To avoid the swarms downtown, he led them in a wide arc, through narrow alleys and quiet streets where the undead were scattered. Small clusters shambled here and there, easy enough to deal with.
William swallowed hard as they approached one such group. His palms sweated on the grip of his weapon.
Ethan placed a hand on his shoulder. "This is your fight, Will. Time to stop being afraid."
The young man's heart pounded. But when the zombie lurched forward, snarling, William let out a roar of his own and charged. The clash was messy, desperate, but he pushed through his fear, driving his weapon home. The zombie fell with a sickening crunch.
Panting, William stared down at the corpse, trembling.
Ethan gave a single approving nod. "Good. Fear never goes away. You just fight through it."
Luke clapped William on the back, grinning like a proud brother. "You've got guts, friend. Ethan's rubbing off on you."
For the first time in days, William managed a shaky smile.
And so, step by step, through blood and fear, the group pushed onward—toward Green Shade Street, toward survival.
The streets leading to Green Shade Street were unnervingly quiet compared to the chaos of the inner city. Being on the outskirts meant fewer people had been trapped here when the world ended, and thus fewer had turned. For Ethan and his small team, that silence was a rare mercy. Their boots crunched across cracked pavement, weapons drawn, every sense heightened.
They reached the Volvo showroom, its once-pristine glass front cracked and smeared with dried blood. In front of the store sat three massive blue Volvo trucks, their polished bodies now dull from the dust of abandonment. Around them were scattered cars of every shape and size, some with doors still ajar, others with shattered windows where the desperate once tried to flee.
Ethan didn't hesitate. A zombie in a security guard's uniform staggered from behind one of the trucks. Its flesh was half-rotted, a name tag still pinned crookedly to its chest. With one clean, practiced swing, Ethan's sword sliced through its neck. The head rolled across the pavement, leaving behind a wet, grotesque smear. He knelt beside the twitching corpse, rifling through the uniform pockets until his fingers closed around a heavy ring of keys.
"Got it," Ethan muttered, holding up the keys.
Luke, already scanning the area with Grace covering his flank, eyed the trucks and asked, "Ethan, should we take all three? That way, we'd never have to worry about fuel or space again."
Ethan shook his head firmly. His mind was always calculating, weighing survival against temptation. "No. They're top of the line, diesel-fueled, perfect for smashing through hordes—but we don't have enough drivers. Splitting up now would be suicide. One truck is all we can handle. The rest, we leave behind."
Luke nodded, though the regret in his eyes was clear. In this new world, walking away from resources felt like tearing food from your own mouth.
They climbed into one of the Volvo trucks. The leather interior still smelled faintly of polish and gasoline. William slid into the driver's seat, hands trembling as he gripped the steering wheel. He wasn't a soldier, not like Ethan, but he'd been learning. Ethan leaned over his shoulder, steady and commanding, like a brother guiding a younger sibling.
"Where to now?" William asked, voice low, almost reverent.
Ethan's gaze darkened. He had already chosen their path, though it weighed heavy on him. "Xing Ning Road. We'll cross at Jiang Bridge."
William's eyes widened. His knuckles whitened against the steering wheel. "Ethan, that's the mountain pass into the shopping district. The heart of Jiang City. That place was overflowing with people when the world fell—it'll be crawling with the dead! Do you really want to risk that?"
"That's exactly why," Ethan replied, his tone sharp but resolute. "The city's core was the busiest—thousands were trapped there. But on the other side of that bridge is where we need to be. If we want to survive long-term, we need to face the risk. There's no safer road. There's no easy path."
For a long moment, silence filled the cab of the truck, heavy and suffocating. Then William gritted his teeth and slammed his foot on the accelerator. "I understand. If you believe it, I'll drive us through hell itself."
--
The Volvo roared down cracked highways, until finally they reached Jiang Bridge—and the sight before them froze their blood.
The bridge was a graveyard. Abandoned cars were piled in tangled heaps, metal twisted and rusted, some vehicles hanging half off the railing. Guard rails were torn open where drivers had desperately tried to escape. Corpses—half-eaten, long-decayed—lay slumped inside shattered windshields. And wandering between it all, countless zombies stumbled aimlessly, drawn by the faint echo of the truck's growl.
But that wasn't what made Ethan's breath catch.
At the far end of the bridge shimmered something otherworldly: a gate, pulsing with eerie light, like a wound in reality itself. It spilled glowing particles into the air, painting the scene in a ghastly glow. And guarding it were four creatures unlike anything they had seen before.
Their bodies were lean, powerful, covered in dark brown flesh stretched taut over wiry muscle. They moved on all fours, but their frames were disturbingly humanoid, with elongated limbs, ridged spines, and whip-like tails that cut the air behind them. Their eyes glowed faintly, filled with predatory hunger.
A wave of dread washed over Ethan as his vision flared with information:
[[Hunter-Type Infected – H1: Level 20 – Apex Predator Variant]
An advanced evolution of the infected line, the Hunter is born from absolute survival and honed in endless slaughter. Shedding every trace of its former humanity, this creature embodies the perfect predator — swift, calculating, and merciless. It thrives in both urban ruins and wild terrain, striking with a feral cunning that no mindless horde can replicate. Where others swarm in numbers, the Hunter stalks alone, its very presence unraveling the courage of seasoned survivors. To encounter one is not a battle, but a death sentence.
Traits:
Relentless Pursuit: Once it fixes on prey, it will not stop until the hunt is finished, tracking through scent, sound, and vibration.
Predator's Reflexes: Its combat instincts are honed to perfection, countering strikes and dodging attacks with uncanny precision.
Savage Agility: Moves with terrifying speed and coordination, scaling walls, leaping great distances, and ambushing from impossible angles.
Killing Precision: Each strike is calculated to disable or kill instantly — throat, spine, and arteries are its preferred targets.
Skill – Viral Infection:
The Hunter carries a refined strain of the contagion. Even the smallest wound ensures infection, accelerating the transformation process. Victims attacked by an H1 rarely live long enough to resist; within minutes, their screams join the endless chorus of the horde.]
One of the Hunters crouched low, tearing chunks from a zombie corpse. But at the sound of the Volvo's engine, it lifted its head. Blood dripped from its jagged teeth as its gaze locked on Ethan's team. Then, with terrifying speed, it abandoned its meal and bolted forward.
The other three followed instantly, leaping across wreckage and bounding over scattered zombies with movements too fluid, too fast to belong to anything human. Their speed was shocking, each powerful stride closing the distance with terrifying ease.
"Reverse!" Ethan barked, his voice cutting through the panic. His mind raced, options flickering like lightning. Direct confrontation here was suicide.
William didn't hesitate. Slamming the gear shift, he spun the wheel hard, tires screeching. The Volvo lurched violently, smashing into wandering zombies as William floored the gas in reverse. Metal crunched, bones cracked beneath the wheels, but the Hunters kept coming.
Two of the creatures peeled back, retreating to guard the glowing gate. But the remaining pair pursued like hounds scenting blood.
William's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror—and his heart nearly stopped. The Hunters were faster. Much faster. Their bodies blurred as they closed in, bounding across abandoned cars, claws scraping sparks across metal. Every leap brought them closer, despite the truck's roaring 80 km/h sprint.
"They're gaining!" William's voice cracked, his body slick with sweat. "Ethan, they're faster than the truck!"
Ethan's mind whirred, every thought sharpened by the scent of death clawing at their heels. His jaw tightened. "Don't you dare slow down. Push it. Every second counts."
William pressed harder on the accelerator, the Volvo plowing through the endless dead, the wheel shuddering under the strain. But despair gnawed at him as the highway loomed ahead, the road filled with yet more wreckage.
His voice trembled, barely above a whisper. "It's over…"
Ethan's eyes burned with intensity as he stared forward, refusing to let fear take root. His brain was already piecing together their next move. Not yet. Not while I'm still breathing.
The highway stretched out before them like a graveyard of civilization. Rusted cars, overturned trucks, and even buses sat crammed together, forming an impenetrable wall of steel and glass. The once-bustling artery of escape had become a death trap, a monument to the panic of humanity's last moments. Drivers had all thought the same thing—that the highway was their salvation—but instead, it became the road to their doom.
Now, it was Ethan's team's doom too.
The Volvo truck screeched to a halt, its engine growling like a cornered beast. The blockade ahead meant one thing—there was no running anymore. And behind them, the sound of claws raking against asphalt, the thundering footsteps of predators closing in, reminded them of the horror that pursued.
Ethan's eyes narrowed, a cold, lethal gleam flickering in his pupils. His voice was steady, but the weight of it cut like steel:
"Stop. Get ready to fight."
William's heart hammered so hard he thought it would tear free from his chest. He already knew the truth—there was no outrunning those monsters. They were faster than the truck, faster than anything human. His hands trembled on the wheel, but he forced himself to obey, stomping the brake and cutting the engine. The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the approaching howls of the Hunters.
Ethan was already moving. His hands slid across the straps of his chest harness, unclipping the Type 79 submachine gun with practiced ease. The matte black weapon felt heavy, solid, reassuring in his hands. "Use the guns. Forget the novice staffs—close combat against those things is suicide."
His words left no room for doubt.
One by one, the others followed. William tore his own Type 79 from his chest, swallowing his fear as he jumped down from the cab. Just standing near Ethan gave him a sliver of courage, as though the man's presence alone could shield him from the nightmares racing toward them.
Luke and Grace leapt down as well, weapons raised. Grace's long dark hair whipped in the night wind, her sharp eyes burning with determination. Even in this world of blood and ash, she carried a beauty that felt untouchable—like a blade gleaming in the dark. Her shirt and jeans hugged her form as she steadied her stance, fingers tight on the trigger.
The thunder of approaching footsteps grew louder, closer. The two Hunters emerged from the shadows, sprinting like living bullets. Their long, twisted limbs pumped with terrifying power, claws tearing chunks from the pavement with each stride.
"FIRE!" Ethan's roar shattered the night.
The four of them unleashed hell.
The Type 79s rattled in their hands, bursts of gunfire lighting up the darkness with muzzle flash. Bullets screamed through the air in dense, overlapping lines, a storm of steel that cut the night apart.
The Hunters shrieked, their bodies twisting as rounds tore into their flesh. Black blood sprayed, sizzling as it hit the hot pavement. Their skin split open, holes punched through muscle and bone, but they didn't falter. Instead, they moved faster, jerking unpredictably with inhuman reflexes. Their bodies darted side to side, bounding off wrecked cars, twisting in midair to evade the streams of fire.
Even so, some bullets found their mark. One Hunter's arm was shredded, the other's ribs cracked under repeated impacts. And still they came, their speed unbroken, their snarls echoing like predators toying with prey.
The team's magazines clicked empty almost as one. The furious clatter of gunfire died, replaced by the dreadful metallic snap of bolts locking back. Twenty rounds per mag vanished in seconds.
Ethan cursed under his breath. Damn it—should've brought more weapons. He knew the rule—switch weapons, don't reload under pressure—but none of them had spares. The Hunters saw the opening and charged, blurring forward like cheetahs, covering fifty meters in the blink of an eye.
Ethan moved first. His body blurred as he activated Shadow Step, agility exploding through his veins. To the others, he was a streak of black lightning, sword drawn in an instant. He met the first Hunter head-on, blade slashing down with terrifying precision.
The steel should have split its skull—but the monster's head snapped back, jaws opening wide. With a sickening crack, its tongue shot out like a whip, smashing into Ethan's blade with the force of a hammer. The sword slid aside, carving deep into the Hunter's shoulder instead. Bone cracked, metal screeched, blood poured, but the beast roared and snapped its tongue toward Ethan's face like a spear.
"ETHAN!"
Spawn appeared from the side like a thunderclap, his axe swinging in a brutal arc. The heavy blade cleaved through the snapping tongue, cutting it clean in half. Foul black ichor exploded outward, drenching the asphalt. The Hunter shrieked, a sound so sharp and alien it made William's knees buckle.
Grace darted in next, her body glowing faintly as her High-Speed Movement skill activated. Her speed doubled, her figure like a phantom as she struck. Her sword sliced across the Hunter's side, biting deep into flesh until bone resisted the edge. Sparks flew as steel ground against hardened bone. She was radiant even in battle, beautiful and merciless, her eyes blazing with fury as she pressed harder.
"CUT IT OFF!" Ethan's voice ripped through the chaos.
Together, he and Grace forced their blades downward. With a wet tearing sound, the Hunter's arm split at the joint, severed completely. The beast howled, reeling back in fury, tail lashing wildly.
The whip-like appendage slammed across the battlefield and caught Luke full in the chest. The impact was like a cannon blast. He was thrown like a ragdoll into the side of the Volvo. Bone snapped audibly. Blood spewed from his mouth as he collapsed, ribs shattered, barely conscious.
The second Hunter struck at that moment. A blur of claws, it lunged for Ethan's throat.
Ethan barely managed to drop his sword and grab the beast's claw with his right hand. The impact rattled his entire body, and he felt bones in his hand crack even through the thick layers of his 2nd-Degree Protective Garment. Without it, his flesh would have been shredded and infection would already be devouring him.
Pain lanced up his arm, but Ethan gritted his teeth, refusing to give an inch. His mind raced. One down an arm, one fresh and uninjured. We're at half strength already. We need a killing strike—now.
Ethan gritted his teeth as the second Hunter bore down on him, its claws flashing like scythes in the moonlight.
For a split second, Spawn seized the opening. With a roar that split the air, the skeleton swung his axe like a hurricane, the heavy blade howling through the light. It carved into the Hunter's neck with a wet crack, the strike so fierce it shattered bone.
The monster's head ripped free in a spray of black ichor, spinning through the air before landing with a hollow thud. The body twitched once, twice, then collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut.
As the corpse hit the ground, a burst of light erupted. A blue treasure box and three white ones rolled across the asphalt, followed by the glitter of a skill book and a gleaming Survival Coin worth 200. A glowing ball of white energy shot straight into Spawn's chest. His body shuddered, light coursing through his soul as he leveled up, his aura surging with renewed power.
But there was no time to celebrate.
The second Hunter was already upon Ethan. Its claws slashed with the speed of lightning, targeting his heart.
Ethan's Shadow Step reflexes saved him—but only barely. He twisted just enough for the blow to rake across his chest instead of piercing his heart.
The impact was like being hit by a car. Even through the reinforced weave of his 2nd-Degree Protective Garment, Ethan felt ribs crack like dry twigs. The force lifted him off his feet and hurled him several meters across the ground. He landed hard, skidding across the asphalt, coughing blood into the dirt. His chest screamed with pain, every breath a knife.
Before he could rise, Grace rushed in. Her long hair streamed behind her like black silk, her gorgeous face pale but resolute, her figure lithe and strong under the moonlight. She gripped her sword with both hands, every ounce of beauty now sharpened into deadly resolve. With a cry, she swung at the Hunter's head.
The beast didn't even flinch. Its tail lashed out like a steel whip, smashing into Grace mid-charge. The sound of the impact cracked through the air. She was flung backward, her delicate frame flying seven or eight meters before slamming against a wrecked car. A spray of blood burst from her lips as she crumpled to the ground, motionless, her sword slipping from her hand.
"GRACE!" Ethan roared, pain igniting into fury.
"Ethan, catch!" William's trembling voice cut through the chaos. He had finally slammed a fresh magazine into his Type 79 submachine gun, the weapon heavy in his shaking hands. He hurled it toward Ethan—his only chance to turn the tide.
The Hunter knew it too. Its glowing eyes fixed on Ethan, the man it had already marked as the greatest threat. With a predatory shriek, it sprinted forward, claws raised high to crush Ethan's skull.
But Spawn appeared again, stepping into the monster's path with a thunderous swing of his axe. The steel blurred, aiming for the creature's skull.
The Hunter was faster. It twisted, feline grace in its monstrous body, dodging by a hair's breadth. With a whip-crack motion, its tail slammed into Spawn's chest, sending the skeleton flying like a ragdoll. He smashed into the pavement with bone-jarring force, his axe skittering away.
The way was open. The Hunter lunged for Ethan.
Blood still dripping from his lips, Ethan's eyes blazed. "Go to hell!" he spat, snatching the Type 79 from the ground. Ignoring the fire in his broken ribs, he raised the gun point-blank.
The distance was barely two meters. Even a poor marksman couldn't miss at that range.
The Type 79 roared, its 7.62mm rounds hammering into the Hunter's chest like a storm of lead. Each bullet punched through flesh and bone, spraying foul black ichor into the air. Holes riddled its body, chunks of muscle exploding with each impact. Two rounds slammed into its spine, severing the nerves.
The Hunter let out a strangled howl before crashing to the asphalt, twitching in agony.
Ethan's hands shook, his lungs burning, but he refused to stop. He seized his sword with his off-hand, staggered forward, and with every ounce of strength left in him, brought it down on the creature's neck.
The blade sank deep. With a final wrench, the head ripped free and rolled across the bloodstained ground.
The monster convulsed once, then went still.
Again, treasures burst forth—a blue treasure box, three white ones, another skill book, and a gleaming Survival Coin worth 200. A ball of light surged into Ethan, filling his body with warmth, washing away the edge of pain.
Two crisp tones rang in his mind.
[You have advanced to Level 12. You have earned 2 status points. Please allocate your attributes accordingly!]
[You have advanced to Level 13. You have earned 2 status points. Please allocate your attributes accordingly!]
Ethan's breathing came ragged, his chest burning, but his mind remained sharp. Vitality. It has to be vitality. I need to heal, not dream of the future.
"Assign four points to Vitality," he commanded.
Power flooded him instantly, warm and steady. His muscles tightened, his broken ribs aching but stabilizing, his bleeding slowing. It was only enough to keep him standing, but in this world, standing was survival.
He staggered to Luke's side. Blood covered his friend's face, his chest rising shallowly. Ethan pressed his ear close, listening.
"Still breathing," he whispered, a weight lifting from his heart. Relief spread through him, bitter and sharp. Luke wasn't just a teammate—he was the brother of OG Ethan and he inherited all the emotions and body of the OG Ethan. And in this world of ash, that meant more than anything. Bros before hoes, the old saying rang bitterly in his mind.
Grace was next. Her body lay crumpled, hair cascading like a dark waterfall over the asphalt, her pale face angelic even through the blood. Ethan's chest tightened as he knelt beside her. His fingers found her pulse. Faint, but there. She lived.
He didn't waste a second. Gathering the loot, he shoved the treasure boxes, coins, and skill books into his backpack. Spawn, still reeling from the Hunter's blow, pushed himself to his feet and silently lifted Grace and Luke into the truck.
"Drive!" Ethan barked, his voice sharp through the pain. William didn't hesitate. The Volvo roared back to life, speeding down the ruined highway toward the safety of their neighborhood.
When they arrived, the girls from the compound rushed out. Their beauty stood out even in the moonlight—faces delicate, hair flowing, clothes clinging to them after long days of survival. Yet their eyes, wide and shimmering, were full of disbelief.
They saw Ethan—bloodied, broken, but still standing. They saw Grace, unconscious and pale. They saw Luke, battered to the edge of death.
And for the first time, they realized: even the strongest could bleed. Even Ethan, the man who walked through swarms of zombies like death incarnate, could be hurt.
And if he could be hurt… then maybe no one was truly safe in this dying world.
The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. A silence born not of relief, but of the cruel truth that survival had only just begun.