7 Trail of the Tryhard
Morey held his blade in front of him, readying himself for the oncoming slaughter. He held his breath as the door blew open.
"Come at me assholes!" he snarled as the horde charged at him.
Then all hell broke loose.
The screams of humanoid creatures filled the room, rattling Morey's ears. That didn't stop him from slashing at them though. His body was sore, his mind was in shambles, and he was pretty sure he was getting scratched all around his limbs, but he never felt more alive.
While swinging his blade around like a madman, he began to back up looking for a place to climb up, finding a locker next to the weapons rack, he quickly climbed up the rack, purposely knocking it down so that the horde wouldn't follow him.
Once he was atop the lockers, he looked down and saw the undead creatures climbing upon each other like stepping stones in order to reach him.
One managed to reach Morey and swipe at him, only for him to cut its arm off and kick it back down.
More were starting to follow its example and they slowly started piling among themselves around the lockers.
Morey in a panic looked around where to go. He was surrounded, and he was sure that he could not take on a horde all on his own, not without help. He was tough, he knew that, but he was a short guy, which meant he was also naturally smaller in the weight department too. He didn't win all his fights by blindly rushing at someone, he always had a plan, a weakness to work with.
'Ok, they're stupid, but have enough intelligence to work as a hive mind,' Morey reminded himself from the lessons he got from William, at the same time he kicked off another undead bastard off the locker. They would blindly chase him anywhere and they were fast, but not as fast as him. People that say fleeing is a cowardly move have clearly never been in a life or death situation, or are willing to gamble their life away, because right now his best bet was an escape route, despite having a vicious blade on him.
At the very least he's going to need more spac-The stadium! There was plenty of room there, but more importantly: William was there.
After a bit of scanning around the area, Morey soon realized that the only way to get out of the locker rooms was to jump across each locker towards the exit.
'Damn,' he thought to himself, as another undead reached the top, 'Gonna have to jump. A lot…'
There's no time to think, only do. Do something incredibly stupid, but it was the only way to leave this room in one piece.
He readied himself for the jump as soon as multiple undead managed to get to the top.
He jumped across the gap, and landed on the nearest locker, but as soon as he jumped, the horde immediately switched targets and began to ram their bodies at the locker. Turns out the rusty lockers he was on were incredibly fragile, and the lockers began to tilt.
Morey quickly jumped to the next locker, only for the horde to follow and knock that one down. Soon it became a domino effect and multiple lockers began to fall to the sides, knocking others with them.
He scrambled around as each locker he landed on would then fall to the side and, if he was lucky, crushing some undead on the way down. He was almost to the exit, so close. One more locker to jump, and he'll be free, but then one zombie intercepted him.
"Oh fuck!" Morey yelled as he stopped for a moment, it was brief, but it was enough time for the horde to knock down the locker he was on. As soon as he lost his footing, he jumped in a panic to the nearest object he could, a zombie's head.
In fact, there were several zombie heads to step on that bridged to the exit. He hopped once, twice, and in the third jump he landed on the door.
"Ahaha!" He jeered, only to immediately run again as the horde dashed to him.
He ran across the hallway, now trying to remember where the rooms William opened up in the arena were located.
Once Morey reached the arena, he began to frantically knock around the walls around the area while the horde of freaks continued to pursue him, hoping one would open up. None did. Why didn't they open up? And where the hell was William?!
Of course he didn't have time to ponder this as one of the faster undead caught up to him and swiped at his back. The leather he was wearing was thick, but it was already worn out. So when the zombie's attack landed, its nails reached Morey.
"Agh! Fuck!" he cursed, as he swiped his saber at the assailant, but when he swung, the force behind his blade was beyond what he intended, not to mention he missed, and that caused him to stumble forward a bit allowing the undead to land another scratch, this time on his face.
Morey growled as he jumped back, mitigating what could have been a devastating attack down to a simple scratch on his cheek, while reprimanding himself for making such a rookie mistake. Still, swords were not something he was unfamiliar with, it was like an extension of his limbs, but also extra weight when he swung. Unlike with his fists where he had more control of his punches or a staff where he could grab the handle anywhere, the sword was much harder to maneuver.
He looked on to the horde that was catching up, even if he was terrible with the blade, he shouldn't be looking at these zombies as a huge threat. Just one or two swings were enough to beat one. He just needed to know when to land his attacks.
As soon as Morey dodged the next attack by the current zombie, which tried to tackle him and stumbled forward, he raised his saber up and swung down on the back of its neck. Instant defeat.
He tried to count how many were currently left, but the horde was moving in on him fast making him have to make a run for it around the flat arena.
Outnumbered and alone were two things Morey were not unfamiliar with. He had his fair share of enemies, those that wanted him gone, those that hated him for being better, and those that failed to kill him.
Well, there was one person that almost did.
He felt an arrow whiz by, barely missing by a hair breath, 'it's not the time to think about that' he reprimanded himself. He turned and saw the culprits. At the entrance of the arena some skeletons and even a couple of zombies had bows in their arms, ready to fire.
Quickly he turned and ran straight through the group of zombies behind him as he heard the swish of multiple arrows raining down behind him. At the same time the horde of zombies all began to rush him.
Yep, this was very familiar.
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"Get him!" One of the idiots yelled as he threw a punch, only for it to hit air. Others followed and began throwing their fair share of punches.
Morey latched his pipe to his back again and began to weave around each of the bullies' clumsy attempts at attacks. Once he got through the group he turned around, a scowl on his face.
"So you guys were the ones giving Rat Tim trouble?"
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Many of the zombies got skewered by the arrows that were meant for him. Most fell, although some tried to limp towards him, and some more were still up and running.
What was strange, however, some of them turned to the perpetrators and with a snarl threw their bodies onto the archers. Of course, Morey wouldn't look a gifted horse in the mouth and instead focused on the few zombies that were left.
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There were about 6 of them left. Only two had any actual training. The other four seemed to have done weights and had some decent muscle mass on them, but otherwise just cannon fodder.
Of course Morey knew he was smaller than each of these guys, and he was outnumbered, yet, as he pulled out his pipe from the back, he couldn't help but grin.
"The hells so funny?" One of the "big boys" barked, "You think you won just cuz you got sum us beat? Ya just lucky!"
"Yeah!" a cannon fodder agreed, "You got all the small fries! But now you're fucking with real men now!"
Morey's smile only grew as he said, "That's the kind of confidence I like to hear," he then looked up at them with a more predatory grin, "You better back it up," he threatened.
"Fuck you!"
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A zombie swiped at him, causing him to jump to the side. Another went for his face, he blocked it with his saber. A third one went for his chest, in response Morey twisted his body to knock the previous zombie down with his saber to take the hit. It landed.
The zombie howled as the scratches got etched across its back, Morey silenced it with a vicious slash to the chest. Two more showed up afterward, both charging with their arms flailing.
He blocked both zombies with the sharp end of his blade, causing for blood to seep out of their arms. He pushed them back, causing them to stagger back.
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"Oh fuck!" a cannon fodder yelled.
"How the hell did he push back our top fighters?" another gawked.
The two "top fighters" fell to the ground screaming and gripping their arms, which were badly bruised after their failed attack. Morey stood unmoved with his pipe held horizontally in front of him. The sinister smile not leaving his face.
"I told you guys better back up your words," He growled, as he put his pipe in front of him, readying a strike. His two opponents rose up their arms in defense, as the cannon fodders watched on in horror.
One stupid fodder tried to intercept him from behind.
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"Graaghh!" the zombie growled as it attempted its sneak attack.
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The pipe landed straight on the idiot's face, he didn't even have time to scream in pain as he fell unconscious and slowly went down, his nose crushed.
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Morey didn't have time to look at his handiwork as the two armless zombies got up and decided that attacking with their teeth would be a better idea.
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"You bastard!" one of the two bosses roared and attempted to go for a cross punch to avenge his little buddy. Morey ducked under the punch and jab his stomach with his pipe, knocking air out of the guy.
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The zombie fell back to the ground, a large gash etched across its stomach, with all its content spilling out everywhere. The other one was a bit luckier, since it only managed to survive, even if it was with a heavy wound.
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"Dammit! Who the hell is this guy!" The last standing boss shouted as his roundhouse kick missed Morey by an inch. The boss followed up with a heel kick, which then Morey blocked with his pipe. At that moment the boss smiled.
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"Agh! Fuck!" Morey screamed as an arrow grazed his side. He turned to see who was the wise guy, only for another arrow to be shot at him. That time he dodges, but temporarily forgets about the armless zombie.
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"Dammit!" he grunted as the spiked knuckle duster landed on his shoulders. Those few seconds bought the bastard enough time to land a nasty strike on him.
"Haha! Where's all that bravado now, you-"
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Morey grabbed it's teeth and forced them open. Despite the wound he got, he shoved the zombie back. Of course that action caused pain to spike up on the bite, and more blood to seep out of it, but he didn't care, he was mad.
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"What the fuck?" the assailant screamed as Morey grabbed his arms and pulled out the spike, "Doesn't that hurt?!"
Morey didn't answer and instead went for a right hook across the idiot's jaw. He followed up with a pipe jab that landed on the assailant's chest.
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The zombie fell as Morey pulled out his jagged blade, a blade that made the action bloodier. His shoulder still hurt like hell, but he tried his best to ignore it. He wouldn't last, he knew it.
Another arrow wiz by, grazing his cheek this time, so he quickly turned and went for the archers. To his surprise, there were only two archers left. The rest of them were killed by the undead that turned on them when they got shot. Of course there was still quite a bit of distance between him and the archers.
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There was no way that he could make it before being pelted with those metal pellets, and there was no cover to run to either, instead he opted for dashing at the last two cannon fodder. One held up the airsoft gun and began to let out a barrage of pellets at him. Morey ran covering his face and threw the pipe at the two offenders. They both attempted to dodge, unfortunately for them, the one who held the gun had been standing closer and was unable to react in time as the pipe smacked him on the forehead.
The other cannon fodder managed to back up enough for his friend to take the hit. Unfortunately, he stumbled backwards, which costed him a precious second.
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Morey dashed forward as the meatless archer, by quickly grabbing his blade off the wall, he managed to finish the skeleton off with a slash to the head. As he pried his saber off the skull, the other archer managed to load up another arrow.
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He wasted no time as tried to close the distance between him and the last fodder, but the fodder managed to grab a hold of the airsoft gun and make a run for it.
Morey gave chase, and once he caught up he grabbed him by the neck.
"AH! NO!" The fodder screamed as he unloaded the rest of the clip onto Morey's stomach.
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"Fuck off!" Morey roared as he swung the saber in a horizontal arc, slicing the skeleton's head clean off. Then everything went silent.
He looked around the stadium. It was a shitshow. There were bodies all over, but not nearly as many he originally thought. Now that he had time to breath, he was able to look around and count how many freaks chased him around.
There were twelve of them. Half of them got killed off among themselves, which meant he took on six by himself. Six assholes, by himself.
'Still got it,' he thought to himself.
A traitorous thought told him, 'those were weak monsters, and you're almost dead.'
He looked down and saw the arrow stuck to his stomach. He tried to move his right arm to try and dislodge it only for pain to spike up on the bite mark he had. He was covered in blood, and the bleeding hadn't stopped. He soon realized how lightheaded he felt.
'Damn...it,' he thought as he fell.
Only to be caught by William, still smiling brightly at him.
"W-william…?" Morey uttered.
"You did good, take it easy now," William said, as he closed Morey's eyes.
For the first time, Morey had a nice dreamless sleep.
