"Help! Som—somebody help!"
The screams of the young men at the front were cut short as grasping hands dragged them down. Zombies swarmed over their thrashing bodies, tearing into flesh with mindless hunger.
"Move! Now!"
Jia Shuai sprinted past the chaos without a backward glance, shouting at the others to follow. His voice held no pity for the dying.
Getting a hundred panicked people moving at speed was impossible. Only the twenty-something strongest had broken ahead; behind them, women, children, and the elderly dissolved into terrified confusion.
One middle-aged woman shoved an old lady blocking her path—a reflexive, selfish act. That small shove triggered disaster. The old woman fell, tangling with others in a tumbling heap. More tripped over them, a dozen bodies crashing to the ground in a mess of limbs and cries.
Hrroooaaah—!
Though mindless, the zombies surged toward the thickest scent of living prey. The wails of the injured, the shrieks of children—it was a beacon. Dozens of rotting figures converged on the struggling mass. Filthy claws ripped clothing and skin. Yellowed teeth sank into soft flesh. Fists beat uselessly against decaying bodies.
Amid the carnage, Luo Jie saw his chance. Feigning panic, he slipped backward into a small souvenir kiosk.
He wasn't alone.
A wave of stench hit him as figures lunged from the shadows—former kiosk staff, still clad in their faded "Lucky City" tank tops and miniskirts. Their dead eyes fixed on fresh meat.
"Tch. Predictable."
Luo Jie sidestepped with practiced ease, letting grasping claws whistle past empty air. His hand shot out, snagging a fistful of dull, greasy blonde hair. Using the zombie's own momentum, he slammed its face full-force into the concrete wall.
THUD! THUD! CRUNCH!
The sickening crack of bone echoed. The blonde's face crumpled inward, pulped against its own skull. Its once-curvaceous body went limp, sliding down the blood-smeared wall like a discarded doll.
Luo Jie slumped against the doorframe, gasping. Sweat plastered his shirt to his skin. His limbs trembled, heavy as lead. Exhaustion washed over him.
Damn… my old body's this weak?
The frantic hammering of his heart, the deep ache in his muscles—a brutal reminder. He wasn't the elite player who'd once carved through low-level Illusionary Realms barehanded. Experience couldn't compensate for pathetic physical stats.
Gotta level up. Fast.
His gaze flicked to the translucent notification hovering in the lower edge of his vision:
[You killed a Zombie. +10 Points.]
[Conditions Met. Enable Points Leaderboard? Y/N]
A grim smile touched Luo Jie's lips. The Leaderboard. Every Illusionary Realm's cruel gamble. Loved for its rewards, hated for its ruthlessness.
The top three? They walked away loaded with bonus loot scaled to their rank and points. Everyone else? Paid a tax. Points deducted based on rank. The bottom three? Wiped clean. Zero points. Plus, the system randomly seized one of their high-tier gear pieces or skills.
In his past life, this board had lured countless hopefuls betting it all. Most left broken.
But now? For Luo Jie, reborn with foresight? It was the perfect springboard. His first big score.
"Enable." His voice was flat, decisive.
[Select Codename. Hide Points Display? Y/N]
"Nightmare. Hide Points."
'Nightmare'—his old handle. Hiding the points? Essential. Anomalous scores would raise red flags, mark him as… unusual. Draw dangerous eyes.
[Codename Confirmed: Nightmare. Points Hidden.]
[Your Current Points: 10. Rank: #2]
He pulled up the Leaderboard. At the top, glaringly obvious:
#1: Sunglasses - 310 Points
Three hundred and ten. The guy had butchered over thirty zombies in mere minutes. The point counter was static now, though.
No surprise. From the man's crude gear earlier, Luo Jie pegged him as a newbie—maybe one or two Realms under his belt. Basic Tier-1 physical enhancement. No stamina for prolonged melee. That he'd lasted this long spoke of raw, brutal talent.
The list refreshed.
A new name flashed onto the board: #2: President - 20 Points. It shoved 'Nightmare' down to #3.
President?
Probably Jia Shuai. Luo Jie almost laughed. In his first life, he'd never enabled the board. He'd missed this little ego trip. The guy really clung to that Student Council President title.
More importantly, new names meant survivors were shifting gears. Panicked flight turning into calculated survival. Time to move.
Luo Jie peered around the kiosk counter. Through the gaps in the security bars, he scanned the plaza. The hundreds of zombies had resumed their aimless shambling. Jia Shuai's group must have made it inside Lucky City.
The unlucky ones left behind? Reduced to gnawed skeletons. The metallic tang of blood hung thick, drawing circling crows whose harsh, rasping cries scraped the air.
"Alright then…" Luo Jie pushed himself upright behind the counter. "Showtime."
Black smoke erupted from his pores—dense, oily, and cold. It streamed through the security bars, coalescing just outside the kiosk into a towering, humanoid shape.
Nearly seven feet tall. Wrapped head-to-toe in what looked like frayed, dripping black bandages. Gaunt, yet radiating coiled, inhuman strength.
The Black Ghost.
IBM Unit. A symbiotic lifeform dwelling within Demi-Humans. Possessing rudimentary awareness and feral combat instincts. Linked psychically to its host, sharing senses over distance.
A living shadow. A dark twin.
[Black Ghost Summoned. Power: 180. Duration: 360s (Spirit x 2)]
[Warning: Black Ghost duration recovers ONLY via rest. Cannot be reset by Infinite Reforges or Revival Items.]
Luo Jie's breath hitched. Duration? He'd assumed the Ghost was a standard summon, permanent until destroyed. This… changed things.
Six minutes max per summon? Better make it count.
He closed his eyes. The psychic link snapped taut. Instantly, the Ghost's senses flooded his mind.
A sharp, static-like crackle—
—and his vision cleared. He stood outside the kiosk, within the Ghost. Zombies shuffled past inches away, utterly oblivious. Their rotten stench was distant, filtered.
So this is its view.
Luo Jie flexed spectral fingers. The Ghost's original consciousness, damaged in the temporal storm, offered no resistance. Control was seamless, fluid. Like moving his own body.
CRACK!
He lashed out casually. A zombie's head snapped sideways at a grotesque angle. It crumpled soundlessly. Dead.
180 Spirit points. Nearly double a normal man's strength. Snapped its neck like dry kindling.
The thud of the falling corpse drew nearby zombies. Heads turned, milky eyes scanning. No scent of life registered. Yet instinct drew them toward the sound.
The Black Ghost's form blurred. It became a cyclone of darkness, tearing into the small group. Two massive, bandaged hands shot out, seizing zombie skulls. Arms like pistons drove the heads together.
SPLUTCH!
Twin skulls exploded like overripe melons. Brains and bone fragments splattered the cracked pavement. The impact briefly outlined the Ghost's form in gore before the dripping blood revealed only empty air once more.
"Too slow," Luo Jie muttered through the Ghost. He needed efficiency.
His shadowy gaze locked onto a metal advertising sign leaning against the kiosk. He snatched it up. Swung it like a baseball bat, shattering a nearby neon lightbox in a shower of sparks and glass.
CRASH-SHATTER!
The noise ripped through the plaza's unnatural quiet. Hundreds of decaying heads snapped toward the source. A low, hungry moan rose, building into a guttural roar. The entire shambling mass surged toward the kiosk.
Within moments, over a hundred zombies packed the space around the tiny building, a seething wall of rotting flesh and grasping hands.
Luo Jie grinned fiercely within the Ghost. Perfect.
He wrenched a heavy metal 'P' parking signpost from the ground. Hefted it like a crude polearm.
[Acquired Weapon: Parking Sign. Certify for 50 Points? Y/N]
[Certified Items gain Unlimited Durability and can be Exported post-Mission.]
The prompt flashed. Luo Jie mentally clicked No.
This Realm's quirk? Almost anything could be a weapon. Certifying junk was a waste. Save points for real prizes.
WHOOSH—CRUNCH!
The circular sign's edge became a lethal disc. It sheared through four zombie necks in a single horizontal sweep. Rotted heads tumbled like grisly bowling balls.
The horde pressed closer, driven by base hunger. Their senses screamed danger, but their rotting brains couldn't process the IBM Particle construct before them. It was invisible, scentless, utterly alien.
To the Black Ghost, they were scarecrows.
Luo Jie became a whirlwind of dark death. The parking sign blurred—a scythe, a club, a battering ram. He carved through the packed ranks. The metal disc bent, warped.
No matter. He reversed his grip, wielding the thick signpost itself like a brutal staff. He swung it in wide, crushing arcs. Skulls caved. Ribs splintered. Bodies flew backward into the press.
It wasn't elegant. But the raw, bone-breaking efficiency? It matched the sign's earlier, cleaner kills. The sheer, visceral spectacle? It surpassed them.