Web Novel · Zombo Country

  The Golden Shooter

  Part I: The Country Awakens to Hell

  The first image the country of Zombo saw was fire.

  Not a controlled fire, not just any slash-and-burn—but flames licking the windows of Park Zuyk School Elite like the tongues of a hungry demon. The marble facade, a symbol of power and tradition, was stained with soot and blood.

  The television screens in every house, every bar, every grand hall in the country showed the same scene: the school in flames, bodies lying in the courtyard, and hooded figures running through the shadows.

  The reporter, a woman with wide eyes and a trembling voice, struggled to be heard above the sirens.

  "— ...live from the main entrance of Park Zuyk School Elite, where for more than six hours an unprecedented event in Zombo's history has been unfolding. What the authorities are already calling 'The First Elite War' has left dozens dead and wounded, all of them sons and daughters of the country's most powerful families!"

  The camera shook, capturing explosions in the background. A group of students, still without their hoods, tried to climb the back wall. Two were shot down before reaching the top.

  "— Who is responsible? Witnesses who managed to escape describe groups of hooded students, organized into factions, who have turned the school into a battlefield. It is not yet known who the leaders are, nor what the motive is. What is known is that... it's a war. A war within the walls of our most prestigious educational institution!"

  · · ·

  Part II: The Silence of the Powerful

  In the Zombo Military Club, a meeting room was packed with generals, officers, and advisors. Cigarette smoke formed a dense haze over the mahogany table where school maps were scattered.

  General Mekan rubbed his face with his calloused hands.

  "— We have men. We have weapons. We have legal authorization to intervene in case of crisis. What exactly are we discussing here?"

  The National Police Commander, a thin man with tired eyes, replied in a drawling voice:

  "— We are discussing the fact that, inside, is the son of the Minister of Economy. The daughter of the owner of Zombo Media. The nephew of the President of the Supreme Court. If one of our men shoots and kills one of them by mistake... — He paused. — ...do you know what the penalty is for killing a member of the elite?"

  Silence.

  "— Death by drowning. It's still in the legislation. Since the era of the first clans. And believe me, they will apply it."

  A younger, recently promoted officer dared to question:

  "— So what do we do? Let them kill each other?"

  The Commander sighed.

  "— The most viable strategy... is to wait. Wait weeks, maybe months. Let the conflict calm down, let tempers cool. When exhaustion takes over, we'll go in with stun grenades—paralyzing, non-lethal. And we'll arrest whoever is left."

  General Mekan slammed his fist on the table.

  "— Months?! Meanwhile, children are dying!"

  "— They're not children, General." The Commander lit another cigarette. "They're heirs. And the risk of killing one of them is greater than the risk of letting the war happen. At least... for our careers."

  On the TV screen in the living room, yet another explosion illuminated the night falling over the school.

  ...

  Part III: The Weight of Neutrality

  In the Presidential Palace, Jamex Dizans watched the same images in his private office. The whiskey in his glass had been untouched for over an hour. His advisors exchanged nervous glances, awaiting a decision.

  "— Mr. President, the popular pressure..." one of them began.

  "— Popular pressure doesn't pay the campaign bills," Jamex interrupted, his voice heavy with a weariness that transcended the physical. "— Those children's parents pay. The same parents who will politically assassinate me if I order an invasion that kills one of their heirs."

  He stood up and walked to the window. Far away, on the horizon, a column of smoke rose from the direction of Park Zuyk.

  "— If I remain neutral, I'm a heartless monster." "If I intervene and something goes wrong, I'm a president who killed the children of the elite. And then…" He turned to his advisors. "…then it's impeachment in forty-eight hours. And you know what comes after that."

  They knew. The elite didn't forgive. They didn't forget. And they had the means to turn anyone's life into a bureaucratic, financial, and, if necessary, physical hell.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Jamex Dizans downed his whiskey in one gulp.

  "The strategy is to wait. When they're exhausted, we go in." Until then... we pray."

  ...

  Part IV: Gicib's Cry

  The Yseten mansion was silent when the television was turned on.

  Eluwa was clenching her hands together, her knuckles white with tension. Obolyphew maintained a stony expression, but the phone in his hand trembled slightly—dozens of messages from other patriarchs, all in the same desperate situation.

  Gicib entered the room with a smile on her lips, still wearing the blue dress from the charity meeting.

  "—Oh my God, what horrible traffic, almost...— She stopped. She saw the images on TV. She saw the fire. She saw the blood. She saw the school's name on the bottom banner. —...no."

  Her smile froze, cracked, and collapsed.

  "—Where's Houka?"

  Silence.

  "—Mom." Gicib's voice rose a tone. "—Where's Houka?"

  Eluwa couldn't answer. She just clenched her hands tighter.

  Gicib ran to the phone. She dialed her brother's number. Ringing. Ringing. Nothing.

  "—He's not answering!" She shouted, her eyes already brimming with tears. "—He's not answering, why isn't he answering?!"

  Obolyphew stood up, his expression still controlled, but the hand on his daughter's shoulder weighed more than it should.

  "—Daughter, calm down..."

  "—I LEFT HIM THERE!" Gicib exploded, her sobs breaking through the barriers. "I left and LEFT him there! I spoke to him in the hallway, I KISSED his cheek and left as if everything was normal!" The words came out in sobs. "He said he was going to stay, that he had things to take care of, and I... I didn't insist, I didn't force him to come with me, I DIDN'T..."

  She collapsed into her mother's arms, her body shaken by a deep, animalistic, desperate cry.

  "—My brother... my little brother... he's in there... he's in HELL and I left him there!"

  Outside, on the TV screen, another explosion illuminated the night. Inside the Yseten mansion, the sound of Gicib's despair mingled with the distant crackling of the flames consuming the school where her brother—the brother she loved more than anything—still lay.

  ...

  Part V: The Harvest of the Weak

  Inside the school, the Purple Hell offered no respite.

  Houka glided through the corridors like a ghost with yellow hair, the Golden Sniper now replaced by a polished axe that gleamed in the flames. Beside her, Kael wielded a bloodied machete, while Mira and Dhan led groups of hooded figures in systematic sweeps.

  A group of students—those who chose to hide instead of fight—was found in the library. Huddled among the shelves. Crying. Pleading.

  "— Please... please, we don't want a fight... we just want to leave..."

  Houka tilted his head, observing them like a biologist would observe insects. People who chose to be cowards. People who preferred to tremble rather than fight.

  "— Do you know what the problem is with people like you?" His voice was almost sweet. Almost. "— The problem is that you take up space. You breathe the same air as the strong. You eat the same food. And you add NOTHING."

  He raised the axe.

  "— In war, only the strong survive. The weak..." A wicked smile blossomed on his face stained with the blood of others. "...become fertilizer."

  The axe fell.

  Then, the machetes. Then, the sniper shots, from above, for those who tried to escape through the windows.

  When they finished, the library floor was red. Rare books, heirlooms of centuries-old families, soaked in the blood of heirs who chose to be cowards.

  Houka wiped her face with the back of her hand, still smiling.

  "—That's it. Now, yes. The picture is taking shape."

  ...

  Part VI: The Seed of Vengeance

  Two hours later, the corridors were silent. Not because the war was over—but because the weak had been eliminated. Those who remained were the survivors, the fighters, those who understood the new rule: kill or be killed.

  Houka called a meeting in the main hall. The bodies were piled in the corners, covered with blood-stained cloths. The hooded figures positioned themselves around, while the survivors—those who had fought and won—were brought in little by little.

  Mira pulled a girl with short hair, her clothes torn, a knife still dripping blood in her hand. Kael brought two boys who had formed an impromptu alliance and killed three hooded figures before being subdued. Dhan escorted a group of five, all with the eyes of those who had seen death up close and learned to face it.

  Houka climbed onto the stage of the hall, where plays and graduations had once taken place. Now, the scene was different.

  "— Survivors. — The voice echoed in the heavy silence. — You killed. You fought. You proved you deserve to be alive."

  He walked to the edge of the stage, his red eyes scanning the audience of killers and victims.

  "— But the war isn't over. In fact... it's barely begun."

  The survivors exchanged confused glances.

  "— You think this was an accident? An explosion of violence without reason?" — A wicked smile appeared. — "No. This was planned. By whom? By our enemies. The rival schools."

  Mira and Kael maintained the lie with serious expressions.

  "—They orchestrated this. They infiltrated students. They bought our people. They wanted to weaken us, destroy us from within." —Houka let the accusation hang in the air.—"But they failed. Because YOU are strong. Because YOU fought. And because, now, YOU know the truth."

  He pointed to the broken window, to the night outside.

  "—Out there, there are other schools. Other elites. Other rich kids who think they can mess with the g

  "And I ask: are we going to let this go unpunished?"

  The silence was broken by a murmur. Then another. Then a voice:

  "— No!"

  Houka smiled.

  "— Exactly. We will fight back. We will take the war to THEM. We will show them what happens to those who try to destroy the strongholds. But for that…" He opened his arms. "…we need more. We need YOU."

  He pointed to Kael.

  "— My ally here will lead you through the corridors. You will find other survivors. Others who killed. Others who understood. Bring them all here." "Tonight, when the moon is high, this room will be the headquarters of our revenge."

  Kael nodded and began to organize the groups. Mira and Dhan did the same. In minutes, the hall emptied, leaving only Houka and the echo of their footsteps fading away.

  ...

  Part VII: Ancient Passion

  He stood alone on the stage, his silhouette silhouetted against the flames that still burned outside. He walked slowly to the nearest window, his feet treading on shards of glass and bloodstains.

  The moon appeared between the clouds of smoke, painting the scene silver and red. Houka rested his hands on the windowsill, his face reflected in the blood-stained glass. The wicked smile was still there. It always was.

  "—Ah, the war..." —He murmured to himself, his voice choked with an emotion no one had ever seen in him.—"My passion." "Since childhood."

  His red eyes gleamed.

  "—I've planned this for so long. Every detail. Every movement. Every death. And now, seeing it all unfold... it's more beautiful than I imagined."

  He raised his hand and touched the blood-stained glass, as if caressing a work of art.

  "—There's nothing more beautiful than war. The adrenaline. The fear in the eyes of the weak. The determination in the eyes of the strong. The smell of blood mixed with smoke. It's... it's poetry."

  Houka took a deep breath, absorbing the scene.

  "—But this is just the beginning. I'm going to take the war to other schools. Other elites. Other rich kids who don't yet know what it's like to feel real FEAR. —His smile widened.—The first elite school war will be complete. The weak will be massacred. The strong will survive." "And this... this will be my victory."

  He stepped away from the window, his back to the chaos.

  "— My masterpiece."

  And then, Houka Yseten turned his back on the bloody night and disappeared into the shadows of the corridor, his footsteps echoing through the empty hall.

  ...

  Part VIII: Wings in the Night

  Outside, far from the window where Houka had been, a silhouette moved in the darkness.

  Perched atop the abandoned building that had witnessed the previous chapter, the figure with black wings observed everything. From there, one could see the school in flames, the corridors illuminated by fire, the bodies scattered across the courtyard. One could also see the window of the main hall, where a boy with yellow hair had just declared his love for war.

  The dark brown eye gleamed for an instant, reflecting the distant flames.

  There was no smile this time. Only observation. Only assessment.

  And then, without warning, the black wings They opened.

  They were enormous—far larger than any creature of the night should be. Made of a substance that seemed to suck the light around it, creating a void in the starry sky. A soft, almost silent flap, and the figure rose into the air.

  For a moment, it hovered against the moon, a nightmarish silhouette etched into the silvery disc.

  Then, it turned and flew away, disappearing toward the mountains surrounding the city.

  The wings beat once, twice, three times—and vanished into the darkness.

  No one saw.

  No one, except perhaps the dead.

  · · ·

  ?? A Golden Shooter

  Only the powerful have one.

  · · ·

  ?Final Revelation · Chapter 4?

  THE GLOBAL REACTION The country watches the massacre live. The students' families mourn in front of their screens.

  AS AUTHORITIES know they can't enter. The fear of killing an heir of the elite is greater than the duty to save lives.

  PRESIDENT JAMEX DIZANS prefers neutrality to impeachment. The elite control Zombo, not the government.

  GICIB YSETEN discovers she left her brother behind. Despair consumes her.

  HOUKA eliminates the "weak" and summons the survivors. Plants the seed of revenge against rival schools—a lie that will become truth.

  THE WAR is no longer an isolated event. It is the beginning of something bigger.

  THE SHADOW observes once more. Then, it opens its black wings and flies away, revealing no face or intentions. It only observes. It only waits.

  End of Chapter 4 · To be continued