Second Coming Of A Villain

Chapter 10: Fighting Mutated Zombie Tom

Maverick was taken aback. He had encountered reanimated corpses before, but never had he seen one rise so quickly. In his old world, the undead required time—a death steeped in months of lingering Yin energy or the result of a demonic ritual requiring the barter of a soul. Both processes took weeks, if not months. Yet here stood Tom—or Tommy, whatever his name was—barely two minutes since death had claimed him, already upright and unnervingly animated.

The snap of Tom’s head jerked clumsily in Maverick’s direction, his murky white eyes locking onto him with unnatural intensity. What was more alarming was the hatred emanating from him. It wasn’t the mindless rage of a zombie but something more... personal. The grudge Tom bore from his life had intensified, surging into an almost palpable killing intent.

Maverick’s lips twitched into a faint, wary smirk. "This world is full of surprises," he muttered, his voice low and unruffled.

Tom made no reply—perhaps he couldn’t. Instead, his head tilted backwards unnaturally, exposing the gaping wound on his neck where Maverick’s blade had struck. Black, viscous fluid bubbled from the slit before suddenly shooting out like a geyser.

Roarrrrr!

Maverick’s reflexes kicked in. His eyes narrowed as he bent backward in one swift motion, the stream of corrosive liquid narrowly missing him. It splattered against the sleek, metallic wall behind him with a venomous hiss, the smooth surface immediately corroding under its acidic properties.

“Lovely,” Maverick muttered, straightening his stance. His gaze flicked briefly to the wall as it sizzled, then back to the creature. He could feel the temperature in the room drop slightly, the air thick with the putrid stench of rot and acid.

He took the momentary reprieve to dart into the elevator, which had finally arrived with a soft ding. Stepping inside, he turned to watch as the doors began their slow, deliberate closure.

But Tom wasn’t finished. The creature moved with a speed that was startling for something undead. Its motions were jerky yet alarmingly efficient, closing the gap in mere seconds. Maverick tensed, his hand hovering near the panel as the undead figure reached the door just as it was about to shut completely.

A metallic groan filled the air as the elevator doors nearly sealed, leaving only a narrow five-centimetre gap. Maverick calmed down , thinking he was finally safe.

Until the slit in Tom’s neck stretched grotesquely wide again. This time, it wasn’t liquid that emerged—it was a tongue. A sharp, spear-like appendage coated in the same corrosive substance. It shot out like a crossbow bolt, aiming directly for Maverick’s chest.

His instincts tingle. Maverick twisted his body sideways, throwing his weight into a rolling dodge. The tongue streaked past him in a blur, striking the elevator wall with a loud clang. Sparks flew as it left a deep dent in the reinforced metal, before retracting with a sickening squelch.

“Persistent bastard,” Maverick muttered under his breath, steadying himself against the elevator railing.

The elevator doors finally slammed shut with a satisfying thunk, cutting Tom off from further pursuit. Maverick allowed himself a moment to catch his breath, the adrenaline pumping through his veins making his senses hyper-alert.

The hum of the elevator as it began its ascent was a stark contrast to the chaos just moments ago. But Maverick knew better than to let his guard down. His fingers instinctively grazed the hilt of his blade, still slick with the remnants of Tom’s blood.

His mind raced. The poison-spewing neck slit, the abnormal speed, the retained memories—this was unlike any undead he’d faced before. It was a perversion of the natural order, a mutation far removed from the reanimation processes he was familiar with.

“This world truly is something else,” Maverick murmured coldly, his tone void of emotion. Without hesitation, he pressed the button on the elevator panel, halting its descent and commanding it to return to the upper floor.

Tom turning into a zombie had been an expected eventuality. The radioactive atmosphere of this world likely played a role. Yet, two variables stood outside Maverick’s calculations. First, Tom had completed his mutation in mere minutes—a feat that defied all his logic. Second, and more troubling, Tom hadn’t devolved into the mindless, wandering husk typical of zombies. Instead, he had become a mutated version—stronger, faster, and worse still, retaining his memories. The venomous hatred in those murky eyes was unmistakable.

Maverick—better known as Mo Fan in his past life—had no tolerance for variables outside his control. His instincts, honed by years of surviving impossible odds, tingled with an undeniable warning: leaving this zombie alive would become a problem.

“With how I evolve by killing, I’m certain Tom can do the same,” he calculated, his mind, calm. “If he continues to grow stronger, he’ll regain more of his memories and rationality. When that happens, he will hunt me. The optimal decision is to eliminate him while he’s still in this infantile phase.”

With that, Maverick made his preparations. The bag on his back, laden with supplies, was a hindrance. He dropped it to the floor and stepped out of his boots, the heavy soles unsuitable for swift combat. His movements were precise and showcasing his experience, stripping away anything that could limit his agility.

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Seconds passed. The elevator chimed softly as it reached the upper floor, the metallic doors beginning their deliberate slide open. Inside, the bag Maverick had discarded lay innocuously in the centre, its presence drawing immediate attention.

Bang!

Before the doors could fully open, a spear-like tongue shot through the gap with deadly precision, piercing the bag and spilling its contents.

Tom—or the creature he had become—crawled on all fours towards the elevator, his grotesque form moving with unsettling speed. His head jerked back and forth as his cloudy eyes scanned the area, his mutated instincts searching for prey.

Roarrrr!

The frustrated growl tore through the silence as the creature sniffed the air, its fury mounting at the absence of its target. It stepped into the elevator, its clawed hands and feet making a grating sound against the floor. Finding no one, it vented its rage on the bag, tearing it apart with feral strength. Shreds of fabric and splintered water bottles scattered across the floor, the contents rendered useless.

What Tom failed to notice, however, was Maverick.

Suspended silently above, hidden within the elevator’s escape hatch, Maverick watched with clinical detachment as the creature below raged. His body remained motionless, every muscle coiled like a predator waiting to strike.

When the opportunity came, he moved.

In a fluid motion, Maverick dropped headfirst through the hatch, his body slicing through the air. Using his momentum, he planted his boots against the roof of the elevator, propelling himself downward with explosive force.

His combat knife gleamed in the light as he angled it toward his target. The blade struck true, sinking into the crown of the zombie’s skull with a sickening crunch. The creature convulsed as Maverick’s full weight landed on its back, driving it down onto the floor with a thunderous impact.