Under a sullen, gray sky, a desolate suburban street lay choked with abandoned vehicles of all makes and models.
A dozen zombies roamed aimlessly among the wreckage, clad in tattered rags. Their skin was mottled with rot, tinged with a deathly green hue. Viscous drool oozed from the corners of their mouths, and their grotesquely bulging eyes glowed faintly red—an image that chilled the soul.
High on a slope to the left of the street, Luo Hou crouched within a thicket of weeds, attempting to conceal his tall, muscular frame. His left hand braced against the earth while his right gripped a machete—nearly half a meter long—painstakingly forged from automobile spring steel.
His gaze remained locked on the road below, tension etched across his face. He had been lying in wait on this slope for nearly three hours since morning, yet not a single zombie had strayed from the pack.
"Half the day, and not one has wandered off… Am I going to sleep hungry again tonight?"
He glanced down at the hollow pocket of his pants, a wave of dismay washing over him. It had been almost a year since the apocalypse began. By now, most able-bodied survivors had evolved into Awakeners—beings capable of standing against the monstrous tide. But despite his height and robust physique, Luo Hou remained ordinary. Unawakened. Powerless.
In this new world, that became him dead weight.
Nobody wanted him on scavenging teams. They feared he would slow them down, jeopardize their survival.
Truth be told, even a basic zombie was a terrifying threat to an unevolved human. These creatures knew no fear, no fatigue. They were savage, unrelenting, and stronger than any ordinary man.
Awakeners were another story. Even a first-tier Awakener could wield immense strength and heightened reflexes, capable of dispatching up to five zombies alone.
In comparison, Luo Hou—barely able to fend off a single zombie—had become a byword for weakness. A burden. A liability.
In this lawless, post-apocalyptic world, strength was the only currency. Whether it came from personal power or a powerful faction behind you, without it, survival was a luxury.
Luo Hou had neither.
Before the apocalypse, he had just arrived in the city of Weiyang for work, a stranger in a strange place. The only two colleagues he'd befriended perished in the early days of chaos. Now, he stood alone.
If not for his naturally resilient body, which occasionally gave him an edge when ambushing stray zombies or mutated beasts (everything aside from zombies was now dubbed a "beast" by survivors), Luo Hou would not have survived this long.
And yet, his very strength became a curse. The stronger survivors had long evolved, while he, despite his advantages, remained stagnant. In the eyes of others, he was a "useless man," wasting space in the settlement.
Now, with his pockets empty and no food in sight, he faced another hungry night. But hunger dulled strength, and without strength, there could be no food. A vicious cycle that could only end in death.
Another half hour passed. His legs, curled beneath him, began to go numb. His irritation deepened.
Then, finally—movement.
Seven or eight of the zombies below began drifting further down the street, leaving only three loitering around the derelict vehicles.
"A chance," Luo Hou whispered.
Excitement flashed across his sharp features. He tightened his grip on the machete, eyes locked on the thinning pack.
But the time wasn't right yet. The remaining three were still too close together. If he rushed in now, he'd be overwhelmed. Even one mistake could mean death.
Ten more minutes crawled by.
Then, one zombie drifted twenty or thirty meters away from the others—right to the base of Luo Hou's hiding slope. From this range, he could clearly see the pulsing, dark-red veins beneath its ashen skin, the jagged fangs protruding from its half-shredded mouth.
With a quiet growl, Luo Hou exploded from the brush. His muscular legs launched him forward like a spring, machete raised high as he descended upon his prey with a gust of wind.
The zombie heard him at once. Its body stiffened as it snapped its head upward, bloodshot eyes locking onto its assailant. Hatred and hunger burned in its gaze.
With a wet, leathery smack, Luo Hou's blade sank into its right shoulder. Black-red ichor poured from the wound. The zombie's arm nearly came off, its combat ability halved in an instant.
Roaring in fury, it slashed with its uninjured arm. Black claws, like five curved daggers, sliced toward Luo Hou.
Using his momentum, Luo Hou rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the counterattack. In one swift move, he slashed again, this time behind the zombie's knee—severing its tendon.
The creature lost its balance and crashed to the ground, screeching as it clawed at the pavement. The sound of its nails raking across concrete was unbearable.
But Luo Hou didn't hesitate. Like a seasoned predator, he brought the blade down again—this time to its left shoulder—before finally severing its head with a final, brutal swing.
From ambush to execution, no more than six seconds had passed.
Short, but deadly.
Had he lacked the experience, he never would've emerged unscathed.
Panting, Luo Hou leaned against an abandoned Nissan SUV, blade trembling in his grasp. He looked up—two more zombies were charging at him, their groans replaced by guttural snarls.
Unlike the shuffling creatures from old horror films, these weren't slow. Once they locked onto prey, they surged forward with terrifying speed—just as fast as a human, if not faster.
Worse, they felt no pain. No fear. Only hunger.
Luo Hou cursed inwardly. He had been careless. One-on-two was possible, but risky. And in this world, even a scratch could be fatal.
One bite. One cut. That was all it took to become one of them.
But there was no time to run.
No retreat. No escape.
Only one option remained—fight.