The ground trembled harder.The herd wasn't just running—they were fleeing for their lives.
Then, from the shadow of the forest, something else burst out.Not beasts.Not men.But corpses—scores of them—charging on all fours like wolves, eyes burning crimson, jaws split wide.Their flesh hung loose, dripping black ichor as they ran. The air itself curdled with the smell of rot.
B-class zombies led the pack—towering brutes that could leap three stories high and crash down with bone-splitting force. One vaulted over a fleeing beast, claws slicing through its spine midair; another came down hard on a ram's back, ripping its skull open in a single blow.
The truck skidded sideways, dust exploding around it. Ethan slammed the brakes. Metal screamed as the tires locked.
For a heartbeat, everything was still—then the sound hit them.A low rumble.Then the wet, tearing crack of flesh.
Dozens of corpses burst through the dust. They weren't shambling—they were hunting. Ten, twenty, maybe more, moving like wolves drunk on blood. Their blackened skin split as they ran, jaws unhinging wide enough to bite through steel.
Behind them, C- and D-class crawlers scrambled after the kill, shrieking and snapping, tearing apart whatever remained.The mutant beasts that hadn't escaped were already being devoured—ripped open, stripped clean.
A massive horned ram spun back, roaring, its spiral horns glinting like polished blades. It skewered a low-rank zombie clean through the skull, flinging the body aside. Another ram swung its head and smashed two corpses into the dirt—only for a B-class to come crashing down from above, claws driving straight through the beast's neck.
The impact shook the ground. Blood sprayed across the truck's windshield.Then—through the rolling dust—a swarm of corpses turned toward the sound of the engine.A dozen pairs of red eyes locked onto the truck at once.The pack split from the main horde, sprinting straight for them on all fours.
The first hit came like a hammer.Bodies slammed into the metal frame, claws screeching against steel.The whole vehicle jolted sideways, tires skidding in the blood-soaked mud.Another wave followed, corpses clawing at the sides, pounding against the glass, their teeth gnashing inches from Ratty's face.
He barely noticed the others inside.Through the blur of motion and gore, all he could see was the hunt—the chaos, the strength, the wild beauty of it.Each roar, each impact, each splatter of blood sent heat through his veins.
He should have been terrified.But he wasn't.Every instinct screamed danger, yet something deeper roared in answer.The reek of rot, the thunder of hooves, the shrieks of dying beasts—every sound fused into a single, pounding rhythm.
He didn't flinch.He leaned forward.He wanted to see more.