RE: Survival - Chapter 69

Letting the two escape had been a calculated decision. The Messiah expected them to reveal the camp’s existence. After all, they had stolen numerous weapons and taken four hostages. He assumed fear would grip the enemy.

The plan had been to confirm their forces and launch a surprise attack that very night.

But for them to storm the church while four of their people were hostages? It was an impossible fight, or so he thought. Like moths to a flame or rabbits running straight into a tiger’s den, they had come.

The Messiah’s primary emotion wasn’t worry about the intruders but anger over the havoc they had wreaked on the foundation he had built so carefully. It had been such a delightful setup, and now it was all ruined by these uninvited guests.

After gagging Hyuk again, the Messiah untied his restraints and shoved him toward a priest. “Hold him tight and follow me.”

He headed straight to the sanctuary, where the commotion had broken out. The farther down he went, the thicker the smoke and the stronger the stench of gunpowder.

Corpses were scattered along the way—all of them his priests.

‘They’ve turned this place into a disaster,’ he thought bitterly.

When he entered the sanctuary, the Messiah froze. Bloodied priests lay everywhere, and the terrified congregation was crouched on the floor, trembling and clutching their heads.

It was a scene he had not anticipated. The priests had been armed with weapons stolen from the intruders, yet they had been overpowered so easily?

What in the world had happened?

The Messiah raised his voice in a furious roar. “How dare you cause such chaos in this holy sanctuary!”

“Are you the Messiah?” a calm voice responded.

The Messiah raised his rifle and pointed it at Hyuk, who was held captive by a priest with a knife pressed to his neck.

Though the Messiah didn’t answer, his identity was obvious. Yohan signaled to his team, and they aimed their weapons at the cowering congregation.

Sweeper, grinning mischievously, tapped one of the survivors on the head with his rifle barrel. “Hey, cult boy. What do you call these people? Hostages? And what kind of Messiah plays hostage games with a rifle? Pretty ironic, don’t you think? Captain, can I just shoot him in the head?”

“No,” Yohan replied.

“Shame. I was curious if Messiahs die like everyone else,” Sweeper said, feigning disappointment.

The Messiah scowled at their casual banter, his frustration growing. “Don’t you care about your friend’s life? Drop your weapons!”

“See, the thing is, we’ve got hostages too—”

“Put down your weapons,” Yohan interrupted, cutting off Sweeper’s remark.

“What? But—”

“Do it. It’s fine,” Yohan said firmly.

Though reluctant, the team complied, slowly placing their guns on the ground. Seeing this, the Messiah’s expression brightened.

‘Of course. They’re no match for me.’

But before he could revel in his triumph, a gunshot rang out.

Bang!

The priest holding Hyuk dropped dead, blood spurting from his skull. Hyuk collapsed to the ground, coughing. Yohan stood with a pistol in hand.

The Messiah instinctively tried to raise his rifle, but Yohan and Sweeper fired simultaneously, their bullets piercing his left arm and right leg. The weapon fell from his grip as he collapsed, groaning in pain.

“Jung-hwan, collect the weapons. Seri, untie Hyuk. And Hyuk, prepare yourself for what’s coming,” Yohan ordered.

“Yes, sir.”

“Understood.”

As his team moved to execute his commands, Yohan approached the Messiah. This was almost too easy. Had they overestimated him, or had he underestimated them?

“Where are the rest of your people?” Yohan asked.

The Messiah responded with a maniacal laugh. “Heh heh… ha ha ha!”

‘Already losing it, huh? We’ve only just begun.’ Yohan pressed his knife against the Messiah’s face and spoke softly.

“You don’t need to answer. They must be hiding somewhere in the building. Soon, you’ll be begging to die. Let’s see how long you last.”

“You’ll burn in hell! I am the true Messiah!” the man shouted.

“Soon, you won’t even have the strength to spout nonsense,” Yohan replied coldly.

“I’ll prove it to you… I’ll show you the truth!” the Messiah cried, gritting his teeth in pain. He began fumbling with his priestly robe, stripping it off.

When he removed the robe entirely, he revealed a series of gruesome bite marks across his shoulder, upper arm, and underarm. The wounds were old, long healed, with scar tissue and fresh skin covering them.

The sight left everyone stunned. The congregation stared in silent awe, their fear replaced with reverence. Even Yohan faltered for a moment, taken aback. It was clear now how this man had built his cult and brainwashed his followers.

The idea of immunity—or the existence of an immune individual—flashed through Yohan’s mind. It all made sense now: the way he had seized control of the camp and fostered such blind devotion.

Yohan grabbed the Messiah’s hair, pulling his head back, and growled, “From now on, if you hesitate for even three seconds or give me a useless answer, I’ll start cutting off your limbs. What are those scars?”

“I was bitten by zombies, but I didn’t turn. I’m immune to the plague, a spiritual being untouched by their evil!” the Messiah proclaimed.

Yohan drew a dagger from his belt, pressing the Messiah’s hand flat against the floor. In a flash, he sliced off two of the man’s fingers.

“Aaargh!”

The Messiah screamed in agony, his cries echoing through the sanctuary. The congregation gasped and shrieked, unable to tear their eyes away from the brutal scene. Yohan ignored them, focusing solely on the man before him.

“I’ll ask again: what are those scars?”

“They’re from… zombie bites, I told you!” the Messiah stammered.

“Do you know anything else about them?” Yohan pressed.

“No! I was bitten, but I didn’t turn, that’s all!” the Messiah cried.

Yohan listened carefully before, without warning, slapping him hard across the face.

Slap! Yohan’s hand struck the Messiah’s cheek, the sound echoing through the room as the Messiah’s head snapped to the side. His face burned red with indignation as he gave Yohan a wounded expression.

“…?”

“Don’t scream,” Yohan commanded coldly.

“Ah, I understand,” the Messiah replied meekly.

The cheek that had been slapped quickly swelled. Without hesitation, Yohan struck the other cheek. The Messiah, now trembling and stuttering, asked, “Why… why?”

“Use honorifics,” Yohan demanded.

The Messiah hastily nodded, only for Yohan’s palm to land on his face again. Tears welled up in the Messiah’s eyes as he whimpered in a pitiful voice, “Why are you doing this to me…?”

“Answer my questions.”

“Y-yes, sir. Yes!”

The Messiah was paralyzed with fear. He instinctively understood that Yohan was a man not to be trifled with. Any misstep, no matter how small, would lead to more torment. Despite the agony wracking his body, the sheer terror kept him alert.

“Where are my allies?” Yohan demanded.

“They’re in the laundry room on the sixth floor…” the Messiah stammered.

“Jung-hwan,” Yohan called. Jung-hwan, who had been staring blankly at the unfolding scene, snapped back to reality and immediately rushed off to carry out the order. Yohan’s gaze returned to the Messiah.

“Next question. Why did you let my two teammates go? Were you hoping we’d come to you?”

“Well, um…”

The Messiah hesitated, and Yohan swung his knife, severing one of his remaining fingers.

“Aaargh!”

The Messiah howled in pain, tears streaming down his face.

“I told you—answer in three seconds. Why did you let them go? Was it a trap?”

“I… I wanted to locate your camp…”

“And then?”

“I planned to take your weapons and food supplies,” the Messiah admitted.

“You didn’t consider retaliation?”

“I had hostages… I didn’t realize your camp was that large,” he replied, trembling.

“Nothing else?”

“Absolutely nothing! I swear! When I sent them back, the plan was just to follow and kill them, but your armed guards… they scared us off!”

Yohan nodded. It made sense. The Messiah likely hadn’t intended to let the two live from the start. The guards at their camp, especially someone like Hajin, served as an effective deterrent. Even for an opportunist like the Messiah, the sight of well-armed guards would have been enough to reconsider an attack.

Yohan’s gaze flicked to Hajin, who was idly sliding his prosthetic blade in and out with an unsettling precision. The sight reminded Yohan of how even intimidation could be a weapon.

Turning back to the Messiah, Yohan delivered another powerful slap, this time so hard it sent the man sprawling to the floor.

“Why… why this time?” the Messiah moaned weakly.

“Because I don’t like you,” Yohan replied with a smirk.

Sweeper, unable to resist, quipped, “Amazing. How is this idiot still alive?”

Yohan chuckled at Sweeper’s comment but maintained his focus on the Messiah. He couldn’t afford to let him die or pass out before getting all the information he needed.

“Next question. What were you before all this?”

The Messiah froze, hesitant to answer.

“Do you want to die?” Yohan growled.

“I… I was in prison!” the Messiah blurted out.

Yohan’s eyebrows shot up in mild surprise. A prison escapee, huh? Even in the chaos of the apocalypse, breaking out of prison wasn’t exactly easy. It piqued his curiosity, but the Messiah’s condition wasn’t ideal for recounting his story.

“A criminal playing Messiah. What were you in for?”

“…Fraud,” the Messiah admitted.

Yohan snorted. “You’ve really made the most of your ‘expertise.’ Fine. One last chance. Tell me something useful. Anything.”

“Useful information?”

“Three,” Yohan started counting.

“What kind of—”

“Two.”

“There’s a camp about 20 minutes from here with lots of women!” the Messiah cried out in desperation.

Yohan smirked. “I already know that, idiot.”

His patience exhausted, Yohan turned to Sweeper. “Sweeper.”

“Yes, boss?”

“Go outside and bring me a zombie.”

“Got it,” Sweeper replied cheerfully, leaving with an eager spring in his step. Seri, watching him go, asked Yohan cautiously, “Why do you need a zombie?”

“To test a theory,” Yohan replied. “We’ll see if he’s really immune to zombie bites or if those scars are from something else.”

The Messiah, now groveling, begged, “Please, spare me… You said you’d give me a chance…”

“I said I’d give you a chance, not spare your life,” Yohan corrected coldly.

Moments later, Sweeper returned with a captured zombie, grinning as though he’d just won a prize. “Quick work, huh?”

“Too quick,” Yohan muttered, noticing Sweeper’s excitement. Something about it seemed almost gleeful.

“Relax, boss. This guy’s about to experience something… unique. A merciful death,” Sweeper said with a grin.

Sweeper released the zombie, and it stumbled toward the Messiah. Screams erupted from the congregation as Yohan shoved the zombie toward the fallen man, almost spiking it like a ball.

The zombie snarled and latched onto the Messiah, tearing into his flesh. The room filled with the sounds of ripping flesh, wet crunches, and the Messiah’s bloodcurdling screams. His face was partially torn away as he writhed in agony. The zombie bit into his neck next, silencing his screams as blood gushed out.

Satisfied, Yohan grabbed the zombie’s head, yanking it back and driving his blade into its spinal cord.

The room fell silent, save for the quiet gasps and sobs of the survivors. Even Yohan’s team looked visibly shaken by the brutality they had just witnessed.

The Messiah’s body convulsed violently, his mangled form unrecognizable. He was barely alive, his eyes glazed over.

Yohan straightened, his gaze cold and indifferent. “That should be enough.” (T/N: Noooo, that’s not enough. Give him more!!!)