The sounds of rapid fire rang out in a steady rhythm, the sounds of people running and shouting, drowning out in all the chaos.
The soldiers committed to it, and without hesitation, they rained bullets on the young boy, uncaring about his tender looks.
He had openly committed a crime, killing a fellow Human without cause… So they thought.
"What a hassle," the boy's voice seemed to pierce through all the noise and reach the soldiers' ears.
He stood calmly, watching the hail of bullets pelt against a translucent barrier, causing no harm whatsoever to him.
"Cease fire! Cease fire!!" The squadron leader commanded, raising a fist.
The soldiers paused, not to reload, but only because they realised their bullets were harmless, having been shattering against the barrier all along.
They knew that the world as they knew it was no more, so they had hoped—even just a little—that their bullets were effective.
Alas…
They collectively took a step back and shared fearful glances, their faces paling considerably.
In the short moment that they had stopped firing though, the young boy moved, his body accelerating in a line of yellow and orange, flickering flames dancing in the palms of his hands.
"You've been scratched."
Those were the last words a soldier heard before a hole was blown right through his body, his eyes dimming as blood poured out of his mouth, his body dropping to the ground.
In a flash, the boy was gone, and an explosion resounded in another place, another Human falling to the ground.
The carnage spread as the boy went on a rampage, killing those who had been scratched or bitten by the Zombies.
He truly wasn't lying when he said a person had been bitten or scratched. After all, as a member of the Slith family—the third strongest lineage on Earth—their affinity for purity and divinity was top notch, so discerning someone who was infected was as easy as breathing.
***
An hour later, there was a solemn and gloomy silence within the bunker.
Dead bodies were sprawled all around. Both men, women, and children alike.
The young teenager stopped as the last of the infected had been dealt with.
He stood amidst the carnage, standing still with a blank expression on his face as though he hadn't just massacred over two hundred people.
Those left were just a few.
The bunker wasn't created for long duration sheltering, so it was basically equipped. But now that the atmosphere had been ruined, with things toppled over and destroyed, no one would even want to be there a second longer.
The soldiers, meanwhile, were running around like headless chickens. With everything in disarray, and not knowing what to do, they had no choice but to evacuate.
Communication with their superiors wasn't possible. The signals seemed to be jammed, and what they heard whenever they tried to connect was static.
The sound of metal groaning was heard, an engine wiring to life as a metallic door began to open.
There was no need for an announcement.
Those lucky to be alive rushed out like a flood, into the open, where Zombies roamed.
Now they had a choice to make.
Die… Or evolve.
***
Ozias walked out of the salon, a sharp glint in his eyes; his weapon in hand.
His goal—a dungeon.
He approached a Zombie boldly, tightening his grip on his weapon.
Cole had done it lots of times, and even he had done it before, so why couldn't he do it again?
"Always go for the head," Ozias repeated the same words Cole had told him.
A Zombie's weakness was its brain, and once their heads were separated from their body, or their brains were destroyed, their body stopped functioning wholly.
However, there were some that defied reason and could live on, only able to be killed with special measures—like his supervisor for example.
Ozias has pierced a hole through the Zombie supervisor's head, but he was still able to move, hinting that it was not dead.
However, he didn't let that get to him. He approached the Zombie from behind, trying to be as stealthy as possible. But Zombie's had a keen sense for Humans, making Ozias' presence known the moment he stepped into its range.
The Zombie's head snapped in Ozias' direction, its head making a full 180 degree sharp turn effortlessly.
Its body pivoted oddly, and it made a beeline towards Ozias, its guttural growls rising.
Being only three meters away from the Zombie, Ozias braced himself and tightened his grip on his weapon.
The cogs in his mind spun, his mind beginning to work faster, his ears cancelling every other sound out, and his eyes zoning in on the opponent. Every other thing seemed to become unimportant.
As the Zombie reached striking range, Ozias drew a line across the air, bringing down his spear with dreadful force.
The fairly Human-like Zombie was whacked to the side, losing its balance and falling to the ground.
Its body suddenly spun and bent like all its joints were synovial, landing on all fours.
Ozias cringed upon seeing this, but he steeled his mind and moved forward, stabbing his weapon through its head before it could get up.
He watched as tiny particles of light floated from the body, and entered his, filling him with a revitalising feeling.
'It's just like he said,' Ozias thought, staring at something only he could see.
___
[Apocalypse System]
—
>[PROFILE]
-[Name: Ozias Draven]
-[Race: Human]
-[Race Grade: F+]
-[Title(s): —]
-[Lineage: ???]
—
>[STATS]
-[Physical: 2.1%]
-[Mental: 0.1%]
-[Spiritual: 0.9%]
-[Flow: 1]
-[Karma: 1]
-[Affinity: ???]
—
[Comprehension(s): Basic Spear Mastery]
—
>[Inventory: —]
–––
His Physical Stat had gone up by 0.1 percent.
Cole hadn't told him what everything on the screen meant. He only directed him on how he could know, which was quite easy.
All he had to do was make his intent known, and the Apocalypse System would attend to it.
___
[Physical: A Stat that shows the percentage of power you can output from your Race]
–––
To say he wasn't stunned when he read this was a big lie.
If what the Apocalypse System described it as, was true, then he had only brought out only 2 percent of what his race had to offer?!