Luna's face tightened. "This many? Already?"
"Drive through!" Ethan shouted.
She hit the gas again, and the reinforced bus plowed through the outer horde. Bodies slammed against the sides, bones breaking under wheels. The smell was indescribable—blood, rot, engine smoke.
The shocks creaked violently.
"They're going to slow us down!" William shouted, pointing to several larger zombies—former athletes perhaps—who were heavier, faster, their bodies less decayed.
"I see them," Ethan growled, eyes narrowing. "Spawn, get ready!"
The Skeleton took position near the emergency door, axe in hand, anticipating a breach.
As the bus forced its way toward the main building, Ethan looked out the side window.
This place had once been filled with promise, laughter, dreams.
Now… it was a graveyard.
And the real fight was about to begin.
The moment the roar of the school bus engine echoed between the abandoned lecture halls, the dead began to stir.
One by one, their heads jerked toward the sound—neck bones creaking, jaws slack, eyes clouded with hunger. Limbs twitched, feet dragged across the cracked pavement. The groaning swelled into an eerie chorus.
Luna's grip on the steering wheel tightened until her knuckles paled. "Here they come," she murmured, a flash of determination in her violet eyes.
Then she floored the gas.
The bus surged forward like a charging beast. Reinforced metal met rotting flesh with sickening force—thud, crunch, crack—as zombie after zombie was flung aside, their broken forms rolling across the asphalt. Blood splattered the windows in thick, dark streaks.
The impacts were relentless. Each hit sent a shudder through the vehicle, but the heavy bus barely slowed. An ordinary car would have been wedged in place and torn apart within seconds. Here, Luna kept plowing through, her every motion as precise as a racer threading through obstacles.
After smashing through an uncountable number of the undead, the bus finally screeched to a halt before the towering gates of Zhong Hai University.
---
Grace stepped closer to Ethan, her long hair flowing over her shoulders, the soft sunlight catching on her flawless skin. "The campus is enormous," she said, her voice smooth but edged with concern. "Do you even know where to start looking for your friend?"
Ethan's reply came instantly, his mind already racing through possibilities. "Five locations: the library, the swimming pool, the boy's dorms, the gym, and the campus supermarket. If he's alive, he'll be in one of those."
William, still scanning the horizon for movement, asked curiously, "What's his name?"
The question seemed simple, but even William could feel the weight behind it. This was Zhong Hai University—a place that made even the bravest think twice. The number of zombies here dwarfed what they had seen at Qinghua. To come here for one man meant walking into the lion's den.
Ethan's lips curved into a small, fond smile. "Luke. One of my best buddies."
That was all he said, but in that brief answer lay years of trust and shared trials.
Without breaking stride, Luna steered the bus toward the nearest of Ethan's possible search points—the small supermarket tucked into a corner of the campus.
William is envious of Ethan's best friend, having a friend like Ethan that would risk his life to save him.
Between the conversation, Luna drove to the small supermarket in Zhong Hai University.
As the bus rolled to a stop, Ethan's eyes sharpened. "Stay here," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "I'll take a quick look."
Before anyone could protest, he was out the door, Spawn clattering beside him, its skeletal frame gleaming faintly in the dim light.
The scene outside was already shifting.
More than ten zombies lingered near the supermarket entrance. The moment they caught sight of movement, they turned as one and began to close in—arms outstretched, steps lurching into a hungry sprint.
Ethan didn't hesitate.
"Let's go," he said to Spawn, and together they charged.
He wasn't the same boy who had trembled in the dormitory a day ago. Repeated battles had honed him, stripped away fear, and replaced it with lethal precision.
Spawn's axe whistled through the air, splitting skulls like rotten fruit. Ethan's Straightblade rose and fell with terrifying speed, severing spines, carving through necks. Every movement was deliberate—no wasted motion, no hesitation.
But then—whoosh—a flash of black silk darted past his side.
Grace.
She moved like liquid shadow, her long raven hair whipping behind her, her staff glinting in the sun. Her every strike was a graceful arc, each step a dance between life and death. If the sight of her beauty stunned for even a second, the undead would find their heads dented and twisted on the ground.
With the trio working in perfect rhythm—Ethan's brutality, Spawn's relentless force, Grace's lethal grace—the zombies fell like wheat beneath a scythe.
Breathing steady, Ethan gave her a brief nod. "Thanks."
Grace flashed him a quick smile, her eyes bright with the thrill of combat. "You're welcome. Leave this side to me—go find him."
And before he could reply, she had already turned to meet another cluster of the dead, her blade painting the air with arcs of crimson.
---
Meanwhile, Luna kept the bus in motion, circling to crush approaching stragglers. The engine roared each time she gunned it over another group. Still, more zombies streamed toward the vehicle, drawn by the noise and the scent of fresh blood.
If Grace didn't thin them out quickly, the bus would be buried in a wall of the undead.
---
Ethan pushed forward, sword ready, until he reached the supermarket doors. He slammed the flat of his blade against the metal frame.
"Is anyone in there?" he shouted. "Answer me!"
A muffled, startled voice replied, "There are! We're here! You… you came to save us?"
"Luke!" Ethan bellowed, ignoring the other voice. "It's me—Ethan! Are you in there?"
Silence. No answer. His jaw tightened.
Moments later, the door creaked open and seven people stumbled out—four men, three women. Their clothes were rumpled, eyes hollow with exhaustion. One of the men, thin with glasses and an overly careful way of moving, stepped forward.
"You… you came to get us out?"
Ethan's gaze swept over them, reading more than just their faces. They weren't armed, their posture screamed of inexperience, and the faint smell of fear clung to them like sweat.
"No," he said bluntly. "I'm here for my friend Luke. But… if you want to leave with us, I can get you past the gates. After that, you're on your own."
He let the words sink in before continuing, his voice colder. "If you stay here, you've got water and supplies. Out there… food will drive you mad long before the zombies do."
It wasn't cruelty—it was reality. In the apocalypse, charity could be a death sentence. Ethan had learned that the hard way. Every extra mouth to feed meant more danger, more risk, more weight on his shoulders. And he had bigger threats ahead—threats that made even today's zombie swarm look small.
Somewhere in his mind, a new calculation was already forming.
He couldn't just think about Luke.
There were nuclear power plants in the region… and if those failed, the apocalypse could become something far worse.
The moment Ethan's cold, unflinching words sank in, the seven survivors stood frozen—caught between desperation and disbelief. Their eyes darted from his face to one another's, searching for an answer that wasn't coming.
It was then that a single voice cut through the silence.
"I know where Luke is," said a girl from the group.
She stepped forward, and the air shifted. Her figure was lean yet athletic—slim waist, long toned legs, thick thighs built from years of sports. Her short hair framed sharp, determined eyes, and despite the grime of survival, her beauty had a bold, untamed edge. Unlike the others, she didn't tremble. She was ready to gamble.
"But," she continued, her chin lifting slightly, "you have to take me with you."
Ethan's gaze swept over her in a fraction of a second—judging confidence, fitness, and resolve. "Name?" he asked simply.
"Ada," she replied without hesitation.
His lips curved into the faintest smirk. "Alright, Ada. You've got yourself a deal. Now—where's Luke?"
She didn't waste a heartbeat. "The girls' dormitory. When the outbreak hit, he protected Lucy and Maeve, got them out of the chaos, and they took shelter there."
"Good." Ethan's voice was brisk now, the decision already made. "You're coming with me."
He turned on his heel and strode toward the exit. Ada followed immediately, her movements sharp, like someone used to keeping pace in dangerous ground.
Behind them, the man with glasses and the others stayed rooted to the spot. Ethan had made it painfully clear—he wasn't their shield. They didn't have the stomach to face what waited beyond the supermarket walls.
---
The moment Ethan stepped outside, the sounds of battle slammed into him—metal striking bone, guttural snarls, boots thudding on cracked pavement. His eyes narrowed.
Grace was locked in combat.
Eight zombies surrounded her in a loose semicircle, but one among them towered over the rest—easily two meters tall. Its hulking frame radiated brute force, and unlike the shuffling dead, this one moved with unnerving speed, its every step shaking the ground.
[[Strength-Evolved Infected – P1: Level 10 – Type I Variant]
An early-stage infected evolved for overwhelming physical assaults. Though not yet at its peak mutation potential, this variant already possesses unnerving strength and a hide resilient enough to shrug off most low-tier weapons. It's often encountered as a frontline bruiser during swarm assaults, smashing through barricades and scattering unprepared survivors.
Traits:
Crushing Force: Can bend steel pipes, splinter wooden defenses, and knock a grown human off their feet with a single swing.
Hardened Flesh: Skin and muscle fibers are interwoven with mutated collagen strands, granting natural armor against knives, blunt weapons, and small-caliber firearms.
Unyielding Advance: Moves with relentless determination, absorbing damage as it pushes forward to close the gap with prey.
Adrenal Surge: Briefly spikes strength output when threatened or cornered, enabling short bursts of extreme power.
Skill – Viral Infection:
Carries a potent, fast-acting strain of the virus. A single claw swipe or bite is enough to begin the transformation process, converting victims into infected within hours. Those infected by this variant typically mutate into standard drones or lesser strength-types.]
Ethan's gut tightened. "Not good!" he barked, voice carrying across the space. "Grace—careful! That's a level 10 Strength-type!"
Grace didn't even glance his way. Her staff moved like a striking serpent, smashing into the skull of a lunging zombie and snapping its neck sideways in a grotesque angle. Without pause, she spun and closed the gap with the P1.
Her strike slammed into its neck—a blow that would have shattered the spine of an ordinary infected. But here? The beast's head merely rocked to the side, its eyes locking back on her, unbothered.
Then it swung.
Its massive hand came down like a guillotine. The speed, combined with the raw force behind it, left no room to dodge—at least, not for anyone human.
But Grace wasn't just human.
At the last possible heartbeat, her body blurred—an explosion of speed that doubled in an instant. She leapt backward, boots skidding across the pavement, the killing blow missing her by inches.
'So… that's her skill.' Ethan thought, his mind already adjusting tactics. Short bursts of extreme speed. Perfect for drawing its attention, not so much for sustained damage.
Grace landed lightly, already darting forward again. She became a whirlwind—striking, retreating, striking again—her blows raining down on the creature's head and jaw. But no matter how many times she hit it, the P1's monstrous flesh refused to give way.
Its claws slashed through the air, but Grace's movements were a step ahead—slipping under its arms, vaulting over its reach, twisting away from every attempt to crush her.
Ethan didn't waste the distraction. "Spawn—now!"
Spawn was already moving, an arrow of bone and rage. The skeletal construct's axe whirled in a cyclone motion, its momentum building to a devastating strike as it closed the gap.
The air between Ethan and the P1 crackled with the collision that was about to come.
The P1 zombie raised its right arm in a sudden, brutish motion, its grotesque muscles bunching under scarred, leathery skin. Spawn didn't slow. With strength surpassing Grace's and an axe honed to a wicked edge, the skeletal warrior brought the blade down in a vicious arc.
The edge bit deep.
With a wet, tearing crack, the monster's forearm separated from its elbow, spraying black ichor into the air. The stump twitched violently as the severed limb fell, the claws still curling reflexively as though unwilling to accept death.
Spawn didn't pause—its head turned sharply, sockets locking on the creature's throat. In one fluid follow-up, the axe came around again, cleaving into the thick neck. The blade buried itself halfway, grinding to a stop against the P1's unnatural hide.
The impact made the monster howl—not from pain, but from rage.
It stepped forward, faster than its bulk should allow, and swung its remaining arm. The fist smashed into Spawn's right side with enough force to shake the pavement. Bone fragments splintered and flew—Spawn's axe arm tore away completely, spinning through the air before clattering against the cracked asphalt.
Ethan's breath caught for a fraction of a second. That thing… it broke Spawn's arm with one punch. His gut tightened. If that were a human body, there wouldn't even be enough left to bury.
"Wrap him up!" he snapped instantly, voice like steel.
Spawn lunged with its remaining arm, catching the axe with skeletal fingers in a reverse grip, trying to grapple the beast. But without its primary weapon arm, even Spawn was at a disadvantage.
The zombie cocked its arm back for another bone-crushing blow—
—but Grace was already there.
She shot forward from the flank, her short hair whipping in the wind, her eyes narrowed with killing intent. Her staff cracked into the side of the P1's head with enough force to twist its torso. The beast staggered, its blow cutting through empty air where Spawn's arm had been a heartbeat earlier.
That moment of imbalance was all Ethan needed.
He closed the distance in three powerful strides, sword already raised high. His mind registered every angle, every vibration in his weapon's grip—calculating the point of maximum force.
He brought it down.
Clank!
The sound was sharp, metallic—like steel striking steel. The blade bit through mutated collagen and tendon, severing the last of the neck's thick fibers. The P1's head came free in a gruesome arc, spinning once before thudding against the ground.
For a split second, the battlefield was silent.
Then a sphere of shimmering light burst from the corpse, shooting toward Ethan. It passed through him like a surge of warmth and static, and a voice echoed inside his skull:
[You have advanced to Level 8. You have earned 2 status points. Please allocate your attributes accordingly!]
Ethan didn't hesitate. "One point to Stamina, one to Agility," he commanded mentally.
The system acknowledged, and he felt the changes instantly—lungs that could pull in more air, muscles coiling with quicker response, joints moving with sharper precision.
If there's a Strength-type, there will be others—Speed-types, Defense-types, Spirit-types. If I'm not faster, one day I won't walk away.
His eyes swept over the P1's corpse. Beside it lay loot—a skill book, one bronze treasure box, two white treasure boxes, and a matte-black Survival Coin stamped with the number 100.
He crouched, picking up the skill book first.
[[Overwhelming Strength – Level 1]]
Type: Active
Effect:
Channels raw, unrestrained physical power through every muscle fiber, temporarily pushing the body beyond its natural limits. This surge floods the user's system with amplified force, enabling devastating blows, faster bursts of movement, and improved combat endurance. While highly effective in short bursts, prolonged use without stamina discipline risks severe fatigue or physical collapse.
Perfect for breaking enemy lines, overpowering armored foes, or delivering decisive finishing strikes.
Activation Cost:
5 Stamina Points per activation
Buff Duration:
30 Seconds
Bonus Stats During Activation:
+10 Strength
+2 Agility
+2 Endurance
Cooldown:
None – May be used repeatedly as long as stamina reserves allow.
Description:
A primal combat technique drawn from the survival manuals of post-collapse warlords and mutant beast hunters. It is less a refined art and more a controlled outburst of sheer willpower and physical might. Mastery allows for seamless integration into melee chains, while novices risk burning themselves out before the fight is over. In the right hands, it transforms the wielder into a living siege weapon.]
A thin smile touched Ethan's lips. Without wasting time, he swept the rest of the loot into his bag.
"Move!" he barked, already sprinting toward the school bus.
Grace—still beautiful even streaked with blood and dust—followed without a word, her breathing quick but steady. Spawn clattered after them, one arm missing as he quickly picked up his own arm that was sent flying. Ada was close behind, her toned legs keeping pace, short hair plastered to her forehead from the heat of the fight.
They piled into the bus.
"Ada," Ethan said, turning to her, "passenger seat. Guide Luna."
She nodded sharply, sliding into the co-pilot's chair. The moment her hands braced against the dash, she was already pointing the way forward.
The bus roared to life, and they drove on into the uncertain streets of the apocalypse.
Grace walked over to Ethan, her boots clicking softly against the school bus floor as the vehicle rumbled beneath them. She still looked every bit the warrior—dark strands of hair stuck to her cheeks with a mix of sweat and zombie dust, her figure taut and graceful from the fight. Her eyes were bright, curious.
"What kind of skill book is it?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.
Ethan, still catching his breath from the P1 battle, tossed the book to her without ceremony. "Overwhelming Strength. Do you want it?"
He wasn't the type to hoard loot like some petty scavenger. Grace had risked herself in the earlier fight, landing the blow that had thrown the zombie off balance. She'd earned the right to first pick.
Grace caught the book easily, and information about it popped in her mind. Her gaze moved over the glowing script, her lips tightening in thought.
She looked back at him, then tossed it back with a faint shake of her head. "I need a good sword. This skill's not for me."
She spoke without hesitation.
Ethan arched a brow. "Too much stamina drain?"
Grace smirked faintly. "Exactly. This thing burns fuel like a broken furnace. I'd collapse after three swings." She leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing with the memory of the fight. "Give me a blade sharp enough to split a P1 in half, and I'll show you something better than raw strength."
Ethan gave a small nod. He remembered her frustration earlier—her staff had hit true, but against the P1's dense hide, it had been like tapping steel with a stick.
Without another word, he reached for the bronze treasure box. This was his first time seeing one up close—the polished metal shimmered faintly under the dull interior lights of the bus. The lock clicked open with a deep thunk.
A flare of bronze-colored light washed over his face, and as it faded, a neatly folded black garment rested on his thighs. Its sleek contours and reinforced panels looked almost ceremonial, yet carried the aura of serious combat readiness.
[[Level 2: Protective Garment]
Type: Body Armor
Effect:
Provides advanced biological hazard defense and moderate ballistic protection. Capable of withstanding up to 20 direct infection attempts from viral strains ranked Level 10 or lower before degradation. Its reinforced plating and composite weave can also absorb impacts from small-caliber firearms, making it ideal for prolonged engagements in contaminated combat zones.
Bonus Stats:
+5 Endurance
+5 Agility
+5 Vitality
+5 Stamina
+5 Spirit
+5 Strength
Limitation:
Offers no protection against infections above Level 10. Sustained heavy fire or repeated exposure to advanced viral strains will rapidly reduce effectiveness.
Description:
A second-generation survival combat suit developed after the initial outbreak, this model was engineered for frontline responders, elite scavenger units, and militia forces tasked with operating deep inside infection hot zones. Crafted from high-tensile fabrics lined with bio-reactive membranes, it seals critical entry points while retaining full mobility.
Its modular design allows integration with exoskeletal frames or environmental stacking conflicts, while strategically placed shock pads diffuse kinetic force from melee strikes or projectile hits to some extent. Though bulkier than earlier models, it has become the silver standard for those who expect to survive repeated close encounters with both human and mutant threats.
Compatibility:
Can be worn by any class and alongside other protective equipment.
Durability: 20/20
Sell Value: 300 Survival Coins]
Ethan's eyes sharpened, almost glowing as he read the stat bonuses. This wasn't just armor—it was a power multiplier. "I want this," he said immediately, voice decisive.
Grace chuckled softly. "I figured you would."
He ran a hand over the smooth, reinforced fabric, feeling the resilience under his fingers. In a world where one scratch could end you, this wasn't just loot.
It was life.