"...Gurrrreeee…"
Bittu charged across the blood-streaked bridge, boots pounding against broken road below, weaving through wrecked buses and mangled cars. His breath came heavy, ragged, matching the chaos around him.
A group of zombies lurched forward. Without hesitation, Bittu kicked all of them right in their chest with trained precision.
[You have used an undistributed stat. Strength: G → F.]
He barely registered the glowing prompt. All that existed now was rage.
"I… will… find out… who I am." His voice was cracked raw.
Each word said on the sacrifice of a zombie attacking him.
"So… you all… must DIE!"
SLAM!
CRASH!
[You have killed a normal zombie.]
[You have killed a normal zombie.]
[You have killed a normal zombie.]
The kick caved in the zombie's chest with a sickening crunch, sending its rotting body hurtling backward. Strength surged through his limbs like liquid fire. He didn't stop—couldn't stop. Momentum carried him to the next corpse.
Bittu's fist smashed into its skull. Bone splintered, fragments scattering like porcelain shards. Blood sprayed across his forearm, warm and sticky.
[You have killed a normal zombie.]
Kill…
The word pulsed through his mind like a war drum.
Kill… KILL…
He spun, boot lashing out at another zombie's knee. The joint shattered with a loud snap, the creature collapsed on it's face.
"Gurrrrr…!"
"Ghhhrruuu…"
He ignored their guttural cries. In his frenzy, broken bodies meant nothing unless the head was gone. He leapt over a dented sedan, landing hard on a rotting torso, and swung again.
Pritch!
Two skulls impaled on jagged steel beams—silent at last.
[You have killed a normal zombie.]
[You have killed a normal zombie.]
The notifications blinked in the corner of his vision, meaningless to the blood-drenched berserker he had become. His hands gripped an abandoned axe—small, portable, but lethal.
With a weapon, the massacre accelerated. Each swing was precise, primal, fueled by hate and something deeper—despair turned to fury.
Splash.
Pritch.
Crunch.
Heads rolled. Flesh tore. Blood misted the air in a crimson haze.
Bittu vaulted from a crumpled ambulance onto the roof of a wrecked bus, boots grinding against shattered glass. Then—he dropped, an avenging shadow—axe cleaving necks mid-air. Five zombies fell in a single blur of motion.
"…Die… DIE! DIE!!"
One corpse lunged, faster than the others. Its teeth snapped inches from his face.
Bittu snarled, hurling the axe like a spear.
THUNK!
The blade split the zombie's skull, crimson spraying across Bittu's cheek like war paint.
[You have killed a normal zombie.]
[You have killed a normal zombie.]
[You have absorbed soul power to your limit. Gained: 1 undistributed stat.]
Bittu's pupils dilated as one line seared into his mind: You have gained an undistributed stat.
Without hesitation:
[You have used an undistributed stat. Agility: G → F.]
Speed exploded in his veins. The world blurred. Zombies moved like sluggish marionettes.
Faster. I need to kill them faster. Faster, until nothing stands in my way
...
Far away, survivors peeked from behind twisted wrecks—faces pale, eyes wide. They had chosen classes too. But power without will was nothing. They cowered while one man slaughtered nightmares like a demon in human skin.
"Thank you…Thank you…"
"…A hero… a real hero…"
"God sent him…"
Their whispers turned to silence when two zombies veered toward them, drawn by the noise.
Fear choked their throats. They didn't dare move, only stared at Bittu—their only lifeline. If he fell, they were dead.
Meanwhile, Bittu danced in death's rhythm, blades flashing under the dim light.
He crushed a skull with the axe's blunt end, spun low, severed another throat with a salvaged knife, which he picked a while back.
"Why… Why would you come now?" His voice cracked, sadness bleeding through the rage.
"RIGHT WHEN I FOUND SLIGHT HOPE"
A backflip. A kick. A spinning strike. His movements were brutal yet fluid—a storm wrapped in flesh.
"…I'll wipe you out."
"Every last one of you."
BOOM!
The bridge trembled under the force of an explosion somewhere ahead. Debris rained down like fiery snow.
Bittu didn't flinch. Didn't look. His world was red. Red and rotting.
Until—
Something changed.
An alien chill slithered down his spine. His breath hitched. The axe trembled in his grip.
What… is this… feeling?
The air grew heavier. The screams around him faded. Only one sound remained: a low, rumbling growl that didn't belong to anything human.
[You have killed a normal zombie.]
[You have killed a normal zombie.]
Crack.
BOOM.
Bittu turned slowly. His blood turned to ice.
The evening sun cast long shadows over the bridge, and from those shadows emerged a shape—hulking, feral, wrong.
A dog. Or what was left of one. Its fur hung in patches, skin peeling, ribs extending out like jagged blades. Blood-red eyes locked on Bittu as it crawled atop a crushed bus, snarling with jagged teeth dripping black saliva.
Its growl was hunger made sound.
"…Wha—what…?"
"How… how is that even…?"
The survivors' voices cracked like brittle glass.
"Run… RUN!"
"Hero! Please! Kill it!"
"Oh God… oh God…"
Bittu didn't hear them. His ears roared with the rhythm of his pulse. He knew that feeling now.
Death.
Pure, unfiltered, suffocating.
His heart thundered. Fury flared hotter than fear.
"Why… Why would I be afraid…"
"…OF A WALKING CORPSE?!"
His scream tore through the dusk.
"You MOTHERF—! I'LL RIP YOU APART!"
Veins bulged. Muscles coiled. His eyes burned with hatred as he charged, slashing and stabbing through any corpse that dared step in his path. Knives in both hands, body drenched in blood, he was a crimson phantom carving his way to the beast.
The zombie dog watched from atop a rod, silent and still, as if amused. Behind it, more horrors jumped into view—zombie dogs and cats, their movements unnaturally quick, eyes glowing like dying embers.
[You have killed a normal zombie.]
[You have killed a Lv. 1 Zombie Dog.]
Bittu didn't glance at the notifications. He spun, cleaving two more undead and a dead hound in a single bloody arc. Bones resisted this time, harder than human flesh. His jaw tightened.
These things are tougher.
Even in his frenzy, something cold anchored him—a coldness deep inside, keeping his instincts sharp enough to survive.
More growls echoed throughout the bridge. The bridge had become a slaughterhouse. And the true battle was only beginning.