The survivors paled, some looking away in shame, others trembling.
Zhang, one of Zhao's group, broke the silence first. He straightened his back and barked, "Come on! Lucas, Mia—move! If you want to live, work for it."
That broke the dam. Daisy was the first girl off the bus, sprinting toward the supermarket with nervous energy.
Nina followed, her pouty lips curled in resentment. She couldn't bear the thought of Daisy looking braver than her in front of Ethan. She tossed her hair, squared her shoulders, and ran after her, though her heart quivered.
Zhao rallied his five with a desperate shout: "Together! Don't shame yourselves—move the damn supplies! If we don't act like one rope, twisted strong, we'll all die frayed!"
And so, one by one, they spilled off the bus into the bloody street, their beauty and fragility thrown against the ruin of the world. Some still trembled, others clenched their jaws. Hunger, fear, and Ethan's cold authority drove them all.
The supermarket doors loomed ahead—dark, silent, and dangerous. And the dead kept coming.
Under the sharp voices of Daisy and Zhao, the rest of the girls finally stirred. Fear and hesitation clung to them like a second skin, but one by one, they stepped down from the safety of the bus. Their silhouettes looked fragile against the ruined city skyline, but in that moment they appeared luminous, strands of hair catching the dim light, clothes torn yet framing their beauty in stark contrast to the ugliness around them. They joined the grim procession, lifting crates and bags from the shattered convenience store, each breath quickened by the stench of blood and decay that hung heavy in the air.
Ethan stayed behind only long enough to issue orders. His voice was calm, deliberate, the kind of tone that allowed no room for debate.
"Luke—stay on the bus. Guard the firearms. Don't let anyone touch them."
The boy nodded, tightening his grip on the M4 slung across his chest. The weapons gleamed under the dim light—rifles, pistols, crates of ammunition. Tools of life and death, each magazine more valuable than a hundred cans of food.
Ethan stepped off the bus, boots crunching on broken glass, scanning the streets with hawk-like precision. His eyes missed nothing—the distant shuffle of a lone ghoul, the way the shadows swayed unnaturally, the echo of dragging feet from the far alley. His mind calculated threats and avenues of escape in cold, clinical precision.
That was when the ground shook with the sound of carnage.
Spawn.
The bony figure swung his axe in a storm of gore and steel. Every sweep of the blackened blade split flesh and bone as if the undead were paper. Heads flew, limbs were severed, and a grisly rain of blood painted the cracked pavement. Dozens of corpses fell, their bodies piling like sandbags around his boots.
Zhao, carrying a sack of rice on his shoulder, froze mid-step. His eyes widened, awe and fear mingling in his chest. He could hardly breathe as he watched Spawn carve a crimson path through the sea of dead.
"Incredible…" Zhao muttered, his throat dry. His heart pounded violently as envy surged like fire in his veins. 'If I had that power…' He clenched his teeth, imagining himself cutting down zombies with ease instead of cowering. Power meant survival. Power meant dominance. He understood it now more clearly than ever—but courage? That was something he still lacked.
Despite the exhaustion and fear, the survivors worked together. Under Daisy's sharp commands and Zhao's prodding, they ferried every crate of canned goods, water, and medical supplies from the small supermarket to the waiting bus. Sweat ran down pale necks, hair stuck to flushed cheeks, but they didn't stop until the last box was loaded.
At last, Ethan gave the word.
"Drive."
Luna, her hands steady despite her pallor, started the engine. The bus rumbled to life and rolled away from the ruined store. The streets blurred past—ruined cars, shattered glass, scattered bones—yet by some twist of fortune, no horde intercepted them. For once, the dead seemed to slumber.
They returned safely to Luna's apartment, a small miracle in itself.
Once inside, the survivors moved quickly. Supplies were stacked in the corner, counted and sorted. Luna directed them with the natural authority of someone who needed order to stave off despair. Spawn stood guard by Ethan's room, where the crates of firearms and ammunition were stored, his silent presence enough to freeze anyone foolish enough to think of stealing.
Later, when the first moment of calm finally arrived, they sat together. The flickering light of candles cast soft shadows on their faces, highlighting how beautiful the girls still were despite dirt and exhaustion. Daisy's sharp eyes, Julia's soft elegance, Nina's movements, Grace's quiet warmth, even Olivia and Maya whose laughter had faded but whose presence still glowed—all of them shone like fragile stars in a dead sky.
Zhao broke the silence, clutching a dented can of noodles like treasure. His eyes turned toward Ethan, who sat quietly eating a small Apple of Vitality, its faint glow reflected in his calm gaze.
"Ethan," Zhao began, his tone earnest, "what now? Do we go to Long Hai City? To the government enclave?"
The room stirred. Every eye turned toward Ethan. Hope flickered in their gaze—desperate, pleading hope.
Long Hai was the last known safe zone, the place whispered about in every frightened conversation. Soldiers, walls, order. To them, it was salvation.
But Ethan did not even hesitate. He wiped his fingers clean, then answered with a single word:
"No."
The sound was quiet, but it fell like a hammer.
Shock rippled across the room.
Zhao's face twitched. Before he could speak, another man stepped forward—the handsome one with glasses, polished even in the apocalypse, Manni at his side. His voice was sharp, accusing.
"How can you decide this for everyone? Because of you, we're trapped in Lei Jiang City—surrounded by corpses! If this were democracy, we'd vote. Raise your hands: stay in this death trap, or head to Long Hai where survival is possible!"
One by one, hands lifted. Hesitant at first, then more. People who had been saved by Ethan's blades, his planning, his strength—yet fear outweighed gratitude.
Besides Luna, Grace, Julia, William, Luke, Maya, Olivia, Ava, Daisy, and Nina, the rest raised their hands.
Manni's lips curved into a smile of satisfaction.
"More than half. Proposal approved."
"Good." Ethan's head dipped slightly, as though he accepted their decision. Relief filled the faces of those who had voted against him.
But his next words turned that relief into ice.
"You can leave now." His voice was calm, but his eyes cut like knives. "Take five days' worth of supplies. After that, you're on your own."
The room went silent.
Color drained from their faces. The thought of stepping outside, unprotected, with only a handful of food and no firepower—it was a death sentence. They were ordinary. Weak. The moment they left these walls, the city would devour them.
Zhao jumped in quickly, his voice tight.
"Ethan, enough. Manni didn't mean harm—she only wanted her opinion heard."
Ethan's gaze swept across them all. His face was expressionless, but his words were cold iron.
"I'm not joking. This is clarity. Anyone who wants to go—go. I'll give you five days' food, no more. Out there, you'll live or die by your own hands. That's how this world works now."
Silence thickened. Somewhere in the distance, a zombie moaned—a reminder of what awaited them outside.
The candlelight flickered across Ethan's face. He looked like stone carved from shadow—unyielding, ruthless, and unshaken. In this new world of rot and hunger, he understood one truth: pity and compromise killed faster than claws and teeth.
"But if you choose to stay—then listen well. The men must follow my orders and join the fight against the zombies. No exceptions. As for the women, you'll be responsible for logistical support—hauling supplies, cooking, cleaning. That kind of work keeps the group alive just as much as killing does."
He softened slightly, only for a moment.
"Of course, any woman who wants to fight is more than welcome to do so. But even if you're not on the front lines, you'll need to be ready when the situation demands it. No one gets to sit idle."
His expression hardened again.
"This group doesn't need dead weight. If you can't contribute—leave."
Ethan then lightly said: "I have cleared the zombies in this building, if you choose to leave, you can choose a room to stay in. But I will say this clearly, I have done what I can for you. If in the future you do not have supplies, do not ask me, as I will not give any to you."
A pretty, petite girl named Leah stepped forward, her arms crossed, brows furrowed. She was only seventeen—young, beautiful, full of the ideals that the world had long since failed to test.
"You know, Ethan," she said, her voice carrying a note of superiority, "I don't think this is right. Is it not a man's duty to protect women? You're stronger, you have the power, and yet you're making the girls carry food, cook, clean… That's not what a real man does. Didn't anyone ever teach you that with great power comes great responsibility?"
For a long second, the room was silent.
Ethan slowly turned to look at her. His gaze wasn't angry, nor irritated—it was distant. Like someone staring at a child drawing pictures of a world that didn't exist.
"Tell me something, Leah," he began quietly, "have you ever missed a meal in your life?"
She blinked, caught off-guard. "What…?"
He took a step forward.
"Have you ever stood in line for water? Seen a child die from a mosquito bite because there was no medicine? Do you know what it's like to fight with dogs over scraps of food? I'm asking because, right now, you're talking like someone who's lived her whole life wrapped in comfort, behind tinted windows, in air-conditioned houses, scrolling through sad stories on her phone and calling it 'awareness.'"
Leah's lips parted, but no words came out.
Ethan didn't stop.
"You say I should protect you because I'm a man. That I have power, so I must carry the burden of others. Fine. Let's run with that logic. Let me ask you this—are you aware of how many children starve to death every day? How many girls your age are trafficked, enslaved, and murdered in countries your textbooks don't even mention?"
She swallowed hard.
"You've had power your whole life, Leah. The power to care. The power to act. But what did you do with it?"
His voice turned sharper.
"You could've donated your allowance. Sold your handbags. Skipped that overpriced phone. Do you know how many lives you could've saved with the money you spent on that designer coat you're wearing? You speak of responsibility—where was yours?"
"I… I didn't know—"
"No. You chose not to know. Because knowing means feeling guilty. Because ignorance lets you stay pure in your own mind."
Ethan looked at her calmly and said in a flat voice, "Let me ask you something—do you know there are millions of refugees in Africa who go to bed starving every single night?"
Leah blinked, then hesitated. "...Yes. It's sad."
"Right. So why haven't you sold all your family's property and donated it to them?"
Leah froze.
Ethan's tone sharpened. "Don't dodge. If you'd sold your family's cars, clothes, and useless luxuries, you could've saved thousands of lives. Forget that—just stop buying overpriced perfumes. One bottle could buy enough rice to feed a whole village."
He took a step closer, his voice low but piercing. "Even your monthly allowance—just a fraction of it—could help kids in rural areas here in our own country who can't even afford to go to school. But you didn't. Because deep down, you didn't really care."
Leah had nothing to say. Her expression faltered, confidence cracking.
"You call me petty? No, Leah. I'm just honest. I know what I am. I'm not a saint. I won't sell everything I own to save strangers."
Ethan's eyes bored into her.
"At least I don't pretend to be something I'm not. I don't hide behind noble phrases I don't live up to. I'm not asking others to die on hills I won't even climb."
Leah's face had gone pale.
Ethan glanced around at the others, then back at her.
"Let me teach you something about responsibility, Leah. It doesn't come from power. It comes from choice. If you won't bleed for someone, don't ask them to bleed for you. Don't dress up your helplessness as virtue. Don't mistake your survival instincts for morality."
He walked past her slowly, his voice calm but heavy with meaning.
"Before today, you and I were strangers. I saved your life. That's more than I owed you. And now, you stand here, asking me to become your guardian, your shield, your beast of burden. But here's the truth, Leah—no one is coming to save you. This world no longer runs on polite rules and gender roles. It runs on blood, teeth, and fire. If you want to live, earn it."
He stopped at the door, then turned, his voice quiet and final.
"You want a hero in shining armor? Look in a mirror and pray you become one. Because the only kind of man left in this world… is the one who survives."
"And that quote of yours? Let me give you a better one: 'With great power comes no accountability. I can go where I want. Take what I want.'"
Leah was silent, Ethan's attitude was very clear and without room to manoeuvre. While she could not refute Ethan's reasoning.
Zhao sat in silence for a long moment, his fingers tapping restlessly against the dented can of food. Finally, he lifted his gaze toward Ethan, his tone polite but heavy with insistence.
"Ethan… could you at least give us some firearms and ammunition?" His voice carried a practiced humility, though desperation bled through every syllable. "If we had weapons, we could fend for ourselves. We wouldn't trouble you any longer."
Julia, who had been leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, let out a sharp, derisive laugh. Her soft blonde hair framed a face too beautiful to belong in this rotten world, her eyes gleaming with contempt.
"You really are shameless, Zhao," she said coldly, her voice slicing the air like a blade. "We risked our lives for those guns. We bled for every single bullet. And now you want us to just hand them over to you?"
Her disdain stung more than her words, and Zhao's jaw tightened. He didn't answer—just fixed her with a hard, stubborn stare.
But Ethan spoke before the tension could rise further. His voice was calm, but iron lay beneath every syllable.
"No. Absolutely not."
His refusal was instant, unquestionable.
The boy with glasses—Lucas, Zhao's closest ally—slammed his fist against his knee, his polished looks cracking under stress. His voice was raw with fear.
"Without firearms, how are we supposed to survive out there? Are you just going to watch us die?"
Ethan's reply came low, steady, and merciless.
"You don't get it. Firearms won't save you. I tested it myself." His gaze swept over the group, weighing their trembling shoulders, their pale faces. "Killing zombies with guns doesn't grant you growth. No experience. No evolution. All you'll do is waste bullets and fool yourselves into thinking you're safe or even miss shot in your own group. That's why we rely on them only when absolutely necessary. The only way forward is to fight with your own hands. To earn your strength with blood and grit."
The words hung in the silence like smoke from a dying fire. No one spoke, but unease spread through the room like a sickness.
Ethan's eyes hardened. "This is your choice, here and now. Either stay, fight, and grow—or take your share of food and leave. There's no middle ground. No half-measures."
The survivors shifted uncomfortably, glancing at one another. Among them, Manni and Leah exchanged nervous looks before turning toward Zhao. Their loyalty wasn't born of logic, but of friendship—and in this shattered world, friendship felt safer than reason.
That was when Zhao rose.
Straightening his back, he lifted his chin with the practiced poise of someone born for a podium. His face, sharp and handsome, seemed almost to glow in the candlelight. His voice swelled with passion, echoing against the cracked apartment walls.
"Ethan, for saving me, I thank you with my heart." He began with a bow of his head, his words dripping with humility before rising into a steady crescendo. "But I cannot agree with your philosophy. I believe it is a man's sacred duty to protect women. That is what separates us from animals! Strength is not for domination, but for guardianship. To shield, to defend, to sacrifice. That is what it means to be human."
He spread his arms as if embracing the whole room, his voice full of fire.
"I have decided. I will head to Long Hai City. Yes, it is far. Yes, it is dangerous. But I will not falter. And if anyone comes with me, I swear—on my life—that I will see you safely there. I will not abandon you. Not one of you. My strength belongs to you, not to myself. Together, we will reach salvation!"
His words were thunder in the silence, a match struck in a dark cave. Several girls gasped, their eyes shimmering. Exhausted, fearful, half-starved—how could they not cling to such noble promises? Zhao stood like a hero from a storybook, the last gallant knight in a ruined kingdom. And his face—too flawless, too gentle—was the kind that could topple logic with a single smile.
Before long, the twelve girls were split. Six chose to stay with Ethan, pulled by reason, steadiness, and the brutal truth that survival meant discipline. The other six, still blinded by romance and fragile ideals, packed their meager rations with trembling hope.
They did not understand what they were walking into. Their manicured fingers clutched at food as though it were tickets to paradise. Their hair still shone with the beauty of youth, their eyes still sparkled with dreams—but the world outside was a butcher's block, and dreams were meat.
When their bags were filled, Zhao led his small contingent out of the apartment. They marched with high heads, hopeful hearts, and the stubbornness of the naive. Their silhouettes vanished into the light, swallowed by shadows and silence.
For a moment, the room felt emptier than before. The air was heavy, suffocating with the unspoken knowledge that those who left had already chosen death—they just didn't know it yet.
Ethan glanced at Leah, his brows lifting with mild surprise. "You didn't go?" he asked, his tone curious rather than scolding. He had fully expected her to follow Zhao, given how she'd bristled earlier.
Leah crossed her arms, her delicate features twisting into a smirk. Her eyes—dark and sharp, carrying the spark of intelligence—narrowed slightly.
"If Zhao really had the guts to fight zombies," she said, her voice cool, "he wouldn't be here making speeches. He'd already have cleared a path to Long Hai with his bare hands. They don't have weapons. They don't have strength. They only have words. Following him is no different than walking blindfolded into a meat grinder."
Her lips curled into a mocking smile. "Only naive girls fall for that kind of heroic nonsense."
Ethan blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing his normally impassive face. Then, slowly, a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Let me guess—your parents are in politics?" he said lightly. "Only someone raised at their dinner table could sniff out hollow promises that fast… and know better than to follow them."
Leah turned away quickly, as if brushing him off. But not before Ethan caught the faint flush blooming across her cheeks. His words had landed, more deeply than she would ever admit. His words had struck home.
Ethan's expression hardened again, his voice carrying the kind of weight that silenced even the most restless of the group.
"Alright. Luna, Julia, William, Maya, Olivia, Ava—you're with me. Everyone else, stay here and follow Luke's orders. Don't question him. When I'm gone, his word is mine."
The room stirred uneasily. Nina stepped forward, her long hair tumbling around her delicate face, worry clouding her large eyes.
"Ethan… where are you going?" she asked, her voice small, almost childlike.
Olivia quickly echoed her, nervously twisting her fingers together. "Yes… where are we going? It isn't safe out there…" Her beauty was undeniable—slender frame, porcelain skin, lips trembling as she spoke—but fear dulled her glow.
Ethan's gaze was unwavering. "We're going to make you stronger."
The words hit the air like thunder.
For a heartbeat, the silence stretched. Then, like sparks catching fire, the mood shifted. Eyes that had been dim with exhaustion now lit with hope. Everyone wanted strength—strength like Ethan's, like Grace's, like Luke's. Strength that meant survival, freedom, a future.
Nina gasped, trembling with excitement. "I want to go!" she blurted out, her face glowing with determination.
"I want to go too!" another girl chimed in, followed by more voices, rising like a wave. "Ethan! Take me! Take us! We want to be strong!"
The outburst swelled until Ethan's sharp voice cracked like a whip.
"Quiet!"
His tone was harsh, commanding, enough to still every tongue. One by one, the girls fell silent, their beautiful faces turning pale under his piercing gaze.
Ethan scanned them slowly, his voice deep, steady, unyielding.
"It's not impossible. But I am not a god. I cannot protect so many at once. If something unexpected happens—and it will—you will be on your own. Don't beg me to save you. Don't blame me when someone falls. Understand this: the road to strength is paved with blood. If you can't accept that, stay here and live with your fear."
His words carried the weight of graves. Silence answered him. The girls lowered their gazes, lips trembling, their dreams colliding with the nightmare of reality. They knew the truth—without Ethan's protection, even a single zombie was enough to tear them apart like paper.
The plan was set. Ethan led his chosen group downstairs, their footsteps echoing in the stairwell like a drumbeat of fate, until they reached the old school bus parked outside.
"Where to?" Luna asked softly, brushing strands of silky hair from her flawless face. Her voice was gentle, yet carried the steel of someone ready to follow him anywhere.
Ethan thought briefly, his mind racing. "Nebula Avenue," he decided. "The zombie count should be low there."
Nebula Avenue. Once a commercial street, now nothing but a graveyard of dreams. Old, cracked buildings loomed on either side, windows shattered like empty eyes. Trash and broken glass littered the sidewalks. The air carried the faint stench of smoke, oil, and something fouler—decay.
As the bus rumbled to a stop, they spotted movement. A dozen zombies shambled through the street, their flesh hanging in strips, eyes clouded with hunger. Rusted cars had crashed into the guardrails, their twisted frames serving as tombstones of a city that no longer lived.
"Jul. Get off." Ethan's order was clipped, firm.
He was the first to leap down, Spawn following like a shadow of bone. Julia hesitated only for a heartbeat before her slender figure slipped out of the bus. Her trust in Ethan was absolute.
Olivia lingered in the doorway, her heart pounding. Her beautiful eyes narrowed as she watched Julia stand so close to him, the faintest smile on Ethan's lips when he glanced at her. Jealousy burned hot and bitter in Olivia's chest. 'Why her? Why Julia? Does he protect her because she's special? What are they to each other?'
The sound of the bus's engine had already drawn the dead. The zombies turned, groaning, stumbling forward with a hunger that could never be sated.
"Spawn," Ethan ordered coolly, "cut off their limbs."
Spawn surged forward, axe in hand, a whirlwind of brute force. The air filled with the sickening crunch of bone and the wet thud of bone cleaving flesh. Rotten arms and legs scattered across the pavement. Zombies shrieked and wailed, but one by one they collapsed, crippled and writhing on the bloodstained street.
Spawn was different now. Reinforced Bones had turned him into something more than human. Twice as strong as an ordinary man, his strikes shattered limbs as though they were made of brittle wood. Blood splattered his bones, his monstrous grin twisting as he hacked them apart.
Ten corpses fell screaming to the ground in less than a minute.
Ethan retrieved a piece of gear from his pack—a garment. He held it out to Julia.
"Here. First-level protective gear. Wear it. Then finish them off—cut their heads. That's how you'll gain experience."
Julia's delicate fingers brushed the garment, and the moment she touched it, information flared in her mind. Her heart pounded with both fear and excitement.
"Great…" she whispered, her courage rekindled.
But when she looked at Ethan again, her cheeks flushed pink. "I-I have to change into this. Can you… turn around?" Her voice was small, almost pleading, her big eyes shimmering like a puppy's.
Ethan's gaze did not waver. His face remained serious, his tone hard.
"You understand it's dangerous, right? If I turn away—even for a second—you could be attacked while you're changing. We don't know what kind of abilities evolved zombies might have. If one appeared now, you wouldn't stand a chance. Are you really going to risk that for modesty? Why not wear it over your clothes?"
His words were sharp, logical, cutting through her embarrassment with brutal truth.
Julia froze, lips parting, her cheeks crimson. The silence between them held the weight of her shame and his unshakable reason.
And all around them, the groans of mutilated zombies still echoed, a reminder that in this world, even beauty and innocence had no protection—except strength.