Xiao Ke's blood ran cold when the three-headed hellhound rose from the tall grass.
He knew exactly what he was looking at: a level-five zombie. At level five, they could shrug off small-arms fire. They moved with the lethal speed of a cheetah and the raw power of a lion. One bite from any of its three sets of fangs was a death sentence.
The Empire had only managed to develop a serum for infections below level five. Anything higher, and it was over. There was no cure, no treatment. Infection meant a guaranteed, agonizing death.
But its tough hide and deadly claws weren't what made the hellhound truly terrifying.
The real horror was that the zombies were evolving. In the early days of the apocalypse, they were mindless husks. But as the years dragged on, the more advanced ones started to think. The higher the level, the smarter they got. The top-tier zombies, the legendary Corpse Emperors, were said to possess intellects that could rival humanity's greatest minds. It was this evolution that had turned the war against the undead into a perpetual, unwinnable stalemate.
And this level-five hellhound was smart.
The damn thing had crippled the wandering herb-gatherer on purpose, tearing up his leg just enough to keep him alive and screaming. It was using his cries as bait, a living lure to draw more prey out into the open. The beast was patiently waiting for dinner to deliver itself.
As Xiao Ke's team stood frozen in shock, the lion-bodied creature pushed itself to its feet. Six eyes across three heads glowed with a feral, bloodthirsty light as they locked onto the small combat squad.
For a moment, the creature hesitated. The number of armed humans, the armored off-road vehicle, and the heavy military truck seemed to give it pause. It was like a wild lion studying a pack of guard dogs, calculating the risk before committing to the attack.
Xiao Ke had faced down wolves and leopards in the jungle before. He knew the cardinal rule: you don't run. As long as you stood your ground and didn't break, the predator would often hold back, assessing the threat. He saw that same hesitation in the hellhound now. It was weighing its options—attack now, or wait?
He opened his mouth to give the order. "Don't move. Don't scream. Don't even flinch." The moment you run, it knows you're scared, and that's when it strikes.
But he was too late.
"It's up! It's looking right at us!" one of the more skittish soldiers shrieked. "It's gonna kill us! Run!"
Xiao Ke's face hardened. "No! Hold your position!"
It was useless. These weren't hardened soldiers; they were deserters, men who had already chosen fear over duty once before. Xiao Ke was still new as their Decurion and hadn't earned their absolute trust yet. Worse, their Centurion, Qin Bing, had given them standing orders before the mission: If you see a level-five, you run.
And so they ran. Despite Xiao Ke's command, four soldiers broke formation and fled in blind panic. Three scrambled back toward the military truck. The fourth, a skinny kid named Lu Chang, sprinted off alone into the open wasteland, his mind clearly shattered by terror.
The hellhound's hesitation vanished. Seeing its prey scatter like sheep, it let out a guttural roar and exploded into motion, becoming a terrifying blur as it closed the distance on the lone runner.
"Lu Chang, look out!" Xiao Ke yelled.
Lu Chang was weighed down by his gear; he wasn't fast. The hellhound moved like lightning. He heard Xiao Ke's shout and instinctively skidded to a halt, turning just in time to see the monster descending upon him. He fumbled to raise his Hornet assault rifle, his face a mask of pure horror.
He never got the shot off. The hellhound swatted the rifle from his hands with one of its massive forepaws. Its central head lunged forward, jaws gaping, and clamped down on his neck. There was a sickening, wet crunch. Lu Chang was dead before his body hit the ground.
The three heads began to snarl and snap at each other, fighting over the fresh kill as they tore into the ragged, gushing stump of his neck.
The sight of his man being butchered sent a surge of hot rage through Xiao Ke. He snapped his rifle up and emptied the magazine into the creature.
To his shock, the bullets barely seemed to faze it. They tore into its hide but didn't penetrate deep enough to do any real damage, sticking to its skin like grotesque metal ticks. The attack was less of an injury and more of an annoyance—and it pissed the hellhound off.
Abandoning its meal, it whipped around and charged straight for Xiao Ke.
Fear spiked in his gut, but he didn't run. With practiced speed, he slammed a fresh magazine into his rifle. He planted his feet, straightened his back, and brought the weapon to his shoulder, lining up the sights on the hellhound's central head as it bore down on him. He squeezed the trigger.