BANG! BANG! BANG!
The gunshots cracked like lightning, the muzzle flash illuminating her beautiful, determined face. But the bullets passed through Spawn harmlessly, lodging in walls or ricocheting into the concrete floor. His bones rattled from the impact, but he didn't falter.
With one massive swing, Spawn's bony hand clamped around the policewoman's wrist. Her pistol clattered to the ground as he wrenched it free and forced her down, pinning her to the floor with inhuman strength.
The sharp echo of gunfire faded, leaving only her ragged breathing.
Ethan stepped through the doorway at last, his shadow falling across her restrained form. His sword gleamed faintly at his side.
The policewoman glared up at him, her chest heaving against her uniform, her dark eyes blazing with fury and pride. "Who are you?" she demanded, her voice steady despite her position. "This is a police firearms storage room. You've trespassed into a restricted zone. By law, you've committed a serious crime."
Ethan's lips curled in the faintest of smiles. His voice was low, almost mocking yet calm.
"Law?" he asked softly, eyes locked on the woman before him. "Tell me, officer… do you truly think law still matters in this world?"
The question hung in the air like a blade at her throat.
Ethan raised his hand, signaling to Spawn. The skeletal servant obeyed instantly, withdrawing its crushing grip and stepping back, though its empty sockets never left her.
"My name is Ethan," he said evenly. His tone carried no arrogance, only an unshakable steadiness. "I regret the rough entrance, but understand this—laws, rules, order—they all ended the moment that voice calling itself The God echoed in every human mind across the planet. I'm sure you heard it too."
The policewoman stood cautiously, brushing her uniform, her pistol now out of reach. Her dark eyes followed Ethan warily. He noticed the trembling in her chest as she steadied her breathing.
Ethan gave a slight nod, almost gentlemanly, his voice softening just enough. "Officer… what's your name?"
"My name is Sydney," she answered curtly. Her chin lifted in defiance, her uniform straining against her chest as she squared her shoulders. Then her voice rose sharply: "And what the hell is that thing?" She pointed at Spawn, her finger trembling despite her effort to appear composed.
Ethan didn't so much as blink. "Did you hear the voice—the one claiming to be God? Maybe even the real thing?"
The change in her face was instant. Shock widened her eyes, relief flickering across them like dawn breaking through clouds. "You… you heard it too?" she whispered. "For days I thought I was losing my mind."
"That skeleton?" Ethan gestured casually to Spawn. "It's my skill—something granted through what's called the Magical System of God and Devil. The whole world is different now. It runs on RPG-like rules… and yeah, zombies are real."
Sydney's lips parted, her expression shifting from disbelief to curiosity. For a moment, her fear faltered, replaced by intrigue. "That… that's your ability? How did you get it?"
"This one?" Ethan's eyes flickered toward Spawn. "A rare Skill Book. But don't think it's simple. You don't just wake up with powers. You kill, you survive, you gamble with death—and if you're lucky, you find something like this." His words were sharp but carried weight. A warning and a truth.
Sydney's gaze drifted to the pistol now dangling from Spawn's skeletal grip. "That gun… can you give it back? I need it."
Ethan's eyes narrowed. His voice dropped cold. "No."
Sydney froze, taken aback by his bluntness.
"You aimed that weapon at me not long ago," Ethan continued, his tone like steel. "I don't give second chances when a single bullet could end me." 'My protective garment might stop small rounds, but a shot to my head? It's game over. Understand?' Ethan thought.
Sydney bit her lip, her pride clashing with the hard reality. She didn't answer.
Ethan didn't waste time. His eyes swept toward the heavy safe at the back of the armory. He raised his hand. "Spawn. Break it open."
The skeletal warrior moved like a machine of death, its axe rising high.
BOOM!
The blow rang like thunder, the steel lock screaming under the impact.
BOOM! BOOM!
After three bone-shaking strikes, the reinforced lock snapped like brittle glass. The safe groaned open, revealing its treasure.
Ethan's breath caught for a second—rows of firearms gleamed in the dim light.
"Type 54 pistols… Type 79 submachine guns… Type 85 sniper rifles…" His voice carried the rare note of awe. "Good stuff. Beautiful stuff."
He ran his fingers across the weapons, appreciating their craftsmanship. Steel, oil, precision—the last whispers of the old world's strength. In this new apocalypse, firearms were no longer just weapons. They were power. Authority. Survival itself.
He quickly filled his pack, strapping several guns to his back, and ordered Spawn to shoulder crates of little ammunition and guns.
Even strengthened, Ethan knew the truth: he was still just a man. His swordsmanship could cleave through zombies, but it consumed stamina. Endless melee would eventually break even him. With guns, with firepower, he could carve a path through hordes. His group could survive.
Ethan turned back toward Sydney, who was still watching him cautiously. "Are you staying here?" he asked. "Or coming with me?"
The answer came instantly. "I'll go with you," Sydney said, no hesitation in her voice. The hard lines in her face betrayed fear—fear of being alone in this tomb of death. She didn't want to die here.
"Good." Ethan nodded, his voice brisk.
Together they withdrew, Spawn's heavy steps echoing as he carried crates of guns on his skeletal frame.
---
The bus erupted in commotion when Ethan returned.
"Guns! You brought back guns!" Julia's voice rose with giddy excitement as she rushed forward. She scooped up a Type 54 pistol, spinning it in her hand as if it were a toy. Her clothes clung to her, her beauty sharp even in the chaos.
William's eyes gleamed as he studied the pile of weapons. Greed mixed with admiration—he understood what this meant. The old order was gone. In this fragile world, those who held firepower would rule until a new order was born.
On the side, Luna and Grace watched in silence. Their eyes sparkled, lips slightly parted as the sight of gleaming rifles and pistols stirred something primal within them: hope. Power. A chance to fight back.
Luke, holding a submachine gun awkwardly in his hands, raised a brow. "The guns are nice, but… what about bullets?"
Ethan glanced at Sydney, then back at the group. His voice was curt, decisive. "Not enough hands. I carried what I could. Watch her," he pointed directly at Sydney, "don't let her near the weapons. I'll go fetch the ammunition." He said while giving him a pistol.
Before anyone could respond, he was already moving. Spawn followed silently, its skeletal frame now unburdened, axe gleaming once more.
---
The corridors of the police station grew darker the deeper Ethan went. At last, he found the ammunition storage room. Its lock was thick, but Spawn's axe shattered it like clay.
As the door groaned open, a rotten figure staggered out—a police officer long dead, its face caved inward but its body still clad in faded blue. It lunged, jaws wide.
Ethan didn't hesitate. His blade arced in a flash of silver.
SHHHHK!
The zombie's head flew free, blood spraying across the doorway. The corpse crumpled.
And then it came—a sudden warmth, a pulse of light sinking into Ethan's chest.
[You have advanced to Level 10. You have earned 2 status points. Please allocate your attributes accordingly!]
Without hesitation, Ethan's mind was sharp, calculating. Stamina for endurance. Agility for speed.
"Distribute: one to Stamina, one to Agility," he ordered mentally.
[Congratulations. You have been promoted to Level 10. You have gained 1 Skill Point. Please select a skill to upgrade, or you may retain it.]
Ethan's lips curved faintly. A rare smile. "A skill point, huh?" His eyes gleamed with fire. "Then upgrade—Necromancer's Pact."
From deep within Ethan's Sea of Consciousness, runes floated like constellations suspended in a vast, starlit void. Among them, a dark rune that represented his Necromancer's Pact began to glow with an ominous brilliance. The symbol pulsed once, then expanded, new glyphs and ancient markings weaving themselves into its design.
Suddenly, a surge of white light burst from Ethan's chest and shot outward, striking Spawn like a lightning bolt. The skeletal servant's frame rattled violently, its bones clattering together as if alive. Strange runic inscriptions etched themselves across its body in a language that seemed older than civilization itself.
The transformation was not merely cosmetic—power radiated from it. A black beam of light descended from between Ethan's eyebrows and struck Spawn again, saturating it with shadowy energy. Slowly, the dull white bones of his summon shifted into a chilling cyan hue, glowing faintly like metal left under moonlight.
System Prompt:
[Due to the upgrade of your skill Necromancer's Pact, your Special Skeleton has undergone an evolution and is now eligible to acquire a new skill.]
[Please select one of the following skills to bestow:
• Skill Option 1 – Reinforced Bones:
Fortifies the Special Skeleton's skeletal structure, greatly increasing durability and resistance to both physical and magical damage.
• Skill Option 2 – Bone Manipulation:
Grants your Special Skeleton control over skeletal frame, allowing for unnatural, flexible, and unpredictable attacks. Its form can shift mid-battle, creating new combat possibilities.]
Ethan's mind raced. The temptation of Bone Manipulation was strong—it promised versatility, strange tactics, and brutal surprise attacks. But Ethan was pragmatic. He remembered the brutal force of the P1 zombie, the chaos of being swarmed, the moment Grace had almost been crushed because her weapon couldn't pierce the monster's hide.
What his group lacked wasn't a trickster. It was a shield.
"Select Skill Option 1 – Reinforced Bones."
The decision was instant. He didn't hesitate.
The moment the choice was made, a jet-black light flared across Spawn's chest. Runes arranged themselves into a dense, unbreakable lattice. His bones hardened, gleaming with a metallic sheen that exuded menace. The clatter of fragile bone was gone—now his every movement rang with weight and solidity, like steel grinding against steel.
\
Special Skeleton (Spawn)
Level: 9
Strength: 35
Agility: 23
Vitality: 23
Spirit: 23/23
Endurance: 25
Skills:
Bone Crafting, Minor Bone Regeneration, Reinforced Bones.
\
Ethan allowed himself a faint smirk. Perfect. A wall of bone and iron. Exactly what we need if things go south.
But the system's voice hadn't finished with him yet.
[Congratulations! You have reached Level 10. You are now eligible for a Novice Mission.]
[[Mission Name: Search for the Novice Village]
Mission Summary:
The world has transformed, and to help new survivors adapt and evolve, the system has established Novice Villages across various cities.
These safe zones are free from mutated and hostile monsters. Each Novice Village includes:
Job Advancement System: Choose a profession to gain powerful skills and specialized abilities.
Exchange System: Trade valuable items for resources or currency.
System Shop: Purchase equipment, skill books, and survival tools.
Note: The first survivor to discover and enter a Novice Village will receive an exclusive reward.]
Ethan's eyes narrowed. Novice Village, huh?
He had planned to stockpile weapons and push for Long Hai city, but this changed everything. The first to adapt always gained the most in a new order—this was true of evolution, history, and now the System itself. A safe zone meant stability, progression, and possibly allies… but most importantly, an edge.
He clenched his fists. If I can find it first, I'll secure not just survival, but dominance.
Shaking off the glowing interface in his mind, Ethan crouched beside a zombie corpse and rifled through it with gloved hands. After a moment of searching, he pulled out a ring of keys slick with dried blood.
"Bingo."
He approached the ammunition safe and tested the keys. With a satisfying click, the door swung open, revealing row upon row of neatly stacked ammunition boxes.
Ethan's lips curved upward. "Finally…"
The sight of hundreds of cartridges, magazines, and crates was like stumbling upon buried treasure. Without ammo, guns were just heavy sticks. With this, however… their ragtag group had just become a legitimate fighting force.
He and Spawn ferried the boxes to the bus in multiple trips. By the time they were done, the inside of the vehicle looked like a mobile armory.
—
Luke and Ethan strapped Type 79 submachine guns to their backs, their torsos covered in spare magazines. With their makeshift bandoliers and grim expressions, they looked less like survivors and more like seasoned mercenaries out of a war film.
Luna, Grace, and Julia each received a Type 54 pistol for self-defense. Ethan carefully demonstrated the safety, grip, and stance, though he knew none of them were professionals. Still, their gamer reflexes and familiarity with FPS mechanics were better than nothing. Grace in particular held her pistol with sharp focus, her beauty sharpened by determination.
William, too, was given a pistol and ten rounds. His eyes gleamed with a dangerous hunger—not for survival, but for the power the weapon represented.
Sydney, standing slightly apart, frowned. Her raven hair was still perfectly tied, her uniform clinging to her curves, though her expression betrayed unease. She crossed her arms, lips pursed, and finally said, "Please… give me back my pistol. I'm a policewoman. I won't hurt you. Without it, I…" Her voice cracked faintly. "I don't feel safe."
Before Ethan could answer, Julia bounced up to him and clung to his arm, swaying it playfully like a spoiled young witch. "Big brother Ethan, give it back to her!" she whined, her eyes wide with pleading innocence. "Big sister Sydney is really not bad… what will she do if zombies come and she's unarmed?"
Her words were light, but her tone carried weight. The group's morale was fragile, and how Ethan handled this could define Sydney's loyalty—or her resentment.
Ethan's sharp gaze lingered on Sydney for a long moment. His voice was steady, cold, commanding:
"Mrs. Sydney, I'll give you back your pistol. But hear me clearly—if you ever point that gun at me or any of my people, no matter the excuse, I will show you no mercy."
The weight of his words hung in the air like the blade of a guillotine.
Sydney, dressed in her wrinkled police uniform that clung to her curves from sweat and exhaustion, stepped forward with pride still burning faintly in her tired eyes. Her voice was solemn but firm:
"As long as you don't break the law… I will never raise my gun against you."
Ethan shook his head with a faint, almost pitying smirk. Law? In this new world? She was clinging to a code already crumbling. Still, without further hesitation, he tossed the pistol back to her.
She caught it with both hands, relief flashing across her beautiful but haggard face. Once, she might have been the model of a dutiful officer—upholding justice, protecting civilians. But now, Ethan knew those ideals were paper shields. Without power, strength, or allies, principles alone would lead her straight into a zombie's teeth.
"Where are we going next?" Luna asked softly, her voice cutting through the silence. She sat at the driver's seat of the battered school bus, her delicate fingers wrapped around the wheel, her beautiful face glowing faintly under the dim light leaking through the cracked windows.
Ethan leaned back, thinking. His voice came out deep and resolute:
"Back to the university. I gave my word to the girls in the dormitory. If there's a chance… I will save them."
"Okay!" Luna nodded immediately, pressing her foot against the accelerator. The old bus roared back to life, rumbling down the broken asphalt.
---
The vehicle jolted violently as it plowed through clusters of zombies, their bodies exploding against the reinforced bumper in showers of blood, bone, and shredded flesh. The windows rattled, and each impact shook the passengers inside.
Ethan frowned, steadying himself against the seat. "Not good… this bus won't last. If we keep ramming through hordes like this, it'll fall apart soon."
The frame groaned with every collision. He knew well enough—this wasn't a military APC. It was a school bus from Shian, built to carry children, not to bulldoze the undead. A few more hits like this, and the engine or axles might snap.
Still, Luna drove with surprising skill, swerving just enough to keep their momentum, her long hair bouncing against her shoulders as her intense eyes scanned the ruined road.
---
The chaos briefly subsided, and Ethan dug into his pack. He pulled out two sweet buns, handing one to Luke. The two devoured them quickly, the taste bland but life-giving. Hunger clawed at his stomach like a parasite—he knew this would be their reality from now on. Fighting, bleeding, scavenging, eating whatever scraps they could find.
"Big brother Ethan! I'm hungry too!" Julia chimed in, her voice sweet and playful. She leaned against him, batting her long lashes. "Give me a bun?"
Ethan sighed, but without hesitation, pulled out another sweet bun and handed it to her. Julia's face lit up like a child's, her beauty shining even more in her innocent smile as she began nibbling it eagerly.
Sydney, watching from the corner, swallowed hard. She hadn't eaten in over a day. Her lips were dry, her eyes faintly bloodshot. She hesitated, pride warring with desperation, then finally spoke:
"Ethan… please. I haven't eaten since yesterday. Could you spare something?"
Ethan's gaze lingered on her. Her posture was proud, but her voice betrayed the hunger gnawing at her insides. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed her two buns.
"Thank you!" she said quickly, tearing into the wrapper and devouring them without care for appearance. She didn't eat like a policewoman now—she ate like a starving survivor. For her, those cheap buns were more delicious than any feast she'd ever had.
---
The school bus roared closer to Qinghua University. The moment the sound of the engine echoed across the campus, dozens of zombies stirred. From the shadows of broken lecture halls and shattered windows, they staggered forward, their guttural moans rising in a chorus of hunger.
Luna rammed through as many as she could, splattering the road with blood and brains, before skidding to a halt in front of the girl's dormitory. The undead turned toward the bus, drawn by the sound of its engine and the scent of fresh human flesh.
The wave was coming.
---
"Luke. With me." Ethan's voice was calm, decisive.
He and Luke grabbed their Type 79 submachine guns, clicking the safeties off. The weapons were crude compared to modern rifles, but their box magazines and high rate of fire made them excellent for mowing down groups. They leaned out of the bus and unleashed hell.
Ratatatatatat!
The staccato bursts filled the air as the muzzle flashes lit up the dark street. Zombies fell in heaps, their rotting flesh shredded, their bones splintered. Blood painted the cracked pavement like an artist's brushstroke of death.
But zombies were not like men. Even torn apart, they crawled, staggered, and reached. Ethan's bullets shredded torsos, ripped open limbs, yet only the few struck in the skulls stayed down permanently.
Spent cartridges clinked against the floor. The air reeked of gunpowder and blood.
By the time both magazines clicked empty, they had fired hundreds of rounds. Yet only five corpses lay truly dead.
Only by damaging the zombie's brain can you kill them.
Their marksmanship can not be compared to even police officers forgetting about train soldiers.
Ethan's eyes narrowed. "Damn. So that's how it is…"
System didn't reward me… no EXP, no coins…
'I'm not getting any EXP using these heated weapons!'
Ethan watched those zombies standing up again and frowned. Even though his marksmanship was terrible, under the intense fire, several zombies dropped and did not get up again. However, he did not see the ball of white light going into his body or into Luke's body.
Also, the zombies that were killed by the bullets did not drop anything, not even a Survival Coin. When Ethan uses the novice staff and the sword to kill zombies, at least a Survival Coin will drop.
His thoughts raced. The rules were clear: the System rewarded personal kills, not bullets. Firearms might be efficient for defense, but in the long run, they were worthless for growth. A dangerous trap for the careless.
"Stop shooting, Luke! Follow me!"
Luke obeyed instantly, slinging his weapon and unsheathing his blade.
But before either could charge, the street shook under a storm of violence.
Spawn moved.
His newly reinforced skeleton gleamed cyan under the light. With his massive bone axe in hand, he didn't fight like a fragile summon anymore. He fought like a juggernaut.
He swung once—and a zombie's head exploded like a melon, spraying gore across the pavement. He swung again, and three were split down the middle, their rotting torsos collapsing in fountains of blood.
He was a whirlwind of death, his every step cracking the pavement, his strikes shaking the air. Zombies swarmed him, clawing and biting, but their nails screeched against his reinforced bones uselessly.
Blood splashed in arcs. Severed limbs flew. Spawn's axe carved a massacre through the horde.
---
On the bus, Sydney's jaw dropped. Her pistol trembled in her hand.
"M-monster…" she whispered, eyes wide with disbelief. "He… it's terrifying!"
Luna, gripping the wheel, could only stare in awe. "When… when did Spawn become this strong? He's unstoppable…"
She had seen the skeleton before, but never like this. This wasn't just a summon—it was a nightmare given form.
Within minutes, the dozens of zombies around the dormitory were reduced to twitching corpses. Spawn alone had cleaved through more than twenty. The rest fell under Ethan and Luke's blades, their skulls split with grim efficiency.
The battlefield was silent, save for the groans of the dying. Coins shimmered faintly where bodies dissolved, along with a single glowing fruit—an Apple of Vitality.
Ethan picked it up quickly, eyes narrowing. Another piece for their survival.
---
"Luke, stay here and guard the bus. If anything approaches, shout."
Luke nodded firmly, tightening his grip on his weapon.
Ethan turned to his skeletal servant, still dripping with blood. "Spawn, with me."
Together, man and summon pushed into the dormitory, climbing the stairwell at a rapid pace. Ethan's mind was already calculating—the survivors were waiting, but so were more zombies. He'd have to move quickly, decisively, and without hesitation.