cHApTEr 12. unTil TwisTED killEr Do us pArT (3 of 3)

Kevin’s deadly ribbons soon crumbled into dust, vanishing into nothingness and releasing his body, which dropped to the ground with a heavy thud. Once those silky tentacles stopped strangling Mioray’s black threads, he withdrew his head, previously kept high, back into the safety of his neck.

For the first time tonight, the back alley went silent. It was surreal. Mutilated bodies in yellow hazmat suits lay strewn across the asphalt, still and grotesque. All of them were undead. All of them would rise again. The Restored.

The Order of Mercy was confident enough to deploy them in the field. After all, they didn’t lose anything, except maybe the hazmat suits, most of which had been damaged. But one thing continued to puzzle Mioray: why did they need the suits at all? Or the assault rifles? Undead like him developed special abilities. Sure, not every power was suited for combat, but some had to be far more effective than bullets. The thought of Farah’s heatsink ability immediately came to mind.

“Mioray!” a boy cried, stumbling out of a nearby parked car. “Mioray! Is it finally over?”

“Stay where you are, Matt!” Mioray shouted, spotting movement among the corpses. As expected, Impact Corpse rose again, towering like a mountain rising from smoldering ashes, his soul’s aura flickering in unstable bursts of mint-green light. “Natalie, can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” came Natalie’s voice through the earbud. “What’s the situation outside?”

“I think we’re safe from the Order of Mercy, for now. But…”

“The Dismantler is still standing?” she finished for him. The detective didn’t need an explanation.

“Yeah,” Mioray exhaled, eyes locked on the monster reviving for what felt like the millionth time. “Still standing.”

A feral roar ripped through the alley. The madman was drenched in blood, yet bore no visible wounds. He wasn’t just healing by stitching cells back together. No, he was regenerating, creating new flesh at a staggering rate. It was a feat only he could pull off. Well, him and Terry, when the racer lost his mind in a similar way.

“Where?!” the monster roared again. This time, the words were clear. “Where… is she?!”

Who are you talking about? Mioray wondered, eyeing the green-glowing presence fused to Impact Corpse’s frame, flaring and dimming in erratic pulses. As unstable as his mind.

What exactly was he after? He came for Mia, but it wasn’t like he needed her, specifically. Or Mioray, for that matter. He only needed them to be undead for some reason. A reason they still knew nothing about.

Natalie kicked open the van's rear doors, her handgun at the ready. She surveyed the battlefield quickly, then holstered the weapon. It wouldn’t help against Impact Corpse. She had learned that lesson back at the abandoned factory.

“We need to get out of here,” she said, grabbing Farah’s lifeless body by the shoulders and hauling her into the van. “We can’t take him right now. We got what we came for. Let’s retreat and wait for the others to come back to life.”

“But how will we find him again?” Mioray asked. Not that he was against the idea. Superhero or not, he was in no shape to take on Impact Corpse alone. It was pure luck the towering man didn’t pay him or Natalie any mind, searching for someone else.

“How many times have you crossed paths with him in the last two months?” Natalie replied, hopping back out of the van.

That was fair. Too many times, if anyone asked Mioray.

“Where?!” Impact Corpse roared again. This time, the red dots glowing in his black eyes locked squarely onto Mioray, like Mioray held the answer to his unhinged question. “Where is she hiding?!”

The giant raised his massive fists, preparing to slam them down and detonate, but Mioray was faster. He launched his arms forward, black threads extending like tendrils, and grabbed Herman by the forearms, halting the fatal blow before it could land. No impact meant no explosion.

But easier said than done. Impact Corpse was insanely strong. Mioray’s threads stretched taut, bursting at the seams. He could feel muscles of his detached arms tearing apart, and even in his shoulders. He wasn’t fooling himself. He wasn’t a match for the monster.

“Natalie! Get to Matt and take Kevin! I’m not going to hold him long!” Mioray shouted, straining, unable to take his eyes off the towering man.

“Don’t be stupid, Mioray! Get away from him!”

“Now!” Mioray screamed, pouring everything into that single, desperate word.

He probably looked pathetic, clinging to the behemoth like a doll caught in a whirlwind. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was buying time, just enough for Natalie and Matt to get Kevin’s body into the van. He’s getting dragged around way too much lately, Mioray thought bitterly, his mind racing even as his strength failed. I’d love to throw that in his smug face next time he wakes up.

But what about the keys to the van? Without them, even if they loaded Kevin in, they’d never get away. And the keys were still on the pale woman from the Order of Mercy, lying unconscious just a few feet behind Impact Corpse.

The monster followed his gaze.

“You…” his guttural voice thundered. “You can’t hide from me!”

Suddenly, the ground detonated beneath him. A thunderous explosion shook the alley. The place where the giant stood was now a crater, asphalt spiderwebbing with fractures. Impact Corpse shot into the air, both legs obliterated in the blast. Mioray wasted no time, retracting his arms, now free and – thank holy Mirabelle – still intact.

It was clear now what the monster was after. The pale woman. Mioray groaned, watching the blood-soaked madman land hard, splattering red as he crashed near her. He was crawling toward her, zealous, single-minded, as his legs regenerated before Mioray’s eyes, flesh reforming in real time, like some grotesque 3D printer. Up until now, Impact Corpse had been killing anyone who crossed his path. If he had eyes on the pale woman, she was in grave danger.

“Herman, please stop!” Mioray called out.

The madman froze mid-crawl. The green lightning flames writhing around his body... dimmed slightly. Calmed, even. Did calling him by name reach his soul?

“I know you’re still in there, Herman,” Mioray continued urgently, before the beast could lose himself again. “Please. Stop this mindless violence. You’re better than this. I know you are.”

Herman Clopton rose to his newly regenerated legs and turned toward Mioray. For a second – just a flicker – sanity touched his burning black eyes.

“You…” The word rasped from his lips like it was foreign. He spoke as if learning how to talk again. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know who you’re looking for, Herman,” Mioray said cautiously, step by step edging backward.

“My wife... my wife…”

Herman clutched his head with both hands, repeating the words like a broken record, grief leaking through his voice, raw and childlike. Mioray’s mind raced. Was it working? Could words bring him back? Something that didn’t work with Terry?

“I don’t know where she is, Herman,” Mioray said as the towering man lumbered closer. “Did something happen to her?”

“She...” Herman’s voice cracked, and for the first time, he sounded human. “She died.”

Was it you who killed her? Mioray was tempted to ask, but he held the words back. That question could shatter what little restraint Herman had left. Still, the revelation struck hard. Herman had a wife, and he was searching for her. Was that what all of this was about?

“How did it happen?” Mioray asked instead.

“I don’t know!”

The green light of Herman’s soul flared violently, the aura sharpening at the edges like blades. Mioray braced for an attack, but it didn’t come.

“She was dead… but then she wasn’t.”

That could only mean one thing. She was undead. Mioray’s eyes scanned the corpses in yellow hazmat suits, scattered around the alley. Could one of them be Herman's wife? Someone resurrected by the Order of Mercy? Or had Herman only imagined her return, because his desperate grief twisted memory into obsession? It was the tragedy of a man who lost his wife too soon, whose pain was weaponized and distorted by the Order’s meddling.

“I found them… and they offered me a place in their research into conquering death,” Herman said, voice becoming clearer with each word. His mint-green soul flickered, slowly stabilizing. “They said I had to die… for this world. But it didn’t go how they expected. I was flawed. So they locked me up. And experimented. And experimented. And experimented. And experimented!”

Each repetition cracked louder with trauma. The memories were suffocating him. His face twisted, warping into something barely human.

Mioray clenched his jaw. If what Herman said was true, then the Order’s experiments had gone far beyond ethical boundaries, considering he was undead. But why label him as flawed? Was it the way he died? But the important thing was coming back from the dead, wasn’t it? It wasn’t like Herman Clopton started out a monster… If the theory about how insanity consumed undead was correct, that is.

“The dead are not dead!” Herman shrieked, voice devolving into madness. “I broke free! Lost! Find not dead! Cut flesh comes back. There is no decay!”

His soul blazed. His words broke into erratic fragments. “Kill! Find others like me. Find others like her! Where is she?! Where is she?!”

“Herman, calm down,” Mioray said, raising both hands slowly. “Please. Just calm down…”

Movement behind him made him glance back. He expected Natalie and Matt, dragging Kevin’s limp body toward the van. But no, it wasn’t them. It was Erinel.

She limped forward despite her wounds, each step trembling with barely-contained effort. In her hand, she carried the Cursed Blade, looking like a black fog-forged weapon wrapped around a silver snake. Erinel’s half-shrouded hazel eyes were fixed, unwavering, on Impact Corpse.

“Keep distracting him, Mioray,” she said, her voice like ice wrapped in steel.

But that’s not what I’m doing, he thought, heart sinking.

From everything he had pieced together, Herman Clopton – Impact Corpse – was indeed the infamous Dismantler. He ended Mioray’s life. He was responsible for the deaths of Chris, Julie, Claire. He sent Terry spiraling into insanity.

And yet Mioray couldn’t hate him. Maybe it was something about emotions manifesting in a different way now that he was dead. Or maybe it was because Herman didn’t even seem to realize he was a murderer. He wasn’t some cackling villain reveling in bloodshed. He was broken. Cursed.

Somehow, it felt like they were tied together. Bound by the same dark fate. The Dismantler and Dismantle Corpse. Mioray didn’t want to just stall him. He wanted to reach him and pull him back from the abyss. He called out his name again, but this time, there was no response. Erinel passed by Mioray, her gaze locked on the madman. The black blade in her hand shimmered with a malevolent pulse, catching the crimson light of Mars hanging high above in the sky.

“The guilty must be dead. They must be dead. All must be dead!”

Suddenly, Herman’s eyes darkened, the red dots inside them vibrating violently with wrath. Without warning, he lunged forward and snatched Erinel by the waist with one massive arm. She tried to stab him in that same moment, but he caught her wrist with his other hand, effortlessly lifting her arm upward, keeping the Cursed Blade far from his body.

Erinel struggled, but she was too weak. Her wounds – however quickly greanrips were supposed to heal – reopened. Red and green blood seeped from her side, soaking into her dress like wilted paint on canvas.

Impact Corpse’s muscles swelled grotesquely. Mioray had seen this before at the university, when Julie died, held by Herman in almost the exact same position. When she was crushed, caught in an explosion.

But Erinel couldn’t die. Mioray wasn’t ready for that.

“No!” he yelled, bolting toward the towering figure. Gunfire erupted behind him – Natalie, most likely, unloaded her clip trying to grab the giant's attention. But bullets meant nothing to Impact Corpse. They might as well have been raindrops. “Let her go, Herman!”

Herman turned and kicked Mioray mid-sprint. He didn’t detonate the strike, but the sheer power behind the blow was still insane. Something cracked in Mioray’s chest, sharp and sudden. Breathing became labored. He collapsed, ribs moving loosely inside him with each breath. Did one of them puncture a lung? He could feel blood pooling internally, and he desperately tried to control his bloodflow not to faint.

“ALL MUST BE DEAD!!!” Herman’s voice burst from his throat like thunder, his soul erupting in green lightning, wild and uncontrolled.

Why did Erinel leave the van? Why throw her life away for this? She was a greanrip meant to guide souls of the dead to the realm between realms. But humans had tampered with death, disrupted the cycle and violated the natural order. To Erinel, Herman Clopton must have seemed like an abomination that had to be erased, no matter the cost. Maybe she truly believed there was nothing except this one duty. She had forgotten there could be something else.

“I’m sorry, Erinel,” Mioray said through clenched teeth, his voice soft with regret.

Summoning every ounce of strength, he launched his arm toward her. His black threads stretched and snapped through the air. His hand caught hers, the one clutching the blade. In that fleeting second, he felt the warmth of her hand in his.

Mioray twisted his detached arm, wrenching Erinel’s wrist until it dislocated with a sickening pop. She cried out – sharp and human. The sound stunned him. It was the first time she’d ever shown raw emotion. Even when riddled with bullets, she’d been silent and unflinching.

But guilt of hurting her would have to wait. They weren’t done. With Erinel’s wrist twisted and inverted, the cursed blade now pointed downward. Mioray pulled his hand down, dragging hers with it, driving the blade into Herman’s bloated forearm.

Herman screamed, his bellow filled with raw pain. The blade had barely pierced him, but that was enough. Mioray watched in awe as the weapon began to drink, greedily sucking Herman’s green soul into its sharp black edge. Herman collapsed to his knees, finally releasing Erinel. Mioray lunged and caught her before she hit the ground, cradling her by the waist.

It all happened in a blink. The green haze of Herman’s soul surged along his body – head, chest, arm – before vanishing into the Cursed Blade. His scream stopped, and the fire in his black eyes flickered out. Blood still coated his body, but underneath, his skin turned a sickly blue.

He sat motionless on his knees, head bowed, like a statue frozen in time.

“He’s dead,” Mioray said, stating the obvious. He could hardly believe it.

It was over. It was finally over.

“He is,” Erinel nodded weakly.

“Does it hurt?” he asked her.

“A little, yes.”

The answer hung ambiguously in the air. Was she talking about her dislocated hand? Her bullet wounds? Or something else? Mioray wasn’t sure. His soul energy was depleting. How long will it take for my lung and ribs to heal? he wondered.

“Mioray! Miss Erinel!” Matt’s voice rang out, echoing down the back alley. The boy sprinted toward them, Natalie right behind him.

“I don’t know how, but you did it,” Natalie said when she reached him. “You crazy bastard.”

“I just wanted to save Erinel.” Mioray managed to reply, forcing the words through his throat. He didn’t feel pain, but his body was becoming harder to control, like it was slipping away.

“Of course…” Natalie drawled. “Why didn’t I think of that? She just had to throw herself out there, huh?”

“Yeah,” Mioray looked at Erinel, but her expression was unreadable. “Matt, help me get Erinel back inside the van. Natalie, can you grab the keys?”

Natalie nodded and headed toward the unconscious pale woman to search her. Meanwhile, Mioray and Matt lifted Erinel, though it was more accurate to say Matt carried both of them on his back. Once inside the van, Mioray slumped into the corner, numbness crawling through his limbs.

Then, Natalie’s voice came through the earbud.

“Don’t stick out. We’ve got more company.”

Mioray groaned aloud. What now? Can this night please just end? Forcing himself up, he shut the van’s rear doors, just enough to keep a sliver of vision on the alley. A new line of vehicles rolled into the parking lot through the narrow entrance. Mioray’s pulse quickened. More Order backup? That would be a nightmare, right after their hard-won victory over Impact Corpse!

But then he recognized someone stepping out of one of the cars, followed by her subordinates. Reyna Kayree. Mioray watched, confused, as she passed the yellow hazmat corpses without a second glance. What is she doing here? Wasn’t she part of Lady Anetta’s Foundation?

“What a surprise, Natalie Lance,” Reyna said smoothly as she reached Herman Clopton’s lifeless, kneeling corpse. Natalie stood across from her, tension already bristling. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I could say the same,” Natalie shot back, her voice cold. “What are you doing here, Reyna?”

Reyna sighed, adjusting her glasses with graceful indifference.

“Still not much for small talk, are you?” she said. “Haven’t you heard? It’s all over the news. Some massive shootout in this back alley. Look, even the military got involved.”

She pointed upward. Natalie glanced at the sky, and Mioray tried to follow her gaze through the small crack in the door. Just barely, he saw it: the silhouette of helicopters sweeping across the blood-red backdrop of Mars.

“Lucky for me,” Reyna continued with a bright, innocent smile, “I’ve got a few friends in the military. They let me come by for a visit. Oh, and I also received a helpful tip from your captain. You remember I mentioned we had a good relationship? Anyway, he told me about an unofficial exchange happening here. Between the authorities and the Order of Mercy.”

She paused, tilting her head. “So tell me, detective Natalie Lance, are you involved in that little arrangement, too?”

Mioray felt the trap net tightening. There were just too many players getting involved. Now that Lady Anetta’s Foundation and even the military entered the stage, how would he and the rest expect to get out of here?

“You could say that I am,” Natalie answered evenly, not flinching.

“Ah. Struck with a thankless task, I see,” Reyna said with mock sympathy. “Doing the Order’s dirty work. And I assume this,” she gestured at Herman Clopton. He was like a shape carved out of a rock, “was the asset you were supposed to deliver?”

Her gaze sharpened.

“Looks like the handoff didn’t go quite as planned, hmm?”

“As you can see,” Natalie said, calm and composed, showing no sign of hesitation or inner turmoil. She was deliberately misleading Reyna. Did she have a plan or something? “It’s Herman Clopton.”

“Who?”

“The Dismantler,” Natalie clarified. “The serial killer, remember him? Lately known more for the terrorist attack on Legare University, the massacre at that abandoned factory, and the chaos in the city streets.”

“Ah, right.” Reyna nodded slowly, frowning. “I heard the police suffered heavy casualties during that raid, but the whole thing was classified from the public.”

She walked a slow circle around Herman Clopton’s lifeless form, scrutinizing him with clinical interest. “So, is he the one? The undead?”

Natalie nodded after a brief pause. Mioray sensed she was just as surprised as he was that Reyna knew that much. The woman from Lady Anetta’s Foundation clearly had some knowledge of the Order’s research. But was it just knowledge or was she involved in something deeper?

“How much time do we have before he reawakens?” Reyna asked, voice level, as if she were discussing a weather report.

Just like the Order of Mercy, she didn’t seem to understand the full scope of Herman’s condition. Even now, truly dead, he radiated a dreadful, lingering energy, like he could rise again at any moment and resume his slaughter.

“I don’t know,” Natalie replied with a shrug. “An hour, maybe?”

“Okay. Laura, keep him sedated,” Reyna ordered one of her aides, a sharp-featured woman with an obedient demeanor. “We don’t want him waking up and killing us all here. I’m assuming that was his work?”

She gestured toward the bloodied corpses in yellow hazmat suits.

“It was,” Natalie confirmed. “But they are also undead. They’ll probably revive at some point too.”

“Excellent,” Reyna said, rubbing her hands together in satisfaction. “This is like a sweet spot for our investigation. The Order of Mercy is going to have a lot of explaining to do. And the bodies here, they’ll make valuable specimens for the Foundation.”

She turned back to Natalie. “Now, I’d like you to tell me everything. I need a clear picture of what happened here.”

Natalie rubbed her eyes with one hand.

“I’d rather get some rest first. You know, I had to fight for my life.”

Reyna’s tone softened slightly. “I hear you.” She placed a hand gently on Natalie’s shoulder. “I understand. Get some sleep. Tomorrow, we’ll have a chat. Does that work for you? I’ll find someone to take you home.”

“Thanks, but I can handle myself. The van is police property. I have to return it.”

“Of course, of course,” Reyna said, smiling slyly. “Nadir, call the front. Tell them to let Natalie Lance through.” But her voice turned just a shade firmer. “And Natalie, don’t forget. I’ll be expecting that conversation tomorrow.”

Natalie didn’t respond. She turned and walked back toward the van. She shut the rear doors, sealing Mioray, Erinel, and Matt in a blanket of darkness. A few moments later, the engine rumbled to life, and the vehicle hovered above the ground before easing forward.

It was incredible. With careful misdirection, Natalie had left Reyna completely unaware that several more undead were hiding in the very van she’d just let leave. Somehow, they had actually pulled it off. Against all odds, they rescued Mia.

A few minutes later, Natalie’s voice came through the earbud, calm and reassuring.

“We’re en route to the storage facility.”

Inside the van, Mioray leaned against the metal wall, focusing on his bloodflow, forcing his body not to shut down. Every breath was heavy, but he stayed conscious. Erinel sat beside him, her breathing soft and steady. She looked far more stable now. Clearly, greanrips were built differently from humans. Opposite them, Matt sat cross-legged, his phone’s flashlight casting a soft glow around the dim interior. He was chewing on a lollipop.

“So...” Mioray broke the silence awkwardly. “Now that it’s over… Remember you said you were looking forward to watching another movie together?”

Erinel turned her head to him.

“Do you have something specific in mind?”

“We could watch ‘Swan Peace’,” Mioray suggested. “It’s not a movie, it’s a TV show. I rewatched it with Matt the other day. I think you’ll like it. Don’t you think so, Matt?”

“Yeah, I think you’ll like it, Miss Erinel,” Matt said, eyes lighting up. “I’d like to watch it again with you, too. Maybe we could wait for Mia to come back and watch it all together?”

Well… that wasn’t quite what Mioray had in mind, but how could he say no to Matt, especially when his crystal-blue eyes were shining with hope?

“Sure,” Erinel replied, smiling softly. “It’s not like we’re going to watch it today. Today, I’d just like to rest in my room. I need some time alone to heal properly.”

“Totally understandable,” Mioray said quickly, eager to reassure her. “No one’s going to disturb you. Only over my dead body.”

Erinel chuckled. The sound made Mioray feel warm. It was exactly the reaction he was expecting. For the first time in what felt like forever, it truly seemed like the worst was behind them. He only wished Terry had lived to see this moment. And then there was Herman Clopton, another regret that clung to him. Mioray still believed, deep down, that they could’ve saved him. But in the end, they’d been forced into a corner. There was no other choice but to kill him.

He froze when he felt Erinel gently rest her head on his shoulder. A few of her black-violet strands tickled his cheek. Was she asleep? It looked like it.

“Erinel, are you okay?” Mioray whispered.

“Shh,” she murmured. “Let us just be like this, Mioray.”

He couldn’t stop the wide smile that crept across his face. It was a small, precious moment, one he knew he would carry with him forever. Perhaps it wasn’t the right time or place to feel something so tender, surrounded as they were by the dead: Farah, Kevin, and Mia, still tied to a chair, her body slowly regenerating. But Mioray couldn’t help when or where his heart felt closest to Erinel’s.

That was kind of his life now. Or death.

Until twisted killer do us part, he thought wryly.

Hopefully, Herman Clopton – Impact Corpse – was one of a kind. And hopefully, none of them would ever become anything like him.