Chapter Nine: Echoes of Duty and Redemption

Time slipped through my fingers like water, and as the days turned into years, I found myself immersed in the comfort of my tree house, surrounded by stolen luxuries from a bygone world. The allure of a makeshift paradise blinded me to the stark reality that lurked beyond the treetops.

"I got carried away," I admitted to myself, a tinge of regret coloring my voice. The decorations, the solar panels, the cozy pillows—I had turned my refuge into a haven of comfort, forgetting the urgency of the cure that I initially sought.

The stolen treasures from the city—solar panels, a power bank, a vase, bed sheets, cute pillows, and kitchen essentials—had become the ornaments of my solitude. The mundane pursuit of survival had given way to the whims of a survivor yearning for a semblance of normalcy.

Reality crashed back with a vengeance. Five years had passed, and the world had changed. The undead roamed freely, claiming the majority of the population. The remnants had become an army, a desperate force clinging to survival.

"75% of humanity gone... turned or dead," I mused, the weight of the statistics sinking in. The world outside my sanctuary had become a battlefield, with Baguio's army poised to claim Naga's territory—a territorial war amidst the undead chaos.

As I went about my routine, the echo of distant gunfire reached my ears. The forest spoke of impending conflict, and the tranquility I had forged within the treetops seemed fragile against the backdrop of an imminent clash.

The unexpected ambush near Malabsay Falls shattered the illusion of solitude. Chinese terrorists, seemingly capitalizing on the chaos, descended upon Baguio's army. Major General Azzrael, a commanding presence leading the charge, fought valiantly against both the living and the undead.

"They won't take Naga without a fight," I whispered to myself, witnessing the struggle unfold from the safety of my tree house.

The aftermath was a scene of carnage, bodies strewn across the battleground. Azzrael, severely injured, managed to escape the onslaught and stumbled towards Malabsay Falls. Fate intertwined our paths as I, drawn by the echoes of struggle, encountered the wounded Major General.

His eyes, haunted by the weight of duty and loss, met mine. "Who...," he saw me, and instinct overrode caution as I offered my assistance.

In the sanctuary of Malabsay Falls, Major General Azzrael and I faced an unlikely alliance. He, a soldier forged by duty, and I, a survivor shaped by isolation, found ourselves on the same precipice of survival.

"Survival comes first," I muttered to myself, the echoes of conflict ringing through the air. The stolen comforts of my tree house seemed trivial in the face of a world torn apart. As Azzrael recovered, a newfound urgency pulsed within me—the need for a cure, not just for myself, but for the remnants of humanity clinging to survival in a world overshadowed by the undead.