Chapter 35: Bus Modifications
While waiting for the hunting groups to return, Merek busied himself. He reattached the heads of his two remaining Vulture undead—easy work, but he took his time and began testing the limits of his Telekinesis.
His current range stretched to around three hundred meters. Anything within that could be lifted or moved, though the strain increased the farther it got. Near the edge of his range, manipulating objects felt like trying to shift boulders with a whisper. He could lift a lot—he’d once tested it in the cafeteria and managed to raise two industrial freezers at once. But the strain hit immediately, like an iron clamp on his skull. He hadn’t dared try again.
His gear, at least, offered some balance. The Darkweave Coat let him slip away when things got too dangerous. His Air Strider Boots gave him a modest 10% boost in speed—just enough to escape or close distance in a pinch. His revolver was a last resort, rarely drawn. And then there was the healing balm, the most valuable of all. A shimmering salve that could mend almost any wound—flesh, bone, tendon—though only a little remained. Magical, yes. But painfully limited.
With all this combined—Telekinesis, Incite, mobility tools—his build leaned heavily toward support. Merek was no frontliner.
Not the berserker with a greatsword, cleaving enemies like a storm of steel. He envied that kind of brute power. Like every hot-blooded youth, part of him longed to charge into battle, steel in hand, glory in mind.
But the Job he’d been given—Weaver—didn’t grant him that luxury.
He thought of Felicity. Her hair had changed color again during the last fight, flaring like white fire before settling back. Some kind of temporary power-up, no doubt, though its exact nature remained a mystery. And it made her dangerous. Unpredictable.
Especially to someone like Merek.
He was the one meant to raise an army, to lead from behind. And yet... he only had three soldiers to his name. Three undead, weaved from dead souls. And therein lay the problem—souls. They were rare. So rare.
Still, as he clenched his fist, Merek could feel the essence flowing through his veins. With each level-up, the power had begun transforming him, body and soul. His strength was no longer average—far from it. A punch now could break a grown man’s skull.
He knew it. Something deep inside told him: