The moment I stepped into zombie city, yeah, I'm calling it that now, I realized one thing.
This dungeon was not messing around.
Fog clung to the crumbling streets like it had beef with sunlight. Broken streetlights flickered like haunted glowsticks. The buildings looked abandoned for centuries, like even the ghosts had packed up and left.
But the zombies? Oh no. They were very much home.
I ducked behind a rusted car as three of them stumbled past. One had no jaw. Another was dragging a broken traffic cone like it owed him money.
I checked my equipment again, mostly out of panic-fueled habit.
> Bone Helmet: check.
Socks of Invisibility: still socks.
Necrofang Saber: ready to slice and suck (lifeforce, not vibes).
Fireball skill: fully charged.
System popped up a notification like it was reminding me to take my vitamins:
[Reminder: Clear dungeon before the doomsday clock hits 00:00:00 or zombie chaos will be released in your hometown. Have a great day!]
Thanks, System. Really feeling the support.
I took a deep breath.
"Okay, Kyle. You've got gear. You've got skills. You've got no muscle mass, but somehow you punch like a truck. Let's do this."
Stealth Mode: activated. (Thank you, invisible socks and goblin boots.)
With both weapons drawn, I slipped into the fog—ready to face the undead, armed with sarcasm and statistically terrifying gear.
I crept through the fog like a ninja who had no idea what he was doing but was trying really hard anyway.
The first zombie didn't even see me coming.
It was busy gnawing on a half-deflated soccer ball like it was gourmet cuisine. I slipped behind it, raised my Necrofang Saber—
SHLNK!
The thing's head popped off like a cork. It bounced twice and landed in a puddle. No dramatic scream. Just a sad plop.
[Zombie defeated. +120 EXP. Minor Lifesteal triggered.]
Nice. One down.
The second one was less cooperative. It turned the moment its undead buddy dropped, groaned like it was having a bad Monday, and lunged.
"Bad zombie! No biting!"
I ducked, spun, and slashed with my Hobgoblin Axe. Fire magic flared up like I'd just uppercutted it with a flamethrower. The zombie lit up like a soggy torch and staggered backward.
[Burning status applied. Target will take continuous fire damage.]
It kept groaning, which I'm pretty sure was zombie for "rude," and collapsed into a smoking heap.
[Zombie defeated. +130 EXP.]
Then the third one rushed me.
This one was faster. Like, actually fast. I barely got my saber up in time to block its claws. It swiped again—missed my face by inches.
Okay. Not cool.
I kicked it in the knee. It stumbled. That was my moment.
Fireball!
A glowing sphere burst from my hand and slammed into its chest. The explosion flung it into the side of a building with a WHUMP and enough flame to roast a marshmallow army.
[Critical Hit! +220 EXP.]
Three down. Zero bites. Still breathing. Still sarcastic.
I wiped sweat off my forehead and checked the map again. A red marker blinked deeper inside the city ruins. Boss room? Objective point? Or just more doom?
"Alright," I muttered.
"Let's keep the murder train rolling."
Cue the distant moan of more zombies heading my way.
Of course.
There were a lot of zombies. Level 15, 16 mid-tier nightmares at best. Nothing I couldn't handle.
Honestly? I was weirdly calm.
I knew this wasn't normal. These things were rotting, shambling horrors straight out of a gore-fest horror flick. The kind of monsters that should've made me scream, cry, or at least lose my lunch.
But nope. I was chill.
My mind felt sharp, too sharp, like someone had flipped a gamer switch in my brain. Every step, every movement, was clean. Strategic. Efficient. I was in full-on third-person mode, like I was watching myself play an ultra-immersive VR game.
System effect? 100% calling it.
I ducked, weaved, and lobbed off another zombie head with a smooth flick of my saber. The head went flying like a low-budget soccer ball, and I didn't even flinch. No panic. No guilt. Just EXP and loot.
[Zombie (Lv 16) defeated. +150 EXP. +1 Rotten Fang (Junk Item)]
Gross? Absolutely.
Disturbing? Technically.
But to me, it was just another dungeon run. Another mission. Another level-up waiting to happen.
I wasn't some emotionless monster, I was just… game-ified.
And I had a score to settle with whatever chaos dropped this dungeon on my hometown.
I'm level 29. The zombies? Mostly level 15 to 18 right now.
Translation: this is less of a challenge and more of a casual walk through an undead buffet. I'm steamrolling them like I'm speedrunning a low-level side quest.
XP gains? Meh.
Loot? Random as ever. Sure, the solid $ cash and ancient coins are cool, but some of the drops are straight-up weird.
[You received: Moldy Toe Bandage (Unusable)]
[You received: Cracked Smartphone (Pre-apocalypse edition)]
[You received: "Brainz?" novelty T-shirt – DEF +0, Style -100]
Thanks, System. Just what I needed—more undead fashion fails.
I cleared like 40 or 50 zombies in half an hour. Honestly, I barely noticed. I was too busy collecting junk and trying not to trip over my own smugness.
Then I moved deeper into the city.
That's when things got crowded. The fog thickened, the groans grew louder, and the zombie levels ticked up now we're talking level 20 to 25. Not exactly terrifying, but at least they give me decent XP and don't explode into loot made entirely of regrets.
But then I saw them.
New enemies. Big enemies.
Two and a half meters tall, skin the color of radioactive spinach, and packed with necrotic muscle like they bench press city buses for fun.
Appraisal lit up with the worst possible news:
[ Zombie Brute – Lv 28]
Status: Evolving through sheer gym addiction.
Warning: Muscle mass approaching critical levels. May flex through walls.
System Remark: "Remember: abs don't equal brains. But they do hit harder."
Welp. I've got a bad feeling these guys won't go down with just a well-placed fireball and a snarky comment.
Time to test just how "Tanky" Kyle can be.
There were three of them—zombie brutes. Big, bulky, and built like undead linebackers.
Time to test my firepower.
I crept close, toggled stealth mode, and lobbed an Inferno Burst right into their cluster. Kaboom. Fiery chaos, but nope—still standing. Smoldering, but standing.
I followed up with a barrage of Fireballs, rapid-fire style. One brute finally went down like overcooked steak.
The second brute staggered but kept going until a well placed Mana Arrow punched through its rotten temple. Down.
The last one charged. Way faster than it had any right to be.
But I was ready.
Necrofang Saber in hand, I sidestepped, slashed...
CRITICAL HIT.
Zombie Brute: Deleted.
System Remark: "Style bonus: +10% for dramatic finish."
Brute zombies dropped better loot and gave more XP. Not all of it was useful, but hey—I'll take what I can get.
Loot Acquired:
HP Potion (Grade E) x2 – Tastes like regret, but it works.
Zombie Muscle Fiber – Either a valuable alchemy ingredient or nightmare fuel.
Ancient Coins and $230 in zombie cash – Apparently the undead still believe in capitalism.
Zombie Protein Shake (???) – Smells like feet. Probably tastes worse.
I pressed deeper into the city. The fog thickened like even the air wanted to call in sick. More groans echoed from the shadows but something sounded... off.
Click. Click. Skitter.
Then I saw it.
A zombie, kind of but hunched low on all fours like it thought it was a demon greyhound. Its limbs were too long. Its spine bent like a broken coat hanger. And then ...
FWOOSH.
It launched into the air, cleared a wrecked van, and landed twenty feet away without breaking stride.
Appraisal popped up like a warning label on discount fireworks:
[Jumper Zombie – Lv 26]
Status: Agile. Unpredictable. Probably hates trampolines.
Abilities: Long-range leap, wall-scaling, rabid speed.
System Remark:
"Caution: This one thinks gravity is a suggestion."
Fantastic. Zombie parkour.
I ducked behind a half-burned convenience store and muttered, "Okay, Kyle. You're not built for high-speed combat. But you've got fireballs, invisibility socks, and enough sarcasm to weaponize."
I readied my spells, waited for the leap, and prayed my aim was better than my dodge roll.
It jumped.
One second, it was crouched in the shadows. The next, it was airborne—fangs out, claws first, flying at me like an undead missile.
"NOPE!" I yelped, launching a fireball mid-panic.
Missed.
It soared past the thing's shoulder and exploded against a broken lamppost. Not helpful. Also not distracting.
The Jumper landed five feet away, snarled, and lunged again. I backpedaled, tripped over zombie goo (ew), and barely rolled aside before it took a chunk out of the pavement where my face had just been.
"Okay," I gasped, scrambling to my feet. "Calm thoughts. Aimed thoughts. Murderous thoughts."
It leapt again.
I gritted my teeth, summoned another fireball, and flung it like a dodgeball on fire.
Direct hit.
The Jumper screeched, its limbs flailing midair as the flames wrapped around it. It crashed into a rusted mailbox, flailed once, then collapsed in a smoking heap.
I stood there, panting.
"Next time," I muttered, "I'm bringing bug spray. And a flamethrower. And maybe a mech suit."
The system chimed in like it had just watched a highlight reel:
[Jumper Zombie Defeated. XP Gained.]
Loot Acquired:
Zombie Claws (sharp, weirdly polished)
Mutated Tendon (gross)
The fireball explosion echoed like a fireworks finale—and apparently, the zombies were big fans of the show.
Groans. Shuffles. Bone-snapping cracks.
I spun around to see a fresh horde staggering into view. A dozen regular zombies… and three Brutes lumbering behind like undead linebackers.
"Great. Reinforcements," I muttered, gripping my Necrofang Saber tighter.
I threw a mana arrow, sliced through a pair of rotters, and was lining up another spell but...
WHAM.
Something slammed into me from the side, knocking the wind clean out of my lungs.
A second Jumper Zombie.
It lunged from the shadows, teeth bared and eyes gleaming like two fermented jellybeans. I twisted, but not fast enough.
Its teeth sank into my shoulder. Not my neck, thanks to a last-second dodge, but still—ow. It felt like being clamped by a rusty bear trap.
[SYSTEM WARNING: Z-Virus Exposure Detected.]
Infection Attempt: FAILED.
Your Vitality stat prevented zombification. Congrats on staying mostly human!
I staggered back, swung my saber in a wide arc, and decapitated the jumper mid-snarl.
It hit the ground with a wet thud.
Pain flared through my arm. My health bar dipped slightly, but no death screen. Yet.
"Okay," I hissed, breath ragged. "New plan: less showing off, more survival."
[SYSTEM UPDATE: Infection Resistance Successful.]
You have acquired a new Passive Skill!
Healthy Body – Lv 1
Your immune system just earned a promotion.
Effect: +10% resistance to abnormal status effects.
Bonus: You now taste 12% worse to zombies.
I blinked at the notification, still clutching my bitten arm.
"Okay… weird flex, but I'll take it."
My shoulder still ached, but the pain was already fading. Whatever stat magic the system pulled, it worked.
And now? I was officially harder to zombify.
"Healthy Body, huh?" I muttered. "Guess all those skipped gym classes paid off in spirit."
Then I turned back to the crowd of rotting problems still heading my way.
"Alright, next up: cardio with corpse bros."
...
Normal zombies? Toast.
Even the Brute ones? Roast beef on the Kyle Special—served hot with dual-wielded steel, fireballs, and mana arrows. They dropped like flies at a bug zapper convention.
But the jumpers?
Those were a problem.
They didn't shamble. They pounced. They didn't moan. They screeched.
And worst of all? They had range.
I'd barely finished turning the last Brute into an XP confetti explosion when FWOOSH...another Jumper launched out of the mist like a rotting missile.
I dodged left. Not fast enough.
Its teeth sank into my shin. PAIN, instant. I shouted, half rage, half "oh no not again," and blasted it point-blank with a mana arrow to the chest.
As it recoiled, I followed up with a brutal axe swing, severing it mid-screech.
System pinged like a proud parent:
[Infection resisted. No zombification detected.]
Thanks. Super reassuring.
I staggered back, panting. Two bites in one hour? My body could only handle so many zombified hugs.
Then a horrible thought hit me:
What if the next Jumper didn't come alone?
No more playing whack-a-zombie. I needed a plan.
A kill zone. Traps. Elevated ground. Anything to stop those overgrown fleas from dive-bombing me like nightmare cheerleaders.
I ducked into the ruins of a gas station. It was time to get tactical… or die trying.
Kyle slumped inside the half-collapsed ruins of a Petro station, panting, bruised, and slightly chewed. He flicked open his status screen like it was a mobile game menu.
[Passive Skill: Battle Awareness Lv 9]
Status: Danger radar activated.
Effect: Enhances real-time perception, threat detection, and incoming attack prediction.
"It's good," Kyle muttered, rubbing his sore shin. "But good doesn't dodge zombie parkour in 4K slow-mo."
He tapped open his unspent skill points. 10 Free Points. With a mental shrug, he dumped them all into the skill.
[Battle Awareness Lv 10 – MAXED]
Effect: Extraordinarily enhances real-time perception, threat detection, and incoming attack prediction.
System Remark: "Congrats, your sixth sense is now upgraded to Wi-Fi."
Suddenly, the world felt like someone hit the 'enhance' button on reality. The wind shifts. The smallest footstep. Even the rustle of groaning flesh—he felt it before it happened.
But something inside him still buzzed. This wasn't enough. Not against the Jumper threat.
Kyle focused on the skill. Tapped it.
Just as he hoped, a system prompt blinked into view:
[Skill Evolution Available]
Do you wish to upgrade Battle Awareness to Combat Instinct?
Warning: Evolution is irreversible. New effects unknown.
Cost: 10 Free Skill Points + 500 Soul Shards
[YES] / [NO]
(Seriously? This costs more than upgrading Fireball! Either it's epic… or I'm about to accidentally evolve into a zombie whisperer.)
Kyle smirked. "Unknown effects? Sounds exactly like my kind of bad idea."