《The Apocalypse Throne》


 0001

    In my high school, a new restroom was built. It had two floors, covered in white ceramic tiles, looking very elegant. It was said to have cost 200,000 yuan, making it the best restroom in the city''s public schools. Naturally, everyone opted for the new one, and gradually, the old restroom was left in neglect.


    Though it was abandoned, it wasn''t entirely deserted. I went there a few times, and while I never saw anyone, I often found fresh cigarette butts in the stalls. It seemed some students secretly went there to smoke.


    One afternoon after school, my deskmate and I started talking about the old restroom.


    ¡°Highchuan, do you remember the old restroom?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Yeah, isn¡¯t it abandoned? When are they going to tear it down?¡± I replied, though deep down, I didn¡¯t want it demolished just yet. Sometimes, the old restroom¡¯s secluded location and state of disrepair brought certain conveniences. I¡¯m sure those who still used it often felt the same way.


    Even though it did have a rather unpleasant smell due to lack of cleaning.


    By the way, the restroom was located behind the teaching building, in a patch of overgrown weeds. It took about ten minutes to walk there from the classrooms. Not far from it, there were three stone ping-pong tables, which had been quite popular for a while but were now covered in moss.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t heard anything about it being torn down. I guess people still go there sometimes,¡± my deskmate said.


    ¡°I go there sometimes too.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± My deskmate looked surprised. ¡°Isn¡¯t the new restroom better?¡±


    ¡°I guess it¡¯s a bit nostalgic,¡± I casually offered as an explanation.


    ¡°I see. But I heard there have been a few disappearances there. You should be careful,¡± he said.


    I was taken aback.


    ¡°Disappearances?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, disappearances. Some people went in and never came out,¡± he continued, his expression oddly enthusiastic, as though discussing a school ghost story, with no sign of fear.


    ¡°How do you know?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just rumors that¡¯ve been going around. But you know, there¡¯s that saying¡ª¡®No smoke without fire.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Rumors like that aren¡¯t trustworthy,¡± I dismissed casually. ¡°If something serious had happened, the school wouldn¡¯t just stay quiet, and the police would¡¯ve shown up by now.¡±


    ¡°Oh, they did,¡± my deskmate leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper. ¡°A student from the third year went missing for a few days. The parents called the police, but the search only happened on a Sunday. The school locked down the information, so not many people know about it.¡±


    ¡°Did they find them?¡± I asked, trying to sound indifferent, but my deskmate sighed.


    ¡°They found them, but not at school. They found the body somewhere else.¡±


    His tone was almost dismissive, as though he wished that the missing student had never been found. It was clear he found some twisted amusement in the whole thing. After all, since they¡¯d found the student, it didn¡¯t really matter, did it?


    These days, students did all sorts of strange things under the pressure of their environment. Compared to running away from home, suicides were far more serious.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t that good, though? Did they go back to school?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but when people asked where he went during his disappearance, he said he didn¡¯t know.¡± My deskmate spoke seriously. ¡°It¡¯s like he has amnesia. He doesn¡¯t remember where he went or what he did.¡±


    Honestly, I wasn¡¯t too surprised by this outcome. If I had disappeared, I wouldn¡¯t have confessed to what I¡¯d done either¡ªit would be too embarrassing. Of course, I wouldn¡¯t just disappear casually. My grades were good, and I prided myself on being able to handle stress better than most.


    Although the newspapers and news had reported similar incidents recently, it was still a small fraction compared to the total number of students in the country. It just seemed more shocking when these few cases were put together.


    The media just loved to stir up drama. They needed to make a living out of sensationalism, so everything was blown out of proportion.


    But then my deskmate made a surprising conclusion.


    ¡°I think that student definitely encountered something unbelievable, and that¡¯s why he got brainwashed.¡±


    Such a wild theory. I thought to myself. My deskmate had a particular fascination with mysterious events, and no matter how ordinary something was, he could twist it into something eerie. But none of his stories were ever true.


    Not wanting to discourage him, I changed the subject.


    Lost in his own thoughts, my deskmate didn¡¯t seem to notice my obvious attempt to end the conversation.


    After class, I went to the old restroom again.


    As usual, it was empty, with no one around. I didn¡¯t see anyone on the way there either.


    Inside, the stalls were covered with yellow urine stains and moss, and I found a few new cigarette butts.


    I nodded to myself, pulled out a cigarette from my bag, and lit it with my lighter.


    In most cases, good students didn¡¯t smoke, but despite my top grades and being considered a prime candidate for a prestigious university, I did some things that would make teachers gasp.


    Like smoking.


    I first tried smoking when I was ten, at a friend¡¯s house. I saw his father drying tobacco on the balcony, with a pile of cigarette papers. Curious, my friend and I secretly rolled a cigarette and smoked it.


    He didn¡¯t dare inhale, just puffed and complained about the bitterness.


    I took a deep drag, initially worried it would choke me, but surprisingly, my body adapted.


    After that, I occasionally bought a pack of Camel cigarettes. It was an expensive brand, hard to find, so I had to save up my pocket money each month to afford a pack. Even though smoking ate into my pocket money, I liked the taste.


    I didn¡¯t particularly love smoking, but once my body had gotten used to the bitter taste of burning tobacco and the flavor of the additives, quitting became a real test of willpower.


    It wasn¡¯t that I lacked self-control. While doctors warned about the health risks of smoking, there were far more people who died without smoking than those who lived past sixty after smoking. My only goal was to live past sixty, so quitting smoking didn¡¯t seem essential.


    Every time I went to the old restroom to smoke, I wondered if I might run into a fellow smoker.


    I probably was the only good student who smoked in the school, the others were considered ¡°bad¡± students by the teachers. They wouldn¡¯t all turn into delinquents, of course. It was foolish to judge a person¡¯s future based on their student years.


    I knew a few of them. Apart from their bad grades, their rough manner of speaking and dressing, they were no different from anyone else.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    I only had one common point with them¡ªsmoking. Though we could talk, our bond was a weak one.


    They knew I smoked but had never reported me to the teachers.


    I expected to run into them in the old restroom, but never did. The first time could have been coincidence, but after multiple visits, I started wondering if there was some decisive factor. Maybe they didn¡¯t want to run into me either.


    I lost myself in such thoughts as I finished my cigarette, and suddenly, I heard footsteps at the entrance of the restroom.


    Someone had entered.


    For some reason, I felt a little nervous¡ªperhaps because it was the first time I encountered another person here.


    I hesitated, unsure whether to leave or stay. Maybe the person didn¡¯t want to meet anyone either, and bumping into each other would be awkward.


    Smoking wasn¡¯t a terrible thing, but students usually smoked in secret.


    In the end, I decided not to leave.


    The person went into the farthest stall, and after listening for a moment, the restroom fell silent again.


    I didn¡¯t want to stay any longer, so I pushed open the stall door.


    Just as I was about to leave, a sudden scream came from the furthest stall.


    I jumped, turning to look, but then everything went quiet again.


    I waited for a while, but there was no sound.


    It¡¯s hard to describe the mix of emotions I felt¡ªworry, curiosity¡­ Something was driving me, and I walked over towards the sound.


    As I walked, I thought back to my deskmate¡¯s words about disappearances.


    I wasn¡¯t sure which stall the person was in, but I guessed they had stopped at one. I paused and called out, ¡°Hey, are you okay?¡±


    No answer.


    ¡°I heard you scream. If you¡¯re fine, I¡¯ll leave.¡±


    Still nothing.


    Since there was no response, I started to leave, but then a strange feeling tugged at me.


    I turned back, trying to make sense of the fleeting moment of intuition.


    It hit me¡ªwasn¡¯t the person here to smoke? But I didn¡¯t smell any smoke.


    Even though the old restroom was dirty and smelly, if someone were smoking near the door, I should have smelled it.


    If they were just using the restroom, there was no reason to remain silent when someone asked if they were okay.


    Of course, there were other possibilities. Maybe they weren¡¯t in this stall at all, or maybe they had stepped into something unpleasant and didn¡¯t want to be seen in a messy state.


    Despite the possibilities, I kicked open the stall door.


    It was empty.


    I didn¡¯t care. It was a warning, a signal¡ªif you were in there, speak up now, or I wouldn¡¯t let it go.


    There was no response.


    I kicked open the doors of the other stalls without hesitation.


    Something strange happened¡ªwhat should have been there was gone.


    There wasn¡¯t a single soul in the restroom, except for me.


    But I clearly heard someone walk in and enter the stalls earlier.


    The ventilation window in the restroom had long since broken, covered in rust. No one could escape through it. And even if they could, why would anyone crawl through a restroom window? There was only a wall behind it.


    This bizarre occurrence made my classmate¡¯s words echo in my mind once again:


    ¡°I heard a student went missing in the old restroom.¡±


    A living person had vanished into thin air in the restroom, and the shock it gave me surpassed any fear. I wasn¡¯t hearing things, I wasn¡¯t seeing things¡ªI definitely heard someone come in. So how did they disappear? The exit only had one way out.


    I realized this was nearly a classic locked-room mystery.


    Reasoning and solving problems¡ªthis was a game that anyone who loved logic could get lost in.


    People with tight logic usually have a natural talent for mathematics. To be blunt, I was good at math and I particularly enjoyed puzzles and detective stories.


    This was the perfect opportunity for me to put my skills to the test.


    I began searching the stalls, mentally marking their positions, studying the traces on the cement floor and walls, just like Sherlock Holmes and Dupin in *The Murders in the Rue Morgue*. Then, in the second-to-last stall, I found something written in cigarette ash in a discreet corner:


    ¡°Don¡¯t put your hand in the dog¡¯s mouth.¡±


    The handwriting was messy, it had been there for some time, mostly covered by moss, and if you weren¡¯t looking carefully, you wouldn¡¯t have noticed.


    I squatted down in a typical restroom posture and lit a cigarette.


    The missing person was wearing sneakers with rubber studs, and there was grass stuck to the soles, likely someone who had just finished playing soccer.


    They screamed before disappearing.


    Judging by the sound, it didn¡¯t seem to be something disgusting or creepy¡ªit was a true, unexpected shock.


    As I thought about it, my mind paused for a moment.


    I suddenly realized: People scream not only when they are shocked but also when they are caught off guard.


    I replayed that scream in my mind. Yes, it was a scream of surprise.


    I looked down as I inhaled from the cigarette. Right where I was crouching, the footprints had disappeared, but faint traces of dirt were left behind.


    He fell.


    Following this line of thought, I stood up, holding the cigarette, and tried to recreate his movements¡ªhow he entered, the direction he fell, and his posture as he fell.


    His feet slid forward, and his body tipped backward. A person who falls like that might try to grab something in front of them or brace themselves with their hands.


    Where was his gaze? Down, forward, or up?


    I flicked the ash off my cigarette and looked up. Above me, in the shadows filled with spider webs and dust, I saw a strange pattern.


    Ah, that¡¯s what I¡¯d been overlooking.


    I squinted, trying to make out the pattern.


    Part of the pattern looked like eyes¡ªthere were three pairs from top to bottom.


    An image flashed in my mind.


    That person had hurried in, slipped, tried to grab something to steady themselves, but fell flat on their back. The fallen position allowed them to see the three pairs of eerie eyes.


    Then, they screamed?


    No, something was missing. There was one crucial detail.


    His hands.


    Which way were his hands facing when he fell?


    The three pairs of eyes?


    My arm instinctively rose and pointed at the pattern of eyes above.


    Then, a phrase flashed in my mind:


    ¡°Don¡¯t put your hand in the dog¡¯s mouth.¡±


    Suddenly, the eerie pattern above me lit up with red light, glowing like blood. The full pattern broke free from the spider webs, dust, moss, and shadows, and clearly reflected in my vision.


    It was a wolf, or a dog, but real wolves and dogs didn¡¯t have three pairs of eyes.


    The monstrous dog was biting a cross, and the three pairs of eyes glared at me, full of bloodlust.


    It seemed to have human traits¡ªits split lips and exposed fangs seemed to be mocking me.


    It felt as though it would leap at me in the next moment!


    ¡°Don¡¯t put your hand in the dog¡¯s mouth.¡± The phrase echoed in my head, and a dark wave surged, drowning my vision and consciousness.


    Before the darkness faded, my mind wasn¡¯t entirely clear.


    It was like a long dream, though in reality, not much time had passed.


    When I woke up, my mind snapped back to full clarity.


    It felt like a straight line that had been erased in the middle, leaving behind a black smudge.


    I woke up to find myself still in the restroom.


    I was lying on the tiled floor, and the tiles were polished to a gleaming shine.


    There was no ammonia stench, no disgusting urine stains, or moss.


    It was pristine, bright.


    The ceiling light shone brightly.


    This wasn¡¯t the school¡¯s restroom.


    Where was this? I didn¡¯t know.


    I still remembered what happened before I blacked out: the missing student, the cryptic message, the eerie red light, and the six-eyed monstrous dog.


    ¡°Don¡¯t put your hand in the dog¡¯s mouth.¡±


    I reached out toward the six-eyed beast, but it wasn¡¯t so much that I was reaching into its mouth¡ªit was as though it had bitten me.


    It really bit me. My soul ached faintly.


    Was the missing student here too?


    Standing in this unfamiliar place, I felt no fear, which surprised me.


    My rational mind was working, while my emotions hid away in a corner.


    Logic was rational.


    The blank space created by my unconsciousness created gaps in my logic.


    I wanted to know where I was.


    So, I walked out.


    Beyond the restroom was a corridor, with rooms on one side and large glass windows on the other. Outside the windows, the sunlight was bright, the green grass carpeted the ground, small trees dotted the area, and a small pond bubbled from a stone mermaid sculpture. Under the trees were benches, and scattered around were monkey bars, sandpits, swings, and seesaws¡ªcommunity playground equipment.


    Warm, peaceful, serene¡ªthis place should have been described by such words.


    But everywhere, there were human corpses.


    The ground had been dug up, dried blood was scattered around, and severed limbs, arms, and entrails littered the area.


    It was like a battlefield that had been swept clean, leaving behind shocking scars.


    The sights and smells overwhelmed the senses and made me gag.


    In the distance, half-destroyed buildings revealed their steel structures, faint black smoke wafted into the air, and strange shadows jumped on the rooftops, like spirits wandering in a concrete forest.


    Strangely, I felt no fear.


    My rational mind was working, while my emotions hid away in a corner.


    Logic was rational, it whispered in my ear.


    This was a slaughterhouse at the end of the world.


    The screams of the dead were clear.


    The brick wall surrounding the land was high, about two meters. Broken glass embedded in the concrete glistened under the sunlight. The entrance was a five-meter-wide, ornate iron gate, tightly shut. A four-wheel-drive vehicle was parked outside on the road, its black trunk visible.


    A group of ragged, shriveled, and ugly figures wandered outside the gate.


    No matter how you looked at it, people who had half their heads blown off, their chests torn open, with their entrails dragging on the ground, couldn¡¯t possibly be alive.


    They, no, *it*, was a group of walking corpses¡ªrevived undead.


    Zombies.


    A fitting description.


    What a ridiculous scene, like a dream.


    I lit a cigarette.


    Beyond this, there was no sign of life¡ªneither in the garden nor the road outside the gate.


    This was a place abandoned and desolate.


    Only strange silence remained.


    It was enough to make your heart race.


    Were there others here? I didn¡¯t know.


    The zombies were wandering outside the gate. Had they been lying in wait here? Perhaps.


    I walked down the corridor. This was the third floor. All the rooms had numbers beginning with three, and they were all closed. I didn¡¯t open any of them.


    In the middle of the corridor, there was a staircase with a winding ramp beside it. I had seen such structures in public places; the ramp was likely for wheelchairs.


    This place resembled an orphanage or nursing home.


    At the stairwell, there was a standard fire safety cabinet. I took off my jacket, wrapped it around my arm, and smashed the glass, retrieving the fire axe.


    From above, the sound of barking dogs reached my ears.

 0002

    I didn''t think much of it. This was clearly a show of intimidation, a warning. If someone was hiding inside, now was their chance to make themselves known, or else I wouldn''t hold back.


    No response.


    Undeterred, I kicked open the doors of the other stalls.


    Something strange happened¡ªsomeone who should have been there had vanished.


    Aside from me, there wasn¡¯t a single soul in the restroom.


    Yet, I was certain I had heard someone enter earlier and step into one of the stalls.


    The ventilation window in the restroom had long been broken, rusted and immovable. No one could crawl through it even if they wanted to. Besides, why would anyone escape through a restroom window? Beyond it was nothing but a blank wall.


    This bizarre incident brought my desk mate¡¯s words echoing back into my mind:


    "They say students have disappeared in the old restroom."


    The idea of a person vanishing without a trace in a restroom was more baffling than terrifying. I hadn¡¯t misheard or misseen¡ªsomeone had definitely come in. So how had they disappeared? There was only one exit.


    It struck me then: this was almost a classic locked-room mystery.


    Deducing and solving such puzzles is a game that fascinates anyone who loves logic.


    People with a keen sense of logic often excel in mathematics. To put it bluntly, I was good at math. I enjoyed solving Olympiad problems and reading detective fiction, especially the classic ones.


    This was the perfect opportunity to play to my strengths.


    I began to survey the restroom stalls, imprinting their positions in my mind. Like Sherlock Holmes or Dupin in *The Murders in the Rue Morgue*, I examined the concrete floor and the walls for any clues. In the second-to-last stall, I found something peculiar written in an obscure corner with ashes:


    ¡°Don¡¯t put your hand in the dog¡¯s mouth.¡±


    The writing was scrawled, clearly old, and partially obscured by patches of moss. It was something you¡¯d only notice if you were actively searching.


    I squatted down as if using the toilet and lit a cigarette.


    The missing person had been wearing cleats¡ªstudded soles with traces of grass still stuck to them. Likely a student who had just finished playing soccer.


    He had screamed before disappearing.


    Judging by the sound, he hadn¡¯t encountered something disgusting but something genuinely startling.


    My thoughts paused there.


    Suddenly, I realized something: people scream not just from surprise but also from being caught off guard.


    I replayed that scream in my head. Yes, it was the latter¡ªutterly unprepared.


    I puffed on the cigarette, lowering my gaze. Right where I was squatting, the trail of shoe prints ended, replaced by faint smudges of mud.


    He had slipped.


    Following this train of thought, I stood, cigarette still in my mouth, and tried to mimic how he might have entered, slipped, and fallen.


    His foot would have slid forward, his body tilting backward. Someone falling like that might instinctively reach out to grab something or brace themselves.  This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Where was he looking¡ªforward, downward, or upward?


    I flicked ash from the cigarette, raising my eyes. Above, shrouded in cobwebs and dust, was a strange pattern in the shadows.


    Ah, so that¡¯s what I had been overlooking.


    Squinting, I tried to make out the pattern.


    Part of it looked like eyes¡ªthree pairs of them.


    In my mind, the scene unfolded:


    The person rushed in, slipped, and fell flat on his back. Lying there, he would have seen the three pairs of eerie eyes above him.


    Then he screamed?


    No, something crucial was still missing.


    His hands.


    Where were his hands when he fell?


    Three pairs of eyes?


    Instinctively, I raised my arm, pointing at the pattern of three pairs of eyes.


    Suddenly, a phrase flashed through my mind:


    ¡°Don¡¯t put your hand in the dog¡¯s mouth.¡±


    The strange pattern above flared with a crimson glow. The red light pulsed like blood, breaking through the cobwebs, dust, moss, and shadows. The full design revealed itself before my eyes.


    It was a wolf¡ªor perhaps a dog¡ªbut no real wolf or dog had three pairs of eyes.


    The grotesque beast held a cross in its jaws, its six blood-red eyes glaring fiercely at me.


    It seemed almost sentient, its curled lips exposing sharp teeth in what looked like a mocking grin.


    As if, in the next moment, it would lunge straight at me!


    The phrase echoed in my mind: *Don¡¯t put your hand in the dog¡¯s mouth.*


    The sinister glow intensified, swallowing my vision and consciousness in a wave of darkness.


    When the darkness receded, I wasn¡¯t entirely unconscious.


    It felt like I had dreamt for an eternity, though perhaps little time had actually passed.


    Upon waking, my mind snapped back into sharp focus, like a clean line on a page, interrupted by a smudged void in the middle.


    I found myself still in the restroom.


    I was lying on the tiled floor, which was now spotless, polished to a reflective shine.


    No ammonia stench, no unsightly stains, no moss.


    It was pristine.


    The ceiling lights were bright.


    This wasn¡¯t the school restroom.


    Where was I? I had no idea.


    I still remembered everything before I blacked out¡ªthe missing student, the cryptic message, the eerie red glow, and the six-eyed beast.


    *Don¡¯t put your hand in the dog¡¯s mouth.*


    I had reached toward the six-eyed beast, though it felt less like reaching into its mouth and more like being bitten.


    It had bitten me. My soul throbbed faintly with pain.


    Was the missing student here too?


    Standing in this unfamiliar place, I felt no fear, and realizing that surprised me.


    My rationality was in control; my emotions cowered in a corner.


    Logic is the essence of reason.


    But the blank gap caused by my blackout left a dead angle in my logic.


    I needed to know where I was.


    So I stepped out.


    The restroom opened into a corridor, one side lined with numbered doors and the other with glass windows. Outside, the sun shone brightly on a lush green lawn dotted with small trees and a pond. Water cascaded from a mermaid sculpture¡¯s shoulder-held jug. Benches rested in the shade, alongside playground equipment¡ªmonkey bars, sand pits, swings, and seesaws.


    Tranquil, serene, picturesque¡ªall words that might describe such a scene.


    Except for the human corpses scattered everywhere.


    Uprooted earth, dried blood, severed limbs, and scattered entrails.


    The aftermath of a battlefield, etched with horrifying scars.


    The sights and smells were nauseating.


    Further out, skeletal buildings exposed their steel frames, thin smoke wafting from their ruins. Shadowy figures flitted across rooftops, like phantoms dancing in a concrete jungle.


    Strangely, I felt no fear.


    My rationality whispered softly in my ear.


    This was an apocalypse. A slaughterhouse of the end times.


    The dead roared in the distance.


    High brick walls, topped with shards of glass glinting in the sun, encircled the land. The only exit was a five-meter-wide wrought-iron gate, securely shut. A black SUV was parked on the roadside beyond it, its rear hatch open.


    Outside the gate, a group of ragged, grotesque figures wandered aimlessly.


    No matter how you looked at it, beings with half their heads missing, chests split open, and entrails trailing behind couldn¡¯t possibly be alive.


    They weren¡¯t people. They were walking corpses, reanimated dead.


    Zombies¡ªthe most fitting name.


    What an absurd scene. It felt like I was dreaming.


    I lit a cigarette.


    Aside from the garden and the road beyond the gate, there wasn¡¯t a single living soul in sight.


    This was a desolate, abandoned facility.


    Silence hung in the air.


    The kind that makes your heart race.


    Were there others here? I didn¡¯t know.


    The zombies outside the gate¡ªthey had been lurking here, hadn¡¯t they? Perhaps.


    I walked along the corridor, which was on the third floor. The room numbers all began with ¡°3,¡± and every door was shut. I didn¡¯t open them.


    In the middle of the corridor was a staircase, accompanied by a sloped ramp spiraling alongside it. I¡¯d seen such structures in well-equipped public buildings¡ªthe ramps were for wheelchairs.


    This place felt like an orphanage or a care home.


    At the stairwell, there was an emergency fire cabinet. I took off my jacket, wrapped it around my elbow, and shattered the glass to retrieve a fire axe.


    Above me, a dog¡¯s barking echoed from the upper floors.

 0003

    I listened carefully. The barking was real¡ªsharp and guttural¡ªfollowed by a sound that made my skin crawl: the unmistakable noise of something being devoured, punctuated by disturbing satisfaction.


    This building concealed something far more dangerous than corpses.


    It was alive¡ªand it ruled this place, sitting confidently atop the food chain.


    The image of the six-eyed dog painted on the ceiling of the old school bathroom flashed vividly in my mind.


    Whatever "it" was, I had no illusions about my ability to avoid it. Dogs possess a keen sense of smell, and it would locate me soon enough, no matter where I tried to hide. As long as I was trapped within these walls and this gate, escape was impossible.


    I needed to find the key to unlock the iron gate. That was the only way out.


    I had to believe there was a reason why I¡¯d been placed here, on the third floor of this building.


    The six-eyed dog mural wasn¡¯t just art; it felt alive, as though it breathed in ways beyond my understanding. Whoever left it there¡ªwhether human or something else¡ªhad intelligence.


    Think about it: would an intelligent entity go to the trouble of setting up a trap only to dump me and others into this savage world, expecting us to die like maggots?


    No, if this was orchestrated by a mind, they would leave clues¡ªhints to survive.


    My logic was sound.


    This floor seemed temporarily safe, but the doors lining the hallway were ordinary, offering no obvious leads or places where a key might be hidden. This wasn¡¯t a police station or an armory; there wouldn¡¯t be anything stronger than the fire axe I was holding. It was likely the only weapon available.


    So, I had to go up¡ªto face whatever was on the next floor. The most valuable treasure always lies in the place guarded by the fiercest beast. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    If the architect of this place was truly intelligent, this was their crude yet straightforward test.


    Yes, this was a survival game. That was my conclusion.


    I wasn¡¯t afraid. Not even a little.


    I ascended the stairs one deliberate step at a time, gripping the axe tightly in both hands. Each drag of my cigarette lit a tiny ember, the smoke curling like the breath of a dragon.


    Though you wouldn¡¯t guess it from my appearance, I¡¯d been nicknamed ¡°Fearless River¡± as a child.


    Back then, danger was just another game. We climbed trees, swung from monkey bars, balanced on narrow railings, leapt from high stairs and rooftops, scaled walls, and practiced daring stunts. Scrapes, bruises, and broken bones were badges of honor. We even stepped on frogs and roasted grasshoppers without a second thought¡ªjust to earn a reputation for bravery.


    Adults, of course, disapproved.


    ¡°How could you do such reckless things? It¡¯s too dangerous!¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s your leader?¡±


    ¡°Gao Chuan. He¡¯s amazing.¡±


    ¡°Stop playing with him! Do you hear me? I¡¯ll speak to his parents! That child needs discipline!¡±


    After a stern lecture, my friends gradually drifted away, one by one.


    As we grew older, the adults taught us fear.


    At first, I resisted, continuing to run across rooftops and walls. But when it became a solo act, I realized there was no thrill in it without an audience. It was boring¡ªfoolish, even. The gawking eyes of others made me feel like a sideshow performer.


    So I became a model student. I gave up my dangerous hobbies and steered clear of sports, devoting myself to academics. By middle school, I¡¯d set my sights on becoming a specialist in dynamics¡ªa career that required top-tier education.


    Now I presented myself as the perfect student: neatly groomed, my short hair always combed, my face exuding intellect and composure. Sometimes, I even wore non-prescription glasses. My uniform was impeccable, fitting my slender frame like a second skin. I joined the student council, participated enthusiastically in academic competitions, and consistently earned glowing remarks on my evaluations at the end of each term.


    Yet, deep down, I believed the fearless courage of my childhood still simmered within me. It lingered in my muscles, my soul, my very blood.


    Each step I took awakened that dormant strength. My muscles twitched and hummed with energy, as though rubber bands stretched to their breaking point. My blood surged; my heartbeat roared in my ears.


    I wanted to scream¡ªa primal yell that built pressure in my chest, ready to explode.


    Even with my eyes closed, I knew I could find my way forward.


    The barking faded, replaced by an oppressive silence.


    It hadn¡¯t left. I could feel its gaze¡ªa predator sizing up its prey. This was its nature: to wait, to hide, to strike only when the moment was right.


    That wasn¡¯t cowardice. It was cunning.


    Where was it hiding?


    I stopped just before reaching the final step.

 0004

    The hallway stretched out before me. As long as I didn''t take that final step forward, the sturdy walls on either side provided a fragile sense of security. There was nowhere higher to go¡ªthis was the end of the battleground.


    I couldn¡¯t see it. My view was obstructed by the walls. Where exactly was it watching me from? One thing was certain: the walls meant nothing to it, offering no real barrier.


    Was it lurking to my left? Or my right?


    Perhaps it didn¡¯t rely on sight at all. Could it be tracking me through scent and sound? It was worth testing.


    I slipped off my school jacket and flung it forward with all my might.


    *Whoosh!*


    The jacket tore through the air with a ferocity that made it seem alive.


    The moment it entered the hallway, it appeared to strike something midair. I didn¡¯t see it clearly, but the jacket seemed to balloon outward, as though draped over some large, invisible object, before it was hurled further down the corridor.


    No time to hesitate. Tightening my grip on the axe, I leapt into the hallway, crouched low, and turned defensively toward the left. Even from a brief glance, I¡¯d confirmed there was nothing on the right. Whatever had struck the jacket was now on the left.


    About twenty meters ahead, the jacket lost momentum and fluttered to the ground.


    Still, I couldn¡¯t make out what it was.


    More accurately, there was *nothing* there.


    But I could hear it: the heavy thud of a body hitting the floor, the angry rasp of its breath, and a guttural growl dripping with menace.


    It was on the far side of the jacket. It was invisible, hiding in plain sight.


    ¡°Come on! I¡¯m not afraid of you!¡± I spat out my cigarette and growled back, a challenge of my own.


    I knew how to deal with this thing. I¡¯d seen danger before, read countless books, and faced my share of trials. It was strange, yes, but it didn¡¯t stir the kind of fear born from the unknown. It couldn¡¯t outmatch the limitless power of human imagination.


    It was just an invisible beast. Something I hadn¡¯t encountered before, but hardly a concept to fear. Humanity had dreamed up far more grotesque horrors¡ªand countless ways to slay them.


    I knew blood and injury. I understood that no creature was invincible. My mind held more knowledge than most my age, enough to make sense of what my senses were telling me. The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    What you can¡¯t see, you can still perceive.


    The air was thick with its scent, its presence. Its powerful frame stirred the wind as it moved. My ears, nose, and skin painted a vivid picture of its form.


    It was angry now. Its growls deepened, and a blast of foul wind signaled its charge. The invisible mass surged toward me, filling the narrow hallway with an overwhelming sense of dread.


    It was massive¡ªtwice the size of a Great Dane.


    The twenty-meter gap closed in an instant.


    I swung the axe with all my strength.


    It hit nothing. A loud thud came from the left wall.


    I rolled forward instinctively, dodging the rush of wind that passed behind me. As I came to a stop, I sprang up and thrust the axe upward like a spear.


    *Thump!*


    The dull impact reverberated through my arms, numbing my wrist and shoulder. I nearly lost my grip, but I¡¯d hit it.


    It staggered back a few paces, and I retreated in turn, crouching low. In this confined corridor, it couldn¡¯t circle behind me or attack from the sides. It had no choice but to face me head-on.


    This was *my* chosen battlefield.


    The beast growled low, inching forward, its every step deliberate, its menace palpable. It seemed ready to pounce at any moment.


    I held the axe in position for a decisive strike, mirroring its movements as I slowly backed away.


    Step by step, we danced in opposition, the space between us alive with tension.


    When I reached the corridor¡¯s end, just three meters from the door, I cautiously retrieved my jacket. Like a matador, I held it in one hand, the axe poised in the other.


    The beast had me cornered.


    There was no retreat. Only forward.


    The instant I moved, it lunged.


    Once again, my swing struck empty air. It landed against the wall and, in a blink, leapt to the ceiling.


    Without thinking, I hurled the axe at it.


    The beast vaulted onto the window ledge, and the axe embedded itself into the wooden ceiling with a loud crack.


    The glass shattered outward, raining shards onto the ground below. Among the spinning fragments, I glimpsed the fractured reflection of walls, sky, and light. The beast launched itself toward me again.


    I spread the jacket wide.


    Its head and forelimbs barreled into the fabric, nearly tearing it apart. I released the jacket and let it carry the beast¡¯s momentum. Still, the impact sent me flying backward, slamming hard into the wall.


    It felt like being hit by a car going sixty kilometers per hour. My body screamed in pain, every bone seeming to shatter.


    I spat blood and forced my eyes open, leaping for the axe still embedded in the ceiling.


    It was wedged deep.


    Hanging from the handle, I kicked my legs, swaying to gain momentum. Below me, the beast thrashed against the jacket that covered its head, its outline now faintly visible beneath the stretched fabric.


    With one final swing, I dislodged the axe.


    As it shredded the jacket, I swung down, the axe burying itself into its skull with a wet, sickening crunch.


    Blood sprayed in all directions, soaking my arms. The beast let out a pained howl, stumbled backward, and collapsed with a heavy thud.


    I dropped to the ground, every muscle screaming for relief.


    In front of me, blood gushed from its wound like water from a ruptured pipe, staining the floor red. Slowly, its outline materialized¡ªa massive, powerful canine form emerging from its invisible shroud.


    I¡¯d won. The realization brought a wave of elation, and I let out a triumphant laugh, sitting there on the bloodied ground.


    But just as I tried to stand, the door at the end of the hallway creaked open.


    Shadows moved, defying the logic of light.


    Then, a slow clap.


    ¡°Absolutely spectacular,¡± came a deep, velvety voice, as dark as the night itself.

 0005

    The figure before me was a towering man dressed entirely in red.


    Standing over two meters tall, he wore a crimson trench coat and a wide-brimmed red hat. The sinister elegance he exuded felt almost surreal, a seamless blend of malevolence and poise. His face was hidden beneath the shadow of his hat, its gaunt features marked by sharp, commanding lines. He stood motionless in front of the doorway, one hand resting on his hat, as if he''d been there for ages, shrouded in solitude and an air of defiant gentleness.


    "Passion, conviction, ingenuity, adversity, counterstrike, annihilation," he murmured, his tone like a poet reciting verse. "What a splendid battle that was."


    I wasn¡¯t in the mood for compliments. This guy had clearly been watching the entire time without lifting a finger to help, and that alone irritated me to no end.


    "Are you messing with me?"


    I stepped back toward the fallen beast, yanking the fire axe free from its carcass.


    He chuckled¡ªa dry, gravelly sound like earth being ground to dust. The laugh seemed restrained, as though barely containing an underlying madness.


    "Not at all. You''ve passed the trial. Congratulations. You''re the first one to make it through."


    Despite his words, I couldn¡¯t shake the unease he caused. There was something deeply unsettling about him, more so than the invisible beast I had just fought. A strange, overwhelming scent of blood clung to him, as though the red of his attire had been soaked in it. The air around him felt heavy, oppressive, laced with a madness so tangible it pressed down on me like a suffocating tide.


    It wasn¡¯t just his appearance¡ªmy instincts screamed that he wasn¡¯t human. It was an immediate, visceral certainty I couldn¡¯t ignore.  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    ¡°Relax,¡± he said, his voice unnervingly calm. ¡°Let¡¯s get to the point. I know you have questions, but I can¡¯t answer all of them. Time is short.¡±


    He produced an hourglass and abruptly flipped it over, cradling it in his hand. Sand began to stream through at an unnaturally rapid pace, almost like liquid.


    ¡°Time starts now.¡±


    I kept my gaze locked on him, refusing to let my guard down, even if he didn¡¯t seem hostile. The sand slipped away far too quickly, and I felt my pulse quicken.


    ¡°What is this place?¡±


    ¡°The Apocalypse Mirage,¡± he replied.


    ¡°Why were we brought here?¡±


    ¡°To save the world,¡± he said in a singsong tone, dripping with mockery.


    ¡°¡­¡±


    Was he joking?


    ¡°Of course not,¡± he added, as if reading my mind.


    ¡°Who are you?¡±


    A smile spread beneath the shadow of his hat, a crooked grin that sent a shiver through me. Two glowing eyes emerged from the darkness, and his silhouette seemed to dissolve into swirling tendrils of mist, more like a nightmare than a person. For a fleeting moment, I thought I saw his body wrapped in sinister threads, writhing like living tendrils. But when I blinked, the image was gone.


    ¡°I am the Harbinger of the End,¡± he said, his voice low and resonant. ¡°You may call me¡­ Carmen.¡±


    With that, he raised a single finger.


    ¡°One last question.¡±


    Startled, I glanced at the hourglass. Its sand had nearly run out¡ªonly a single grain remained, improbably suspended at the top of the glass. An unseen force seemed to hold it in place.


    ¡°What do I do next?¡± I asked, seizing the chance for one final question.


    Carmen, the self-proclaimed red-clad harbinger, hummed in amusement, clearly pleased.


    ¡°How interesting, little boy,¡± he said, his voice laced with a peculiar delight. With a flick of his hand, the hourglass vanished, as though it had never been there. As he spoke, his figure began to dissolve into the encroaching shadows, consumed by the darkness flowing in from behind him. Only his voice lingered, echoing through the corridor.


    ¡°Look at your wrist.¡±


    As his words faded, the suffocating darkness ebbed away like a retreating tide. The wooden door at the end of the hallway was still open, spilling sunlight into the space beyond. The room inside was bright and serene, with a wooden table and chairs bathed in golden light, as if purged of every impurity.

 0006

    It truly felt like magic. With a peculiar mix of awe and unease, I stepped into the room. Just as I expected, there was no one inside. The place was unexpectedly clean and tidy, as if someone had gone out of their way to prepare it. On the table sat a cup of coffee, steam still rising lazily from its surface. That eccentric man in red clearly knew how to indulge himself.


    And yet, I was stuck in this utterly absurd and chaotic world.


    He called this place the Apocalypse Mirage, though I couldn¡¯t be sure if he was telling the truth. The apocalyptic scenes outside were terrifyingly vivid¡ªI could feel the warmth of the sun, smell the pungent scent of blood and fire, and feel the dull ache of my wounds. If I were to die here, would I truly die? Just the thought sent a chill down my spine.


    I began piecing together the information I had gleaned from him. Apparently, many others like me had been drawn into this world through various mysterious means. That was the true nature of the so-called ¡°disappearance legend¡± surrounding the old school restroom. Even so, I had yet to encounter anyone else. Were they also somewhere in this city?


    As for why we were here, the self-proclaimed Harbinger claimed it was to save the world. He spoke as though the real world was destined to turn into something akin to this apocalyptic nightmare in the future.


    Whether or not he was lying, his very existence was a mystery. He was too enigmatic, too otherworldly to be human.


    But as far as I could tell from the horrifying scenes outside¡ªa world overrun by the walking dead and grotesque monsters, collapsing skyscrapers, and countless people, be they beloved or despised, reduced to nothing more than fodder for these abominations¡ªI loathed this world.


    I didn¡¯t know how many others he had ¡°recruited,¡± but we were essentially candidates for heroism.


    I used to admire the heroes in TV dramas, those brave souls who shouldered the burden of saving the world. They had the courage to face the pain and sacrifices that came with their journey, and their struggles often moved me to tears.


    But I¡¯d outgrown the childish fascination with being a ¡°hero.¡± I didn¡¯t even know what kind of person could truly save the world.


    Such thoughts weighed on my heart like cold raindrops on a dark night. The sunlight outside felt warm, but it couldn¡¯t thaw the icy dream I seemed to be trapped in.


    I sat down at the table, trying to collect my thoughts. The coffee was still full¡ªprobably left unfinished by the red-clad man. It felt wasteful to throw it away, so I wiped the rim of the cup with my sleeve and took a sip.  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    On the inside of my left wrist, a tattoo had inexplicably appeared. Two black diamond shapes extended outward like wings. I assumed it was some sort of ¡°hero candidate certificate.¡± Curious, I touched it, and my head buzzed sharply, as if an avalanche of images and text were flooding my mind. The pain was so intense it made me grimace.


    Then, just as quickly as it began, the sensation subsided.


    I cautiously withdrew my hand, not daring to touch the mark again.


    What the hell was that thing?!


    Despite the ordeal, I felt as if I¡¯d learned nothing concrete. It was as though knowledge had been crammed into my brain but remained just out of reach.


    What should I do? How could I leave this place? Forget saving the world for now¡ªif I stayed here too long, the real world would surely mark me as a missing person. My spotless record as a model student, something I had worked so hard to maintain, would be ruined. That was unacceptable!


    ¡°Send me back!¡± I shouted.


    No answer.


    ¡°Damn it!¡±


    I kicked the chair in frustration.


    ¡°Access attributes.¡±


    I was referring to the information embedded in the diamond-shaped mark on my wrist. It was like a game manual, revealing itself only when its owner needed it. The data materialized in my mind.


    **Name:** Gao Chuan


    **Age:** 17


    **Occupation:** Student


    **Weapon:** Fire Axe


    **Rating:** E+


    E-rank, apparently the lowest tier.


    I sighed heavily. Before heading to the basement, I decided to search the room for anything useful.


    I drained the coffee in one go, grabbed my fire axe, and began rifling through drawers and cabinets.


    Whoever had lived here didn¡¯t leave much behind. There were few personal items, no weapons or medical supplies, and no diaries or computers that might have contained valuable information.


    Under the bed, I found a large box filled with Halloween-themed figurines¡ªcreepy little dolls, mostly. Aside from that, I came across a portable gaming console that was all the rage lately. It looked intact but had no power. Still, I was thrilled; the device was expensive, and I¡¯d been saving up for one. If I could bring it back to the real world, it would save my perpetually empty wallet.


    I stuffed the console into my pocket, hoisted the fire axe, and returned to the hallway.


    The blood loss had made the beast¡¯s body partially visible. Its size was even larger than I had anticipated. Its fur was long like that of a collie, but its menacing head resembled that of a hunting dog.


    **Name:** Phantom Hound


    **Species:** Undead


    **Rating:** D


    **Status:** Near death


    So it wasn¡¯t fully dead yet. Fantastic.


    I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm, and brought the axe down.


    I split its skull and tore open its belly. To my astonishment, its heart was still beating powerfully, and its organs seemed disturbingly vibrant. It felt as if given time, the creature might regenerate its grotesque head.


    I smashed its heart to pulp. The vitality drained away instantly, like foam collapsing into nothingness. Its massive body crumbled to ash, sinking inward with a faint hiss. At that moment, the diamond-shaped mark on my wrist burned hot, and I heard a faint sizzle.


    The ash swirled into a vortex, forming a half-meter-high spiral of gray mist.


    I watched in astonishment as the spiral shrank and condensed into a single gray stone.

 0007

    The gray stone was the size of a soybean, perfectly smooth and round. I picked it up, and the diamond-shaped mark on my wrist started to heat up again. The stone melted in my palm, seeping into my skin.


    Heart pounding, I watched the transformation with a mix of fear and fascination. The knowledge forced into my brain by the diamond mark finally began to make sense: this gray stone was enhancing my physical abilities.


    It was a miraculous substance, its creation and absorption entirely orchestrated by the diamond mark. I had no way to comprehend the exact interaction between the stone and my body, but the effects were undeniable. Within three seconds, the pain from my injuries began to vanish. My muscles felt like inflated tires, taut and resilient, and every sense seemed sharper than ever before.


    For a fleeting moment, I believed I could take on the world champion in boxing.


    I hefted the axe in my hands; it felt much lighter now¡ªlikely not an illusion.


    With renewed resolve, I decided to stick to my original plan. If there truly was a key to the iron gate, it was most likely in the area the ghostly dog had been guarding.


    Before attacking me, it had been lurking to the right of the corridor. Continuing down that path, I soon spotted a door with a nameplate that read **"Director''s Office."**


    The door, crooked and ajar, hung precariously by its remaining screws. Its surface was riddled with cracks, giving it a desolate appearance.


    Before I even entered, the stench of blood and decay hit me like a wave. My eyes swept over the room. No monsters jumped out, but I was greeted by something even more revolting.


    A swarm of flies buzzed like a black cloud at the far end of the hall.


    I had braced myself, but the sight of what they were feasting on still made me gag.


    Human remains were piled up carelessly like discarded scraps. Some bones were intact, polished white and gleaming, while others had been gnawed into shards. The worst were the half-eaten, rotting limbs and organs, reeking of decay.


    I could vividly imagine the ghostly dog lounging here like a pet in a yard, lazily chewing on its grisly spoils.


    Among the carnage, I spotted a few tattered school uniforms.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    It was pitiful, so pitiful that it extinguished any desire to give these poor souls a proper burial. I shuddered at the thought of how narrowly I had avoided becoming one of them.


    The grotesque scene and overpowering stench nearly overwhelmed me. Clamping my hand over my nose and mouth, I darted around, searching every corner. Passing the pile of remains, I stuck to the far wall as if the bodies might spring to life at any moment.


    In a small side room, I found two individual keys and a keyring with sixteen others.


    One of the individual keys seemed like a car key, but none looked like they belonged to the iron gate. Frustrated, I rifled through drawers one last time, finding a loaded six-round revolver hidden in a false compartment. With nothing else to gain, I reluctantly headed for the exit.


    I tucked the revolver into the waistband of my pants and pulled my shirt over it. The autumn school uniform was a two-piece set with a jacket and an inner shirt, though many students wore the inner shirt alone in warmer weather.


    Just as I stepped out of the room, a figure emerged at the stairwell. Startled, I nearly swung my axe, thinking it was another monster. Then I saw her face.


    We locked eyes.


    To my surprise, it was a strikingly attractive young woman. She looked to be in that ambiguous phase between university student and young professional, brimming with vitality and confidence.


    She was dressed in a red tracksuit jacket and black workout leggings. The jacket was unzipped, revealing a white sports bra beneath. Her hair was tied in a high ponytail, her midriff exposed. She had a well-toned figure with radiant skin, exuding a robust, youthful energy.


    I couldn''t hide my astonishment, and she, too, seemed caught off guard.


    ¡°Uh¡­ hello,¡± I stammered, managing a smile. ¡°It¡¯s a relief to see someone else alive.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t lying. In a place this oppressive, finding another living person was an indescribable joy.


    That¡¯s when I remembered what the red-cloaked stranger had said: **¡°Congratulations, you¡¯re the first to make it through.¡±**


    The first¡ªbut not the only one.


    Those who came after me likely wouldn¡¯t have to face the ghostly dog. I supposed they could thank me for that.


    She stared at me intently, saying nothing.


    ¡°Lucky timing,¡± I blurted. ¡°If you¡¯d come any sooner, it might¡¯ve been trouble.¡±


    Regret washed over me instantly.


    The woman took a step back, her posture stiffening as if I were some kind of predator.


    ¡°I mean no harm,¡± I said quickly, stepping back myself. ¡°My name¡¯s Takagawa. You¡¯re the first person I¡¯ve met here who¡¯s still alive.¡±


    ¡°Alive?¡± She eyed me skeptically.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I said. ¡°Everyone else who¡¯s come here¡­ they¡¯re dead. I¡¯m the only one who survived.¡±


    ¡°You killed them?¡± Her tone was flat, but the accusation in her gaze was undeniable.


    ¡°Of¡ªof course not!¡± I stammered.


    It was a terrible misunderstanding, but considering the circumstances, her suspicion was almost justified. The first person she encountered was a blood-soaked guy wielding an axe, cheerfully declaring, ¡°You¡¯re so lucky¡ªit¡¯s just you and me left.¡± Who wouldn¡¯t think I was some kind of maniac?


    Worse, the real culprit¡ªthe ghostly dog¡ªhad vanished into a gray stone now absorbed into my body.


    Lacking any evidence to exonerate myself, I forced myself to stay calm, speaking as earnestly as I could.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t me. It was a monstrous dog, but I managed to kill it.¡±


    ¡°Is that so¡­? And where¡¯s the body?¡± she asked, her tone still skeptical.

 0008

    "The bodies are destroyed," I admitted, resigning myself to her disbelief.


    I gestured toward the room behind me. "That was its dining hall. It''s pretty gruesome. I wouldn''t recommend going in."


    She tilted her head slightly, peering past me into the room. When her gaze returned, her expression practically screamed, *You''re lying. You''re the killer.*


    I coughed awkwardly, running a hand through my hair in frustration.


    "Look, please believe me. I''m not the killer. Like you, I just... ended up in this hellhole by accident. You aren''t from this world either, right?"


    I was running out of ways to explain myself.


    To my surprise, she let out a sudden laugh.


    "I know," she said, flashing a triumphant smile. "I was just messing with you. Your reaction was priceless."


    I froze, stunned.


    "I''m Tomie. Nice to meet you," she said, extending her hand.


    "Oh... uh, likewise," I stammered, almost biting my tongue in the process.


    Her demeanor had shifted completely, the wary edge replaced by an air of casual confidence. I couldn''t help but wonder which side of her was the real one. Years of being the model student had taught me to wear a mask when necessary, and I knew I''d need it now. If we were going to stick together, we were essentially allies.


    When we shook hands, a faint jasmine scent wafted from her. The nauseating stench from earlier faded from my mind, replaced by something almost soothing.


    "I''m Kogawa," I said.


    "You mentioned that already."


    "Well, now you¡¯ve heard it twice." I smiled. "Are you new here?"


    "Yes."


    "Do you remember how you got here?"  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    "Not really," she admitted, rubbing her temples. "It felt like a nightmare. I woke up, and here I was. What is this place?"


    "The Endscape."


    Her confusion was expected, and I could only respond with a resigned smile.


    "Did you see a man in a red coat?" I asked.


    "No. Who¡¯s that?"


    "Some lunatic calling himself the Agent of the Apocalypse," I replied, not holding back my disdain.


    "Agent of the Apocalypse?" Her brow furrowed.


    "I¡¯ll explain everything from the beginning," I offered. I recounted my arrival, the battle with the man-eating hound, and the appearance of the enigmatic figure in red.


    Tomie listened intently, her face betraying little emotion. She didn¡¯t interrupt, only nodding occasionally as if she needed an answer but wasn¡¯t particularly invested in the details.


    When I finished, she crossed her arms and nodded thoughtfully.


    "So, pass the test, and you become a world-saving hero. Is that your plan?"


    "I... don¡¯t know," I admitted.


    "You want to, don¡¯t you?"


    "What kind of nonsense is that? Why should I believe a word that guy said?"


    "You don¡¯t believe him?"


    "Not one bit."


    I lied.


    "That¡¯s too bad," she said, though her face betrayed no disappointment.


    "I¡¯m not short on people who believe in me," I shot back.


    "Really?" Her gaze sharpened. "Let me guess. You¡¯re a top student but not much of an athlete, right?"


    What¡¯s it to you?


    She raised her left hand in front of me. Before I could react, she clenched her fist, and her muscles tensed in a fluid, powerful motion. The sheer force emanating from her presence felt like a physical impact.


    "See? Stronger than you, right?"


    I couldn¡¯t deny it.


    Her strength wasn¡¯t just brute force. It carried an elegance, a harmony of muscle and curve. It was the kind of power that didn¡¯t disrupt her natural grace but enhanced it.


    "A true hero stands apart, marked by exceptional qualities," she said, smiling. "But even if you have the character, intelligence, and strength, without luck, you¡¯ll never rise to the top. Compared to me, you¡¯re the lucky one."


    "So you¡¯re saying that because I bear the mark, I¡¯m supposed to play the hero?"


    "Stop dodging the question," she retorted. "Whether you succeed or not is one thing, but deciding not to try from the start? That¡¯s another. Isn¡¯t that how you think too?"


    "Maybe the so-called Agent is lying. Who knows what his true intentions are?"


    "Does it matter? The fact is, you have power now. That¡¯s undeniable. You¡¯re a top student, someone who always scores higher than others because you must, not because it¡¯s an exam, but because it¡¯s who you are. Would you abandon that just because you learned the test might be a lie?"


    For a moment, her intense gaze seemed to pull me in, leaving me unable to look away.


    "So, you¡¯re lying," she continued. "You may not see yourself as a hero, but given the power of one, you¡¯ll act the part regardless. Whether heroism itself is real or an illusion doesn¡¯t matter. That¡¯s just the kind of person you are."


    She had me completely figured out.


    Many people had died before me, their bodies discarded like trash in that horrific room. Yet I survived. Whether it was luck or strength, I had been marked, chosen. And deep down, I knew she was right. My protests about not wanting to be a hero were just a facade.

 0009

    Tomie¡¯s enthusiasm seemed to stem from a mix of curiosity and envy.


    She grabbed my left hand and ran her fingers over the diamond-shaped mark, clicking her tongue in mock frustration. Predictably, nothing happened, and her face quickly fell into a disappointed frown.


    "So, defeating the Phantom Hound is how you met the Agent? Lucky you¡ªyou beat me to it."


    "Don''t kid around," I replied flatly.


    "It''s just an oversized invisible dog. If it were me, one punch would¡¯ve been enough." Tomie leaped back, throwing a series of shadowboxing jabs into the air.


    Clearly, she hadn¡¯t seen the Phantom Hound in action. Her bravado made it easy to dismiss its true danger.


    "You box?" I asked.


    "Yeah, I love anything related to fighting¡ªsports, novels, games, you name it. I¡¯ve tried my hand at all kinds of martial arts since I was a kid."


    "Sounds impressive," I admitted, raising an eyebrow. "Ever been in a real fight?"


    She looked genuinely surprised by the question.


    "Why else learn how to fight?"


    Ah, she wasn¡¯t joking. Straightforward to a fault.


    Still, she didn¡¯t match my mental image of someone prone to violence. Her appearance was far from what I''d associate with a brawler.


    "And you?" she shot back. "If you managed to kill the Phantom Hound, you must know how to handle yourself in a fight."


    "I don¡¯t like fighting," I said, putting on a serious face. "I¡¯m a model student."  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    "Sure you are," she said, rolling her eyes and turning her head away. Then she muttered just loud enough for me to hear, "Liar."


    "Hey!" I barked. "Keep it down¡ªyou¡¯re doing that on purpose, aren¡¯t you?"


    "So, what¡¯s the plan now? Got any ideas?" I asked, trying to change the subject.


    "Not a clue," Tomie admitted casually, showing no hint of worry. "I just got here. I don¡¯t even know what I¡¯m supposed to do yet."


    She wasn¡¯t being modest¡ªher words carried a ring of honesty.


    So, I laid out my plan.


    "If we can find the key to the big iron door, we can get out of here."


    "Get out?" she echoed. "And then what? Go where?"


    I had no answer to that.


    "Staying here isn¡¯t exactly a great option," I muttered, grasping for justification.


    "Fair enough," Tomie said with a shrug. "Maybe we¡¯ll run into others outside. But it¡¯s dangerous¡ªI saw some things leaping between rooftops earlier. They didn¡¯t look friendly."


    "And even if we open the iron door, it¡¯ll be tough to get out unscathed," she added, her eyes drifting toward the shambling corpses outside.


    To this day, I still couldn¡¯t figure out which senses the undead retained. If they only relied on smell, we might be able to slip past them. But if their hearing worked, the sound of the door opening would draw them in like a dinner bell.


    It was a grim thought¡ªone I¡¯d been avoiding.


    "If we can¡¯t go through the front door, the only other option is scaling the wall," I said. But even that posed a problem¡ªthe wall was lined with shards of jagged glass.


    "What about food?" she asked.


    "Let¡¯s search every room in this place first," Tomie suggested. "Maybe we¡¯ll find some supplies¡ªor even other survivors."


    I nodded in agreement.


    We decided to start with the room the Phantom Hound had turned into its dining hall.


    Before we began, Tomie insisted on checking out the "restaurant." I stood outside, bracing myself to watch the spectacle.


    To my surprise, she strolled in without hesitation, as though she were walking through her own backyard. Unfazed by the stench and the grotesque piles of corpses, she took her time inspecting the room, clicking her tongue in what could only be described as detached curiosity.


    Then she began rifling through the cabinets and shelves with a speed and efficiency that suggested she¡¯d done this before. Her movements were confident and practiced, like she¡¯d rehearsed this scene a dozen times.


    She stuffed anything useful into a cloth grocery bag, slung it over her shoulder, and sauntered back out with a smug grin.


    "Honestly, it¡¯s just gross and a little smelly. Dead bodies and dead pigs¡ªsame thing, right? Just a chunk of meat."


    "Stop it already! What are you, a psychopathic serial killer?!" I snapped.


    Tomie burst out laughing while I scowled and fumbled with the keyring, searching for the one that matched the door ahead.

 0010

    Most of the rooms in the hallway were locked.


    I inserted the key into the lock, gripping the axe handle tightly. I glanced at Tomie, who had wiped the playful expression off her face and nodded seriously.


    I twisted the key and suddenly pushed the door open.


    *Bang!*


    Something collided with the door hard.


    The sunlight couldn¡¯t chase away all the darkness in the room. With both hands on the axe, I clearly saw a shadow dragging itself forward.


    A figure lurched to its feet.


    It was a man, his cheeks gaunt and skeletal, with one eyeball dangling from its socket.


    Dust swirled around us, and the stench of decay and mildew hit me like a wall.


    I forced down the nausea and prepared to strike. It was only a swing away.


    In an instant, a foot came flying from the side.


    The man¡ªnow undeniably no longer human¡ªwas kicked squarely in the chest and shot backward like a cannonball.


    I hadn¡¯t even raised my axe yet, and the fight was already over.


    The corpse slammed into some furniture, sending a loud crash through the room, scattering tables, chairs, dishes, and vases in every direction.


    I looked at Tomie, who was standing next to me, her eyes blazing.


    She pretended to be nonchalant, arms crossed over her chest as she slowly retracted her foot.


    The body jerked, then staggered to its feet, a huge dent in its chest.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Tomie¡¯s expression instantly darkened. She was amusing in her own way, but before I could watch any longer, my body moved instinctively. With a quick lunge, I brought the axe down and severed the zombie¡¯s head.


    The headless corpse collapsed and stayed down.


    The descriptions in the novels were spot on.


    "You need to aim for the head," I said, trying to mask the tension in my voice.


    "I know," Tomie replied, her lips curling into a smug smile. "I just wanted to test you. If you¡¯re so sure, it¡¯s all thanks to my kick."


    She really never missed a chance to make a jab.


    Tomie stepped forward and kicked the zombie¡¯s head to the side.


    "You said you could turn monster corpses into magical stones, right?"


    "Yeah." I muttered in response, but doubt crept into my mind.


    The diamond-shaped mark didn¡¯t warm up like it had earlier. I wasn¡¯t sure what to do. Did it have its own mind? Could it decide when to activate?


    **Name**: Zombie


    **Species**: Corpse


    **Rating**: E-


    **Status**: Dead


    "Come on, hurry up!" Tomie urged, grabbing the corpse by the ankle and dragging it toward me.


    I was starting to feel the pressure.


    "What¡¯s wrong?" She stared at me for a long moment, then her eyes widened in realization. "Wait, you don¡¯t even know what you¡¯re doing, do you? You were just hoping for the best?"


    Her tone and expression reminded me of a bad actor playing a role.


    She was doing this on purpose, no doubt as payback for that earlier kick.


    "No, no way. I¡¯m just... still getting the hang of it," I stammered, trying to salvage my dignity. "You know, mystical powers aren¡¯t something you can just learn overnight. You just wait and see."


    I knelt in front of the corpse, placing my left hand above it in a solemn gesture. Honestly, I knew this dramatic stance wouldn¡¯t do anything, but it helped ease my own nerves.


    "Here we go!" I said, trying to sound confident.


    Tomie nodded, her gaze never leaving me. The intensity of her stare felt like it could pierce my skin.


    "Now!"


    ...


    Hurry up, damn it! I screamed in my mind.


    Nothing. Not a single sound. This was a disaster.


    Come on, heat up already!


    "Body conversion!"


    "Is this even working?" Tomie mocked, crossing her arms.


    "Shut up, don¡¯t distract me!" I shouted, frantic. "Turn it into ash already!"


    As my voice echoed in the room, something seemed to click. The diamond-shaped mark on my hand flared hot, and within an instant, my wrist burned with a sharp, searing pain.


    The corpse decayed and crumbled into ashes, which swirled upward, drawn by an unseen force, forming a vortex of gray mist.


    The sharp gaze that had been behind me vanished. Even though this was my second time witnessing it, I still couldn¡¯t believe my eyes.


    The mist spun faster and faster, its volume shrinking rapidly. When it finally condensed into a single point, a gray stone appeared on the floor.


    It was about the size of a mung bean¡ªtiny, unimpressive.


    I picked it up and handed it to Tomie, who stood there in a daze, her face frozen in shock.

 0011

    "This is the gray stone...?" Tomie asked, holding the tiny stone, no larger than a mung bean, between her slender fingers.


    Her surprised expression brushed against the raw nerves in my mind like warm water, a quiet sting.


    I nodded.


    "How do you use it?"


    "Just eat it."


    She shot me a glare, the kind a person gives when they want to devour you with their eyes.


    "I don¡¯t know," I admitted. "When I picked it up, it melted in my palm on its own."


    I shrugged, trying to sound casual.


    Tomie didn¡¯t seem to find any clues in my face. The truth was, I had no idea what I was doing. The fact that I¡¯d even managed to accidentally transform the gray stone felt like pure luck.


    Suddenly, an idea struck me. I tried to recall the moment.


    I was lost in thought when, without warning, Tomie tossed the gray stone into her mouth.


    "Hey! Are you crazy?!"


    I reacted instantly, trying to grab her hand, but it was too late. Her throat moved slightly, and she had clearly swallowed it.


    I clasped my head in my hands, panicking. "What now?!" I was so worried I didn¡¯t know what to do.


    "It... seems fine," she said, after a long pause, her tone oddly calm.


    "Really... nothing happened?"


    I watched her throat warily, and she stared back at me blankly. Then, for some reason, my gaze dropped, and I couldn¡¯t help but notice her chest. It wasn¡¯t intentional, but at this distance, the shape of her body had an almost magnetic pull. I''d been doing my best to avoid these thoughts out of politeness, but it was impossible not to notice, especially at this scale.


    I quickly averted my eyes, feeling heat rush to my ears.


    Tomie didn¡¯t look away. Her eyes remained locked on me for a moment.


    "Mmhm," she sneered coldly. "Never seen anything that big, have you?"


    I didn¡¯t expect that kind of question, and I hesitated, nodding slightly before quickly shaking my head, unsure how to respond. It felt like I had been caught cheating on a test. It was rare for me to be in such an awkward situation, and I felt exposed.


    Realizing that keeping my head down would only make me look guilty, I raised my gaze. But then, a shadow swiftly came toward my face.


    Tomie reached out with her right hand and grabbed my face.


    "Ah! That hurts!"


    I grabbed her arm, trying to free myself, but her grip felt like a vice. Her strength was incredible.


    "My grip can handle 400 kilograms," she said with pride.


    "Are you some kind of crocodile?!"


    "Let go of me! You¡¯re a liar! The gray stone must have worked, right?!"


    "It just worked," she laughed. "Now it¡¯s probably closer to 500 kilograms."Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    "Let go! You muscle-bound freak! Big-chested airhead!"


    I¡¯d only seen scenes on TV where people¡¯s faces were grabbed and then easily freed, and I¡¯d always laughed at how ridiculous it seemed. I never thought something so absurd would happen to me.


    Finally, she released me, and I fell to the floor in a heap. Tomie stood over me, hands on her hips, bending down to glare at me from above.


    "Muscle-bound freak? Big-chested airhead?"


    I rubbed my temples, my head still spinning. When I looked up, my gaze landed once again on her chest. It seemed even bigger now. Realizing where my thoughts had wandered, I felt a pang of guilt.


    I wasn¡¯t someone who usually made cutting remarks. But whatever the reason, once the words left my mouth, they couldn¡¯t be taken back. I often mocked people like that when watching TV or reading novels, but now I¡¯d made the same mistake myself. It was a bit of irony, really. I didn¡¯t want to make excuses for myself, and it was clear Tomie had every right to be angry.


    I had braced myself for punishment, though the physical pain from earlier felt trivial in comparison. I could take the pain, but Tomie? She had to endure the emotional hurt. No woman, no matter how tough, would be indifferent to such insults.


    Verbal abuse was cowardly. It wasn¡¯t something a man should do.


    I was ashamed of myself.


    "Sorry..." I muttered.


    "I didn¡¯t say I hated you," she replied, unexpectedly.


    I blinked in confusion, my mind reeling.


    "I just wanted to try something," she continued, extending her right hand and flexing her fingers, from pinky to thumb. "I¡¯ve been well-developed since I was young. I grew up fast, and I¡¯m used to men staring at me. In high school, a senior confessed to me, and when I turned him down, he started spreading rumors about me, claiming I had seduced him. The girls, too¡ªthey envied me and were jealous. You can guess how things went after that. Thanks to them, my high school years became a stain on my life."


    She spoke in a detached manner, and though I didn¡¯t understand why she was suddenly talking about her past, I couldn¡¯t help but listen quietly.


    Tomie paused for a moment, then smiled. It was a calm smile, but there was something hidden beneath it¡ªa hint of something darker.


    It was a bit unsettling. Was she still hurt by all that?


    "It was hard back then," she said with a bitter smile. "I really wanted to crush those idiots¡¯ skulls."


    "Uh... What does that have to do with me?"


    "Oh, because you were staring at my chest, it reminded me of those unpleasant times, so I decided to do what I couldn¡¯t do then, but with you. Sorry about the ''muscle-bound freak'' and ''big-chested airhead'' comments. I won¡¯t hold it against you."


    She stretched out her hand and helped me up. I dusted myself off, pretending it didn¡¯t bother me.


    "Forget it. It¡¯s really my fault."


    "Don¡¯t be mad," she said with a teasing smile. "As an apology, I¡¯ll allow you to stare at my chest. After all, it¡¯s something I¡¯m proud of."


    Tomie puffed her chest out proudly. "Only the excellent get envied. Envy leads to hatred."


    Proud of it? Was that confidence, or arrogance?


    No. Wait.


    I didn¡¯t need her permission!


    Earlier, I had mentioned that the diamond-shaped mark could reveal some information. Maybe it would work on Tomie too. But I had always tried to avoid prying into others¡¯ private matters, adhering to the principle of "do unto others as you would have them do unto you." Only now, since Tomie had started talking about her own past, did I decide to use the mark to check her details.


    **Name**: Tomie


    **Age**: 23


    **Occupation**: Graduate Student


    **Rating**: D


    Her rating was just as astonishing as her chest.


    Thinking about it, Tomie gave off a vague impression. Despite being a woman, she didn¡¯t seem to react like most people when facing new or unsettling situations. She remained calm in the face of death, unfazed by the gruesome sight of zombies. She even seemed bold enough to ignore the disgusting creatures entirely. I couldn¡¯t help but wonder what gave her such courage. She didn¡¯t seem careless, but she wasn¡¯t one to overthink either. Her judgment was sharp¡ªalmost as though she could read people¡¯s minds.


    I realized that she was one of those people who could adapt quickly to any situation.


    Survival of the fittest. Tomie was probably even more capable than I had originally thought.


    Where had this evaluation come from? Maybe her claim of 400 kilograms of grip strength wasn¡¯t just bragging. The thought lingered in my mind before I pushed it aside.


    What was clear was that if she had gotten here before me, she would have easily taken down the ghost dog. After all, leaving out the factor of strength, our intelligence levels weren¡¯t even in the same league.


    We continued clearing the rooms, following the same pattern. We collected a few bags of useful and possibly useful items and piled them up in a clean room on the second floor, which we decided to turn into a base.


    By now, the sun was already setting. The afterglow wasn¡¯t blinding, and the orange-red clouds spread out into the distance, gradually fading into a thin veil, finally merging with the blue sky.


    The light slowly dimmed, and the sounds of zombies and monsters echoed in the distance. Occasional screams and gunshots rang out, reminding us that there were still other people in the city. But in the dusk, everything felt more isolated, lonely, and melancholic.


    Tomie and I stood side by side in the hallway, gazing out at the broken cityscape.


    The dark night was fast approaching.

 0012

    Choosing the second-floor room was a well-considered decision. As we gazed out at the street, we saw monsters leaping from one skyscraper to another. For these creatures, with their remarkable agility, the large iron gates and four-meter-high walls of the courtyard posed no deterrent at all. And even though we hadn¡¯t noticed anything unusual in the courtyard or on the first floor, we couldn¡¯t completely rule out the possibility that something might emerge from underground.


    In this strange and unfamiliar world, we remained highly vigilant about any potential threats that hadn¡¯t yet materialized.


    The second floor, at five meters above ground, offered a much better chance of avoiding both ground-level and aerial attacks. It would at least buy us time to respond to danger. We rigged up an alarm system using empty cans and ropes, placing them in the hallway and at the stairwell. We also set up tables, chairs, and cabinets as obstacles on the stairs. In the worst-case scenario, we could jump out of the base¡ªfive meters wasn¡¯t high enough to cause serious injury.


    After clearing the rooms in the building, we gathered enough supplies to last three days¡ªmostly instant food and snacks. We also picked up a flashlight, a wrench, knives, and other tools. Additionally, we found thirty-seven pieces of Graystone, which we split between us, with me getting one more than Fujiang.


    Although I was the only one who could create Graystone, the thought of keeping it all for myself was quickly discarded. Such selfishness was unwise. One of my mottos had always been: "A moment of greed will bring long-term loss."


    I needed Fujiang¡¯s strength, and she needed mine. We were partners, comrades. If I were petty, how could I expect her to be generous? Trust was a gamble¡ªyou had to invest in it first. I¡¯ve always believed I have a good eye for people.


    During work, Fujiang would casually pop a piece of Graystone into her mouth now and then, making a satisfied, almost embarrassed sound. For a teenage boy like me, this was a bit of a problem.


    ¡°Stop eating them,¡± I said, frowning. ¡°You¡¯re starting to look like a junkie.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not good. I¡¯m counting on it,¡± she replied without missing a beat.


    ¡°Counting on it?¡± I stared at her, confused by her random statement.


    ¡°In three days, I have a match against a powerful opponent, so if I can get stronger, even a little, now¡¯s the time.¡±


    ¡°A match?¡± I asked, completely perplexed.


    Fujiang gave me a strange look.


    ¡°It has nothing to do with being a model student,¡± she said cryptically.


    Now, that was a curiosity. I shot her a playful eye-roll.


    ¡°Come on, I won¡¯t be shocked.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you definitely will be,¡± she responded, a smirk curling on her lips.


    ¡°Not going to happen¡­¡± I muttered, but she quickly cut me off.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°Underground fighting,¡± she blurted out.


    At first, I didn¡¯t take her seriously, unable to wrap my head around what she meant.


    ¡°Underground fighting? What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°Fighting in illegal underground gambling rings.¡±


    ¡°What?!¡± I straightened up, staring at her in disbelief.


    Fujiang, on the other hand, was completely unfazed. She was using a utility knife to carve some wood, occasionally holding it up to her eye to measure it with a thoughtful expression. She was intent on crafting a sturdy crossbow, but until she succeeded, I wasn¡¯t convinced she had the skill to pull it off.


    ¡°I make my living from it,¡± she said casually.


    ¡°Liar. You¡¯re a graduate student.¡±


    ¡°A graduate student doesn¡¯t pay the bills,¡± Fujiang shrugged. ¡°Graduate life is rough. I can¡¯t handle it. I want to eat well, wear nice clothes, and have fun¡ªall of that costs money.¡±


    I¡¯d heard that graduate school could be tough, but it didn¡¯t seem to be the case for all students. There were plenty of shady things happening, but that wasn¡¯t my concern. What struck me was how Fujiang had chosen to make money¡ªthrough underground fighting. It seemed utterly reckless.


    ¡°Surely you could easily get a good job?¡±


    ¡°Of course, but that¡¯s a hassle.¡± Fujiang gave me a condescending look. ¡°I can fight in one match, take a cut, and make five million. Regular jobs don¡¯t pay that fast.¡±


    Five million!


    I couldn¡¯t even imagine earning that much in my lifetime. Just for reference, I only got a hundred bucks a month for pocket money, which some of my classmates envied. The number Fujiang mentioned hit me like a tidal wave, leaving me dizzy and disoriented, with no sense of reality.


    ¡°Women¡¯s fighting?¡±


    ¡°Not just that. Most of the time, it¡¯s no-holds-barred, no gender distinction.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t that dangerous?¡± I asked, my voice tinged with concern.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Fujiang said with a smirk, her lips curling. She raised her right hand and pointed a finger at me, mimicking a gun. ¡°Danger brings wealth. As long as you win, it¡¯s all good.¡±


    Just win, and everything¡¯s fine? Fujiang seemed to never consider the possibility of losing.


    I¡¯d once imagined we might be compatible, but it seemed I was wrong. Our personalities and values didn¡¯t align at all. While danger could indeed bring wealth, I cared more about the cost-effectiveness of it all. I would choose a more stable, safer way to make money.


    ¡°What if you lose?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Such a dumb question,¡± Fujiang answered dismissively. ¡°Failure means death. Don¡¯t even think about it.¡±


    Her values were extreme, and I didn¡¯t know how to respond. Everyone had their own choices and struggles. Compared to me, Fujiang was the adult here, and I decided it wasn¡¯t my place to lecture her on personal matters.


    I decided to shift the topic and focus back on the task at hand. My job was to secure the windows with wooden boards and draw the heavy curtains to block out any light when we used the kerosene lamps and flashlights at night. So far, we couldn¡¯t be sure how the monsters would react to light.


    By the time I finished, it was already past seven in the evening. I was drenched in sweat, and my arms ached like they were about to cramp. Fujiang mocked my lack of stamina, but I didn¡¯t have the energy to respond. It was well past dinner time, and my stomach was growling.


    I lingered between the Graystone and food, tearing open bags of chips and chocolate.


    Using Graystone to fill my stomach would be a waste, even though it could definitely do the job.


    The stuff was a lot like the magic beans in the manga *Dragon Ball*¡ªit could heal wounds and fully restore energy in an instant. Despite its stone-like appearance, I sometimes wondered if it was even inorganic at all.


    ¡°Did you secure the windows?¡± Fujiang asked.


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°No zombies can break through, no light can leak?¡±


    ¡°Yep.¡±


    ¡°Then why not make some instant noodles?¡± Fujiang set a portable gas stove down in front of me. I recognized it from pictures¡ªone of those camping models. She fiddled with it for a moment, and soon, a soft blue flame flickered from the stove.


    As the night deepened, the room grew darker, and shadows danced on the walls. Fujiang¡¯s face, illuminated by the glow of the stove, was calm, and in that small, enclosed room, I found a strange sense of peace.


    ¡°Alright, fine,¡± I said. I grabbed an instant noodle cup¡ªYunchun¡¯s beef flavor, though there was, of course, no beef inside.

 0013

    Fujioka poured water into the pot. We couldn¡¯t find any drinks, only empty bottles. But the building¡¯s water pipes hadn¡¯t been cut off, so we filled the bottles with tap water. Although I worried the water might not be clean, boiling it should make it safe to drink.


    As we waited, Fujioka continued to work on her hand crossbow. With nothing to do, I took out my handgun. I had never mentioned it to Fujioka before¡ªnot out of secrecy, but simply because I had forgotten about it during the chaos.


    To be honest, when we were clearing out zombies, I didn¡¯t think a handgun would be more useful than an axe, especially since it only had six bullets.


    "Ha, a revolver," Fujioka glanced at it and chuckled, not at all interested in taking it.


    "It has six bullets, I¡¯ll give it to you," I said.


    "I¡¯d rather have your axe."


    "That¡¯s not happening."


    "Seriously," she looked up at me, staring with intensity, "I¡¯m better with an axe than you. Don¡¯t you think you¡¯re more suited to using a gun?"


    "I don¡¯t think so," I replied firmly.


    "Why? All men like shooting. It¡¯s a natural instinct to be a marksman." She said, dragging out the words as though giving a speech.


    "I¡¯ve only fired ten shots during military training, and it was with an outdated rifle... I think you¡¯re probably better with it than I am."


    "Listen, Akawa," she said, calling me by my first name. It sounded strange, almost intimate, but not quite. No one had ever called me that before; even my closest friends and parents always called me by my full name, "Takakawa."


    "Takakawa," a name that held a casual distance.


    "With a handgun, as long as you pull the trigger, it poses a threat. But with an axe, the real power depends on the skill of the user."


    "My skills are good. I killed the ghost dog."


    "But I handle it better. Whether it¡¯s you or me using the handgun, the power doesn¡¯t change much. Shouldn¡¯t we distribute our weapons wisely to maximize our combat effectiveness?"


    Fujioka met my gaze with a serious look. After a moment, I handed her the axe and placed the handgun back at my waist.


    She grabbed the axe with the delight of a child receiving a beloved toy, and smiled broadly.


    "Thank you."


    Suddenly, I had the urge to smoke, so I pulled out my cigarette case. It hit me then that I wasn¡¯t alone here, and I¡¯d never smoked in front of anyone before. Taking them out and putting them back felt awkward. Fujioka noticed my movements, narrowing her eyes.


    "Cigarettes? I knew it. All that ¡®top student¡¯ nonsense is just a lie, huh?"


    "No... maybe. I was a good student, top ten in my class, even made it to the finals of the math competition." I awkwardly defended myself. "Um... I¡¯ve even published articles in magazines and newspapers, and I get a scholarship every year."


    Fujioka gave me a knowing look, as if she had seen right through me.


    "Your classmates probably don¡¯t know, do they?"


    "...Some do."


    "But no one exposed you? So, you must be one of those bad students?" She stared at me like she was trying to read my face. "I wonder who else knows you smoke? Teachers? Friends? Family? ...Ah, you¡¯ve been lying to everyone. You big liar."


    "No... I just didn¡¯t want them to know," I explained dryly. "You know, it¡¯s personal."


    "You¡¯re so not straightforward."


    You¡¯re the one who¡¯s too blunt.


    "Okay, I¡¯m just like that," I gave up and lifted the cigarette. "Can I smoke?"


    "Give me one," she answered unexpectedly. Taking the cigarette, she added, "Camel? Nice, I like this brand."This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    I gave a meaningless smile.


    We lit our cigarettes using the gas stove, both of us inhaling and exhaling in silence as we waited for the water to boil.


    The water in the pot had been boiling for some time before we poured it into the cup noodles. After letting it sit for five minutes, we began eating voraciously. Fujioka was probably starving, making slurping noises without any care for her manners. She wasn¡¯t shy at all. Maybe she didn¡¯t care about that stuff. I usually ate instant noodles the same way, but they never tasted this good.


    During our meal, I mentioned a senior from my school, the one who had gone missing and returned with no memory.


    "Some people go missing and never return, others come back with no memory. It¡¯s something to keep in mind," I said.


    "If they all ended up here¡­" Fujioka shook her head, not finishing her thought.


    "The ones who can¡¯t come back are probably dead, or didn¡¯t find the right way. The ones with amnesia... maybe something happened to them on their way back, or maybe they don¡¯t want us to return with our memories," I speculated.


    "Why? Who are they? Didn¡¯t they say we were supposed to be the heroes saving the world? How can we do that without our memories?"


    "I don¡¯t know," I said, "But I want to try."


    "Try what?"


    "To record our memories. Write a journal, either in a notebook or on the computer, and then¡­ **."


    At this, I took out the notebook I had prepared and waved it in front of her.


    She stared at it for two or three seconds before nodding.


    "Let¡¯s do it."


    So, I began writing my journal, documenting everything from the old school restroom to everything that had happened up until now. I had intended to keep it simple, but with time on my hands and the experiences so vivid, it gradually turned into something more like a story¡ªcapturing my feelings, thoughts, and guesses, whether subjective or objective.


    For a moment, I felt like I was copying my own soul onto paper.


    Maybe I have the potential to be a novelist. But after reading it over, I realized it didn¡¯t quite match the feeling I had when I wrote it, and I couldn¡¯t help but wonder, *Is this really what I meant to write?*


    No wonder many authors tear up their drafts right away¡ªI think I finally understand their feelings.


    When I looked up, Fujioka was peering over my shoulder, having somehow approached silently. I quickly covered the pages with my arm, feeling embarrassed.


    "Don¡¯t hide it, it¡¯s pretty good," she said, smiling.


    I couldn¡¯t tell whether her smile was kind or mischievous, but it made me feel awkward.


    "If you want to see, you can write your own," I shot back.


    "That¡¯s boring, and I¡¯ve never written a journal or a story before," Fujioka suddenly suggested with enthusiasm, "How about we clean it up and submit it to a publisher when we get back? It could totally sell, it looks like a fantasy story. You could be a famous author one day."


    "Are you joking?"


    "Not at all. I¡¯m serious, but you have to make me look great."


    "My journal has nothing to do with you."


    "I¡¯m the heroine," Fujioka said, without a hint of embarrassment.


    I didn¡¯t want to dwell on this topic, so I asked about her crossbow.


    "It¡¯s done," she said, picking up the homemade hand crossbow from where she had been sitting.


    It wasn¡¯t quite a hand crossbow, more like a bow crossbow¡ªabout two feet long. It resembled a rifle with a bow attached, with a wooden frame, trigger, sights, and a shoulder stock. The bowstring was a tight mix of rubber and string, and if she didn¡¯t have enough strength to draw it, she could use a lever she¡¯d made herself to help.


    She also made six bolts, carved from wooden strips into half-round shapes, with shallow grooves carved on the flat side, sharp tips, and weighted ends.


    It looked like it could do some damage, though we weren¡¯t sure how effective it would be.


    Fujioka walked over to the window, slightly lifting the thick dark-blue curtain, and peered outside, then waved me over.


    I carried the crossbow to her side, and she took it, silently aiming it at a female zombie that was loitering outside the iron gate. I understood what she meant and, through the reinforced wood, I opened a small crack in the window.


    Fujioka drew the string, carefully inserted a bolt into the track, and aimed it like she would a rifle. Due to the limited window, my body almost pressed against hers, and I could feel the warmth radiating from her. It was the first time I was this close to a woman who wasn¡¯t a family member, and I felt uneasy.


    Fujioka¡¯s full attention was on the chosen zombie.


    I focused, following her gaze.


    The bowstring gave a soft twang, and the sound of the air slicing was almost imperceptible as the bolt flew through the night, barely visible in the shadows.


    The female zombie collapsed with a thud, the bolt protruding from her right eye.


    The sound of her falling stirred the other zombies, but they couldn¡¯t pinpoint the source of the noise and eventually quieted down.


    I closed the window, and Fujioka drew the curtain back. We returned to the portable gas stove.


    "At that distance, you need to aim for the eyes. Within twenty paces, you can pierce the skull," she said, tossing the crossbow to me. "The sound of a gunshot is too loud. You should use this instead."


    "But..."


    "I¡¯ll handle close combat with the axe. You cover us from a distance."


    A reasonable and practical pairing.


    "If you insist," I nodded, not bothering to say something silly like "men should be the ones to protect."


    Later, Fujioka and I made thirty more bolts and a quiver.


    After ten o''clock, we cleaned up the mess and laid out our bedding side by side.


    Though it hadn¡¯t been long since the apocalypse began, the fatigue felt like I¡¯d been working non-stop for three days straight.


    The moment I lay down, I had no intention of getting back up, but sleep still wouldn¡¯t come. My mind felt like a pile of scattered debris, spinning restlessly in a dryer, and my calm demeanor had shifted to something more alert, almost as if bouncing back from a low.


    Fujioka turned over, wrapped in her blanket, and faced me. She didn¡¯t say anything, just stared at me quietly, and I didn¡¯t speak either. We simply gazed at each other.


    In the silence, emotions hung in the air, delicate and undefined.


    The night was still only a third through. What would happen tomorrow?


    Would we make it out safely?


    "Do you want to hold hands?" Fujioka suddenly asked, her hand reaching out from under the blanket.


    After a while, I took her hand, and it was so warm.

 0014

    The danger was far from over, and I had no intention of falling into a deep sleep, but the combined exhaustion of both body and mind overwhelmed my vigilance. I slipped into a realm of perception, **which seemed like an endless ocean, my soul enveloped in cold seawater, pushed and pulled, rushing toward an unknown shore.


    I fell asleep¡ª


    I knew I had fallen asleep, which was a strange thing.


    No matter how hard I tried to wake up, I couldn¡¯t. My fallen soul, powerless, was like an insect trapped in amber¡ªunable to speak or move. The only thing I could control was my thoughts, yet even they were being eroded by a fear stemming from some deeper, darker part of my being.


    This was a dream, but not quite like a dream.


    I seemed to hear a voice:


    ¡°Come... the true name... Xi¡­¡±


    Who was calling me?


    I strained to open my eyes, pushing myself up to sit. The dark curtain in front of me made it hard to tell whether I was still in a dream or in reality.


    It was so quiet. The sounds of breathing and my heartbeat thudded in my ears. I was sweating, and my back felt damp and cold. I breathed heavily, sitting still as a low, distant howl echoed outside.


    As my eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, I noticed that Fujiye had also woken up, though I didn¡¯t know when. She didn¡¯t get up, but her eyes, wide open in the shadow, glimmered like those of a cat¡ªan eerie beauty. Only then did I realize I was still holding her hand, the soft warmth seeping through, as if an electric current was running through my palm. I reflexively tried to pull away.


    I couldn¡¯t break free.


    ¡°What time is it?¡± I asked.


    She released my hand and reached for the clock beside us. I turned on the flashlight, dimming it to the lowest setting, and leaned in. The light spread across the clock¡¯s glass face, and we were seemingly enclosed in a faint cocoon of light, feeling somewhat at ease.


    It was just past one in the morning. It felt like ages had passed, but I¡¯d only been asleep for less than four hours.


    I rubbed my face, running my fingers through my hair to straighten it, finally shaking off some of the haze. I wanted Fujiye to go back to sleep, but she had already sat up, looking as if sleep had completely left her. I felt a bit guilty, thinking my nightmare had woken her.


    She only shook her head.


    ¡°Was it a bad dream?¡±


    ¡°¡­Maybe.¡±


    I still remembered the dream and the call within it, but I couldn¡¯t explain it clearly. All I knew was that the dream was filled with darkness, confinement, and corrosion, like being trapped on the execution platform in hell. Was this dream significant? If the answer was yes, then that would be terrible.


    In the same environment, Fujiye seemed much more stable than I felt. When I asked if she had dreamed, she said she had. I suggested we exchange our dream contents out of concern, but she refused.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    In the dim light of the flashlight, Fujiye began to stroke her chin, laughing softly to herself in a way that made my skin crawl.


    Since she refused, I didn¡¯t push further. As for why I had such a dream, I speculated a few possibilities. Aside from the conventional dream theories, there were more fantastical reasons, involving hell, the apocalypse, and the grey stones.


    Maybe we, who had consumed the grey stones, were mutating¡ªwho knows?


    Suddenly, a sharp sound of branches scraping and snapping came from the courtyard, as if a heavy object had broken the tree branches. It was so sudden that we both immediately understood something was happening.


    As expected. We weren¡¯t naive enough to think we could get through the night unscathed.


    I turned off the flashlight immediately and exchanged a look with Fujiye. Silently, we crept toward the window. Fujiye carefully lifted the corner of the curtain, and my heart thudded loudly.


    Shapes in the courtyard began to emerge from the shadows, one of them near the left side, not quite matching my memory. The wind wasn¡¯t strong, but a tree near the wall was swaying drunkenly, its carefully trimmed branches appearing as though they had been chewed by a dog, looking rather grotesque.


    Something had entered. I saw the same realization in Fujiye¡¯s eyes.


    Aside from the first noise, it had made no other sounds, eerily like a dark fairy in the shadows.


    It was a creature accustomed to hunting in the dark. Even if it lacked intelligence, its lurking instincts were more cunning than those of the ghost dog.


    Fujiye lowered the curtain, and we returned to our previous positions.


    I checked my arrows and ammunition, secured my handgun, and picked up my crossbow. Fujiye¡¯s fingers traced the blade of her axe, the sharp sensation seeming to pierce through her arm and into her gaze.


    A sound of collision came from above us. We immediately stilled our breathing.


    From the noise, it seemed to be coming from the fourth floor. It triggered the warning traps we had set. The empty cans clinked with a dull, hollow sound, followed by the sound of objects being pushed aside. But we heard no footsteps.


    Neither Fujiye nor I had seen what it looked like, but the hollow echoes that rang through the corridor and stairs confirmed its proximity. One sound, two sounds, it passed through the corridor, climbed down the stairs, and nimbly avoided our traps.


    It stopped, then moved again, like a lion prowling the grasslands, squinting its eyes in search of prey. Had it discovered us?


    When I became accustomed to the darkness, the shadows no longer hindered my vision, only appearing as a faint veil between us.


    I exchanged a look with Fujiye, noticing she seemed just as tense. Her fingers gripped the axe handle tightly, then loosened, repeating the motion.


    Suddenly, Fujiye moved toward the door. I quickly grabbed her arm. She turned to look at me, her eyes full of determination and a murderous intent that seemed to say:


    "Let¡¯s go kill it!"


    Why? I conveyed my confusion with my eyes. There was no need to provoke it. If we stayed in the room, it might not find us. Even if it did, we could use the geography to our advantage.


    I dared not speak, afraid that it would hear me. Being able to move so deftly in the dark, it surely had keen senses. It looked like it had jumped in from the outside, and its physical abilities were extraordinary. The ghost dog could leap using walls and even cling to the ceiling. This unknown creature was certainly more agile.


    The corridor was full of obstacles, which put us, who could only run on the ground, at a disadvantage.


    The strategy at the time was simple¡ªdefend our stronghold.


    Go out to face it? Ridiculous. I mouthed to her silently, telling her that our chances were lower outside.


    Fujiye tilted her head, her face expressionless, making it hard to tell what she was thinking. The flicker in her eyes made me uneasy.


    She grinned, not mockingly, but with a stronger, more stubborn impulse.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go take care of it. You stay here,¡± she whispered in my ear.


    Her tone carried a strong, resolute will.


    ¡°Don¡¯t do anything stupid!¡± I said, though I knew I couldn¡¯t stop her.


    ¡°I have to go, or there¡¯ll be big trouble later.¡±


    ¡°How do you know?¡±


    ¡°Intuition.¡±


    Intuition!? I stared at her in disbelief, speechless.


    Fujiye gently opened the door, and the night¡¯s glow seemed to cascade over her lithe figure. I didn¡¯t want to go out at all, but I couldn¡¯t leave her to face that terrifying monster alone. As she was about to close the door, I swiftly approached and pressed my hand against it.


    Meeting Fujiye¡¯s questioning gaze, I nodded. ¡°Let¡¯s go together.¡±

 0015

    The night was cool and still, as if the air itself had become water. From the corridor, the shadows and outlines swaying in the wind seemed unreal, their forms distorted by the darkness. Beyond the walls, the world outside was in a frenzy, like a procession of ghosts, unseen but ominously audible. This only accentuated the unnatural calm within the building.


    The newly arrived monster lingered on the third floor for a while, then paused right above us, where Fuji and I held our breath. We looked up, straining to see it as though we could peer through the thick concrete. It remained completely still, its silence not bringing any sense of security.


    Fuji gestured for us to move forward, lifting her axe in a way that suggested she was ready to spring into action at any moment. I followed closely behind, casting wary glances at the hallway outside and behind us. When we reached the staircase, there was a sudden rustle, and a shadow flickered across the hall.


    It had fallen from the third floor.


    We froze, exchanging a quick glance of shock. I stepped forward, raising my crossbow and assuming a firing stance, peering over the railing.


    There was nothing below.


    I scanned the area to the left and behind, still no sign of movement.


    The building fell eerily silent, but I was certain the creature had noticed us. It was hiding somewhere in the shadows, like a skilled hunter, watching us without a sound. Its movements were unpredictable, which unnerved me deeply.


    I took a few cautious steps back, away from the hallway. I dared not turn around, fearing that a careless moment would mean my life. It was only the second floor, but the creature could easily leap over the walls or even climb up, perhaps waiting just below, ready to strike the moment I let my guard down.


    Pressing my back to the wall by the stairs, I subtly glanced at Fuji, who was also leaning against the wall opposite me. I shook my head. She looked down the stairs and quickly pulled back, shaking her head as well.


    She held up two fingers, signaling that we should go down.


    I had the same thought. Unlike the ghost dogs, this monster didn¡¯t seem to be able to turn invisible. The courtyard offered more space to maneuver and evade than the hallway, which was littered with obstacles.


    I felt like I was caught in a trap of my own making, but who knew what kind of monster we might face? Without the traps and barricades in the building, we wouldn¡¯t have been able to track its movements so quickly.


    Fuji motioned for me to stay put while she picked up an empty can from the ground and tossed it down the stairs.


    The can bounced and rolled, clattering noisily.


    I leaned out slightly, just enough to see the zigzagging stairwell below.


    The monster had been startled, its shadow flickering. I exhaled in relief; it was still an instinct-driven creature, not very intelligent.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    It charged quickly, and in the dimness of the night, I could only make out a bulky shape, nearly filling the entire staircase.


    Such a large figure was impossible to miss.


    Without hesitation, I pulled the trigger, the strong recoil thudding into my shoulder. The bolt struck the shadow with a muffled "thud."


    There was no need to check its wounds. I withdrew behind the wall and nocked another bolt.


    It didn¡¯t seem injured, but the attack had provoked the creature. It let out a high-pitched scream¡ªsurprisingly sharp and piercing for such a massive, heavy body. The sound was unsettling.


    Fuji leapt into action as I retreated. She stood at the center of the staircase, her axe in hand, ready to face the creature head-on.


    At that moment, I could do nothing but watch. As the bolt slid into place, the monster¡¯s furious screech echoed as it charged. Before I could react, Fuji swung her axe with a battle cry, crashing into the oncoming monster.


    In the blink of an eye, the two figures were sent tumbling out of the hallway.


    They fell from a height of less than five meters, and I rushed to the railing. Below, the two figures were entangled, the smaller, agile form of Fuji twisting and flipping onto the monster''s massive body. Like a cowboy on horseback, she used only her legs to steady herself, raising her axe high and hacking at its back with all her strength.


    It wasn¡¯t until the fourth strike that the axe finally pierced its tough hide. Blood sprayed like a fountain, drenching her in red. The creature bucked in pain, nearly throwing Fuji off.


    My heart was in my throat as I tracked them with my sights, hesitant to fire in case I hit Fuji.


    Finally, I got a clear view of the monster.


    It had the body of a four-legged animal, though no real creature resembled it. It had no tail, its body a thick inverted triangle, with a broad chest and a narrow waist, like one of those exaggerated muscle-bound comic book characters. Its head lacked eyes but bore a horn a foot long, and its jaw jutted out like an alligator¡¯s, with two exposed tusks hanging downward.


    Its neck was short, more like a human¡¯s, and was currently slashed open by Fuji¡¯s axe, revealing glimpses of bone.


    The creature surged forward, charging at Fuji. If it collided with her, she would be crushed under its weight. In a split second, she leapt off, rolling onto the grass. The fountain and the rock formation collapsed as the creature crashed into them, sending debris flying and splashing into the water below.


    The sound of the battle attracted the zombies outside, who began to gather by the iron gate, pressing against the bars and moaning in hunger.


    Covered in blood, Fuji stood motionless, her clothes clinging to her body, accentuating her powerful form, but there was nothing alluring about it. She held her axe, staring coldly at the water pool, looking more like a butcher or a serial killer than a warrior.


    After a brief pause, the creature surged up from the water, letting out a high-pitched scream as the water splashed out in torrents.


    Fuji didn¡¯t flinch. Instead, she roared back, her voice filled with a dominating fury that made the creature¡¯s screams seem like the dying struggles of a cornered animal.


    "It¡¯s insane," I thought, watching Fuji with a sense of dread. I couldn¡¯t read her expression, but I knew she was losing her grip on sanity. Yet there was no denying that Fuji now possessed more strength than ever before.


    Concern for Fuji''s safety gnawed at me, and before she made her next move, I took aim at the creature¡¯s open mouth and fired a bolt.


    The creature¡¯s tough hide absorbed the first shot without issue, so I aimed for its mouth this time. The size of the target and the distance made it a difficult shot for a novice, but for some reason, I had a strange confidence in my aim.


    It was as if, in that moment, I knew exactly what to do.


    A slight whistle of the bolt, and the roar of the creature was cut short.


    In the blink of an eye, the bolt drove deep into the creature¡¯s throat.


    Its scream turned into a choking wail, blood pouring from its mouth.


    The creature¡¯s head bowed down before Fuji, as if in agony¡ªor perhaps submission.


    Fuji stepped forward, her body leaning as though she might fall.


    But she didn¡¯t fall. Her first step was full of power, crushing the grass beneath her as she surged forward like a cannonball. The speed she reached in an instant was beyond anything a human could achieve.

 0016

    Fujiwara leapt into the air, as if invisible wings sprouted from her ribs. She soared over four meters high, gliding gracefully through the night. At the apex of her leap, she raised her axe, her body bending backward like a spring, poised to release all the pent-up force in the next moment.


    The monster, sensing the threat from above, chewed through its mouthful of blood as it lifted its head to meet Fujiwara¡¯s descending form. A faint blue arc shimmered along its long horn.


    I widened my eyes in surprise.


    The flying figure and the glowing horn were striking against the dim backdrop of the night, as if a blooming flower had blossomed in the darkness.


    This moment stretched out in my mind, yet seemed to last but an instant. The axe and horn collided with a force that felt almost magnetic, freezing both figures in place.


    The blue light seemed like a sensitive powder keg, ignited by the impact, forming a cylindrical cage that trapped Fujiwara within it.


    A burst of light blinded me, and I instinctively closed my eyes as everything around me lost its form. A crackling sound filled the air, accompanied by a sharp tingling sensation that made every hair on my body stand on end.


    A familiar word echoed in my mind.


    Lightning.


    A cage of blue electrical arcs.


    ¡°Fujiwara!¡± I screamed, panic rising in my chest. Though we had only known each other for a night, she was my companion. I couldn¡¯t stay indifferent like I did to the gruesome piles of corpses.


    I forced my eyes open, searching for that agile, powerful figure.


    The world remained hazy. The dark that I had grown accustomed to now appeared pale, and countless light-like specks danced in the air. Through the gaps, I caught a glimpse of a massive silhouette.


    I jumped from the railing, rolling forward as I hit the ground, scrambling to my feet and charging toward her.


    The crossbow was useless against the monster, so I discarded it and drew a revolver from my waistband, the one with only six bullets remaining.


    The lingering electric arcs were visible, like ripples in water, slowly fading. As I entered the current, the electric shock sent a cold chill through my spine.


    I gripped the gun with both hands, ready to fire, but I hesitated. I didn¡¯t want to risk hitting Fujiwara. Stepping forward, the scene became clearer. A charred human form had collapsed by the edge of the pool, hitting the rocks like a lifeless puppet.


    The monster¡¯s horn lost its blue arc, and it tried to jump out of the pool, aiming to trample Fujiwara, who lay motionless, uncertain of her fate.


    I raised my gun and fired without aiming deliberately. At this distance, with such a large target, there was no real concern of missing.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    The deafening gunshot echoed through the courtyard, the powerful recoil unexpectedly strong, causing my wrist to ache. I gripped the gun tightly, nearly pulled off balance.


    The monster was startled, its head turning just as the shot knocked it off course. Its legs wobbled slightly.


    I hit it!


    Though I hadn¡¯t aimed for its head, I was surprised at the accuracy. I never knew I could shoot so well.


    I¡¯d never been this precise even during military training.


    Perhaps it was luck, or something else unexplainable. I didn¡¯t have time to think about it.


    My heart raced, filled with both relief and worry, as I quickened my pace to reach Fujiwara.


    Her appearance was grim. Her long hair had exploded in all directions, and her torn clothes exposed large patches of skin, but there was nothing alluring about it. The exposed flesh was charred, radiating heat and the scent of burning, enough to make me hesitate to even touch her.


    I almost thought she had stopped breathing, but when I reached out tentatively, a barely audible groan reached my ears.


    Thank god, she¡¯s still alive.


    Fujiwara¡¯s body convulsed briefly, and then she turned over, opening her eyes to look at me. They seemed unfocused but not weak from the brink of death.


    Incredibly, despite the severe injuries, she still had the strength to move.


    Her gaze seemed to say something, but for now, I just wanted her to rest.


    I shoved a stone into her mouth, grabbed the back of her shirt, and dragged her away, right hand repeatedly firing at the monster. With each shot, my hand jerked, the recoil lifting my arm.


    I fired three times, each shot miraculously hitting the monster''s head, even destroying one of its eyes. The sudden barrage of fire threw the monster off balance, and it leapt out of the pool, its limbs thrashing.


    The recoil from my gun left my right hand weak, unable to pull the trigger again. I could only aim the empty weapon at it, trying to bluff.


    The monster, seeming to hesitate, didn¡¯t attack immediately. It just stared at us, its eyes and mouth showing a human-like caution and fury.


    I continued to drag Fujiwara backward. On the surface, I appeared calm, but the two remaining bullets in the chamber brought no comfort.


    What part of this huge creature could those last two bullets target to land a fatal blow?


    I¡¯d heard that the weight of the dead and unconscious is hard to bear, likely because they lose the ability to respond to external forces. Fujiwara wasn¡¯t unconscious, and her body could still move, but the weight on me didn¡¯t lessen much.


    Dragging her on like this wouldn¡¯t work. If the monster attacked, we¡¯d both likely be done for.


    The best way out of this was to kill the monster, but I still couldn¡¯t figure out how to do that.


    The monster was heavily wounded, blood flowing freely with no signs of healing, clearly weaker than before. Yet, it still possessed its ability to move and its electric power, putting it at an advantage.


    Was I really left with no options?


    I took a deep breath, releasing Fujiwara and locking eyes with the monster. My hand reached for the axe in her grip.


    Though she seemed to lack strength, her hand gripped the axe like a vice. It took all my strength to loosen her fingers.


    I couldn¡¯t tell if this was a reflex or if Fujiwara truly didn¡¯t want to let go.


    Finally, I pried the axe free and held it in my left hand. I began to move carefully, avoiding agitating the monster, edging away from her side.


    The monster¡¯s body shifted to follow my movement.


    Good. Now it was focused on me.


    What should I do next?


    I discarded all thoughts of morality, of acting out of haste or selfish desires. In the depth of this night, it was just me and this wounded beast.


    Fujiwara¡¯s attacks hadn¡¯t been useless. The monster had weaknesses.


    Its injuries, its rage, its movements¡ªall of them left traces.


    ¡°Right, the head. It¡¯s always the head.¡±


    The electric-hurling horn, the torn neck, the blinded eye, the holes in its face¡ªeach injury was a sign of distress and fear.


    It hadn¡¯t shown any more signs of releasing its electric charge. That massive discharge earlier seemed like a desperate, last-ditch move.


    Now, it was only posturing, much like I was.


    I couldn¡¯t give it any time to recover.


    With that thought, I advanced toward it.

 0017

    The monster exhaled sharply, revealing the broken end of a crossbow bolt lodged in its mouth. As I approached within five meters, it charged at me like a rampaging bull.


    Its initial speed was astonishing.


    Before I could even blink, I rolled to the side. A burst of grass and twigs exploded from the ground as the gust of wind whooshed past. I stabilized myself, noticing two deep furrows left behind, the end marked by massive footprints. But the monster''s enormous body had already vanished from view.


    The objects hidden in the moonlit night suddenly dimmed. I looked up, and a shadow as dark as storm clouds covered the moon, pressing down like a mountain. Before I could rise, I scrambled to the side, rolling a few times in a hurry.


    The monster''s heavy body crashed down just over a meter away, shaking the ground beneath me, as though a landmine had gone off beneath its feet. Turf and stones flew through the air, hitting me. My heart raced¡ªwas it fear or excitement? Either way, it was an exhilarating sensation. My stomach turned sour, and my kidneys seemed to tighten.


    Spitting out the grass and dirt, I raised my gun and fired at the monster''s face. Its other eye was obliterated. The deafening sound of the shot echoed through the night sky, leaving my ears ringing. Before the noise had subsided, the massive iron gate began to shake, as though a tidal wave were crashing against it, the zombies outside pressing against it with such force it seemed like they might topple it.


    The monster screamed again, its pain and frustration clear. The wounds on its body, its sudden blindness, and the taunting from its prey all seemed to drive it to madness.


    Before it could completely lose control, I scrambled to my feet and dashed in an arc behind it, praying its hearing and sense of smell weren¡¯t sharp enough to compensate for its blindness.


    It began to thrash about, blindly charging in every direction. It had no awareness of my presence, even as I held my breath and hid in the shadows. I let out a quiet sigh of relief¡ªnow that I had the initiative, I could take my time and deal with it.


    We weren¡¯t holed up in a base, nor had we turned the hallway into a battlefield. In the face of this monster''s terrifying physicality and destructive power, the wide open lawn allowed me the freedom to implement a guerrilla strategy. ¸»½­¡¯s earlier decision to lead had proven its worth. I wasn¡¯t sure how she had figured it out¡ªperhaps it was a guess¡ªbut even if luck had a hand, it was clear that fate was on our side.


    The only flaw was that ¸»½­ had been severely wounded. Her bravery had left me in constant fear, and I had thought this would be her moment. Yet, she had suffered greatly.


    If I had been at the front, I wouldn''t have been in any better shape.


    The monster swung in a few different directions before crashing into the water fountain, sending rocks scattering. Water spilled out from the gap, splashing over it. This sudden shock seemed to slow its movements. I gripped the axe¡ª it was starting to wake up.


    This wasn¡¯t the worst outcome. Even if I wanted to take advantage of the chaos, I couldn¡¯t match its speed. I couldn¡¯t predict its erratic movements.


    How many would dare approach a mad bull? How many could avoid getting caught in its wild flailing?


    It finally quieted down, and I saw an opening to move closer.


    The monster leaned against the broken edge of the fountain. If I hadn¡¯t seen the slight rise and fall of its chest with each breath, I might have thought it was on the verge of death.


    It was indeed weak, but far from finished.


    Many crafty animals feign death¡ªperhaps this monster was trying to lure me in.


    I had one bullet left in the chamber. I was starting to feel the weight of my dilemma¡ªwhat harm could one measly bullet do to its head? I had read in some books about hunting large game, and they often recommended high-caliber firearms for beasts of this size.Stolen story; please report.


    A regular person armed with just a hunting rifle wouldn¡¯t even be able to take down a wild boar.


    This creature before me was no wild boar.


    The cool night breeze couldn¡¯t shake the warmth from my body. I shoved a few pieces of graystone into my mouth. They quickly dissolved within me. Perhaps it was my physical exhaustion, but my mind seemed unusually sharp, and I could clearly feel the heat currents that coursed through my body as the graystone broke down. Some of the warmth seeped into my skin and internal organs, enveloping me in a subtle warmth. The rest flowed into my left wrist, where it disappeared.


    The symbol of the diamond-shaped tattoo on the inside of my left wrist seemed to pulse.


    Perhaps the incredible abilities that ¸»½­ displayed weren¡¯t just a result of her innate talent and frequent use of graystone. She didn¡¯t have the diamond tattoo, so all the power from the graystone must have been absorbed directly into her body.


    Such thoughts flitted across my mind like swallows.


    I noticed a large tree about ten meters away, its trunk thick enough that even an adult couldn¡¯t wrap their arms around it. A swing made of wooden planks and iron chains hung from one of its sturdy branches, swaying gently in the wind. I crept quietly toward it, walking all the way to the base of the tree. I picked up a stone from the ground and hurled it at the monster.


    The monster remained motionless. I picked up a larger stone, but before I could throw it, the creature spun around, and its long horns once again sparked with blue arcs of electricity.


    It turned toward me, and I quickly ducked behind the tree trunk. The flash of lightning was almost instantaneous, but from my position behind the tree, I only felt a surge of heat and smelled the sharp scent of burning wood and grass. I involuntarily took two or three steps back.


    The lightning didn¡¯t ignite the tree. I jumped out of the shadow and threw the stone with all my strength. It hit the monster squarely in the nose. It stopped emitting electricity, charging toward me instead. But without sight, it crashed straight into the tree.


    The swing jerked violently, as if it might detach from the branch. Leaves and broken twigs showered down, along with several large green fruits, all of which landed on the monster.


    Its horn became deeply embedded in the tree trunk. Seizing the opportunity, I rushed forward and swung the axe with all my might, aiming for its long horn.


    It felt like striking metal¡ªso hard.


    The monster twisted its body, trying to pull its horn free, but it couldn¡¯t. It struggled like a clown wrestling with the tree.


    Seeing this, I gathered my courage and swung again, this time aiming for the base of the horn where it connected to its forehead, as though trying to dig the horn out from its skull.


    The monster recoiled from the blow, staggering backward. The horn was ripped free from the tree, and its forehead was covered in blood, skin and muscle torn. Its body wavered as if it could barely stay upright.


    I charged at it like an executioner, aiming for the wound I had just made at its neck. The axe bit into bone, but the bone was too hard to sever, and instead, the axe became lodged there. With a violent shake, the monster jerked its head, pulling the axe out of my hands.


    It seemed to realize that death was near and went berserk again, charging toward the spot where it had been struck. It reared up, flailing its front limbs wildly. I barely avoided being struck and quickly ran away.


    Now, with only a single bullet left in my revolver, I was at a loss. But, between the two of us, the monster had taken the worst damage. The problem was, I no longer had the weapon to deal a lethal blow.


    I had no choice but to abandon the opportunity to press the attack, letting the monster continue its rampage while I hurried back to ¸»½­ to check on her injuries.


    After swallowing more graystone, her severe external injuries hadn¡¯t improved, but her mental state had clearly recovered. Though speaking was difficult, she managed to say something.


    ¡°Such¡­ such a mess¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t speak.¡±


    I shoved more graystone into her mouth. She had already consumed all of hers earlier during our rest, but I still had ten left.


    Even if I gave her all ten, it would likely be only a small comfort in the face of such severe wounds.


    Using the diamond tattoo should have given me some insight into the monster¡¯s abilities, but despite calling upon it several times, there was no response.


    Still, I felt that this electric-powered monster was stronger than the ghost dogs we¡¯d faced before.


    It had to be killed. If I could turn it into graystone for ¸»½­, she would recover quickly.


    With that in mind, I retrieved the crossbow, loaded it, and made my way back toward the monster.


    It was still pacing between the fountain and the swing, having gained nothing from its thrashing. It collapsed to the ground, breathing heavily.


    Its sense of smell and hearing didn¡¯t seem as acute as I had expected, perhaps due to its injuries and the mental strain. The wind was also unfavorable, and the incessant zombie wails and the banging on the iron gate added to its distraction.


    The axe was still embedded in its neck.


    An idea formed in my mind. Avoiding the wind, I circled around to the other side of the fountain, where a smooth rock stood, about two meters high. Such rocks were common in parks, often used for decoration. Children would often play on them.


    This rock could help me.