Revelation-1

While the three stooges were busy escaping, a few buildings to their left, the leader of the largest faction, Colonel Veer, waited with bated breath as the horde approached. He knows how important this mission is.

The gunfire rattled the air like a relentless drumbeat, echoing through the concrete jungle. The intersection where the battle raged was just out of view, obscured by crumbling buildings and abandoned vehicles.

"Sir, we have secured the whole building and the surrounding blocks. The horde is swarming the neighborhood, but many have changed their trajectory, moving inland toward the noise," reported one of his men, his voice clipped and professional.

Veer nodded, his sharp eyes flicking toward the horizon. "I saw it from upstairs. And don't speak so formally when we're alone." He then softened his tone, something he rarely did. "How are you holding up, son?"

The young soldier standing before him hesitated, rubbing his nose in a nervous tic. "I'm fine, Father. It's just a little overwhelming, but everyone has been guiding me whenever I make a mistake."

Shrihan's bloodied and bruised uniform was evidence of the hardships he'd already endured. He had grown into a mirror image of his father's younger self—tall, broad-shouldered, and carrying the weight of responsibility in his dark eyes.

Veer sighed. "You don't have to push yourself too hard. You can't make your mother worry—she was already sick with concern when I told her you were coming with me."

"I know, but I'm a grown man. I can take care of myself. She never seems to get that."

The older man ruffled his son's messy hair with a rare chuckle. "That's how mothers are. You can't blame her. Besides, you still have a lot of growing up to do. You're still a head shorter than me."

"Maybe I take after my mother. You've seen how short—"

"Colonel Veer! Ah, I'm sorry—" A soldier rushed toward them, looking flustered but disciplined.

Veer straightened, his jovial mood vanishing. "Wait! Tell me what's wrong."

"It's the zombies, sir. Something's off. They were following our trail, but our spotter saw them suddenly disperse in different directions, all away from our location."

Veer's brow furrowed. "Are they moving toward the gunfire we've been hearing?"

"No, sir. If that were the case, I wouldn't have bothered you. They're heading toward the crash site. We haven't seen any movement from that unknown individual, but something is definitely happening. We need your orders." The man replied.

Veer exhaled sharply. "Show me. Shrihan, you...you go back to your unit and try to keep their morale up."

The young man looked like he wanted to protest but knew better. He gave a curt nod and jogged back toward his group. Meanwhile, Veer followed his men to the vantage point.

The streets, once swarming with the undead, were now strangely deserted, save for the corpses they had chopped down earlier. The air smelled of blood, gunpowder, and something else—something nasty and inhuman.

"This isn't normal," he mumbled. "Walkers don't simply leave. They are mindless. They assault until they are destroyed or have eliminated their victim."

The presence of screechers had made coordination among the undead plausible in the past, but even those creatures lacked the precision to orchestrate a retreat of this scale.

"Third-level threat? No, that's not plausible," Veer whispered to himself, his mind racing. If there was something new out there, something worse than what they had already faced, they needed to know.

He considered sending scouts, but it would be suicide. They were already low on resources. The lack of drones stung the most—at the beginning of the outbreak, they had plenty, but now, most were either destroyed or out of power.

To get more, they'd have to push north—straight into the heart of the city. A death sentence.

Supplies were already running low. They had been surviving on scavenging, but that wouldn't last forever. That was why so many people were risking their lives moving inward, toward the remnants of civilization. But was civilization even salvageable anymore?

After a lengthy pause, Veer made his decision. "Form a team. Six of the fastest men. I want others to see that website. If it is too risky, they withdraw immediately. "No heroics."

His second-in-command, a seasoned vet, nodded. "Understood. "We will be back in an hour."

"You better be," Veer remarked. "Once the sun sets, those things get stronger."

The crew dispersed quickly, gliding like shadows between buildings. Veer watched them leave, worried. He'd conducted numerous missions, but something about this felt off.

Meanwhile, around the city, members in weaker factions were struggling. The farther they pushed toward the center, the higher their casualties climbed. Morale was disintegrating.

At first, everyone believed that with enough numbers, they could carve a path through. That had proven to be a grave miscalculation. The undead weren't just swarming—they were herding them, cutting off escape routes, and driving them into choke points.

It wasn't just bad luck. It was deliberate. These things were mindless, but with a good leader, even slow-moving turtles could overwhelm a lion!

Many never even saw what killed them. One moment they were fighting alongside comrades; the next, something dragged them screaming into the darkness. And those who fell to bites and wounds? There was no time to mourn. The moment they turned, their friends had to put them down.

The human cost was staggering. Only three major groups remained, along with two smaller factions. And then, of course, there were the three reckless survivors who had managed to evade death through sheer luck and cunning.

Then it happened. The undead stopped. Not just in one location. Everywhere. One by one, the creatures began retreating. Not scattering chaotically, not shifting toward a new source of noise. They were withdrawing.

It wasn't a coincidence. It wasn't an accident. It was a strategy. And if the dead were thinking now, the living were already doomed.