CHAPTER 100: THEY’RE REALLY DEAD (PAST)

Joshua realized he no longer needed food or water—yet he could still live, live just fine.

The knife in his hand sliced through his own flesh, his hand trembling instinctively from the body’s reaction.

He remembered the first time he did this—how the pain had been so unbearable he fainted.

But now... now he was used to it.

Tears dripped silently down his face, pooling at his chin before falling to the floor.

Joshua found that he could no longer control his tears; they came so easily, endlessly. Lately, his eyes had started to feel weak too—but after a night’s sleep, everything would return to normal. His vision would clear, his flesh would regrow. It was fine. Everything was fine.

He smiled faintly, sitting on the chair, his legs swinging back and forth as he watched his family eat.

Joshua noticed they were changing—just a little. Their flesh seemed to be growing back, the stench fading. Yesterday, he thought he even saw Louis smile at him.

They must be getting better.

Thinking that, Joshua happily kicked his legs, humming softly to himself.

Lately, he’d been feeling sleepier and sleepier. But he was afraid that if he fell asleep, his parents and brother would starve to death.

Once, when he woke up, they were so hungry they had started biting themselves.

No... that couldn’t happen again.

So Joshua decided he wouldn’t sleep anymore. None of them slept—so he shouldn’t either.

"I’m sorry, everyone," he whispered softly.

.

Bang!

The door burst open from the outside, slamming against the wall.

The soldiers following behind Henry flinched, tense and uneasy as they scanned the area with their weapons raised.

They all knew how terrifying Henry could be—but they had never seen him like this.

Even just from the atmosphere alone, they could feel it—right now, Henry was genuinely frightening.

He had been working relentlessly, day and night, carving a bloody path back to the capital.

The world outside was still chaotic, but some places had finally begun to stabilize.

At last, he was home.

But where was Joshua?

The thought of what might have happened sent chills down Henry’s spine, his stomach twisting as if he had stepped back into the heart of his own nightmare.

A moment later, an overwhelming stench of decay filled the air, making everyone instinctively wrinkle their brows. One of the soldiers raised his weapon and reported, "There are zombies in here!"

Yet the room itself was spotless—far too clean for an abandoned house. There was barely any dust, as though someone had been living here all along, diligently sweeping and tidying.

Just then, a small head peeked out from the kitchen doorway.

A second later, a figure darted out at full speed.

The soldiers immediately raised their guns, fingers tightening on the triggers—

—but before anyone could shoot, Henry spread his arms and caught the figure rushing toward him.

"Henry! You’re finally back! You came to get me, didn’t you?"

The young man’s voice was bright with joy, his eyes clear and shining—as if he had never spent a single day in this ruined, broken world.

The others stared in shock. Only Henry’s expression changed—his brows furrowed ever so slightly.

Joshua was so thin. Even before, he’d always been slender, but still healthy.

Now, as Henry’s hand brushed against his back, he could feel every ridge of bone pressing sharply beneath the skin. It felt like those jagged vertebrae were stabbing straight into Henry’s heart, drawing invisible blood.

He lowered his gaze further and noticed Joshua’s hair—it now reached his shoulders, and only the tips still retained their original black color. The rest had turned completely white at the roots.

Joshua finally let go, and Henry looked down at him.

His brother’s face was gaunt, the hollowness of his cheeks making his eyes seem even larger and rounder.

Those wet, glistening eyes stared up at Henry, brimming with tears.

Henry frowned, gently wiping them away—but Joshua turned his face aside, murmuring, "Lately... my tears just keep falling like this..."

He raised a hand to wipe them himself, and at that moment, Henry caught sight of the bloodstains soaking through his clothes.

Henry’s heart clenched. His body trembled as he reached out, gripping Joshua’s arm tightly. "You—"

But before he could finish, a deep, guttural roar thundered through the house, cutting him off.

And it wasn’t just one—it was many.

Joshua immediately pulled away, muttering softly, "They’re hungry again..."

Then he turned and dashed back toward the kitchen.

The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances, but Henry only raised his hand and said in a low, firm voice, "Stay outside."

The moment the words left his mouth, they obeyed instantly.

The door shut behind them once more. Henry followed quickly into the kitchen—

and the stench of rot grew stronger and stronger.

The moment Henry saw what was inside, terror appeared on his face for the first time.

Three corpses were tied tightly to chairs.

The chairs were stained black with the foul slime seeping from their rotting bodies.

They had decayed beyond recognition, their mouths opening and closing repeatedly as they let out guttural growls—like a nest of starving crows demanding to be fed.

And Joshua—

Joshua stood before them, a knife in his hand, slicing pieces of flesh from his own body.

The plate beside him was covered in fresh blood, a slab of his own meat already laid neatly on top.

He had been a pampered young master since birth, the kind who would pout for hours over the most minor injury.

Yet now, he was cutting his own flesh without a single change in expression—only the tears that wouldn’t stop flowing down his face. They fell continuously, just like the blood dripping from his hand with every cut.

Suddenly, Joshua’s hand was grabbed firmly, the knife clattering to the floor.

He blinked in confusion and looked up—straight into Henry’s eyes.

Then, without warning, Joshua broke down, his voice trembling as he sobbed, "Brother Henry... do you want to eat my flesh too?"

"No, Joshua. Come on, I’m taking you away," Henry said quietly, pulling Joshua toward the door.

Joshua’s steps faltered.

If he left... what would happen to his parents and his brother?

He tried to pull free from Henry’s grasp. "Can we take them with us? I know they’re... not normal, but lately they’ve been better. You saw it too, didn’t you? They can talk again."

Henry looked into Joshua’s tear-filled eyes, then at the grotesque, half-rotten monsters tied to the chairs.

Joshua was still staring at him—eyes pleading, pure and desperate.

Henry drew his gun.

Joshua’s eyes widened. "No—what are you doing?! You can’t! You can’t do that!"

"I haven’t even raised my gun yet, Joshua. But you know, don’t you? You know they’re not people anymore."

Joshua shook his head violently, shoving Henry back. "They’re my family! Go away! I’m not going with you!"

"They’re dead, Joshua! What you see in front of you—they’re just monsters now!"

For the first time in his life, Henry shouted at Joshua.

He gripped the boy’s thin shoulders tightly, his voice breaking with fury and grief.

Joshua stared at him, eyes empty, unfocused.

"If they were still alive—if they truly were—would they ever want to see you like this, Joshua? If they were alive, would they drink your blood? Would they eat your flesh?"

Henry could barely breathe; the words burned in his throat.

Joshua—his Joshua—it was his fault. He had come too late.

I’m sorry, Joshua.

Then, he felt a gentle touch against his cheek.

Joshua looked up at him, face crumpled, and whispered through his tears, "Brother Henry... please don’t cry. I’m sorry... please don’t cry, okay?"

Crying?

Only then did Henry realize—tears were streaming down his own face.

So he could still cry, after all.

Joshua kept wiping at Henry’s tears, but no matter how much he wiped, they wouldn’t stop.

His own sobs broke loose—loud, desperate, uncontrollable.

He collapsed into Henry’s arms, wailing until it sounded like his soul was breaking apart.

No one could tell whether he was crying because Henry wept, or because of what Henry had said.

If they were still alive, they would never drink your blood.

If they were still alive, they would never let you suffer even a moment of pain...

They’re really dead...