The group of survivors trudged through the city’s desolate streets, their faces etched with exhaustion and fear. They had been on the move for days, driven from their previous shelter by a growing sense of unease and the gnawing knowledge that they had made a terrible mistake in pushing Nathaniel away.

"Do you think we’ll find a safe place?" one of the survivors, a young woman named Sarah, asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She clutched her jacket tightly around her, as if trying to ward off the chill that had settled into her bones.

"We have to," the middle-aged man with the scraggly beard replied, though his tone lacked conviction. He was the one who had questioned Nathaniel, and now he couldn’t shake the guilt gnawing at him. "We’ll find somewhere… we have to keep moving."

But as they pressed on, the city seemed to close in around them, the once-familiar streets now a maze of shadows and looming threats. The air was thick with the scent of decay, and every noise—every creak, every rustle—sent shivers down their spines.

"We never should have let him go," one of the survivors muttered under their breath, echoing the thoughts of many in the group. "We need someone like him… someone who can protect us."

The words hung heavily in the air, a reminder of their vulnerability. They had thought they could survive on their own, that they could trust in their own strength and numbers. But now, with the city closing in around them and the threat of the corrupted growing ever closer, they realized just how wrong they had been.

As they rounded a corner, the survivors were met with a sight that made their blood run cold. Standing in the middle of the street, blocking their path, was Detective Blackwood.

But this was not the man they had known before. His once-sharp eyes were now dull and clouded, his face twisted into a mask of malice. There was an aura of darkness around him, something primal and terrifying, that sent a wave of fear through the group.

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The middle-aged man stepped forward, trying to muster what little courage he had left. "Detective Blackwood," he called out, his voice shaking. "We’re just trying to find a safe place. We don’t want any trouble."

Blackwood’s gaze swept over the group, his eyes cold and unfeeling. "Safe place?" he echoed, his voice devoid of warmth. "There is no safe place. Not anymore."

The survivors exchanged nervous glances, their fear escalating. They could sense that something was horribly wrong, that the man standing before them was no longer the detective they had once trusted.

"You’ve been corrupted," Sarah whispered, her voice trembling with dread. "Just like the others…"

Blackwood’s lips curled into a cruel smile. "Corrupted? No. I’ve been… enlightened. The weak will perish, and the strong will survive. That is the law of this new world."

The group recoiled at his words, their fear turning to panic. They had seen what the corrupted could do, the brutality and violence they were capable of. And now, standing before them, was one of their own—twisted and changed into something monstrous.

"We have to run!" someone shouted, and the group began to back away, their instincts screaming at them to flee.

But Blackwood was faster. In a blur of motion, he lunged at the nearest survivor, his hands now enhanced by the dark power coursing through him. The man barely had time to scream before Blackwood’s fingers closed around his throat, crushing it with inhuman strength.

The others watched in horror as their comrade’s life was snuffed out in an instant. They turned to run, but Blackwood was on them, moving with a speed and ferocity that defied belief. He was a blur of violence, cutting them down one by one, the corruption driving him to slaughter without mercy.

In the chaos, Sarah managed to slip away, her heart pounding in her chest as she darted into a nearby alley. She could hear the screams of her fellow survivors echoing in the distance, followed by the sickening sounds of their deaths. Tears streamed down her face as she ran, her mind reeling from the horror she had just witnessed.

But as she rounded a corner, she skidded to a halt, her breath catching in her throat. Blackwood stood before her, his dark eyes locking onto hers. The shadows around him seemed to pulse with life, as if the darkness itself was a living entity that he controlled.

Sarah’s legs gave out, and she collapsed to the ground, her body shaking with terror.

"Please… don’t," she begged, her voice barely a whisper.