Author: The first voting round is over, and your choices have shaped the story so far. If you haven't voted yet, now is the time. Without your votes, I won't be able to continue writing.

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[Yhwach Pov. ]

The world spun violently as I was thrust into this new world, the blinding azure light of the portal consuming me. As the light finally receded, I found myself in a sprawling, unfamiliar landscape.

The moment the blue pillar of light vanished, a dense, oppressive silence settled over the clearing. The birds, startled by the sudden eruption, had scattered into the sky, their frantic cries echoing through the trees. The ground beneath me was scorched and ravaged, but the blue flames that had ignited were now nothing more than fading remnants. Without Reishi to sustain them, the flames quickly died out, leaving only smoldering ashes and the lingering smell of burnt earth.

I tried to rise, but a jarring pain stopped me. My entire torso felt like it was on fire. Looking down, I saw the extent of my injury—the gaping wound inflicted by Ichigo Kurosaki was still very much present. The jagged edges of the cut pulsed with each beat of my heart, raw and unhealed.

The pain was relentless, a constant reminder of my humiliating defeat and the limitations of my current state. My once-immense power was absent; The Almighty was gone, leaving me with only my diminished physical strength. This new world offered no solace, only the harsh reality of my injury and the absence of Reishi.

I struggled to focus, my breathing ragged. The lack of Reishi made survival here even more daunting. Each movement sent fresh waves of agony through my body, making it nearly impossible to maintain any semblance of composure.

Despite the overwhelming pain, my mind remained sharp. I assessed my situation with urgency. This was not the Soul Society, nor any realm I recognized. The air was different—void of the spiritual energy I was accustomed to. Surviving here would be a formidable challenge, even if I managed to escape the immediate danger of the dying wildfire.

Strength was slipping away with every breath. I needed to find shelter and tend to my wound or risk succumbing to my injuries before I could make any further plans. The realization that I was now a mere shadow of my former self in this unfamiliar world only deepened my sense of desperation.

I gritted my teeth as I reached for the maroon-black cloak draped over my shoulders. The cloak, fastened with a large button at my neck, stood out sharply against the desolate surroundings. My injured torso throbbed with each movement, but I forced myself to stay focused. With a pained grimace, I unclasped the button and slid the cloak off. Though tattered from my recent ordeal, the fabric was still in surprisingly good condition.

As I removed the cloak, the pain in my wound intensified. The jagged edges of the cut seared through me with each shift of the fabric. Ignoring the throbbing agony, I carefully folded the cloak and pressed it against my torso, using it as a makeshift bandage. The pressure helped to stem the bleeding, though it did little to ease the pain.

I drew upon my remaining Reishi, activating Blut and directing the spiritual energy through my body with painstaking precision. The flow of Reishi was sluggish, and the process of healing was excruciatingly slow. I could feel a faint sense of relief as the energy coursed through me, but the wound remained far from healed.

The sharp sting in my chest was a constant reminder of my vulnerability in this new world. My gaze fell upon the old water bottle that R-1 had given me, still lying amidst the wreckage. Frustration surged within me as I reached for the bottle, my movements hindered by the intense pain.

As I grasped the bottle, a jolt of agony shot through me, causing me to curse vehemently. "R-1, you treacherous fool! You couldn't even be bothered to heal me before sending me here?"

I unscrewed the cap of the bottle, my hands shaking slightly as I fished out the parchment inside. The paper was old and worn, but it unfurled easily. As I began to read, my expression darkened with each line.

The parchment began with a mocking tone.

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From: Your dearest Uncle to his beloved overgrown Nephew (Who somehow looks older than him. )

"Congratulations on accepting the terms and conditions ( No Refunds Permanently). Here's what you need to know:

Power Loss: Nearly all your power has been stripped away. This includes the Schrift and any other absorbed abilities. You are now a shadow of your former self, with only your base physical strength remaining.

The Almighty: Your eyes will return to being closed once more, meaning The Almighty is gone. Your foresight and all-seeing capabilities have been taken from you, leaving you with nothing but your current, weakened state.

Injury: Your current injury is severe, and you will find healing to be a slow and arduous process. It is a testament to the harshness of your new reality.

Environment: This new world is drastically different from what you're used to. It lacks Reishi and spiritual energy, and its laws are not bound by the rules of your old realm. Expect harsh climates, unfamiliar terrains, and a world where even basic survival skills must be relearned.

Resources: Your access to resources is limited. Unlike the realms you once knew, this world does not offer easy access to spiritual or material advantages. You will need to find and secure your own means of sustenance, protection, and support. Be prepared to struggle for even the most basic necessities.

Interactions: The inhabitants of this world are ordinary humans with no knowledge of the spiritual realms. They may view you with suspicion or hostility, especially given your unfamiliar appearance and behavior. Understanding their customs and gaining their trust will be crucial for your survival.

Survival: You are not just dealing with physical challenges but also psychological ones. The isolation, the lack of power, and the unfamiliarity of your surroundings will test your mental resilience. Survival will require not only physical endurance but also mental fortitude.

And a final note: I know you will curse me for the circumstances I've left you in. One more insult, and you'll wish you had remained in that void, facing a fate far less cruel than the one I've reserved for you now.

Also, a small riddle that may or may not help you depending on how you interpret it

Riddle: To navigate this world, one must adapt to its laws and learn from its people. Your power is stripped, but your will remains. Seek out the beacon of change and follow its light. Remember, in this world, even the smallest of actions can have profound consequences.

Side Note: Once you're done reading this paper it'll burn up in flames and you'll need to rely on your memories to remember this don't worry even if you somehow manage to hit your head or get your memories erased or worse you'll remember me and this"

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The parchment crumbled into ashes in my trembling hands. The paper burned rapidly, the words turning to blackened smudges and eventually vanishing in a flicker of flame. I watched, my heart pounding in sync with the dying embers, as the last remnants of the parchment dissolved into nothingness.

The heat of the fire lingered, a cruel irony in the face of my current plight. My thoughts swirled with a mix of anger, confusion, and despair. Every shred of the parchment seemed to taunt me, a final insult from R-1, my so-called "Uncle." The mocking tone of the letter echoed in my mind, each line an added weight to my already overwhelming burden.

I grimaced as the searing pain in my wound throbbed relentlessly, a stark reminder of my vulnerability. The reality of my situation was harsh and unforgiving. My former powers, once a source of immense pride and confidence, were now nothing but a distant memory. The parchment's cruel details about my lost abilities and the challenges of this new world only intensified my frustration.

R-1's words about the world lacking Reishi and spiritual energy rang true. This world was a stark contrast to anything I had known. The absence of spiritual essence felt like an oppressive void, making my struggle for survival all the more daunting. The parchment's mention of harsh climates and unfamiliar terrains seemed to mock my current condition.

I looked around, the scorched earth and the remnants of the blue flames offering no comfort. The silence was almost deafening, starkly contrasting the chaos of my recent battle. The oppressive quiet was broken only by the distant, frightened cries of birds fleeing from the aftermath.

With a sigh, I attempted to focus on the riddle left for me. "Seek out the beacon of change and follow its light," it had said. The words seemed almost poetic in their simplicity, but they carried a weight of expectation. What beacon? What light? The only light I saw was the fading brilliance of the portal that had brought me here, and it was now a distant memory.

My frustration grew as I tried to push through the pain and the uncertainty. I knew that survival in this world would require more than just physical endurance. It would demand adaptation, resilience, and perhaps even a degree of humility—a notion that grated against my very essence.

I forced myself to rise, despite the excruciating pain. The makeshift bandage of my cloak offered some relief, but it was only a temporary measure.

My gaze fell upon the remnants of the parchment, now only a faint memory in the ash-strewn ground. There was no turning back now. The world awaited me, and my only choice was to face it.

The screech of tires and a deafening crash shattered the uneasy silence I had been engulfed in. Even with my senses dulled by my weakened state, the sound of metal crumpling and glass shattering cut through the stillness with brutal clarity.

Driven by both curiosity and the need for survival, I forced my gaze toward the source of the noise.

My injured body protested with every movement as I struggled to my feet. but I pushed through it. Each step toward the source of the commotion was a struggle against the searing agony in my torso.

I staggered through the dense underbrush, the pain in my wound intensifying with every step. The forest seemed to close in around me, the thick foliage blocking out much of the sunlight.

My breathing was labored, and I could feel my strength waning. The thought of finding some semblance of safety, or at least understanding my surroundings, pushed me forward.

As I neared the site of the crash, the scent of gasoline and burnt rubber filled the air. The mangled remains of a police car lay sprawled across the forest floor, its metal frame twisted and broken. Smoke billowed from the engine, adding a pungent acridness to the already overwhelming stench.

Amidst the wreckage, I spotted a figure slowly dragging himself from the overturned vehicle. He was a dark-skinned man, bloodied and disoriented, with a nasty cut on his leg. His movements were sluggish, but there was a determined look in his eyes. He seemed to be struggling with a pair of handcuffs, trying to free himself.

Nearby, the lifeless body of a police officer lay sprawled on the ground, a pool of blood forming beneath him. The sight of the dead officer and the shotgun lying nearby confirmed the brutality of the crash. My gaze lingered on the shotgun for a moment, contemplating its potential use. But I had no intention of harming him—not yet, at least.

My eyes locked on the man. He was different from the souls I had encountered before, and I sensed no spiritual energy from him or the surrounding area.

This confirmed my suspicions: this world operated under entirely different rules. There was no Reishi, no spiritual energy to draw upon. I would need to adapt quickly to avoid becoming vulnerable.

I watched as the man, his movements labored and pained, managed to crawl out of the wreckage. He was clutching his leg, which was bleeding heavily. His face contorted with pain and determination, he dragged himself toward the fallen officer. I could see the desperation in his eyes, the frantic need to find something—perhaps the keys to his handcuffs.

As the man fumbled with the officer's belt, my gaze shifted to the shotgun lying on the ground. The weapon gleamed dully in the scattered light filtering through the trees.

My mind raced with possibilities. This man, injured and vulnerable, could be of use to me. In my current state, I needed all the leverage I could get.

The man finally managed to free himself from the handcuffs. His expression was one of determination and pain. As he stood up, I saw an opportunity.

My gaze fell on the shotgun lying nearby. It was a weapon I could use to my advantage. But I had to approach with caution. The man was vulnerable, and I needed to assess his potential value before making any overt moves.

I moved closer, my movements were calculated and deliberate. I could see the man's struggle as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. His focus was on the fallen officer's belt, where the keys were attached. He seemed oblivious to my approach.

I couldn't afford to let this opportunity slip away. I drew closer, making sure not to alert him prematurely. Just as the man began to stand, I made my move. I struck him with a forceful blow to the face. The impact was sharp and decisive, sending him stumbling backward. His head spun, and he barely managed to regain his balance. The force of the strike was calculated to disorient him without causing permanent harm.

As the man looked up, his vision clearing, he muttered something that sounded like "Jesus." The term was unfamiliar to me, a concept I had no knowledge of.

My gaze remained calm and detached as I regarded him. There was no recognition of this "Jesus" in my mind, only the immediate reality of the man before me.

I took a moment to analyze the situation. The man was clearly in a state of disarray. His expression was a mix of confusion and pain, and he appeared to be struggling with the aftermath of the crash. I needed to handle this interaction carefully. This world was filled with variables I had yet to fully understand.

I regarded him with an impassive gaze, my expression calm and detached. "Never heard of him," I replied smoothly, my tone devoid of emotion. It was not dismissive, nor mocking, merely an honest acknowledgment of my ignorance.

I had no knowledge of his world's religious or mythological constructs; my focus remained on the immediate tactical advantages.

I reached for the shotgun, lying amidst the wreckage. The weapon was an object of potential use, an extension of my current situation. The man's life, hanging by a thread, could offer insights or leverage.

As I aimed the shotgun directly at him, the cold calculation in my gaze was unmistakable. This was not a mere encounter; it was a pivotal moment in this unfamiliar world.

Before I could further assess the situation, a guttural sound drew my attention. The police officer, previously thought lifeless, emitted a low, unsettling noise—a groan of some kind. I turned my gaze toward the officer, who had begun to move.

The sight was horrifying; the officer's skin had turned a sickly gray, his eyes milky white. He no longer resembled the man he once was but rather a grotesque parody of human life.

My instincts as a strategist kicked in. I observed the shotgun shells scattered on the ground and swiftly reloaded the weapon.

The sound of the shotgun's metal parts clicking into place resonated with a cold finality. My gaze remained sharp and focused, noting the man's sudden panic as he turned to the officer.

The transformation was evident: the officer had become a monstrosity with a singular, murderous intent. I noted the officer's frenzied movements, crawling toward the injured man with a feral snarl.

The situation had escalated beyond mere survival; it had become a matter of immediate danger.

The man's shout for help—"What the hell is wrong with you!?"—was a plea for sanity in a world that had clearly lost its grip. His situation was precarious, and his fear was palpable. He was backed against the wreckage, the limited space leaving him with few options for escape.

I observed the man's predicament with a clinical detachment, recognizing the immediate threat posed by the transformed officer. The man's futile struggle to regain his footing highlighted his vulnerability, making the situation ripe for intervention.

With the officer closing in and the man's options dwindling, I made a swift decision. The buckshot was ready, the weapon's weight comforting in my hands. I aimed the shotgun at the officer's head, my gaze unwavering. There was no room for hesitation.

The sound of the shotgun's discharge was deafening in the stillness of the forest. The blast echoed through the trees, and the officer's head exploded in a grotesque display of blood and gore. The man, momentarily stunned by the sudden intervention, watched in wide-eyed horror as the immediate threat was neutralized.

I felt something moving through the brush, a disturbance that wasn't just the wind. The gunshot should have driven off any animals, so it had to be a person. But as the figure emerged from the shadows.

A woman—or at least, something that resembled one—approached with a disturbing calm. Her skin was a deathly gray, eyes empty and white. The grotesque sight of her torn flesh and missing jaw was unnerving, but what struck me most was the stench of decay that followed her.

She moved steadily, moaning with each step, and the sight filled me with a deep unease. The man was already on edge, and I could sense his dread. This was no ordinary threat.

As I assessed the situation, I saw more figures emerging from the shadows. They were like the officer, grotesque and unhuman. The sight was unsettling, but I knew I had to remain focused. The man, now aware of the growing threat, began to limp away, pushing through his pain. His determination to escape was evident, and it was something I could use.

We both saw the fence up the hill—our possible refuge. The moaning and groaning of the undead grew louder, and the man's pace quickened despite his injured leg.

I followed, matching his urgency, my own pain momentarily forgotten in the face of the greater danger.

When we reached the fence, we scrambled over it, our combined effort more frantic than graceful. The impact as we fell into the backyard was rough, but it was better than the alternative.

The sounds of the creatures on the other side were deafening now—growls and the thud of their attempts to breach the barrier. They weren't particularly strong individually, but their numbers could pose a serious threat.

As I lay on the ground, catching my breath, I could still hear the growls and thumps against the fence. The thought of being overwhelmed was a chilling one. I glanced at the man beside me, still catching his breath, his face a mix of pain and relief.

I kept my grip on the shotgun steady, my gaze fixed coldly on the man. Despite my injuries and the loss of my powers making me vulnerable, my senses were sharp, taking in every detail of our grim surroundings.

The man's breaths came in ragged bursts, each one a reminder of the agony in his leg. He shot me a glance, noting my stoic demeanor as the shotgun hung loosely at my side. The air between us was thick with tension, each man acutely aware of the other's potential threat. There was no camaraderie here, only a mutual wariness.

Breaking the silence, The man's voice was strained but determined. "We're not exactly friends, but we're stuck together for now. I need to get my leg treated, and you"—he motioned toward the cloak wrapped around my bleeding torso—"look like you could use some help yourself."

I narrowed my eyes, the cold edge in my voice unmistakable. "Help?" I repeated. "Why should I accept anything from you?"

The man winced but held his ground. "I'm not asking for friendship. I'm saying it's in both our interests to work together until we figure out what's next."

His presumption surprised me, but I kept my expression impassive. "You overestimate your importance. Our situations are drastically different. I am under no obligation to assist you."

The man's frustration was palpable, but he nodded slowly. "Fair enough. But if you're smart, you'll see that right now, we're both in a tight spot. We can either tear each other apart or find a way to survive."

The tension between us remained thick, neither of us willing to fully trust the other. My mind raced, assessing the situation. My weakened state and the unfamiliarity of this world meant every decision was critical. The man's insistence on cooperation, though begrudging, might be the only practical option for now.

I spoke with cool detachment. "I will not extend my trust easily. Your survival may be useful in the short term but do not mistake this for an alliance. Any hint of betrayal, and I will act without hesitation."

His expression hardened, but he accepted the reality of our predicament. "Understood. I'll do what I need to stay alive, and you do the same. Let's just get through this for now."

We reached the sliding glass door and peered inside. The living room was visible, with a dining table and a staircase, but no signs of life. A light on a table in the main hall blinked intermittently, casting an eerie glow.

The man banged on the glass. "Hello? Is anyone here?" he called out, but only silence answered. He briefly considered waiting for a response, but with nothing left to lose, he figured there was no harm in trying. His standing with the law couldn't get much worse. Testing the door, he found it unlocked and pushed it open.

"I'm coming in! Don't shoot!" he announced, more to be safe than anything. "I'm not an intruder…" He glanced at me and then back outside. "…or one of them."

I moved to investigate the blinking light, finding a telephone with an answering machine. Seeing nothing better to do, I activated the machine.

"You have 3 new messages." The automated voice said.

"Hey, Sandra! This is Diana. Thank you so much for taking care of Clementine for us! I'm calling to let you know that we'll be staying in Savannah for a little while longer. Ed had an altercation with some crazy guy in an alley. He might have gotten an infection or something. He's in the E.R. but it shouldn't be more than a few days. Tell Clementine we love her!"

A woman cheerfully spoke over the phone. I glanced to the left of the phone and noticed a framed photograph of a family—a mother, father, and daughter. The frame was knocked over, the glass smeared with something dark. Blood, perhaps?

"You have 2 new messages." The answering machine said.

"Oh my God, Sandra!"

The same woman said, sounding considerably more distressed.

"It's chaos out here! The city is on lockdown and Ed's condition is getting worse! Listen, when you get this, leave the city and take Clementine with you. I need to get back to the hospital. Please let me know you're safe!"

Lee next to me frowned, The man wondering just how bad the situation was in the cities. It seemed so normal the last time he was in Atlanta not too long ago. Was it earlier that day or the day before? He wasn't sure how long he was unconscious in the wreck, but it couldn't have been longer than a day. Did things get out of control that fast?

"You have 1 new message." The answering machine said.

"Clementine, baby…"

The woman sounded like she was in tears while recording.

"…if you can hear this, call the police! That's 9-1-1! We love you! We love you…"

The woman trailed off and the message ended.

"Jesus…" The man next to me said. Whoever Sandra and Clementine were, he could only hope they made it out okay. Still, if they left any supplies in the house, I could make use of them, reasoning that they would want to help him if they knew he was hurting. Feeling parched, he hobbled over to the kitchen to see if he could find something to drink.

Before the man wandered toward the kitchen, searching for a drink His earlier shout, "Jesus," still echoed in my mind, and I couldn't help but question its meaning.

"Are you still calling me that?" I asked, my tone flat and inquisitive. The question was a reflection of my confusion and a desire for clarity about this world's customs.

The man, struggling to steady himself, turned slightly toward me, his face etched with pain and weariness. "What? Oh, you mean 'Jesus'? It's… it's just an exclamation, something people say when they're shocked or desperate," he explained, his voice strained as he continued to search through the cluttered kitchen.

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I nodded slowly, processing the information. This world's language and expressions were foreign to me, but understanding them was essential.

He slipped unexpectedly on the kitchen floor, landing with a thud and a sharp cry of surprise. The impact was jarring, but more unsettling was the sight that greeted him: the floor was stained with what appeared to be blood. The realization was both shocking and unsettling, accentuated by the splatters now marring his clothes.

Using the nearby countertop for support, he pulled himself up, his clothes now bearing the grim evidence of his slip. Despite his discomfort, he pressed on into the kitchen, navigating the small but homey space. Drawings by the family from the photo adorned the fridge, depicting cats, puppies, and butterflies.

He spotted a plastic cup filled with water next to the sink. His thirst took precedence, and he eagerly drank its contents. The cool liquid was a welcome relief, and he felt a slight surge of comfort.

As he looked out the window above the sink, his gaze fell on the treehouse he had noticed earlier. Something about it seemed different, but he couldn't quite place what had changed. Was someone watching from up there all along?

"Daddy?" a high-pitched voice came from one of the cutlery drawers. The man swiftly opened it to find a walkie-talkie hidden away.

Curious at the prospect of finding someone else, he raised the talkie to his lips and spoke. "Hello?" he asked.

"You're not my daddy…" The voice responded, sounding dejected.

"No, I'm not." The man confirmed. "Who is this?"

"I'm Clementine." The voice said. he frowned, realizing that she hadn't been taken out of town if she could talk to him in the house.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"I'm Lee," he responded, his voice steady. He then turned to me, hesitant. "And this is..." He faltered, realizing he didn't know my name.

I stayed silent, letting him struggle with the introduction. "This is my friend," he finally said, to which I snorted, finding the notion absurd. But Lee pressed on, Lee ignored me, pressing on.

"Where are you? Are you safe?" He asked Clementine

"I'm in my treehouse." Lee realized what was different: the door was ever-so-slightly ajar. A little girl poked her head out through. "I can see you. Can you see me? I'm waving at you right now." True to her word, Clementine waved a tiny hand at Lee and he waved back, offering a smile.

"I hid up here when they came. I don't think they can climb, so they can't get me." Clementine explained.

"That's smart." Lee complimented, impressed with this child's resourcefulness.

The silence of the house was abruptly shattered by a rhythmic thumping sound, a dull, heavy noise that seemed to reverberate through the walls.

I turned swiftly, the pain in my torso flaring with the abrupt movement. My instincts urged me to be ready, but my shotgun was frustratingly empty.

I discarded the empty weapon and gripped it as a makeshift club. It was not ideal, but it would have to suffice until I could find something more effective.

"What's wrong?" Clementine asked, sounding concerned.

"Uh, is there anybody here with you?" Lee asked, creeping toward the direction of the noise. He could vaguely hear the shuffling of footsteps and the sound of someone groaning.

"There was Sandra, my babysitter," Clementine said. "But she…oh no…" she went silent.

"She what?" Lee stopped to say into the talkie. "Clementine? What happened!?"

By the time Lee had finished asking, the answer became clear. Rounding the corner to the kitchen was what he could only assume had been a relatively pretty young woman at some point. Now it was devoid of humanity, pale, and shambling towards him with its' twig-thin arms outstretched and mouth wide open. Sandra wasn't home, but her body still was.

Acting on instinct, Lee grappled with Sandra, grabbing her wrists and leaning away from her rotting mouth. He couldn't feel any breath coming from it, but he could smell the decay. Wrinkling his nose and gritting his teeth, Lee pushed Sandra away, backing into the kitchen counter in an attempt to get away.

Sandra stood in the doorway. He was cornered unless he could get past her. Vaulting over the island into the living room wouldn't work because of his leg. He had to fight to escape.

Lee yanked open the closest drawer in hopes of finding a weapon. A large knife greeted him and he grabbed it, pointing it at the slowly-advancing Sandra. "Stay back!" he shouted in vain, "I'm warning you!" Sandra launched herself at Lee, and he stabbed at her.

The knife lodged itself in her shoulder but it had no effect. Lee held her at arm's length, her jaws snapping inches away from his nose. He grabbed her shoulders and threw her to the back of the kitchen, hobbling away as best he could.

My body ached, every movement exacerbating the relentless pain in my torso. The make-do bandage, an inadequate salve for my grievous wound, did little to ease the suffering.

The screeching thud of Lee's fall and the subsequent groan of Sandra snapped me from my daze. I turned my gaze just in time to see Lee collapse, his head striking the kitchen island with a sickening crack.

The situation was rapidly deteriorating. I watched as Sandra—her form now a grotesque mockery of her former self—advanced on Lee. Her movements were uncoordinated but driven by a singular, horrifying intent.

Instinctively, I knew I had to act. I gripped the shotgun tightly, my left hand resting on my wounded side, a grimace of pain crossing my face as the healing power of Blut worked at a glacial pace.

The sound of the sliding door being thrown open cut through the din of the kitchen. A little girl, no older than seven or eight, stood in the doorway. Her tiny hands clutched a hammer, and her eyes were wide with Fear.

I had to focus. The girl's presence was a complication, but Sandra's growls brought me back to the immediate threat. With a steely resolve, I stepped forward, positioning myself between Sandra and Lee. My movements were careful, and calculated, but driven by an urgent need to end the threat.

I swung the shotgun with all the strength I had left. The impact on Sandra's head was a sickening crack that echoed through the kitchen. She twitched, so I hit her again, splitting her forehead open. Even then, I bashed her one last time, driving the broken weapon deeper into her skull.

Exhaustion hit me hard like I'd been running for days. My arms throbbed, and every part of me ached. I glanced at Lee; all he could manage was a weak "Man..."

My gaze shifted to the little girl—Clementine. She stood frozen, staring at the disfigured face of her former babysitter, arms outstretched as if waiting for her to get up. Her eyes, bright and almost amber, looked up at us.

"Did you kill it?" she asked. She looked like she wanted to poke it with her shoe.

"Yes," I replied with a cold detachment, my voice devoid of any warmth. The word was simple, but it carried a finality that was intended to be clear. I didn't have the luxury of compassion—survival was my priority.

Lee, still recovering from the earlier conflict, confirmed my response with a hesitant, "Yeah, I think so." His words were strained, the fatigue and pain evident in his voice.

I yanked the broken shotgun from Sandra's head, examining the battered weapon. The gun was now useless, rendered ineffective by the violence it had witnessed. I threw it aside with a dismissive flick of my wrist, the action a necessary but unceremonious end to its utility.

"Good," Clementine said, her voice a faint whisper. She clasped her hands together, her posture shrinking in on itself as if trying to become smaller, less noticeable.

Her next words came out in a stuttered confession, "I think she was a…m-monster." Her gaze remained fixed on the ground, her innocence starkly contrasting the brutal reality she had witnessed.

Lee, still visibly shaken, agreed with a somber, "I think so, too." He glanced at me, his expression a mixture of relief and wariness, then reached into his pocket and retrieved the hammer he had earlier.

I observed the girl closely, noting her resemblance to the family in the photograph. She had the same brown skin and frizzy hair, topped with a blue-and-white baseball cap emblazoned with a cursive "D." The resemblance was undeniable. She was indeed the child from the photo, her appearance matching the innocent faces captured in a moment of happier times.

The girl looked up briefly, her eyes meeting mine before falling away, focusing on the ground. She rubbed her arm, a gesture of discomfort or perhaps fear. Lee's concern for her was evident, his gaze softening as he tried to bridge the gap between them.

Lee, his voice soft and laden with concern, asked, "You've been all by yourself through this?"

"Yes," Clementine stuttered, her voice barely a whisper. "I want my parents to come home now…"

I glanced at Lee, noting the serious, almost pleading look he gave me—a silent request to avoid shattering the girl's fragile hope.

I considered telling Clementine the truth about her parents, but Lee's warning was clear. The truth would only add to her suffering, and it was evident that Lee, despite his own dire circumstances, wanted to protect her spirit as best he could. I met Lee's gaze with a glint of defiance but chose to remain silent.

Lee's voice softened as he replied, "I… think that might be a while." It was a half-truth, but he wasn't ready to crush her spirit just yet.

Clementine's response was a quiet, "Oh…" Her disappointment was barely contained, but her acceptance of the situation was evident.

Lee shuffled closer to the girl, his movements deliberate and gentle. "Look, I don't know what happened," he said, his voice steady and reassuring. "But I'll look after you until then." His smile, though weary, was genuine.

Clementine continued to stare everywhere but Lee's eyes, rubbing her arm and squinting her eyes as if she were deep in thought. Lee couldn't force her to come with him, but if she stayed alone for much longer, she wouldn't make it. That he knew for sure.

Finally, her eyes met his. "Ok." She said uncertainly. It was as good an answer as any, as far as Lee was concerned. "What should we do now?"

"We need to find help before it gets dark." Lee decided, hoisting himself back to his feet.

"Ok. I like that." Clementine nodded. "It's not safe at night."

Lee returned her nod, satisfied, and stepped out the back door. He felt something soft on his hand. Looking down, he found Clementine prodding at it with her own. He grasped her palm, and she grasped back, still looking unsure. He offered her a reassuring smile, and she offered a small one in return. Together, hand-in-hand, they set out.

[ Scene Break - Third Person Pov. ]

Yhwach and Lee were able to get a better view of the entire neighborhood. Cars were piled up in the streets, with the roads being almost impassable. Glass and debris were strewn everywhere, likely as a result of the panicked exodus that's what Yhwach theorized. There were no humans or undead creatures in sight, but that didn't reassure Yhwach in the slightest. The cars themselves were largely empty, but a couple seemed to have dormant bodies.

No body is really dormant anymore. Yhwach thought

Lee suppressed a shudder as he took the scene in. Finally, the gravity of the situation was starting to set in. This disease had taken the lives of unsuspecting people and turned them upside down, like Hell had been given a pathway to Earth and Satan's minions had all walked through that path destroying everything in their way.

"We'll start with this house," Yhwach said, pointing to a home with cars still in the driveway. The occupants might still be inside.

"Is anyone alive?" Yhwach called out, his voice echoing through the silence.

When there was no response, Yhwach tried the doorknob, finding it unlocked. The door led into a typical living room, similar to Clementine's house, but it was eerily empty. Yhwach moved cautiously through the house, his makeshift bandage wrapped around his torso, and called again.

"Hello? Is anyone here?"

Lee followed behind Yhwach with his hammer looking for any signs of human life, but besides the usual aches and creaks, there was nothing.

"Maybe they left through a neighbor's vehicle. Or maybe they're hiding upstairs." Lee suggested.

With this in mind, Yhwach slowly walked up the stairs and motioned for Lee to follow him. There was a hallway with a few rooms attached to it. The closest room to the stairs had the door creaked open, so Yhwach decided to check it. He slowly creaked open the door and froze.

What the hell?

The room belonged to a child, considering there were toys strewn around and a little train set attached in the corner. There was also a mini basketball hoop attached to a closet door, which was closed so Yhwach couldn't see inside. The occupant of the room was also present, and Yhwach deemed him to be a boy about 8-10 years old who was lying on the bed with his eyes closed. The most poignant detail of all was the bullet hole in the boy's forehead.

Oh my god. Someone shot him. Jesus Christ, someone shot a little boy. Lee thought, horrified.

"Jesus…" said Lee as he followed Yhwach inside the room. "I'll check the other rooms to see if there is anyone still alive."

He quickly went into the room opposite of the one they were just in. The room had a pink floral pattern and was definitely a lot more "girly" than the previous room. There were barbie dolls laying in the corner, along with a few headbands and hairpins on the dresser. The occupant of this room seemed to be a lot more orderly than the boy. They were also lying on the bed with their eyes closed and a bullet in their forehead. The girl couldn't have been more than 12 years old.

Lee was shellshocked, but he knew that he had to keep going, so he went to the end of the hall to the last room with a door open. From here, he could practically smell death, as the scent permeated his nostrils. He quickly opened the door and time stopped.

The scene in this room was a lot grislier. It was a master bedroom of sorts, which had a few tables and a couple of chairs. There was a large bed, that was actually devoid of any bodies, and a dresser that had a makeup kit on it. There seemed to be a door leading to the bathroom, but Lee didn't care about that. In the far corner, a man and woman lay dead, with the woman's face permanently etched in fear.

Did she even want to die? Lee thought, disturbed.

The man himself seemed a lot more peaceful, considering the fact that it seemed a bullet had found a home in both of their craniums. A pistol lay next to the man, which Lee assumed had once belonged to him. Over on the far wall, a scripture had been written in blood saying,

GOD HAS PUNISHED US FOR OUR SINS! I WILL NEVER LET MY WIFE AND CHILDREN BE SUBJECT TO THIS DEMONCIC WORLD!

This man killed his entire family just so they wouldn't have to suffer. What did the world become these past few days, such that fathers are now killing their children?

Lee wasn't sure he wanted to find out. Instead, he walked over to the pistol and was about to grab it before a foot pressed down. Lee looked up to find Yhwach standing there with a disapproving look before he slid the pistol over to himself.

"What the hell, man?" asked Lee.

"Lee, I might have let you come on this little supply-gathering mission with me, but that doesn't mean I trust you enough to let you handle firearms," explained Yhwach.

"I know how to use a gun, man."

"That's not what I meant."

Lee just took a step back and sighed. "Look, I'm not some guy who loves killing people just for fun. You've killed more people today than I have my entire life."

Yhwach was surprised that Lee decided to take this approach, but his surprise quickly gave way to anger. The weight of the situation pressed heavily upon him, and he resented the insinuation that Lee could understand the gravity of his actions.

"Do not mistake my actions for a reflection of my principles," Yhwach said, his voice dripping with disdain. "I operate with a purpose, and that purpose does not align with the sensibilities of common men. You must understand the difference between killing out of necessity and killing for the sake of pleasure if you wish to comprehend my actions."

Yhwach's eyes narrowed as he fixed Lee with a steely gaze. His voice was cold, almost imperceptibly sharper than before. "Let me be clear, Lee. The reason I didn't allow you to take that firearm isn't merely a matter of trust or your understanding of weaponry. It is because I have no intention of relinquishing control to someone whose judgment I do not fully trust."

He took a deliberate step closer, the pain in his side momentarily forgotten as his focus shifted entirely to Lee. "In this world, trust is a luxury I cannot afford. The carnage you see around us is not just a consequence of this disease—it is a reflection of a world where the weakest and most foolish succumb first. I need to maintain my position, and that requires making decisions based on logic, not sentiment."

Yhwach's expression hardened further. "You must understand that in these circumstances, your apparent innocence or the façade of your integrity means little. I do not have the luxury of trusting someone based solely on their word or their past actions. I've seen too many betrayals, and too many false assurances. I cannot afford to make the same mistake."

Lee's frustration was evident, but he held his ground, trying to mask his growing weariness. "So, what's your plan then? We just go through this mess, pick up what we can, and leave? You're not exactly making it easy for us to work together."

Yhwach's expression didn't change in the slightest. "My plan is to survive and to maintain control over my own fate. I intend to utilize every resource at my disposal and to ensure that any potential threat to my survival is neutralized swiftly and decisively. Your role in this is secondary. If you prove yourself useful, that will be noted. If not, you will be discarded as easily as any other distraction."

His tone carried a finality that brooked no argument. "Understand this: my actions are driven by necessity, not personal vendettas. I will continue to act in a manner that ensures the highest probability of survival. If you can align yourself with that objective, we may manage to work together. If not, you will find yourself on your own sooner than you expect."

The silence that followed was thick with tension. Yhwach turned away, his gaze shifting to survey the grim surroundings. "We have more pressing concerns than personal grievances. Let us focus on the immediate task at hand."

Lee's expression shifted from frustration to resignation as he took a deep breath, understanding the gravity of the situation. He glanced around at the remnants of what was once a family's home, the horrifying truth of the world's new reality sinking in. He nodded curtly. "Fine. Let's just get this done."

[Timeskip: Later that Evening]

Yhwach trudged along to the final house that he was searching with Lee. The 2nd and 3rd houses had given them a few more supplies including bottled water, canned goods, and a couple of bandages. There were no dead occupants in either of those houses, which was a relief.

Lee decided to go through the side fence near the front door since that would attract less attention. He looked back and noticed Yhwach trudging along.

Although, I can't blame him. Our argument was pretty nasty. I can't believe I accused an old man of being a remorseless killer when I was the one who was convicted of murder.

Murder. A crime is usually done without remorse. To Lee, he wished that he didn't care at all about killing the state senator. That it was something he could do in his sleep and do again without emotion. However, that was far from the truth. Lee wished he could tell someone about the nightmares he was experiencing as a result of the murder. Anyone, really.

Would He empathize with me if I told him? I should probably give him his space after today. Clementine just met me and don't even know the truth.

"You're back!" said Clementine, taking Lee out of his thoughts.

"Yeah, we're back, and we found some stuff. Looks like this supply trip was worth it," said Lee in a pleased tone.

By that point, it was getting late into the night, and Clementine looked like she was getting tired.

Yhwach surveyed the area and then addressed the duo. "It's been a long day for all of us. We should rest up. I'll take the first watch, and Lee will take the second. Is that acceptable?"

Lee and Clementine both nodded in agreement.

Honestly, I'm just surprised he's entrusting me with the group's safety.

As the trio settled down to go to bed, Lee started drifting off to sleep. The nightmares came back in full force, as they usually did.

[Lee's Nightmare]

"I love you baby." stated his wife, before that laugh turned into a scream. Glass started shattering and police sirens started blaring before someone started shouting "Lee!".

[End of Lee's Nightmare]

Lee jolted awake, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding from the remnants of a nightmare. The dim light filtering through the curtains revealed Yhwach still on guard, his eyes fixed on the surroundings. The tension in the air was palpable, and Lee took a moment to gather himself before speaking.

Lee rubbed his eyes and sat up, realizing the depth of his exhaustion. "Sorry for oversleeping," he mumbled, still groggy. "I didn't mean to..."

Yhwach's response was a terse nod, his attention never leaving the area. Lee noticed Yhwach's bandage, now less visible, revealing a nearly healed wound. Despite this, Yhwach had stopped using Blut, the pale glow of reishi no longer visible. The strain of constant use had evidently taken its toll.

Lee shifted uncomfortably. "What time is it?"

"Afternoon," Yhwach replied curtly, his voice devoid of inflection. "We need to leave this neighborhood. We can do one last pass through the house to make sure we didn't forget anything, but after that, we move on."

Lee nodded, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He could see the exhaustion etched in Yhwach's features and felt a pang of guilt. They had been through so much in a short span, and the burden of the world seemed to weigh heavily on both of them.

He walked over to Clementine, gently shaking her awake. "Clementine, time to get up," he said softly, careful not to startle her.

Clementine stirred, rubbing her eyes and yawning. "Is it morning already?" she asked, her voice still heavy with sleep.

"Not quite," Lee replied with a reassuring smile. "We're going to check the house one last time and then head out. We found some supplies, and we need to make sure we've got everything before we leave."

Clementine nodded sleepily and got up, stretching her small frame. As Lee and Yhwach began to gather their things, Lee could feel the weight of their supplies. They had two bags filled with what they had found yesterday, along with anything valuable from Clementine's house. Lee knew they had to move quickly, but he also wanted to ensure they didn't leave anything important behind.

As they approached the fence that separated Clementine's house from the outer neighborhood, Lee started to hear voices. They were faint but unmistakably human. The sound was odd amidst the eerie silence of the desolate streets. Lee stopped, his heart pounding with a mix of hope and caution.

"Hey!" Lee whispered urgently to Yhwach. "Come here. I think I hear something."

Yhwach approached quietly, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the sounds. After a moment, he turned to Lee. "Are those people talking?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Guess there's only one way to find out," Lee replied, nodding toward the fence. He carefully opened it and stepped onto the street, trying to get closer to the source of the voices.

As they moved, Lee saw two figures coming into view. They were Caucasian men, standing a few yards away. One was skinny, wearing a dark green collared shirt and brown pants, while the other was chubbier, dressed in a dirty beige t-shirt and jeans. Both looked disheveled and worn.

The skinny man's eyes widened in shock. "HOLY SHIT!" he yelled, his voice trembling.

His chubbier friend, clearly panicked, shouted, "DON'T EAT US!"

Yhwach's lips twitched into a slight, almost imperceptible smile at their panicked response. Lee, however, quickly raised his hands in a non-threatening gesture. trying to calm the men. "Relax, we're not going to hurt you," he said, his voice steady but reassuring.

"Phew, I thought you and your friend were BOTH going to give us the chomp," the skinny man said, his voice still shaky but a hint of relief showing.

"We need help," Lee replied.

"Trying to get home. This neighborhood is a disaster." the skinny one explained. "Are you trying to get out of here? Because you should be. Those things are all over the damn place. I haven't seen anything as gnarly as this neighborhood since downtown Atlanta, fifteen miles back."

"I'm Lee, this is Clementine," he said, pointing to the little girl beside him, "and the man next to me is..." Lee's voice trailed off as he realized he didn't know Yhwach's name. He glanced at Yhwach, who remained silent, his expression impassive.

The skinny man, still visibly shaken, stared at Yhwach before turning his attention back to Lee. "Okay, well, this is Chet," he said, gesturing to the chubbier man beside him. "We shouldn't be out in the open like this."

He took a deep breath and continued, "How about you help us clear the way, and we'll get you and your daughter, along with your friend, out of here. My family's farm is not too far from here. It should be safe there."

Lee shook his head, a conflicted expression on his face. "I'm not her dad. I'm... just some guy," he said, his tone carrying a note of frustration and exhaustion.

Shawn's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Some guy?" he echoed, incredulity in his voice.

"Yeah," Lee replied, his gaze dropping to the ground.

Shawn glanced down at Clementine, his eyes softening with concern. "She's alone?" he asked, his voice tinged with sympathy.

Yhwach gave a curt nod, his expression unreadable.

"Let's get going," Shawn said decisively. "Staying put for too long is a mistake. We can talk more on the way."

"What do you want to do?" Lee asked Clementine as she looked at her home

"I..." she trailed off until they heard a non-living sound ahead of them

Chet warned the group "Them monsters comin'! WE GOTTA GO!"

"Lee quick! Let's go!" Shawn whispered loudly. Shawn and Lee started pushing the cars out of the way. The undead monsters kept shambling towards them, and Lee was afraid they wouldn't be able to push the cars quickly enough.

"Come on! Just a little more!" yelled Shawn. At that moment, Yhwach came to help them with the final push, and the trio was able to clear a path for the truck.

"Fuck! This is going to be a tight squeeze!" yelled Lee. Clementine and Yhwach got in the truck with Shawn, Lee and Chet both got in the back of the truck.

"GO!" yelled Lee. Shawn floored it past the undead creatures.

There must have been so many walkers in the neighborhood that we didn't see. I don't know how our group didn't run into more.

Lee could count his blessings at the fact that their entire group was unscathed…for now.

[Timeskip: Night time]

Shawn stopped just outside of his farm, and Lee and the others quickly got out.

Chet said "Hey, Shawn…I'm a' run on home. My mama's gonna be in a snit."

Shawn responded "No sweat, man. I'll catch you tomorrow night."

Chet turned to the others and said "It was nice to meet you all." Lee and Clementine watched him walk away.

The front door of the house suddenly opened. An older man who looked to be a little older than Yhwach stepped outside. He was wearing a dark green jacket along with gray pants.

"Thank god, you're ok." said the old man as he approached Shawn.

"I was worried it would be bad here too," said Shawn as he hugged the man.

"Been quiet as usual the past couple of days. Ol'Breckon down the road thinks his mare's gone lame, but that ain't nothing new."

"I wouldn't have made it back without Chet," Shawn stated.

"Well, I'm glad you took him with you then." Shawn's father then glanced at Yhwach, Lee, and Clementine. "It looks like you brought a couple of guests."

"Your boy's a lifesaver," Lee stated to Shawn's father

"Glad he could be of some help." he looked down to see Clementine. "So it's just you and your daughter. Plus your friend here."

"Oh, not his daughter, he's... well... Just some guy who found her on her own."

Shawn's father crouched down staring at Clementine. "Honey, do you know who these two men are?"

"Yes," Clementine said.

Shawn's father nods his head. "Ok, then." he glanced at Lee's limping leg. "Well, looks like you hurt your leg pretty bad there."

Lee sighed. "Yeah, it's not doing so good."

"I can help you out." the father glanced at his son. "Shawn, run on in and check on your sister." he looked at Lee. "You, take a seat up on the porch and I'll go see what I have."

Shawn's father's eyes moved from Lee to Yhwach. His gaze lingered on the makeshift bandage wrapped around Yhwach's torso. The careful look of his eyes gave way to a mixture of concern and curiosity.

"Looks like you've taken a hit, too," The old man said, his voice carrying a hint of both sympathy and medical assessment. "I see you've got a bandage there. How did you get injured?"

Yhwach, still standing with his usual composure, turned to face Shawn's father, his expression as unreadable as ever. "It's nothing significant," he replied, his tone dismissive. "Just a minor inconvenience."

the older man's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't press further. "Minor or not, it's important to take care of it properly. If you're up for it, I can take a look and make sure it's healing well. Sometimes what seems minor can turn into something more serious if left unattended."

Yhwach's gaze flickered briefly, acknowledging Shawn's father's offer. "I appreciate the offer, but I've managed thus far. I'll tend to it myself."

Lee limped onto the porch, with Clementine hastily coming up behind him as he sat down on a bench. while Yhwach, standing nearby, observed silently. The old man went inside and came out carrying a bundle of bandages.

Shawn's father knelt beside Lee, his hands methodically inspecting the swollen leg. "Let's have a look," he said, his tone practical and reassuring. "Yeah, this is swollen to hell."

Lee grimaced, trying to mask his discomfort. "Could be worse," he replied, glancing toward Yhwach, who was watching silently. Yhwach scoffed softly, his eyes betraying no emotion.

The old man continued his examination, shaking his head. "That's what it sounds like. Seems like things are awful and bad in the cities." He looked up from Lee's leg, his gaze shifting to Lee. "What'd you say your name was?"

"It's Lee," Lee responded, wincing slightly as Hershel adjusted the bandages.

"Nice to meet you, Lee. I'm Hershel Greene," the older man said with a nod. "And what about your friend? Does he have a name?"

Yhwach's gaze met Hershel's, and his expression darkened slightly. "Does it matter whether you know my name or not?" he asked, his voice carrying an undercurrent of irritation.

Hershel raised an eyebrow, slightly taken aback by Yhwach's response. "Huh. Well, if you're going to be here overnight, I'm going to need it. Unless you'd rather hit the road."

Yhwach's eyes narrowed, and he sighed heavily. "'Jugram'," He said, his voice barely concealing his frustration.

Hershel looked at Yhwach with mild surprise. "Oh. I didn't expect you to be German, given your lack of a German accent."

Yhwach's expression remained impassive. "I've learned English," he said curtly.

Hershel's hands moved with practiced efficiency as he bandaged Lee's leg. Lee winced occasionally, but he remained silent, focusing on the older man's words.

"How'd this happen?" Hershel asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and concern.

"Car accident," Lee replied through gritted teeth.

"That so?" Hershel continued, pressing the bandages firmly. "Where were you headed before the accident?"

"I was getting out of Atlanta," Lee answered.

Hershel raised an eyebrow. "The news says stay."

"Yeah, well, that's a mistake," Lee said, his voice tinged with frustration. He paused, then added, "We hit a guy, one of those things you've been hearing about, on the road."

Hershel's gaze shifted to Yhwach. "Who were you with, Jugram or the girl?"

Lee glanced at Yhwach, who stood nearby with an air of detachment. "I was with 'Jugram.' He gave me a ride."

Hershel chuckled lightly, though there was an edge to his amusement. "Awful nice of him, although his driving skills could be better. He almost killed you and himself, or something like that."

Yhwach scoffed, his thoughts drifting to the absurdity of being compared to common drivers. Unbelievable. As if I needed more proof of the ridiculousness of human sentiment.

Lee gave a wry smile. "I'm an awful nice guy."

Hershel's attention shifted to Clementine. "House is full up with mine. We've got another displaced family of three sleeping in the barn. You and your daughter are welcome to rest there when we're done here."

Turning back to Yhwach, Hershel added, "If you need any bandages or medical equipment, we've got enough to spare."

Yhwach ignored the offer and did not respond.

Hershel looked at Clementine, who had been quietly observing. "I didn't catch your name, darlin'."

"Clem... Clementine," she said softly.

Hershel's expression softened with empathy. "Can't imagine what you've been through, Clementine."

Lee placed a reassuring hand on Clementine's shoulder. "I'm looking after her until we find her parents."

At that moment, Shawn walked onto the porch. "Hey, Dad. So, I'm thinking, first thing tomorrow, we gotta reinforce the fence around the farm."

Hershel frowned. "That doesn't seem necessary."

"I don't know what you saw on TV or heard on the radio," Shawn countered, glancing at Clementine. "But there's some serious..." Shawn hesitated, his gaze shifting back to the group. "...SHIT hitting the fan. I don't think anyone knows how big it is yet."

Yhwach nodded in agreement. "Your son's right. You're going to want to fortify this place."

Hershel shook his head. "Stuff like that doesn't happen around here, Shawn."

"Dad, I'm serious," Shawn pressed. "Lee and your friend know what happened out there. Come on, tell him what you both saw."

Yhwach's voice was cold and factual. "I saw a father kill his entire family."

Lee added, his tone grim, "I watched a man let himself get run over without blinking an eye."

Hershel's face hardened with the weight of their words. "Well, do what you think you should. We've got plenty of chores as it is."

Shawn, determined, said, "Lee and those folks in the barn can help out in the morning. We gotta do it, really."

Hershel sighed, resigning. "I already said okay."

Shawn headed back inside, and Hershel finished bandaging Lee's leg. "Well, I'm all done here. It should start to feel better tomorrow."

"Thanks," Lee said, his voice tinged with relief.

"If your leg gets hot or the swelling doesn't go down, you're probably dealing with an infection," Hershel advised.

"What do we do then?" Lee asked.

Yhwach and Hershel replied in unison, "We'll probably just have to shoot you."

Lee's eyes widened in shock, but Hershel quickly added, "I'm kidding. We'll clean it and make sure it doesn't get worse. If it does, then we'll figure it out."

Lee exhaled deeply, trying to shake off the surprise. "Alright. Thanks for the help."

As Hershel packed away his supplies, Clementine stood close by, her small hand gripping Lee's arm for comfort.

Yhwach made his way toward the barn, the oddness of his surroundings weighing on him. It felt like he'd stepped into a different reality—finding himself not just in another world, but in a zombie apocalypse. Despite the strangeness, the promise of a good night's sleep was a welcome reprieve.

To be Continued