Saving the End: The Villainess Redemption

Chapter 10

Diego gripped Alina’s hand, pulling her toward the shadowed exit of the gym.

"We can't stay here," Diego whispered, his eyes scanning the whispering crowd. "The longer we wait, the more attention we draw. Those thugs are already talking to the other Rankers."

"Where are we going?" Alina asked, her voice trembling as she struggled to keep her footing. "You said the streets are crawling with monsters. How are we supposed to survive out there?"

"I know, but staying here is a slow death sentence," Diego said, looking down at the small boy between them. "Mikha, keep your head down and stay close to me. Don't let go of your sister's hand."

"I'm ready, Diego," Mikhail whispered, clutching his blue backpack tightly to his chest. "I won't make a sound."

They slipped through the heavy metal double doors, entering the school's quiet maintenance hallway. The scent of dust and old wax filled the air, a stark contrast to the copper stench of the gymnasium.

"There's an auto-shop wing on this side of the campus," Diego muttered, his boots squeaking softly on the linoleum. "If my memory of the school's layout is right, there should be a vintage Ural motorcycle with a sidecar parked in the display bay."

"A motorcycle?" Alina frowned, jogging to keep up with his rapid pace. "Won't that be too loud? Won't it draw those... those Crawlers?"

"It's loud, yes, but it's fast, and it can navigate through narrow gaps between abandoned cars," Diego explained. "The main highways are going to be gridlocked with pile-ups. A car will just get us trapped. We need something that can squeeze through the wreckage."

They burst into the dusty workshop, the beams of light from the high windows cutting through the gloom. In the center of the room, surrounded by tires, toolboxes, and half-assembled engines, sat a heavy, military-green motorcycle with a rugged sidecar.

"Jackpot," Diego breathed, running his hand along the cold steel of the tank.

"Does it even work?" Alina asked, touching the metal frame of the sidecar. "It looks like an antique."

"It's a classic restoration project, which means it’s mechanical, not electronic. No computerized parts to fry when the system integrated," Diego said, pointing to a small glass cabin in the corner. "The keys should be in the supervisor's office. Let me check."

He kicked the plywood door open, rumbled through a wooden desk, and grabbed a heavy brass key ring from a peg. He dashed back to the bike, slotting the key into the ignition.

"Alina, get in the sidecar with Mikhail," Diego commanded. "There's a heavy canvas tarp in the back. Cover him with it. If things get bumpy, I want him shielded."

"Are you sure about this, Diego?" she asked, her dark eyes darting to the ceiling as a distant, low rumble shook the glass windows of the workshop. "The air... it feels different. Heavier."

"We have less than twelve hours before the World Boss flattens this entire sector," Diego said, kicking the starter pedal with all his weight. "I've never been surer of anything in my life. Get in!"

The engine roared to life with a throaty, rhythmic rumble that echoed off the metal rafters.

"It's loud!" Mikhail cried, covering his ears as Alina helped him into the cramped sidecar.

"It's fine, Mikha! Just get under the tarp!" Alina shouted over the noise, climbing in beside him and pulling the heavy canvas over their heads. "We're ready, Diego! Let's go!"

Diego gripped the handlebars, twisted the throttle, and slammed the bike into gear. They burst through the flimsy wooden loading doors of the workshop, crashing out into the bright, violet-hued morning light.

The city was a graveyard of concrete and steel. Diego navigated the motorcycle through the debris-strewn streets, the tires gripping the asphalt as he swerved around abandoned sedans and shattered glass.

"Which way?" Alina shouted from the sidecar, her head peeking out from beneath the tarp. "The air is getting hard to breathe!"

"The West Bridge!" Diego yelled back, his eyes locked on the road ahead. "The main suspension bridge in the center is completely shattered, but the old concrete bridge on the west side should still be standing!"

"Won't it be blocked?" she cried, holding Mikhail closer. "If everyone is trying to escape, that bridge will be a bottleneck!"

"It will be blocked," Diego replied, his face grim as he accelerated down a clear stretch of the avenue. "But we don't have a choice. The South Sector is our only hope of surviving the night."

As they neared the river, the massive concrete span of the West Bridge came into view. Just as Diego predicted, the entrance was completely sealed off by a makeshift wall of overturned shipping containers, barbed wire, and rusted metal sheets.

Diego brought the motorcycle to a halt, the engine idling with a loud, metallic chug.

"Hold it right there!" a voice barked from the top of a shipping container. "State your business!"

About twenty men, armed with hunting rifles, metal pipes, and makeshift spears, stepped out from the shadows of the barricade. They looked organized, their eyes cold and hungry.

"We're crossing to the South Sector!" Diego called out, keeping his hands clearly visible on the handlebars. "We just want passage!"

The metal gate in the center of the barricade groaned open, and a tall, muscular man in a tactical vest stepped forward. He carried a heavy, double-handed broadsword on his shoulder, the blade humming with a faint, unnatural red light. His posture screamed absolute authority.

"Nobody crosses Leon's bridge without paying the toll," the man said, a cruel, mocking smirk playing on his lips.

"We don't want any trouble, Leon," Diego said, his voice flat and steady.

The man's smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, his eyes narrowing. "You know my name, kid? I don't recall inviting any trust-fund brats to my camp."

"Everyone knows the 'King' of the West Bridge," Diego said, leaning forward slightly over the handlebars. "What's the price for passage? We have some canned goods and clean water."

Leon walked closer, his heavy boots clicking on the asphalt. He ignored Diego, his eyes scanning the motorcycle before stopping directly on Alina's face.

"Passage is expensive these days," Leon murmured, his gaze lingering on her. "The bike stays. And the girl stays too. As collateral. The kid and you can walk across on foot."

"No way," Alina hissed, her hand instinctively drifting toward her pocket where her fingers tensed. "Diego, don't you dare."

"Alina, stay quiet," Diego warned under his breath. He turned back to Leon, his expression turning ice-cold. "She's not staying, Leon. And neither is the bike. We paid the entry tax to the city limits; we're not paying you to cross public property."

"Public property?" Leon laughed, a harsh, booming sound that made his men chuckle behind him. "The world ended yesterday, kid. There is no more public property. I own this bridge. My word is law. You want to die here?"

The twenty armed men leveled their weapons, the clicking of rifle chambers echoing in the tense silence.

"I'm Level 11, kid," Leon sneered, tapping the flat of his glowing blade against his shoulder. "I have physical reinforcement. I can slice you and your little toy in half before you can even turn that key."

Diego felt a familiar, burning anger in his chest. These parasites. The world is ending, a literal god-like monster is about to descend on the city, and they're still playing warlord, preying on the weak.

Diego slowly turned the key, shutting off the engine. The sudden silence on the bridge was deafening. He stood up, stepping off the motorcycle.

"Diego, what are you doing?" Alina whispered, panic lacing her voice. "There are too many of them!"

"Just stay in the sidecar," Diego said softly. He walked forward, his hands in his pockets, stopping just a foot away from Leon.

"You got balls, kid," Leon mockingly whispered, leaning down to meet Diego's gaze. "But balls don't stop a bullet. Or a blade."

Diego leaned in close, his voice dropping to a low, chilling whisper that only Leon could hear.

"I know how you got that Level 11 'Blood Feast' skill, Leon," Diego murmured.

Leon’s smirk instantly froze, his eyes widening. "What did you say?"

"I know you locked your entire police precinct squad in the basement vault when the first wave hit," Diego continued, his voice dripping with absolute venom. "I know you stood outside the steel door and listened to them scream as the Crawlers tore them apart, just so you could harvest their soul fragments for your first class advancement. I know about the 'Traitor's Brand' burned into your skin, right under that tactical vest."

Leon's breath caught in his throat. The healthy color rapidly drained from his face, leaving him looking like a fresh corpse. He took a half-step back, his grip on the heavy broadsword trembling.

"How... how do you know that?" Leon stammered, his voice barely a whisper as he stared at Diego as if looking at a ghost. "Nobody... nobody survived that room."

"If I raise my voice right now," Diego whispered, a cold, mocking smile playing on his lips, "what do you think your twenty loyal men behind you will do when they realize their 'King' is a coward who murdered his own c

omrades for a status point?"

Leon stared at him, his mouth slightly open, completely paralyzed with fear.