Whoosh! Ivan teleported out of harm's way just as the poison gas and ice blades came barreling at him, popping up on a tree a good hundred-plus yards away.

  "Two against one? Kinda dirty pool, don't you think?" he hollered.

  The ice-type superhuman just sneered and hurled a fistful of ice blades.

  "Still yapping when you're on death's door."

  "Heh... Who's checking out early is anyone's guess!"

  Ivan blinked and zap!

  He was behind the guy, dagger in hand, aiming for the back of his neck.

  "Forget about me, did you?"

  The poison-type superhuman snarled and let loose a cloud of poison gas at Ivan.

  Michael Joke's lip curled up in a smirk.

  He was all set to watch Ivan bite the big one.

  Save him the trouble of getting his hands dirty.

  But then—bam!

  A figure shot out from beside him.

  Michael Joke's face froze, his hands clenching so hard his knuckles went white.

  Billy Jean lunged forward, throwing herself between Ivan and the poison gas.

  At the same time, her fist sprouted five wicked bone spurs, and she drove them into the poison-type superhuman's chest like a jackhammer.

  Over on Ivan's side, his knife was already buried in the ice-type superhuman's neck.

  "Stab..."

  Blood geysered out, and both bodies hit the dirt at the same time.

  The poison gas curtain above the forest vanished, and the place didn't feel so darn creepy anymore.

  The man-eating crows had taken a real beating.

  Bodies and bloody black feathers were strewn all over.

  The survivors huddled on branches, licking their wounds.

  "Caws..."

  Ivan knew he'd have been toast if it wasn't for Billy Jean.

  He spun around to face her.

  "Billy, tha—"

  But his words died in his throat as his eyes bulged like he'd seen a ghost.

  Then—blech!—he puked his guts out.

  Billy Jean:!!

  Suddenly, she felt something goofy happening to her face.

  She reached up and—eww!

  Peeled off a layer of melted face skin.

  What the heck!!

  Billy Jean went rigid, her hand shaking like a leaf as she held the gooey mess.

  Throw it?

  Keep it? She had no clue.

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  "Michael Joke, boohoo..." she whined.

  Michael Joke hustled over.

  “Billy, what gives?"

  Billy Jean whipped around and shoved the face skin in his face.

  "Boohoo... My face is falling off!"

  Michael Joke's pupils dilated.

  Someone with a weak stomach would've keeled over right there.

  Billy Jean's face looked like it had been through a chemical meltdown.

  Her features were all smeared together, one eyeball rolling up to her forehead, the other dropping to her chin.

  It was nightmare fuel.

  Even in broad daylight, it was still spine-chilling.

  Michael Joke's stomach lurched.

  He was about to hurl when he saw Ivan losing his lunch.

  He clamped down and got a grip.

  “Billy, I don't care what you look like. I'm not some wimp who gets squeamish just 'cause you lost your pretty face," he said.

  "Really? I'm touched," Billy Jean sniffled.

  "Hold this for a sec, will you? I gotta go puke."

  She stuffed the slimy face skin into Michael Joke's hand and bolted for a tree, where she proceeded to blow chunks.

  "Ugh..."

  Michael Joke:!!

  He stared at the face skin in his hand, his pupils like saucers, his face as white as a sheet, and beads of cold sweat popping up on his forehead.

  For a germaphobe like him, this was pure torture.

  Ugh... Ugh...

  He started dry heaving.

  He went to drop the face skin, but the ground was filthy.

  He thought about a leaf, but then he saw a worm and nixed that idea.

  Finally, he gritted his teeth, stuffed it in his pocket, and ran to a patch of weeds to heave.

  The man-eating crows, who'd been through the wringer, watched the three of them puking like there was no tomorrow, looking as confused as could be:...

  The zombie pigeon flapped around the chief of the man-eating crows like a crazy thing.

  "Coos... (You old coot, you okay?)"

  "Caws... (I'm invincible. No sweat here.)"

  The chief of the man-eating crows was too proud to show weakness.

  He flapped his wings, trying to get airborne, but crashed back down each time.

  "Coos... (Hold up, don't move. You're in bad shape.)"

  The zombie pigeon was freaking out.

  "Caws... (I'm good to go. Watch me breathe fire if you don't believe me.)"

  The chief of the man-eating crows didn't want his ladylove to worry, so he went for the fire-breathing stunt.

  Instead, he hacked up a mouthful of blood.

  "Pfft..."

  The zombie pigeon:!!

  The chief of the man-eating crows:!!

  "Coos... (Sister Ge, save my man. He's coughing up blood.)"

  The zombie pigeon zoomed over to Billy Jean, begging for help.

  Billy Jean wiped her mouth after emptying her stomach and looked up at the zombie pigeon.

  The zombie pigeon saw her hideous face and went berserk, pecking at her head like a drill sergeant.

  "Coos... (Damn, you're ugly. You got some nerve showing your face in public. I'll peck your head open.)"

  Billy Jean's heart took a direct hit.

  "Roars... (Stinky pigeon, peck me again and you're toast—roasted pigeon on the menu.)"

  The zombie pigeon shuddered.

  "Coos... (Sister Ge?)"

  "Or else?"

  The zombie pigeon backed off in a hurry.

  Looking at the pitted and bloody holes it had made on Billy Jean's head, it felt guilty as sin and started looking around like it was hunting for an escape hatch.

  "Coos... (The view's nice today.)"

  Billy Jean felt something warm trickling down her forehead.

  She wiped it and—ugh—her hand came back bloody.

  Billy Jean was steaming mad.

  "Roars... (zombie pigeon.)"

  "Coos... (I'll go check if my man's still kicking.)"

  The zombie pigeon took off like a shot to save its own feathers.

  The chief of the man-eating crows lay there, watching his gal fly back in a panic.

  He called out, "Caws... (What's the deal? What happened?)"

  "Coos... (I came to see if you were de— uh, no, I mean I was worried about you and came back to see if you were still alive?)"

  The chief of the man-eating crows:...

  "Billy, I'm sorry. You took that poison gas for me and look what happened,"

  Ivan said, his voice choked with guilt.

  Billy used to be all about looking good.

  Now she was like something out of a horror flick.

  She had to be hurting bad.

  "I'm okay. Just a bit rough around the edges. A little blood and I'll be good as new,"

  Billy Jean said, like it was no biggie.

  She'd been through the wringer before.

  Just then, a mouthwatering smell of blood wafted by.

  Billy Jean saw Ivan slice his wrist, and bright red blood started flowing.

  He held his wrist out.

  "Drink."

  Billy Jean's eyes flashed red, and her instincts kicked in.

  She was about to dive in and slurp it up.

  But a big hand clamped over her mouth and yanked her away from Ivan.

  "Michael Joke, what the heck?"

  Billy Jean jerked free, glaring at him.

  Michael Joke's eyes were dark as a storm cloud, and he looked ticked off.

  “Billy, try drinking it and I'll knock your teeth loose."

  "Ivan's not as petty as you," Billy Jean muttered.

  The next second, an even more intoxicating smell of blood filled the air.

  Billy Jean stared at the tempting wrist in front of her lips.

  The red smeared onto her lips like a devilish lipstick.

  She parted her lips, drawn in like a moth to a flame, and pressed them against the warm skin.

  The heat and the scent sent her head spinning.

  Billy Jean's blood-red pupils grew even darker, her cold hand reaching up to grab his.

  She gulped it down so fast some dribbled from the corners of her mouth, looking like a zombie vixen.

  Ivan watched Michael Joke, his brow furrowed.

  Not only was he okay with Billy Jean being a zombie, but he was actually offering her his blood.

  And the way he was looking at her—was he seeing things, or was there something more there?