In the New Chinese Federation's military headquarters, dawn had barely broken, yet the complex hummed with panicked energy. At its core, a holographic projection cycled endless footage: humans tearing into each other, bloodied and ravenous, screams echoing like a B-movie nightmare. This was no fiction—these were real-time feeds from Wenhan City, captured five hours earlier at 21:00. A viral contamination alert had shattered the night, sending the entire military hierarchy into chaos.
"Explain these… abominations." Su Le, a young 少校 (major) in his late twenties, stood rigid before the projection, his hawk-like gaze sharpening on a scene of a mother biting her child's throat.
"Ever seen Resident Evil?" A voice purred beside him—Heikeyin, a scientist with silver-gray hair and glasses that flashed sterile white, "Except these specimens are far more fascinating. How about we capture a few for study?"
"Professor Heikeyin," Su Le's tone iced over, "control your morbidity."
"Ah, the fiery A-rank pyrokinetic loses his temper again." Heikeyin's dead-gray eyes lingered on the screen, "But listen closely: preliminary analysis points to waterborne infection. Infected individuals become aggressive, insatiable… and their 'diet' consists of fresh human flesh." He paused, letting the horror sink in, "If we don't seal the city, this will go global."
"Source of the virus?" Su Le's stare could've melted steel.
"Now, now, do I look like a man who'd unleash Armageddon?" Heikeyin smirked, though his fingers tapped eagerly at the projection, "I've run similar experiments on prisoners, yes—all failures. But this?" He gestured to a 丧尸 (zombie) ripping a soldier's arm off, "These creatures are perfect for war: strong, relentless, evolving."
"Focus your 'genius' on containment," Su Le snapped, jamming his cap onto his head, "I'm taking command of Wenhan. The A-rank heroes didn't earn their titles for nothing."
"Brave words," Heikeyin called after him, "but hurry, Major. Your precious Federation might soon have a new class of A-rank… monsters."
By afternoon, Lu Qiu huddled in a curtain-shuttered apartment, sunlight seeping through cracks to burn his pale skin like acid. He gnawed his thumb, eyes glued to a flickering laptop: headlines screamed VIRUS LOCKDOWN, APOCALYPSE NOW?, DIVINE PUNISHMENT.
"Faster response than I thought," he sneered, "those bureaucrats still have teeth."
The city was a prison now—barbed wire walls encircled it, soldiers shooting any infected on sight. But Lu Qiu cared less about headlines than the 50,789 Despair Points thrumming in his veins, a testament to 50,000+ deaths steeped in betrayal and horror: parents torn apart by their children, lovers devouring each other. That was despair—the kind that fed his power.
"System," he mentally queried, "status report."
Host has activated Blacklight Virus Apocalypse Protocol. Primary infected: 73,462. Secondary infected: 1 (Huntsman). Apocalypse Progress: 32%.
Only a 2% jump? Typical—human resilience was as annoying as their morality. To drown the world, he needed the virus to breach the quarantine. And for that, he needed more power.
But first… hunger. His fangs ached, craving fresh blood—not the stale slop from the System's store. The apartment reeked of iron: in the kitchen, a toddler zombie gnawed on her parents' remains, tiny hands slick with gore, milky eyes vacant.
"So polite," Lu Qiu murmured, stroking her blood-spattered hair, "did Mommy and Daddy taste good?"
She ignored him, too lost in her feast. Vampires and zombies—two sides of the same rotten coin, yet only he retained humanity's worst: ambition, calculation, hunger.
A floorboard creaked in the hallway. He froze, ears picking up muffled whispers: three heartbeats, two male, one female—young. The girl's scent hit him like a drug: fear, adrenaline, youth.
Peering through the peephole, he saw them: a burly man with an assault rifle, a twitchy teen, and a high school girl, maybe 17, tears streaking her face. The man's posture screamed veteran—he'd killed before.
Lu Qiu's fangs throbbed. Bullets could kill him, but… opportunity lingered. The toddler zombie snarled behind him, her tiny throat gurgling.
A smile curled his lips—cold, cunning.
"Hey," he called through the door, voice sickly sweet, "do you like little girls?"
The hallway went silent. He pressed on, "There's one in here… hungry. She's so cute when she eats."
The girl's gasp was audible. The veteran barked a command, boots shifting into attack stance. Lu Qiu retreated, letting the zombie's growls rise to a fever pitch.
"Come on in," he whispered, locking eyes with the peephole, "I'll share her."
Outside, the teen panicked, "She's just a kid! We have to—"
"Shut up," the veteran hissed, "it's a trap."
But the girl's sob gave her away. Lu Qiu inhaled, savoring the scent of conflict: duty vs. compassion, fear vs. hope. Perfect.
He stepped back as the door splintered, rifle raised—but not at him. The veteran's eyes widened at the toddler zombie, mid-chew, gore dripping from her chin.
"Christ…" the teen gagged.
The girl froze, horror blooming as the zombie lurched forward. Lu Qiu moved in a blur, seizing her arm, fangs piercing her neck before anyone could react.
"N-no!" she choked, but her scream died in a gurgle, warmth flooding Lu Qiu's mouth—pure, youthful blood, rich with terror.
The veteran fired, bullets pinging off the wall as Lu Qiu dragged the girl into the shadows, her body going limp. The toddler zombie lunged for the teen, who screamed and ran, tripping over a corpse.
"Such a waste," Lu Qiu murmured, licking blood from his lips, "but thank you for the meal."
Outside, sirens wailed. Inside, the System pinged: Despair Points +100.
He smiled, letting the girl's body drop. The world was changing—quietly, violently—and he was its architect. Let the heroes come. Let the walls rise.
Despair, after all, had a way of leaking through.