The dwindling number of defenders—barely a few dozen themselves—found it impossible to cover every angle. Paige clenched her jaw, frustration evident in her voice.
"This isn’t working," she growled. "Reinforcements are still three hours out. If we don't find a way to hold, we’re screwed."
Miles nodded grimly and without hesitation, sprinted into the courtyard like a shadow unleashed. His speed was monstrous—inhuman. In the blink of an eye, he disappeared among the chaos.
From the barricade, a stunned special forces soldier lowered his rifle, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Jesus Christ... Is that guy even human? He’s faster than those damn freaks!" he muttered, pulling off his helmet.
Paige narrowed her eyes, deep in thought. There was something different about Miles—something more than human.
Blades flashing and gunfire roaring, Miles cut down more than a dozen of the fleeing undead. But the remainder had already slipped beyond reach. Cursing under his breath, he changed tactics, sprinting into the hospital’s main tower and taking an elevator straight to the rooftop.
Using a steel wire launcher strapped to his wrist, he scaled the last few meters to the very top. Up here, with the cool wind whipping around him and the sprawling hospital grounds laid bare below, he could see everything. Thanks to his enhanced spirit stat, his vision had sharpened beyond human limits.
Miles squinted, scanning for movement. The mutated zombies were large enough that spotting them wasn't the issue—it was the distance. They were simply too far for accurate shooting.
No choice.
Opening his system interface, Miles navigated to the shop and spent his hoarded game credits, purchasing a weapon he’d been eyeing for a while.
Foxhunter Sniper Rifle — 800 Credits
Once it materialized in his hands, he eagerly pulled up its stats:
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Attack Power: 250
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Magazine Size: 10 rounds
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Effective Range: 3000 meters
Miles grinned and immediately bought fifty extra magazines with another fifty credits.
Just in time. A crawler was skittering away across the old hospital grounds.
Raising the Foxhunter, he locked onto the creature through the optical targeting scope, exhaled slowly, and pulled the trigger.
CRACK!
A thousand-meter shot thundered across the rooftop. The crawler’s head exploded like a melon dropped from a high-rise.
Miles whooped aloud.
"Hell yeah! Four years off and I’ve still got it. Come on, baby—watch Grandpa here snipe some heads!"
High on adrenaline, he quickly spotted three more crawlers making a break for it.
CRACK!
One went down instantly, a clean headshot.
He shifted aim to the second, but it had already noticed something was wrong and bolted. His shot clipped it in the back, shattering its spine and sending it tumbling helplessly across the asphalt. Without missing a beat, Miles finished it with a final bullet to the skull.
Sniper fire suddenly erupted from the nearby buildings as well. Other soldiers had taken positions and were picking off stragglers.
Miles chuckled.
"Looks like the army’s got a few aces too. Good. This six-hour siege might actually be doable now."
With most of the immediate threats eliminated, he settled prone on the rooftop, rifle ready, mentally preparing himself for the long wait.
But the apocalypse had no intention of letting them rest.
From the hospital’s main entrance, a new wave of gunfire erupted—louder and more desperate.
Miles immediately swung around to look.
His blood ran cold.
The corpses of fallen soldiers, doctors, and patients—those killed hours ago—were now staggering to their feet, their flesh sloughing off, their eyes empty and hungry.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
And there were thousands of them.
Jamie’s voice crackled through the comms, dry with exhausted humor.
"Knew it. Nothing good ever comes easy in this hellhole. No way they were gonna let us earn 2000 credits without bleeding for it."
Without waiting, Miles vaulted back down through a rooftop window, landing in a dusty hallway. His sniper rifle was too slow for what was coming. He quickly swapped to his Foxhunter Assault Rifle and charged down the stairwell.
Every corner he turned, fresh undead lunged at him—once-human monsters in tattered scrubs and blood-soaked lab coats.
He gunned them down mercilessly, Desert Eagle barking in his off-hand to dispatch anything that got too close.
By the time he reached the ground floor, the lobby was a nightmarish ocean of rotting flesh.
Miles didn’t hesitate. He opened fire into the crowd, bullets cutting through the mass like a scythe through wheat. Magazines emptied in seconds. Even with all his spare clips, the sheer volume of undead was overwhelming.
After five minutes of brutal combat, he was down to his last magazine.
The horde still kept coming.
Thinking fast, he retreated upstairs, dumping the last of his game credits into buying another 150 magazines.
Switching to his grenade launcher attachment, he rained explosive death into the lobby below. High-explosive rounds tore through the crowd, scattering limbs and blackened gore across the blood-slick tiles.
But even as the explosions thinned the herd, it wasn’t enough.
He switched to incendiary rounds. Fire blossomed across the hall, setting zombies ablaze, but even burning, they stumbled onward for agonizing minutes before finally collapsing.
Miles gritted his teeth.
"Screw it," he muttered, firing an incendiary round into a visible fuel tank near the cafeteria.
The resulting explosion rocked the entire building.
Flames roared through the second floor as Miles dove out a window, landing heavily in the hospital’s front courtyard.
Pain flared through his body as he hit the ground amidst the burning wreckage and advancing undead.
"Perfect," he muttered bitterly, slamming a fresh magazine into his rifle.
Surrounded on all sides, Miles fought like a cornered beast. Rifle blazing in one hand, Greedy Blade carving in the other, he kicked, slashed, and shot his way through the horde.
When the pressure became too much, he latched onto the nearest building with his steel wire and zipped up to the roof.
Panting heavily, he collapsed onto the gravel, muscles burning and armor shredded in places.
"Note to self," he thought grimly. "Corrupt zombies may be low-level trash... but in enough numbers? They’ll wipe out entire cities."
His combat vest was torn open along the back and shoulders, barely hanging together. His arms were cut and bruised despite the protection.
"Definitely need that Foxhunter Combat Suit next," he mused, grimacing. "Five thousand credits though... freaking robbery."
He missed the days when monsters actually dropped loot instead of just experience points.
Down below, soldiers watched him in awe.
"That crazy bastard’s still alive," one special forces operator muttered. "We thought he was done for. I was ready to toss a grenade down and save him the trouble."
Paige smirked.
"Like a cockroach. Ain’t dying that easy."
Miles didn’t stop to enjoy the compliments. From his new perch, he resumed sniping the advancing undead while the remaining soldiers held the main gate.
As night began to fall, a fresh roar filled the streets—an entire battalion had finally arrived.
Thousands of soldiers stormed the perimeter, guns blazing, immediately reinforcing the beleaguered defenders.
The system's cold mechanical voice echoed in Miles’ mind:
"Quest Complete. Six hours survived."
He sagged with relief, letting his rifle rest across his chest.
His hands were numb from the constant recoil. His arms ached deep in the bone.
It wasn’t just him—every soldier nearby was bleeding, bruised, barely able to hold their weapons. They had survived through sheer willpower and endless ammunition.
Opening his system interface, Miles quickly claimed his hard-earned reward—2000 game credits.
Even better, he had officially graduated from the Newbie Phase. Quests now awarded experience as well.
He checked his progress.
Level Up: +6 Levels.
Total: Level 16.
Unassigned Stat Points: 12
Miles immediately allocated his new stats:
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+3 Strength
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+4 Agility
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+2 Constitution
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+3 Spirit
There was no fantasy where you could just pump one stat mindlessly. Real-world physics still applied. Too much speed without endurance would tear his body apart.
Balance was survival.
He glanced at his updated stats:
Miles — Demon Hunter Lv.16
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Strength: 8
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Agility: 15
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Constitution: 10
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Spirit: 8
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Free Points: 0
Weapon: Greedy Blade Lv.6
With the battle finally over, and the hospital secured, Miles decided it was time to vanish before the military started asking uncomfortable questions.
Holstering his weapons, he used his wire launcher to swing over the walls and disappeared into the maze of ruined streets beyond.
Several squads pursued, but he was already gone.
Meanwhile, Paige and the surviving operators debriefed a newly arrived Major General, recounting everything—including Miles' impossible feats.
Later that night, in a quiet residential block in Chicago’s Safe Zone, Miles stood before the door to Apartment 703, wearing a tattered hoodie and jeans. His back and shoulders still bore the scars of battle.
Pounding on the metal door, he shouted,
"Open up!"
After a moment, a burly Russian man cracked the door open, peering out suspiciously.
"Who are you? I don't know you."
Miles scowled.
"I live downstairs, genius! Your damn pipes are leaking and it's raining in my apartment!"
The Russian frowned, confused.
"Slow down, young man. My English is good, but you talk too fast."
Grinding his teeth, Miles spoke slowly and clearly.
"Your. Pipes. Are. Leaking. It's raining downstairs."
The Russian’s eyes widened in understanding.
"Oh! I’m sorry, comrade. I didn't know! Maybe the pipes broke. You know how these buildings are."
"Just open the damn door," Miles snapped. "I need maintenance to get in and fix it. I can’t even cook dinner right now!"
The Russian nodded apologetically and opened the door wider, waving him in.
"Come in, come in. We fix it, no problem. Welcome, my friend!"
Miles muttered under his breath as he stepped inside.
"Yeah. Welcome to hell..."