He leapt straight into their ranks, his Straightblade flashing with precision and speed.
Like a tiger let loose in a flock of sheep, he danced between the walking corpses, slicing throats, cleaving skulls, and stabbing straight into rotted brain stems with deadly efficiency. Every movement was swift, calculated—a testament to his sharpened instincts and increasing strength.
Behind him, the Skeleton fought like a mechanical reaper. With thunderous swings, its battle-axe cleaved through undead torsos, heads flying, limbs tumbling. Each strike sent tremors through the ground. The sound of shattering bones echoed like war drums.
Balls of white light—the life energy of the undead—poured into Ethan and the Skeleton's bodies with each kill, feeding their power.
Aaron's eyes widened in awe. "He's… even stronger now."
He could see it clearly—Ethan was growing, evolving. Compared to just a few hours ago, he moved with more confidence, more decisiveness.
Like someone born to command the battlefield.
As the zombie horde thinned, the only sounds left were the heavy breaths of Ethan, the low groan of a dying undead—and the stunned silence of those who watched him.
"The Apple of Vitality!" Ethan exclaimed in surprise, eyes gleaming.
Amidst the carnage of five freshly slain zombies, a strange glow pulsed from one of their corpses. Lying on the cracked pavement was a radiant, red apple—unnaturally pristine amidst the rot and gore.
Without hesitation, Ethan darted forward, snatched the Apple, and slipped it safely into his pocket, his heart pounding with excitement. He didn't have time to inspect it now—but a rare drop like this might be a game-changer.
Moments later, after dispatching two more zombies in a graceful flourish of his Straightblade, he gave a sharp whistle. "Let's fall back!"
The Skeleton at his side—a towering, eerie figure with glowing blue eyes—followed without a word. Though tireless, even the undead had limits in the face of thousands.
The courtyard before them was a sea of death. Zombies poured in from every direction, relentless in their pursuit. Despite their strength and combat prowess, Ethan and his summoned warrior were still just two entities. Numbers would eventually win.
'If I could just summon two more...' Ethan thought, glancing at his skeletal companion—his finest summon to date. Loyal. Unyielding. Efficient. 'We could cleanse this entire campus...'
But wishing wouldn't change its limits. He exhaled sharply, brushing sweat from his brow as they retreated toward the waiting school bus.
"Are you good?" he called out as he leapt aboard, directing the question to Grace.
Grace turned from the front of the bus, her ponytail swinging as she pointed to three unfamiliar students loading packages. "All good. I made a deal with them—they help move supplies, we get them out of here safely."
Ethan's eyes narrowed as he studied the trio. They moved efficiently but nervously, careful not to meet his gaze for too long. Clearly, they understood who was in charge.
The bus interior had transformed into a mini-warehouse. Stacks of bottled water, canned goods, first aid kits, and more filled every corner. Even weapons—makeshift or stolen—lay nearby.
Ava and Olivia, seated near the back, were breathing heavily. Sweat clung to their flushed cheeks, their dresses sticking tightly to their lithe, graceful frames. Their elegance hadn't diminished, only made more striking by the sheen of exertion.
They weren't used to manual labor. But they'd pushed through it. Ethan noted that.
"Drive—now!" he ordered.
Without hesitation, Luna slammed her foot on the gas. The tires screeched, and the armored school bus surged forward, mowing down zombies in a sickening crunch of bone and flesh.
They broke through the gates of the campus.
Outside, chaos ruled the streets.
Fires blazed through half-burned restaurants, the rising smoke casting a dark veil over the skyline. Cars were abandoned in the middle of the roads, some crashed into buildings, others overturned. Shattered glass littered the ground, glinting like blood-stained diamonds.
The moans of the undead echoed across the desolate cityscape, a symphony of doom.
More zombies were closing in, drawn by the growl of the engine.
Luna's eyes gleamed with something wild. With a fierce smirk, she twisted the wheel and plowed straight through the thickest part of the horde, sending bodies flying like ragdolls. Bones shattered under the weight of the reinforced vehicle.
Ethan gripped the seat tightly, scanning the streets. 'Without this bus, we'd be torn apart in seconds. Even with the Skeleton, we'd never survive this crowd on foot.'
He noticed the terrified expressions on the new trio's faces. Their courage from earlier was gone, replaced by wide eyes and pale skin. They watched the endless horde pressing in from every side. Their world had changed forever.
Where once the streets bustled with life, now they were ruled by death.
"Get us to the Garden District!" Ethan barked.
Luna nodded, eyes locked on the road, adrenaline in her veins. The school bus thundered through the streets, crushing dozens of zombies beneath its wheels, until finally—
—they reached the outer boundary of the Garden District.
This part of town had been a quiet, upscale community. Fenced off apartments, trimmed hedges, and narrow lanes. Now it was a ghost town.
Thankfully, most residents had been indoors when the outbreak hit. Few infected were wandering the area.
The moment the bus stopped near a three-story apartment block, the doors opened with a mechanical hiss.
The Skeleton jumped out first, the axe already raised. With a brutal swing, he decapitated a lone zombie creeping near the entrance. Its head flew, landing with a wet thump on a flowerbed.
Ethan followed, sword flashing in the light, severing the neck of another. Clean, smooth, efficient.
"Everyone out!" Grace shouted to the others.
The students didn't hesitate. Olivia, Ava, and Luna gracefully leapt down, their hair flowing, faces tense but composed. Even after everything, their beauty remained striking—refined and sharp like a blade. The trio who had helped load the supplies followed more timidly.
The few remaining zombies in the area were quickly dispatched by Ethan, the Skeleton, and Grace. Their movements seamless, like a well-practiced squad.
The seven students stared, awestruck. The power. The teamwork. The fear they'd felt earlier now turned into silent admiration.
"Keys!" Ethan demanded, approaching Luna.
Without a word, she pulled out the steel keyring from her pocket and handed it over. Their fingers brushed for a brief moment—her touch cold, trembling.
He took the keys and approached the heavy steel gate of the apartment building. The lock clicked open.
But the moment the door creaked ajar, a foul stench hit him.
Four zombies burst forth, hungry eyes glowing in the shadows.
Ethan's reaction was instantaneous.
The moment the seven students saw the blood-soaked corpses of torn and mangled zombies staggering at the apartment entrance—limbs missing, jaws still twitching—their faces turned pale, and they instinctively took a step back.
It was an instinct buried in the mind of nearly every modern person. Resident Evil, The Walking Dead... everyone had seen the warning signs in fiction. One bite, and you're done. They didn't need a lecture to understand: this was no game.
Becoming one of those things... was a fate worse than death.
The Skeleton, loyal and deadly, gave them no time to freeze in fear. With its massive battle axe spinning like a cyclone, it charged into the narrow hallway. In seconds, it was a blur of savage motion—limbs flying, blood splattering the walls. Three zombie heads were cleaved from their bodies before they could even groan.
Ethan followed with the grace and precision of a growing warrior. His body moved low and smooth, knees bent for agility. With a single upward slash, his Straightblade sliced clean through a zombie's throat. Its head flew backward, hitting the wall with a thud before bouncing lifelessly down the stairs.
Turning to the group behind him, Ethan's voice was sharp and commanding. "Carry the supplies and head upstairs! I'll clear a path and scout ahead. Move quickly—no hesitation. Grace, keep them safe. Take the stairs and stay close."
Grace, ever calm and steady, nodded firmly. "Understood."
As the group sprang into action, Luna, Olivia, Ava, and the others began hauling crates and duffel bags from the bus. The girls' beauty—so pronounced even under sweat and stress—was now tinged with resilience. Their dresses were still modest, slightly dust-covered, yet clinging in ways that highlighted their femininity amidst the harsh new world. They were exhausted, but focused.
Ethan, meanwhile, took the lead with the Skeleton, ascending the stairwell like a shadowy guardian.
Floor after floor, he cleared the way. Every corner held danger, every landing potentially an ambush. But he moved with ruthless efficiency—each step bringing down another undead creature, every swing of the Skeleton's axe carving a path through the death-stained halls.
By the time they reached the fifth floor—Luna's apartment—they had killed a total of twelve zombies. The stairway, once a gauntlet of death, now lay silent.
Ethan unlocked the door, stepped inside briefly, then turned to his skeletal ally.
"Alright, my dude," he muttered, wiping blood from his blade. "You know what to do. Go. Clear the rest. Anything that walks or snarls—erase it."
The Skeleton gave no verbal reply, just a faint clatter of bone and steel as it took off up the stairs, its axe dragging behind like thunder.
Inside Luna's apartment, Ethan collapsed onto a worn leather sofa, letting out a long, shaky breath. The adrenaline was fading, and with it came the ache. His muscles throbbed, his limbs felt heavy, and his stamina meter—ever-present in the corner of his vision—flickered at a miserable 4 points.
If I didn't have a stubborn will, I'd have dropped hours ago…
He closed his eyes for a moment, chest rising and falling steadily. The room was modest but cozy. Framed photos still hung on the wall. The scent of lavender air freshener faintly lingered beneath the coppery tang of blood.
He didn't want to move. Not yet.
Outside the room, the sound of footsteps and clinking supplies filled the hallway. The girls had arrived, their faces flushed from effort, shoulders heaving with breath. Olivia's delicate features were streaked with grime, her silky hair tied back hastily. Ava's cheeks were red, her school skirt slightly torn at the hem. Even Luna, normally poised and mysterious, looked rattled yet radiant.
Despite their beauty, there was something deeper now—strength forged by fear, resilience born of necessity.
They didn't complain. They just kept moving.
Under the collective effort of the group, box after box of water, food, medical kits, and salvaged weapons were brought into the apartment. The bus had been emptied.
By the time the sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting deep red shadows across the sky, the job was done. They shut the door, locked it tight, and for the first time that day... exhaled in relief.
"It's finally done…" Olivia whispered, sinking to the floor.
The others nodded in silence.
Ethan's stamina had slowly regenerated to 7 points. He stood, stretching the stiffness from his limbs.
"I'm going to check the building," he said, grabbing his blade. "Make sure no stragglers got missed. We need to know it's safe."
Grace looked up from where she sat, rubbing her sore shoulders. "Be careful."
"Yeah… be safe, alright?" Olivia added, her voice soft.
Ethan gave a half-smile, then slipped out the door.
---
The stairwell was quieter now. The chaos from earlier had faded into stillness, broken only by the faint drip of blood and the occasional groan from the distant outside world.
As Ethan walked slowly, stepping over the remains of torn-apart zombies, something gnawed at the back of his mind.
"No Survival Coins…" he muttered, eyes narrowing.
Every zombie the Skeleton killed here—more than a dozen just in the last half hour—had dropped nothing.
Not one black coin.
That was not normal.
With a frown, he pulled one from his pocket. The Survival Coin shimmered faintly in the dim light—almost ethereal. It was cold, colder than metal, and seemed to pulse faintly in his hand.
With a flick of his wrist, he dropped it onto the floor.
Then waited.
Ten minutes. Nothing.
Fifteen… still motionless.
But at the exact twenty-minute mark, the coin began to tremble. Then, without warning, it dissolved into black smoke and vanished like dust in the wind.
Ethan's expression hardened.
"Just as I suspected…" he whispered.
Items given by the system—tools, weapons, coins—they couldn't exist in this world unless bound to someone. Once separated for too long, they vanished. Rejected. Erased.
No hoarding. No stashing. No safety net.
The rules were stricter than he'd imagined. The System wasn't just granting power—it was testing them. Every item had purpose… and limits.
You can't leave anything behind. You can't rely on past rewards. You fight, you earn, you carry it with you—or it's gone.
He clenched his fists.
This changed how he would operate moving forward.
Up ahead, the trail of corpses continued. Some were still twitching slightly, the final spasms of undeath. All were clearly the Skeleton's work—bodies cleaved in half, limbs severed with brutal efficiency.
Ethan moved floor by floor until he reached the top—the eighth story.
Silence.
No movement. No growls. Just the aftermath of a massacre.
And in the middle of it all stood his summoned warrior, standing still with blood dripping from its axe. Its glowing eyes turned toward him, then back to the carnage it had wrought.
The Skeleton… has leveled up again… Ethan noted mentally, using his inspection skill.
[Level 8]
Which meant 70% of average human
It was now stronger than ever. Almost twice the strength of a man, and still improving.
Ethan allowed himself a small smile.
On the topmost floor—the eighth—Ethan walked quietly down the dim hallway. Dust and dried blood covered the floor, the silence heavy and unnatural. His eyes locked onto the door of a nearby apartment, paint peeling from its surface, the wood darkened with age and something worse.
He stopped in front of it and called out, voice firm but respectful.
"Is anyone inside? If you are, speak now. I'll leave immediately. If you remain silent… I will assume it's abandoned—and I will break in."
Nothing. No reply. No sound beyond the distant groans echoing faintly from the outside world.
Ethan's jaw clenched slightly. "Buddy," he said quietly, "do it."
The Skeleton stepped forward with a mechanical swiftness, raising its massive axe—its blade nearly as wide as a grown man's chest—and brought it crashing down on the door.
CRACK! Wood splintered. Chunks of the door flew inward.
Another strike. Then another.
The axe tore the door apart with brutal efficiency, opening a gaping wound in the frame. Moments later, the door gave way completely—just as three figures stumbled out of the darkness.
A small, torn zombie girl, her face still contorted in what once might have been innocence.
A middle-aged male zombie, bloated and reeking, its mouth stained red with dried blood.
And behind them, a female zombie, her clothes shredded, dark matted hair covering her hollow face.
"Take them down!" Ethan barked.
He lunged forward—swift, calculated—and his sword arced upward, slicing clean through the male zombie's neck. Its head spun in the air and hit the floor with a wet thud, rolling to a stop at the Skeleton's feet.
The Skeleton was already moving, smashing forward like a tank, its axe smashing into the girl and female zombie, sending them flying backward with bone-shattering force. They crashed into the wall, slumping motionless—but not dead.
Ethan stepped forward, raised his sword, and swiftly beheaded the little girl zombie without hesitation. His face was expressionless, but his eyes were hard. Mercy had no place in this new world.
"Hold her down," he ordered.
The Skeleton raised its hand to deliver a final blow to the female zombie but halted at Ethan's command. Instead, it grabbed the struggling undead by the arms and slammed her to the ground, pinning her effortlessly.
With a single slash, Ethan finished her—the blade cutting smoothly through her neck. The body stopped moving.
And then… something dropped.
A white treasure box, glowing faintly, appeared beside the corpse. It hit the ground with a quiet clink, its light reflecting in Ethan's eyes.
His heart skipped slightly.
He reached down and flipped it open.
Inside, a soft flash of light revealed a pristine pair of white leather gloves, embroidered with faint rune patterns and reinforced with metallic threading along the knuckles. They looked nothing like the crude loot he'd found before.
[[Level 1: Reinforced Field Gloves]]
Type: Equipment – Hands
Effect:
+2 Strength upon equipping
Provides minor physical defense suitable for low-level skirmishes and handling biohazardous surfaces.
Bonus Stats:
+2 Strength
Protection Rating:
Can absorb scratches, minor strikes, or environmental abrasions from Mutant Beasts or hazards up to Level 5.
Limitation:
Ineffective against claws, bites, or corrosive damage from entities above Level 5. Cannot be used to block critical strikes or magical damage.
Description:
These white field gloves are made from bleached, chemically treated beast hide, originally manufactured for scavenger crews and early-stage combatants. Lightweight and flexible, they allow full finger movement and grip control, making them ideal for melee fighters, rogue-types, and frontline scavengers.
While not particularly impressive in high-tier zones, their subtle strength boost and ease of wear make them a popular staple among new survivors. Many retrofit them with steel studs or toxin-resistant coatings as they level up.
Compatibility:
Usable by all Classes
Can be layered with forearm armor or long-sleeved tactical wear.
Durability: 10/10
Sell Value: 50 Survival Coins]
Ethan pulled them on and immediately felt it—a warmth spreading up his forearms, his grip tightening with increased power.
Nice.
He swept the apartment quickly but found no more threats. Nothing moved. Just old family photos, upturned furniture, and the lingering scent of death.
Moving on, he approached the next door.
"Is anyone inside?" he called again. "Say something, and I'll leave. If not, I'll assume it's abandoned."
No response.
Another breach.
The door didn't last long. Inside, a pair of zombies lunged toward him—he dropped one with a precise thrust through the eye, while the Skeleton finished the other with a single brutal strike that split its chest open.
Blood sprayed the walls.
He moved to another apartment.
"Is anyone inside?" Ethan repeated, voice sharper now.
This time, a voice answered. A man—tired, fearful.
"Yes! Don't break the door! I'm alive… Please, just go away."
Ethan paused.
His instincts screamed at him to be cautious. But he wasn't here to play tyrant.
Without hesitation, he turned and left, moving down to the next floor.
The building had eight floors, each with four apartments. As he continued his sweep, Ethan found six more doors with survivors behind them. But none would let him in. Not one.
Each voice was filled with dread and suspicion.
And he understood. The world had changed. Home was sacred now—one of the few places left that felt safe. And strangers, even helpful ones, were threats.
Fear and survival are close cousins.
So he left them alone.
But the empty apartments? He destroyed the doors, cleared the rooms, and removed every last threat.
On the sixth floor, after putting down the final zombie with a flawless decapitation, a familiar tone echoed in his head.
[You have advanced to Level 7. You have earned 2 status points. Please allocate your attributes accordingly!]
Ethan closed his eyes for a moment.
"Assign 1 point to Stamina… 1 point to Agility."
With the decision made, the enhancement flowed through his body. He stood taller. Breathe easier. Moved faster.
But he was exhausted. Completely.
And with that, he made his way back to Luna's apartment.
---
Home—For Now
The moment the door opened, Luna looked up. Her heart skipped.
"Ethan, you're back!" she said, rushing to him.
The girls all turned at once—Olivia, Grace, Ava, the others—and their faces lit up in joy and relief.
They had feared the worst. Feared he'd be gone—forever.
"Ethan, I… I made you something," Luna said softly, stepping forward.
She held out a large bowl of steaming instant noodles, thick slices of ham and bits of sausage floating on top. The savory aroma filled the room, hitting Ethan like a wave of warmth.
His stomach growled, loud and primal.
He blinked. "Is this… tap water?"
Luna shook her head immediately. "No! It's from the clean stash. I boiled it twice."
Ethan took the bowl, trying to keep his composure, but the hunger was overwhelming. He sat on the floor, took a deep breath, and began eating.
The warmth. The salt. The meat. It was simple—but perfect.
It tasted better than any meal he'd had before the apocalypse. Maybe because now… food meant life.
Olivia watched silently, a twinge of regret rising in her heart.
'Why didn't I think of that first? If I'd just made him something—if I'd shown I cared more—maybe… maybe I'd be the one he's smiling at right now.'
Luna sat beside Ethan quietly, their shoulders barely touching.
And for a brief moment—just a sliver of time in this broken world—they all felt something like peace.
—
The dim light overhead buzzed, casting a weak amber hue over the room, as if the apocalypse itself had drained even the electricity of its will to shine. Dinner had just ended—a steaming instant noodles, with canned beans, dry crackers, and a shared canteen of lukewarm water. A silence hung heavy over them, not the comforting kind but the suffocating weight of uncertainty. Every breath felt like it could be the last before chaos returned.
Ethan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his calm voice slicing through the stillness like a blade through silk.
"Grace, you're seriously thinking of letting those three into our group?"
He didn't need to raise his voice. His words alone were sharp enough to command attention. Across the room, three disheveled young men flinched as his eyes landed on them. They looked like they hadn't fought a single real battle in their lives—clean faces, jittery hands, eyes that hadn't yet seen true death.
The girls—Grace, Luna, Maya, and Olivia—sat nearby, each of them striking in their own right. Grace, the fierce warrior with a sculpted figure and short, raven-black hair that framed her sharp cheekbones, had the aura of a leader forged in battle. Her toned arms rested on her staff's hilt, and her violet eyes flickered between Ethan and the newcomers.
Beside her sat Luna, soft-featured and wide-eyed, with black hair cascading like moonlight down her back. She looked like a dream, delicate and haunting, but the fear in her eyes was very real. Olivua and Maya, both beautiful in different ways—Maya with her rebellious smirk and dyed streaks of pink in her hair, and Olivia with soft curls, full lips, and a protective edge in her gaze—watched the exchange closely.
Ethan shifted his gaze between the women before resting it once more on the men.
"We already have four girls with us," he said, voice steady but loaded with meaning. "That's a lot of responsibility, a lot of lives to keep safe. If we throw these three into the mix—guys who don't know how to fight, who complain, panic, and frankly seem more interested in flirting than surviving—we're asking for disaster."
Grace's eyes narrowed, lips twitching as if to speak, but she stayed silent. The three men stiffened visibly. Fear mixed with desperation was painted clearly on their faces. Out here, in this new world, protection wasn't just a blessing—it was a lifeline.
One of them, Aaron, stepped forward. He tried to put on a brave face, but Ethan could see the tremble in his shoulders, the nervous swallow before he spoke.
"Grace… look at the world we're in now," Aaron pleaded. "Isn't this the time to help each other? To come together to survive? Please, let us stay. We'll earn our place. We'll protect you."
Ethan's eyebrow arched, unimpressed. He didn't say anything, but the look in his eyes said enough: Protect them? You can't even protect yourselves.
Grace didn't answer Aaron directly. Instead, she turned her gaze to Ethan, curiosity glinting behind her serious expression.
"Ethan," she said slowly, "why are you so intent on clearing all the zombies from this apartment complex? Why not just fortify and wait it out like the others?"
A new silence settled in—tense, pregnant with questions. All eyes turned to Ethan, even the skeleton standing like a statue in the corner, as if the dead thing also awaited his answer.
Ethan didn't move at first. Then he uncrossed his arms, stepped forward, and spoke with a calm certainty that made even the flickering lights seem to pause.
"Because I don't think these zombies will stay like this forever," he said plainly. "Right now, they're slow. Mindless. Weak. Level 1 trash. But that won't last. They could evolve, or worse—higher-tier zombies might already exist out there. And if we don't eliminate them now while they're weak, we'll regret it later."
He gestured toward the window, where the silhouette of ruined buildings and darkened streets stretched into the unknown.
"If we don't take them out now, while we still can, they'll become something worse. Something we might not be able to stop."
Roby, the youngest of the three men, pale and visibly unnerved, scoffed and blurted out, "That's not how it works! In movies, they just rot and die within months. They don't get stronger!"
Ethan didn't even blink. His voice remained level, almost cold.
"Movies?" he echoed. "You still think this is fiction? I literally have a walking skeleton fighting beside me, Roby. There's a voice in our heads calling itself a 'God,' handing out levels and skills like we're in a damn game. This isn't a movie—it's a rewritten reality."
He pointed at the motionless skeleton leaning on its massive bone axe in the corner. Even standing still, the thing gave off an aura of death. It wasn't just a summon—it was a message. A reminder that the rules were different now.
"I don't know all the answers," Ethan admitted. "But I've been through hell long enough to know one thing—power evolves. And when it does, only those ready for it survive."
Grace looked at him, her lips slightly parted. Something in her expression softened. Admiration? Respect? It was hard to say. But she was listening. Really listening.
Just then, Luna's soft voice broke the tension.
"Ethan," she asked hesitantly, her large eyes filled with worry, "do you really have to leave?"
Her voice was like the whisper of falling snow—gentle, sad, filled with dread. The other girls turned to Ethan as well. Even Maya's usual sarcasm faded. They had seen Ethan fight. Seen him command the battlefield like a warlord in the ruins. Without him, their little group felt like a fortress with crumbling walls.
Ethan met Luna's gaze. The softness in her voice touched something inside him, but he kept his tone resolute.
"I have to find my best friend," he said, his voice unwavering. "He might still be out there… alive. After that, I need to go home—check what's left, if anything. We've got a few days, maybe less, before I move out."
The words settled like a final bell toll. Even the emergency lights seemed dimmer.
But there was no room for sentiment in his heart right now. Not when every minute brought more danger.
Not when the world was changing faster than anyone could keep up.