Chapter 6: CRIMSON AWAKENING

The acrid smell of gunpowder hung heavy in the air as Dalle emerged from her hiding spot, her footsteps hesitant against the debris-strewn floor. Relief flooded her system at the sight of Minhee standing victorious—until something changed.

A wave of nausea hit Dalle without warning, her stomach churning violently. The world seemed to blur at the edges, and an inexplicable pressure built behind her eyes. Her pink irises shifted, bleeding into a deep crimson that pulsed with an otherworldly glow. Through this altered vision, she saw it with crystal clarity—movement in the settling dust, a hand reaching for metal, deadly intent radiating like heat waves.

"Minhee, watch out!" The words tore from Dalle's throat, her voice carrying an urgency she didn't fully understand.

Through the settling dust, a figure stirred. One of the fallen students—the one who'd wielded the shotgun—pushed herself up on trembling arms, her uniform soaked crimson. Her face was a mask of blood and determination as she pulled something from her pocket. The metallic clink of a pin being pulled echoed through the corridor.

Time seemed to slow. Dalle's crimson eyes tracked every movement with supernatural precision, even as her mind reeled from this new sensation. She saw the grenade in the girl's hand, saw the twisted smile of someone who'd accepted their fate and decided to take everyone else with them. But Minhee was already moving.

Like a dancer in a deadly ballet, Minhee pivoted. Her foot connected with the girl's wrist, sending the grenade spinning through one of the shattered windows. The explosion came a heartbeat later, painting the sky orange. The concussive force rattled the remaining windows, showering glass across the floor like deadly rain.

In the same fluid motion, Minhee brought her pistol up. Two shots rang out in quick succession, and the wounded student slumped forward, her final desperate act thwarted.

Silence descended, broken only by the distant tinkle of falling glass and Dalle's rapid breathing. Her eyes slowly faded back to their natural pink hue, leaving her dizzy and confused by what had just happened. Minhee stood perfectly still, chest rising and falling steadily as she lowered her weapon. With her free hand, she wiped beads of sweat from her forehead, leaving a smear of someone else's blood across her pale skin.

Dalle couldn't tear her eyes away, still shaken by both the violence and her strange reaction to it. The girl before her moved like no high school student should, killed with an efficiency that spoke of years of training. "You're insane," she whispered, the words carrying equal parts terror and admiration.

Minhee turned to face her, and for a moment, Dalle caught something in those dark eyes—a flash of what might have been amusement, or perhaps something darker. The corner of her mouth twitched upward in a faint smirk. "And you're welcome."

The response hung between them, heavy with unspoken questions. Who was Minhee really? What kind of life had given her these skills? And now, Dalle had her own questions to add—what was happening to her? Why had her eyes changed? But before she could voice any of them, distant gunfire echoed through the halls, a reminder that their momentary respite couldn't last.

Minhee tucked her pistol behind her blouse with practiced ease, then moved to the barricade. She lifted the assault rifle from the dead student's grip, her movements precise and respectful.

Her fingers traced the weapon's contours as she inspected it, muttering to herself, "M16A2." With fluid efficiency, she adjusted the strap and slung it across her shoulder. Her foot shot out suddenly, catching the fallen shotgun mid-air. She turned the weapon in her hands, checking its mechanism with familiar expertise.

"Take that M16A2 beside you," Minhee said nonchalantly, nodding toward the second rifle. "And check the bodies for ammunition. We'll need it."

Dalle opened her mouth to protest but stopped herself. Her eyes lingered on the lifeless forms before them, her stomach threatening to rebel again. But a new thought steadied her: she couldn't afford to be dead weight. Not here, not now. With trembling hands, she reached for the rifle, trying to ignore the blood staining its grip.

****

The explosion echoed across the school grounds, drawing immediate attention. In the west wing, a group of armed students snapped to attention, their uniforms already stained with evidence of earlier encounters.

"That came from the second floor!" their leader barked, adjusting her grip on a military-grade rifle. "Move out! Now!" Her squad rushed forward, their shoes thundering against the floor, leaving bloody footprints in their wake.

Meanwhile, in the eastern corridor, five trembling students huddled together, their weapons shaking in inexperienced hands. The afternoon sun cast long shadows through the windows, making every movement seem threatening.

A sharp crack split the air. The leftmost girl's head snapped back, her body crumpling before anyone could react. The remaining students screamed, panic overtaking their military pretense.

"Sniper! Run—" Another shot, another fall. One by one, they dropped, their bodies hitting the floor in rapid succession.

The last survivor crawled backward, tears streaming down her face. "Please! Someone help—" Her plea ended abruptly as a bullet tore through her skull, painting the wall behind her with a crimson spray.

In the distance, hidden within the shadow of the school's water tower, a figure smiled. She ejected the spent round with practiced ease, catching it mid-air. The brass casing joined a neat row of others arranged beside her, a methodical display of her kills. "Twenty," she whispered, satisfaction evident in her voice as she added another mark to her tally.

On the rooftop, gunfire erupted behind a heavy metal door. Blood seeped underneath, preceding the body that slumped through when it swung open. Kim Minji stepped out, her shoes leaving red prints as she crossed the threshold. Her uniform remained impeccably neat despite the chaos, her expression one of cold calculation.

"This will do nicely," she mused, surveying her domain. Below, her loyal followers were already spreading out, executing her orders with brutal efficiency. "Find any survivors," she commanded, her voice carrying across the roof. "Kill them on sight. And bring me those loot boxes the drones are dropping. I want to see what other toys we get to play with."

Her followers dispersed, hunting their classmates with predatory determination. Minji remained on the roof, watching the sun paint the sky blood-red. In the distance, another explosion rocked the building, and she smiled.