REBORN AS A NECROMANCER : BUILDING THE ULTIMATE UNDEAD ARMY-Chapter 36: Breadcrumbs

Kaine emerged from the bathroom wearing nothing but his shorts and a towel draped around his shoulders.

The hot water had washed away the blood and grime, but it couldn’t clean the weight of what he was about to tell Gwen.

She was waiting in the living room, a plate of sliced apples on the coffee table between two cups of tea.

Her eyes moved to his chest as he sat down, and he caught her looking. She’d never seen him without a shirt before—back when they worked together, he’d always been fully suited up in tactical gear or civilian clothes.

"You’ve been hitting the gym," she said, trying to keep her voice casual.

Kaine glanced down at himself. The supernatural transformation had changed more than just his abilities. His muscle definition was sharper now, his frame more powerful than it had been during his Shadow Guard days. He’d always been in good shape, but this was different.

"Something like that."

Gwen settled into the opposite end of the couch, tucking her legs under her. "So. The whole story."

Kaine picked up an apple slice, more for something to do with his hands than from hunger. "You remember that mission some months ago? The one where my team went dark?"

"The desert district. You were investigating reports of unusual vampire activity."

"Right. Except it wasn’t unusual vampire activity. It was a trap." He set the apple down, untouched. "We went in expecting maybe a nest of thirds or fourths. Instead, we found a fucking convention."

Her eyes widened. "How many?"

"Dozen seconds. Maybe twenty thirds. And something else—something we’d never seen before. They were organized, Patricia. Coordinated. They knew we were coming."

"That’s impossible. The Shadow Guard doesn’t leak intel—"

"Doesn’t it?" Kaine’s voice carried a bitter edge. "We called for backup. Standard protocol when you’re outgunned. You know what we got? Radio silence. Complete fucking radio silence." ƒrēenovelkiss.com

Gwen leaned forward, her professional instincts kicking in. "Equipment failure?"

"That’s what I thought at first. But the vampires were tracking our movements perfectly. They knew our positions, our weapons, our tactics. It was like they had our entire playbook."

The memory of that night played behind his eyes like a horror movie. His team getting picked off one by one.

"They killed everyone," he continued. "Ripped them to pieces. I miraculously managed to survive, just barely. When the rescue team finally showed up the next morning, I was already gone."

"Gone where?"

"Didn’t matter. I was done with the Shadow Guard. Done with the whole fucking war." He reached for his tea, needing something to wet his throat. "I went freelance. Solo missions, no backup, no rules. Just me and whatever vampires I could find."

Gwen was studying his face, reading the pain he couldn’t quite hide. "But something changed."

"Some weeks ago, I tracked a nest to an converted shipping warehouse. There, I found Marcus."

"Marcus was a vampire?"

"Yeah. I tried to kill him, but he was too powerful as at that time. Then he killed me."

The words hung in the air between them. Gwen stared at him, her mind trying to process what he’d said.

"Killed you."

"I don’t remember exactly but I think he ripped my heart out."

"But you’re here."

"I woke up several days later. That’s when the system messages began — notifications about mortal essence, abilities, and what I could become. Marcus had turned me into one of his own... but I became something else. Something better. I killed him — and made him mine."

Gwen picked up an apple slice, but didn’t eat it. Her eyes kept drifting to his chest, to the definition of muscle that seemed almost too perfect, too sculpted.

"So you don’t... you don’t eat flesh? Like he does?"

"No. I need mortal essence—life force that gets released when things die. I can absorb it, use it to power my abilities."

"That’s a relief." She let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. "I was starting to wonder if I was going to have to lock you up next to Marcus."

Despite everything, Kaine smiled. "I’m still human, Patricia. Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"The parts that matter."

She was quiet for a moment, processing everything he’d told her. Her eyes moved to his face, searching for signs of deception, but found only exhaustion and honesty.

"I believe you," she said finally. "I mean, I’ve seen enough tonight to know that the impossible is just Tuesday in our line of work. But Kaine..."

"Yeah?" Kaine found it strange that she was taking it so well.

"I looked into your mission. The one where your team died."

His entire body went still. "What did you find?"

"That’s the problem. I didn’t find anything. The mission report was completely scrubbed from the system. Not archived, not classified—gone. Like it never happened."

"You sure?"

"I remember the date. I remember the briefing. But when I went to pull the file, there was nothing there. Just empty space where the report should have been."

Kaine leaned back against the couch cushions, his mind racing. "Regular Shadow Guard operatives can’t just delete mission reports. There’s protocols, approval chains, documentation requirements."

"Exactly. This level of deletion requires high-level authorization. Command level."

"Who has that kind of access?"

"In our division? Maybe few people. Colonel Steele, Director Silas, and Deputy Director Walsh."

"Steele," Kaine said, the name tasting like poison in his mouth.

"That’s my guess too. He’s been running operations differently lately. Sending rookies into situations that require experienced teams, reducing backup protocols, cutting corners on equipment maintenance."

"He wasn’t always like that."

"No. He used to be one of the good ones. But something changed about some months ago. Right around the time your team got massacred."

Kaine considered this. Steele had been his commanding officer for two years before the mission went bad. Demanding but fair, someone who actually gave a shit about his people coming home alive.

"Greed," he said finally. "Has to be. Maybe he figured out that dead operatives generate life insurance payouts, survivor benefits, memorial funds. More money in the budget for other projects?"

"Or maybe someone paid him to get rid of you specifically."

The thought had occurred to him more than once. He’d made enemies during his time with the Shadow Guard, but none with the resources to corrupt a colonel.

"There’s something else," Gwen said. "About your mission."

"What?"

"Jemima made it out."

Kaine’s expression shifted, surprise mixing with something that might have been relief. "She’s alive?"

"Very much so. She was promoted to sergeant after the mission, though they kept it quiet. No public ceremony, no announcement. Just a quiet bump in rank and pay grade."

"How’s she doing?"

"Good, from what I can tell. She’s been requesting assignments to high-risk areas, volunteer work mostly. I think she’s trying to prove something."

Kaine smiled despite himself. "She always was stubborn as hell. Used to drive me crazy during training."

"She liked you."

"She was a good soldier. Is a good soldier."

"No, I mean she liked you. As in, had a crush on her mentor that was visible from space." Gwen said.

The comment made Kaine pause. He’d known Jemima was enthusiastic about training, about missions, about being part of his team. But he’d attributed it to professional ambition, not personal feelings.

"She might know something about what really happened that night."

"You think she saw something?"

"I think she survived something that killed four experienced operatives. Either she’s the luckiest soldier in the Shadow Guard, or she knows more than she’s telling."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, sharing the apple slices and processing the weight of everything they’d discussed. Gwen found herself stealing glances at his chest, at the way the dim light played across his skin.

"This is insane," she said finally. "Six hours ago, I was a regular Shadow Guard operative hunting vampires. Now I’m harboring a supernatural being and his pet ghoul."

"Marcus isn’t a pet."

"What is he then?"

"Family, I suppose. The only family I have left."

The honesty in his voice caught her off guard. Caught him...off guard as well.

She’d expected some clinical explanation about supernatural bonds or necromantic control, not something so human and vulnerable.

"And what does that make me?"

Kaine met her eyes. "Someone I trust. Someone I need."

The words hung between them, charged with meaning neither of them was ready to explore.

Gwen felt heat rise in her cheeks, her eyes dropping to his chest again before she forced herself to look away.

"I should get some sleep," she yawned, standing up from the couch. "Tomorrow’s going to be complicated."

"Yeah. Get some rest."

She made it halfway to the bedroom before exhaustion finally caught up with her. The adrenaline from the vampire fight, the stress of everything Kaine had told her, the weight of her new reality—it all crashed over her at once.

"Good night, Kaine," she said, settling down to sleep in the sitting room.

She curled up on the couch, pulling one of the throw pillows against her chest. Her eyes drifted shut, and she was asleep within minutes.

Kaine watched her for a moment, noting the way she shivered slightly in the air conditioning. He stood quietly and went to the storage room, peering through the small hole by door.

The ghoul was sitting upright now, his head properly attached and his color much improved. He looked up when he saw Kaine’s silhouette in the window, and nodded once—a simple acknowledgment that everything was proceeding normally.

When Kaine returned to the living room, Gwen was curled into a tight ball, her arms wrapped around herself for warmth. Without thinking, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom.

She stirred as he laid her on the bed, her eyes fluttering open. "Kaine?"

"Just getting you somewhere more comfortable," he said, pulling the blanket up to her chin.

She smiled sleepily and closed her eyes again. "Thank you."

He returned to the living room and settled into the chair across from the couch. The television remote was on the coffee table, and he flicked on the late-night news more for background noise than any real interest in current events.

The lead story made him freeze.

"Police are still searching for the person responsible for what media outlets are calling the ’X and O murders,’" the anchor was saying. "Three more victims have been found in the past week, this time around bearing distinctive markings carved into their torsos. The killer doesn’t appear to be targeting individuals. It is at random, but ritualistic."

The screen showed crime scene photos—bodies arranged in specific positions, wounds that looked almost ritualistic in their precision.

"You’ve caught my attention, killer... Let’s see how long you last once I start digging."

This content is taken from fr(e)ewebn(o)vel.𝓬𝓸𝓶