The Domain of the Dead spread like a tidal wave, engulfing the two-headed giant wolf in its oppressive grasp.
The air grew thick with an overwhelming pressure, suffocating and heavy, as if the entire space was being twisted by an invisible force.
The wolf's massive body trembled violently, and a flicker of fear flashed through its four crimson eyes.
Its enormous fra seed pinned down by an unseen hand. Its limbs buckled, and with a heavy thud, it collapsed to its knees, letting out a low, pitiful whimper.
"Whine… whine…"
The once-arrogant two-headed wolf now resembled a scolded dog, cowering on the ground, trembling uncontrollably.
Its gaze, once fierce and nacing, was now filled with terror. It seed as though if Ethan so much as glanced at it again, its very existence would be crushed into nothingness.
The scene before them was so shocking that it left everyone speechless.
"This… this is insane…" one of the survivors muttered, their eyes wide with disbelief. None of them could process what they were seeing.
They had thought this disaster was hopeless, that there was no way out. Yet here was this man, effortlessly forcing the monstrous wolf into submission.
Ethan, however, remained calm, almost unnervingly so.
His gaze lingered on the wolf's two heads, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, as though he were pondering sothing.
"Two heads… Does that an it has two Neurocores, or just one?" he murmured to himself, his tone detached, like a scientist mulling over a hypothesis.
To test his theory, Ethan stepped forward slowly. The dagger in his hand glead coldly under the dim light.
Without hesitation, he drove the blade into one of the wolf's heads. His movents were precise and efficient, as if he were performing a routine task.
Blood gushed out in a crimson spray, but Ethan didn't falter. His hands moved with practiced ease as he split open both of the wolf's heads. Sure enough, nestled within the skulls were two Neurocores, faintly glowing as they lay embedded in the bone.
"Two, just as I thought," Ethan muttered, a hint of satisfaction in his voice.
But as he examined them more closely, he noticed that the two Neurocores were significantly smaller than those he had harvested from previous Awakeners.
"Hmm, what a waste," he said with a click of his tongue. Without further hesitation, he popped both Neurocores into his mouth and swallowed them.
The Neurocores dissolved instantly, releasing a surge of pure energy that coursed through Ethan's body. He closed his eyes, savoring the sensation of his blood and vitality growing stronger. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips—he was clearly pleased with the results.
Afterward, he casually ran his tongue along the blade of his dagger, tasting the blood that still clung to it. His brow arched slightly.
"Not bad," he remarked quietly, as though he were sampling a fine dish.
His gaze shifted to the wolf's massive corpse. With a wave of his hand, he stored the entire body into his spatial storage ring.
"I'll cook it later," he said flatly, his tone devoid of emotion.
As for the survivors standing behind him, Ethan didn't spare them a single glance.
He had no interest in them, not even enough to bother killing them. To him, they were nothing more than livestock in a farm—perhaps useful for breeding, or for harvesting if they ever awakened into sothing worth his ti.
Ethan's figure faded into the shadows, slipping through the crumbling walls like a ghost. In monts, he was gone, as if he had never been there at all.
The survivors stood frozen, unable to move or speak. Their minds were consud by a single thought:
"What… what kind of monster is he?"
...
When Ethan returned ho, Nina had already finished tidying up for the day. The house was spotless, every detail ticulously attended to.
She stood at the door, waiting for him. "Boss, your clothes are washed and ready. You can change anyti," she said respectfully.
"Mm. Go rest," Ethan replied indifferently.
But Nina didn't leave. Instead, she placed a hand on the back of her neck, tilting her head slightly. There was a hint of excitent in her voice as she said, "Boss, my neck feels itchy… Do you think I'm about to awaken?"
Ethan glanced at her, his eyes sweeping over her briefly. Then, in his usual detached tone, he said, "Go wash your hair."
"…" Nina froze, her excitent deflating instantly.
With a sigh of resignation, she turned and left the room.
Ethan walked into the bathroom. Steam rose as hot water poured from the faucet, fogging up the mirror.
He slowly peeled off his bloodstained clothes and stepped into the bath, letting the warm water envelop him. Closing his eyes, he allowed the heat to seep into his muscles, washing away the gri and tension of the day.
For a mont, amidst the bloodshed and chaos that defined his life, there was a rare, fleeting sense of peace.
After his bath, Ethan changed into the freshly laundered clothes Nina had prepared for him. A pristine white scarf was casually draped around his neck, giving him a clean, sharp appearance—almost elegant.
He walked over to the dining table and retrieved the freshly hunted two-headed wolf from his spatial storage ring. With practiced precision, he sliced off a piece of at and placed it onto a grill pan.
The aroma of charcoal filled the air as the wolf at sizzled, its surface gradually turning golden brown, releasing a mouthwatering scent.
Ethan picked up a knife and fork, cutting off a piece of the roasted at and placing it into his mouth. He chewed slowly, savoring the texture.
The at was firm, with a hint of wild gaminess, and tasted even better than he had expected.
As he ate, he turned on the television. The screen flickered to life, displaying an ergency broadcast from the survivors.
"Warning! We've discovered a new type of monster! It's not just animals mutating anymore—so are even rging with zombies! This footage was just captured by a drone. Take a look!"
Ethan glanced up, his attention drawn to the screen.
The footage showed a massive python coiled atop an abandoned building. Its body was as thick as an oak barrel, and its scales glead coldly under the sunlight.
But the most horrifying part was its head—it wasn't a snake's head at all. Instead, it was the rotting, grotesque head of a zombie.
Its hollow, lifeless eyes stared into the void, and putrid saliva dripped from its gaping mouth as it let out a low, guttural growl.
"Looks like it's absorbed too many zombies, causing a genetic fusion," Ethan murmured to himself, his tone calm and detached.
The broadcast continued, showing more of these hybrid monsters.
One was a spider with a human face, its body the size of a car. Its eight hairy legs moved slowly across the ground, and it spun webs stronger than steel, effortlessly lifting an abandoned truck into the air.
Another was a rat the size of a sow, its back covered in writhing human heads. The heads twisted and scread in agony, as if so fragnt of consciousness still lingered within them.
Ethan watched the footage, cutting another piece of wolf at and popping it into his mouth. As he chewed, he thought to himself, "Perfect dinner entertainnt."
The world outside remained as perilous as ever. Mutated monsters road freely, and survivors lived in a constant state of fear, caught in an endless cycle of fleeing and fighting.
One careless mistake could an death.
And yet, humans continued to fight among themselves. They tore each other apart for food, resources, and even for beauty, shedding the last remnants of civilization's facade.
But none of this concerned Ethan.
His life was entirely separate from the chaos outside.
He lived in a clean, orderly ho, with servants to tend to his needs. He had plenty of food, and his days were peaceful.
The outside world was a hellscape, but his world was a sanctuary.
Moreover, his territory was guarded by three loyal subordinates, each commanding hundreds of followers. Neither human Awakeners nor mutated monsters dared to approach his domain lightly.
And so, Ethan's days passed uneventfully.
Over the next ten days, he hunted and killed countless mutated creatures, consuming over a hundred tons of flesh and blood. His strength grew exponentially, and the range of his Domain of the Dead doubled, now extending over sixty feet. Its oppressive aura beca even more potent and enduring.
However, in recent days, Ethan had noticed helicopters frequently flying past his window. Human activity seed to be increasing.
Through the intelligence he had gathered, he learned that the number of human Awakeners was rising rapidly, leading to more frequent rescue operations.
In Los Angeles, the official survivor shelter had grown to house over fifty thousand people, with seven thousand of them being Awakeners.
The shelter had even published a list of the top 100 Awakeners, ranked from #001 to #100 based on their strength. Although the rankings were based on data analysis rather than actual combat, they still attracted widespread attention.
In addition, the shelter broadcast daily updates on rescue missions to prevent survivors from mistaking the teams for threats—or falling victim to impostors with malicious intent.
That day, Ethan was lounging on his sofa, casually watching television.
Most networks had collapsed, leaving only a handful of broadcasts from the shelter's radar signals.
"Today's rescue mission update: We've dispatched two Awakeners, Mia Taylor and Sean Carter, to University City. Survivors in the area, please prepare for evacuation."
Ethan hadn't been paying much attention, but when he heard those two nas, he froze.
He set down the wine glass in his hand and turned his gaze to the screen, studying the two photos that appeared.
The first was of a young woman.
She had straight brown hair with blunt bangs, her pale skin almost translucent. Her light blue eyes were round and vacant, devoid of any emotion.
Her features were so delicate they seed sculpted, her beauty almost unreal—like a lifeless porcelain doll.
The second photo was of a man.
His skin was a healthy deep brown, his cheeks gaunt, and his hair naturally curly. But the most striking feature was his eyes—one stared straight ahead, while the other wandered off to the side, giving him an oddly "intellectual" appearance.
The contrast between the two photos was jarring. Yet Ethan recognized both of them instantly.
His gaze drifted to an old photograph hanging on the wall—a picture taken during his childhood at the orphanage. It captured nearly all of his childhood mories. And there, in the photo, were the two people now on the screen.
Mia Taylor. Ethan rembered her vividly.
As children, they had often played together. But one day, the orphanage director claid Mia had a ntal illness and sent her to a psychiatric hospital. Ethan never saw her again.
And Sean Carter. Ethan had mories of him too.
Sean had been born with a congenital defect, leaving him ntally impaired. One of his eyes always seed to be "on patrol," as the kids joked. His parents had abandoned him at the orphanage.
Ethan even recalled a particularly infamous incident: when Sean was twelve, he had a pet hamster. When the hamster got sick, Sean fed it rat poison, thinking it would help.
Staring at the photos on the screen, Ethan's mind drifted back to the orphanage ten years ago. Those childhood friends had long since scattered to the winds. He never expected to see them again—let alone like this.
"A ntal patient and a dimwit… and they're supposed to be rescuing people?" Ethan muttered, a faint, amused smile curling his lips.
"This is getting interesting."
…
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