Ethan's breath came in ragged gasps, his body shaking from exhaustion, his fingers numb from gripping his bloodied hunting knives. The deafening growls, screeches, and inhuman howls of the mutant horde filled the air. Hundreds—no, thousands—of grotesque creatures surged toward him from all directions, a sea of hunger and madness.
His vision blurred from blood dripping down his forehead, his injuries screaming at him to stop. But his mind had long since ignored pain. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping him standing.
Cole had betrayed him. That bastard had shoved him into this nightmare and ran, leaving him as bait for the monsters. Ethan didn't have time to process the betrayal. He had only one thing left: to fight.
He ripped open the last pouch of ammo strapped to his vest. Seven magazines. A handful of shells. Two pistols, one shotgun, and an assault rifle. And his knives.
That would have to be enough.
The first wave came, a writhing mass of decayed flesh, snapping jaws, and grotesque, twisted bodies. Ethan didn't hesitate.
He raised his rifle and unleashed hell.
A storm of bullets shredded the front line of mutants. The air reeked of gunpowder and rotting flesh as heads exploded and limbs were torn apart. He fired until his rifle clicked empty.
No time to reload.
He dropped the rifle, pulled out his twin pistols, and kept moving.
Two shots to the head—a mutant collapsed.
Three shots—another fell.
Four shots—a screeching beast with an elongated jaw lunged at him.
Ethan dodged, spinning to the side as the creature's claws ripped the air where he had stood. He slammed the barrel of his pistol under its chin and fired.
Boom. Its skull burst open like a rotten fruit.
Another mutant tackled him from behind. Ethan crashed into the ground, breath knocked out of his lungs. Clawed fingers scratched at his throat.
He jammed his pistol into its eye socket and pulled the trigger.
Brains splattered his face.
He shoved the corpse aside and rolled to his feet. His pistols clicked—empty.
He tossed them away. Only one weapon left.
The shotgun.
A hulking Level 2 mutant roared as it charged through the horde, towering over the rest. Muscles bulged under its grotesque, skinless form. Its red eyes burned with hunger as it leaped toward Ethan.
Ethan raised the shotgun and fired.
Boom. The first slug tore through the mutant's shoulder. It barely slowed down.
Boom. The second shot blasted into its ribs, staggering it.
Boom. The third shell ripped through its knee, bringing it crashing down.
But the beast didn't die. It reached out with inhuman speed, grabbed Ethan's leg, and hurled him across the battlefield.
Ethan crashed through a rusted car. His ribs cracked. Pain erupted in his body.
But he still held his shotgun.
The Level 2 mutant lumbered toward him, roaring in rage.
Ethan forced himself up, coughed blood, and aimed.
Boom. A direct hit to the face.
The mutant's head snapped back, skull fractured. It stumbled, but still, it didn't fall.
Ethan had one shell left.
As the beast lunged, Ethan pressed the barrel against its mouth and pulled the trigger.
Boom. The back of its head exploded.
The massive corpse collapsed.
But there was no time to celebrate. The rest of the horde was still coming.
Ethan's shotgun was empty. He was out of bullets.
A mutant jumped at him—he met it with his knife, slashing its throat open. Blood sprayed over his hands, warm and putrid. Another lunged—he spun and buried his second knife in its temple.
They were everywhere. Surrounding him. Closing in.
His muscles screamed. His body ached. His vision blurred.
But he kept fighting.
Slash. Stab. Twist. Kill.
His knives tore through rotting flesh, severed tendons, pierced skulls. He moved like a ghost, slipping between grasping hands, his blades a blur of silver and red.
But he was slowing down.
A mutant's claws raked his back. Another sank its teeth into his arm.
He screamed. Ripped the knife out and stabbed its eye.
More came. Too many.
His strength was failing.
Then—
Boom!
A gunshot ripped through the air.
Ethan barely registered it before another shot tore through a mutant's skull.
Then another. And another.
Someone was shooting.
The mutants hesitated, some turning toward the sound. A figure emerged from the shadows.
A tall man in tactical gear, carrying a high-powered rifle.
"Get down!" the stranger barked.
Ethan, on instinct, dropped to the ground.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Three precise shots. Three headless mutants.
The stranger moved fast, clearing a path. His rifle spat death, dropping the monsters one by one.
Ethan forced himself to his feet. Blood dripped from his wounds. His vision swam. But he would not die here.
The man tossed him a loaded pistol.
"Can you still fight?" the stranger asked.
Ethan grinned despite the pain. "Always."
Together, they fought their way through the endless horde.
Each shot, each kill, brought them closer to survival.
And as Ethan's adrenaline-fueled last stand turned into a desperate escape—
He realized his fight wasn't over yet.
It was just the beginning.