Chapter 9 The Path To Power I

Damien and Aria walked in silence, the events at the supermarket still fresh in their minds. The air was thick with tension, neither of them speaking as they made their way back toward the basement they'd been using as a temporary shelter. Aria walked slightly ahead, her movements smooth and purposeful. She glanced back at Damien occasionally, her emerald eyes sharp and observant, but he remained quiet, lost in thought.

Then, just as they were nearing their destination, Damien suddenly stopped in his tracks. Aria turned to face him, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"What is it?" she asked.

Damien's expression was unreadable as he looked at her, his gray eyes holding a new intensity. Without a word, he extended his hand toward her.

"Give me the sword," he said firmly.

Aria blinked, caught off guard by the request. "What for?"

"And some food," Damien added, ignoring her question.

Her curiosity deepened, and she crossed her arms, studying him closely. "Where are you going?"

He hesitated, his gaze shifting to the horizon. For a moment, he seemed to wrestle with his thoughts before finally answering, "To get stronger."

The determination in his voice was unmistakable, and Aria's eyes widened slightly in surprise. But there was something else in his tone—something distant.

"And where exactly is that?" she pressed, trying to understand his intentions.

Damien shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted. "But if I don't come back in three days… move on if you want to."

His words hung in the air, heavy with finality. Aria's lips parted as if to protest, but she stopped herself. She could see it in his eyes—he had already made up his mind. Whatever this journey was, it was something he had to do alone.

After a long pause, Aria sighed and nodded. "Fine. But don't expect me to wait around forever."

She unsheathed her sword and handed it to him, her fingers brushing against his as she passed it over. Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a small stash of food—enough to last him for a day.

"Here," she said, her tone softer now. "Try not to get yourself killed."

Damien nodded, slinging the supplies over his shoulder. He turned to leave, but before he could take a step, Aria's voice stopped him.

"Damien," she called out.

He turned back, meeting her gaze.

"Till we meet again," she said quietly, her voice carrying an edge of sadness. "Or never."

Damien didn't reply. He simply nodded and walked away, his silhouette growing smaller with each step. Aria stood there for a while, watching him disappear into the distance. She clenched her fists at her sides, a mix of frustration and admiration swirling within her.

"Good luck, idiot," she murmured under her breath before turning and heading back to the shelter.

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Damien had been walking for hours, the barren streets stretching endlessly before him. The sun was sinking lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the ruined city. He didn't know where he was going, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was his goal—to grow stronger, to survive, to prove to himself that he could face this world on his own terms.

As the last rays of sunlight disappeared, Damien spotted an old, rusted car on the side of the road. Its windows were cracked, and the paint was peeling, but it would serve his purpose. He climbed inside, shutting the door quietly behind him.

The interior smelled musty, and the leather seats were torn, but Damien didn't care. He crouched low, peering out through the dirty windows at the deserted street. The world outside was eerily quiet, the calm before the storm.

He tightened his grip on the sword Aria had given him, his fingers brushing over the worn leather handle. His mind replayed the events of the day—the fight with the evolved zombie, Aria's effortless display of strength, and her parting words.

"Three days," he muttered to himself. "That's all I need."

As night fell, the city came alive with movement. From his vantage point inside the car, Damien watched as the streets began to fill with zombies. Their pale, decayed forms shuffled out from alleyways and collapsed buildings, drawn by some unseen force.

These weren't evolved zombies like the one he had faced earlier; these were the common ones, slower and less coordinated. But their numbers made them just as dangerous.

Damien took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. He pulled a cloth from his bag and wrapped it tightly around his palm, his movements deliberate and focused. He knew what he was about to do was reckless—suicidal, even—but he didn't care. This was his fight, his test.

He pushed the car door open silently and stepped out into the cool night air. The zombies hadn't noticed him yet, their attention elsewhere as they wandered aimlessly.

Damien reached into his bag and pulled out a can of food. He held it in his hand for a moment, his gaze fixed on the horde ahead of him. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he hurled the can onto the pavement.

The metallic clatter echoed through the street, shattering the silence.

The effect was immediate. Dozens of heads turned in unison, their lifeless eyes locking onto him. The zombies let out low, guttural groans as they began to converge on his position, their shuffling steps growing faster.

Damien tightened his grip on the sword, a grin spreading across his face. It wasn't a friendly smile—it was something darker, something primal.

"Let's dance," he said, his voice low and steady.

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