My Job? Weaving Armour For Undead In Apocalypse-Chapter 41: Stage-2 Skill, Advanced Telekinesis

Three buses roared through the narrow, ruined streets, their engines howling as the drivers wrestled the wheels, swinging the massive vehicles from one end of the street to the other. Again and again they swerved, tires screeching, steel frames groaning under the strain.

But the endless turns and roadblocks slowed them down. From his perch atop the lead bus, Merek’s sharp gaze swept their surroundings. His jaw tightened as he saw the inevitable, hundreds of zombies, closing in fast.

His eyes flicked left and he saw a three-story building. Without hesitation, Merek leapt, his boots hitting the rooftop hard. He rolled, absorbing the impact, and rose fluidly to his feet.

From this new vantage point, his heart sank. The horde wasn’t limited to the street behind. No, they were flooding in from every direction. Side streets spewed forth masses of the dead, and from the buildings themselves, zombies burst from shattered windows, joining the fray in droves.

"Zombies!" Merek’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding.

Felicity and Yuki reacted instantly.

Felicity vanished, an azure blur streaking toward the right flank. Yuki held firm atop the bus, feet braced as her steel soles bit into the metal. Then she moved, her blade became a cyclone, flashing and whirling, a storm of silver death.

Her right hand guided her sword with ruthless precision, cleaving through limbs and skulls. Her left hand carved the air in counterbalance, steadying her every strike. Her footwork blurred, no human eye could track the dance of steel and speed.

From inside the buses, the terrified students and staff saw only a rain of severed limbs and black blood showering down, as if Yuki had become a storm given form.

On the right, Felicity streaked along vertical walls, blades gleaming as they split skulls and rib cages alike. She blinked in and out of sight, her graceful form an azure afterimage across the battlefield.

But then, her instincts screamed a warning. Her perception flared, every sense sharpened. Mid-air, she twisted hard, just in time to see a grotesque zombie, its limbs bent at unnatural angles, launching at the bus from a window she’d just vacated.

With a flicker, she blinked, appearing above the creature, and in one clean motion, her twin blades crossed, decapitating it. Before gravity could claim her, she vanished again, reappearing beyond the bus’s edge, her feet digging deep into the wall at the opposite side of the street. Web-like cracks spread outward, almost claiming that floor. Almost.

The severed head hit the ground with a dull thud, just in time for the third bus to crush it beneath its tires, leaving nothing but black pulp.

The slaughter continued. Felicity’s blades sang their deadly chorus, and when the worst of the wave was done, she blinked back onto the bus roof, sliding backward until Yuki’s iron palm steadied her.

Felicity, panting, blood dripping from both swords, glanced around. "Where’s he?"

Her eyes searched the battlefield. Merek , was he still on that rooftop?

Yuki’s hollow voice broke the silence. "L-Lord Weaver will return."

Felicity blinked, startled. The wraith could speak, and it had chosen now to do so?

Honestly, she didn’t expect it to speak.

As Yuki turned away, she added, her voice as cold and precise as her blade, "I acknowledge your swordsmanship. But you are fighting like a beast; pure instinct, pure emotion. You wield a treasure with no mastery."

Her white orbs flared, as if to punctuate the rebuke.

Felicity stood frozen for a breath. The words cut deep because they were true. And she felt, for the first time, the weight of the power she’d been given... and how little she yet understood it.

Sure, the skills said it all, but it was their application that defined victory and defeat.

....

Meanwhile, Merek crouched on the rooftop, as he surveyed the chaos below. On two neighboring buildings, the Vulture undead stood tall and imposing, their armored bodies like dark sentinels. Each massive blade rested on a shoulder, glinting in the pale light.

The sight stirred something in him, a vision, fleeting but vivid. Twenty of them at his back... marching as one. The very thought made the corner of his mouth curl, a rare hint of a smile.

From this high perch, Merek watched like a hawk, eyes sharp, mind calculating. The horde was a writhing sea of death, but patterns emerged for those who truly looked. Beyond the brutish Type Ones and the lethal, weapon-limbed Type Twos, he’d seen other, stranger forms.

There were those that leapt with incredible force, their legs like compressed springs. ’Froghoppers,’ he thought. That’s what they reminded him of: those tiny insects that could launch themselves great distances in a blink.

And then there were the climbers, zombies that moved on all fours, claws like iron hooks digging into brick and concrete as they scaled the walls, relentless and hungry.

Yes, they were dangerous, but not on the level of a Type One’s raw, ton-crushing strength or a Type Two’s murderous speed and natural weaponry. After cutting down a few of these oddities, he always saw a name on the system when he absorbed their cores: Irregulars.

But those were passing thoughts. Merek’s focus snapped sharp as his gaze locked on two Type Ones surging through the horde, heading straight toward the path the buses had taken. His heart hammered, fire blazing behind his eyes.

He extended his hand, fingers spread. His mind’s grip latched onto one of the Type Ones. It froze mid-charge, flailing as Merek’s power lifted it off the ground. It hadn’t evolved far yet, if it had, this wouldn’t be possible.

Sweat beaded on Merek’s brow as he clenched his fingers, focusing every ounce of will on the creature’s thick neck. It thrashed violently, muscles bulging, but Merek’s grip tightened like an invisible vice.

His whole body tensed, his jaw locked, until at last the Type One’s neck gave way. The head crumpled in on itself, crushed into a grisly, compact ball of bone and brain.

Without pause, Merek turned to the second Type One. His breath came ragged now, but his determination burned hotter than the pain. He imagined his will like colossal hands, grasping the creature, wrapping around its neck, crushing with everything he had.

Pain lanced through his skull, sharp and blinding, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. With a final, furious exertion, he felt the neck snap and tear, yanking clean from the body in a spray of dark ichor.

Thud.

Merek collapsed where he stood, arms and legs sprawled wide against the rough concrete, chest heaving.

[Criteria for skill evolution fulfilled. Your "Basic" telekinesis has evolved into a Stage-2 active skill; Advanced Telekinesis.]

Advanced Telekinesis: [At this stage, your mind’s grip can lift and hurl objects of up to two tons with slight effort. Your focus and control of your will is two times better, and your range has increased to five hundred meters.]

Merek lay still, the world spinning around him, but inside, he smiled. He now had a Stage-2 skill! And he would evolve it into higher stages, no matter the cost.

For now though, he had to return before the others were beyond his reach.