Vampires aren’t real.
Lucian stopped.
Elise nearly crashed into him. "What—"
"Shh."
His head tilted slightly, as if listening to something she couldn’t hear. Then he changed direction, veering left down a side street.
"This way. Fewer zombies."
They moved through the ruins of Vienne City, Lucian picking their path with eerie precision. Occasionally, a zombie would stumble into their path — normal ones, mostly, grey and mindless. Lucian dealt with them without breaking stride.
PAM.
A punch to the skull. The zombie dropped.
PAM.
Another one. Down.
Twenty minutes later, they reached the academy.
Elise’s breath caught.
Starlight Academy had been beautiful once — a sprawling campus of elegant stone buildings, manicured gardens, and towering spires that spoke of old-world prestige. Now it was a nightmare.
Zombies. Hundreds of them. Swarming the grounds, shambling between buildings, clustering around the main structure like moths around a flame. And among them — Elise felt sick — zombies in school uniforms. Students who’d been caught outside when the virus hit.
"How did Ryan get in?" Lucian whispered.
His eyes were tracking a trail of popped blood bags, scattered along a path that led away from the main gate toward a small medical building nearby.
He used blood to draw them off. What a smart guy.
"Stay here."
Lucian vanished into the medical building. Elise stood frozen, surrounded by the distant groans of zombies, until he emerged five minutes later.
"Got about three hundred bags," he said casually. "Should last a while."
Three hundred. He stored three hundred blood bags in that shadow space.
They approached the main gate. The zombies noticed.
A dozen of them broke away from the horde — normal ones, Early Neophyte, drawn by the movement. They lurched toward Lucian with outstretched arms, moaning that horrible, mindless moan.
Lucian raised his hand.
And stopped.
The zombies stopped too. All of them, mid-step, frozen like someone had pressed pause. Elise stared, confused — and then she saw it.
They were swelling.
The zombies’ bodies began to bulge, their grey skin stretching, their limbs trembling. Blood — their own dead blood — was moving inside them, churning, pressurizing, fighting against flesh that was no longer strong enough to contain it.
POP. POP. POP. POP.
They exploded.
One by one, the zombies burst like overfilled balloons, their bodies detonating into showers of black blood and grey flesh that splattered across the ground. In seconds, a dozen zombies had become a dozen puddles.
Elise’s legs gave out. She dropped to her knees, staring at the carnage.
He manipulated the blood inside their bodies. From a distance. Without even touching them.
What IS he?
Lucian stepped over the puddles without a second glance and walked to the main entrance — massive double doors of reinforced wood and metal. He grabbed the handle and pulled.
Nothing.
He pulled harder. The doors didn’t budge.
His eyes shifted — the crimson fading to gold as Eyes of the Eternals activated.
╔═════════════════════╗
║ ◀ TARGET ANALYSIS ▶ ║
║ Object: Main Entrance Doors ║
║ Status: REINFORCED ║
║ Reinforcement Source: Multiple ability signatures detected. Barrier-type abilities maintaining structural integrity. Estimated sustainability: 4-6 hours remaining at current output. ║ ╚══════════════════════╝
Lucian smiled.
He raised his fist and knocked.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Inside the main hall, two hundred and seventeen survivors huddled in the dark.
Students mostly — teenagers and young adults, their faces pale with fear and exhaustion. Four teachers remained, their mana nearly depleted from maintaining the barrier. The atmosphere was thick with tension, with the unspoken knowledge that their safe haven was slowly dying.
"Something’s at the door," a student whispered.
"Is it a zombie?" someone else asked, voice trembling.
"Zombies don’t knock," another voice cut in. "They just bang."
A second knock echoed through the hall.
Knock. Knock.
More whispered conversations erupted.
Ryan Duncan stood near the back, his eyes narrowed. Beside him stood a young woman — tall, blonde, blue-eyed, with a figure that had turned more than a few heads even before the apocalypse. Clara Duncan. His sister. One of the strongest students in the academy.
"What if it’s Lucian?" Ryan said quietly.
Clara looked at him. "You think so?"
"Zombies don’t knock," Ryan said, pushing his glasses up his nose. "From my analysis of their behavioral patterns over the past two days, they exhibit no capacity for intentional communication. They respond to stimuli — sound, movement, blood scent — but they don’t initiate complex actions like knocking."
Clara smirked. "Alright, Einstein."
Ryan’s expression tightened. "Einstein had an IQ between one hundred sixty and one hundred ninety. Mine is above three hundred."
Clara’s hand shot out and grabbed his ear.
"Ow—!"
"I can see you’re getting pretty cocky." She twisted slightly. "Wanna keep arguing, or do you want to check if your friend is alive?"
"Fine, fine — let go — we can check through the window upstairs—"
She released him, and they made their way to a second-floor classroom that overlooked the entrance. Clara pressed her face to the glass, scanned the grounds — and her eyes widened.
"It’s him!" She spun around, grinning. "It’s Lucian! He’s alive!"
Then her expression shifted. Her brow furrowed.
"Why is he with a girl?"
Ryan joined her at the window. "Huh. How am I meant to know? Maybe she’s a survivor he picked up."
Clara’s frown deepened. "He better not have picked up some random— never mind. Let’s go open the door for him."
They hurried downstairs, weaving through the crowd of students, and reached the main entrance. Clara reached for the barrier release mechanism—
"Well, well. What are you about to do, Clara?"
A voice cut through the noise.
Clara didn’t turn around. "Charles."
Charles Martin descended the stairs behind her, a group of students fanning out at his back — his entourage, his followers, the people who sucked up to him because of his family name and his cultivation. He was good-looking, in a conventional way — dark hair, sharp features, athletic build — but next to the silver-haired devil outside, he was barely memorable.
"We already opened the door for your brother," Charles continued, stopping a few feet away. "Do you have any idea how much mana that cost us? Rosa’s been maintaining the barrier ever since, and she’s nearly empty. And now — not even twenty-four hours later — you want to open it again?"
Clara ignored him.
She reached for the barrier release.
Charles moved.
In a blur of motion, he positioned himself directly between Clara and the door, his body radiating a faint heat that spoke of flame manipulation barely held in check.
"I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, Clara."
