Pain. Pure, blazing pain.
“Stella Berenson, drop dead!”
A scream tore through her ears, shrill and hollow. She tried to open her eyes, but blood clouded her vision.
Every bone in her body felt like it’d snapped in two. She forced her head to turn, wanting to see who it was that ended her life.
All she caught was a blood-slicked ankle, and a blurry, unfamiliar mark—
Stella's eyes shot open. The soft light in the room didn’t calm her racing heart. Cold sweat wet her back.
It felt like something invisible had wrapped around her throat.
She sat up sharply, gasping for air. Fear and rage still swirled in her chest, the echo of that scream hammering in her skull.
Four years. It had been four years since she was reborn into this ruined world. Still, the nightmare wouldn’t leave her.
She once thought staying away from that place, from the moment she died in her last life, would be enough. That peace might come.
But the dream kept dragging her back.
No—she couldn’t let it go. Not until she found out who did it. Until then, she’d never be free.
Her throat burned. She got out of bed, poured a glass of water.
Just as she was about to drink, the monitor console by the ground made a crackling noise.
“Catch him already! We lose him, that’s a big loss!”
“Shut it! This isn’t a safe zone!”
“So what? There’s a watchtower nearby—we’re safe from zombies.”
Stella gave a cold snort. Idiot. Out late at night, wandering around outside the shelter, and they really think they’re safe?
Even after sneaking by for three years, she wouldn’t dare say that kind of crap.
Not that she cared enough to go out and warn them. The world had gone to hell—laws meant nothing now. Violence and chaos ruled.
She’d died once already. Now, she stayed out of trouble and lived—nothing more, nothing less.
With that thought, she turned to the old couch at the foot of her bed. “Whiskers, cold tonight? Want me to—”
She stopped mid-sentence.
The couch was empty.
Her face darkened as she set her cup down and rushed to the monitors, fingers flying over the controls.
The screen spun through angles fast, scanning—and there it was. A mass of shadow nested in an even deeper dark corner.
“That damn cat! Out again in the middle of the night!”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than a gunshot cracked through the speakers.
Stella swore, grabbing the gas mask from the table—
Trees outside thrashed like ghosts in a storm. Distant, screeching calls echoed in the wind, sharp and unsettling.
The cold bit right through the air, carrying dead leaves and trash high into the sky.
A figure hit the ground hard, shoulders trembling. He crawled back, shaking his head. “You’ve got the wrong guy—I’m not—”
“Still got legs, huh? Gotta make me work for it!”
The voice that cut in was rough, impatient. Two men stepped forward, both tall and broad.
One slammed his boot into the boy’s bleeding leg. The other grabbed his hair, yanking his head up.
“Well, well,” the man sneered, eyes glinting. “Pretty little thing. Bet we’ll get good coin for you.”
The boy’s face was all bruises and blood, somewhere between a youth’s and a girl’s. Even twisted in pain, you could tell he was good-looking.
The wound gushed more blood, and the scent thickened the air. Pain drowned his breath—he nearly passed out, words dying in choked gasps and groans.
“Hey, not too rough,” the man holding his hair chuckled, pretending to care. “Can’t sell him if he’s crippled.”“Let him limp if he wants. As long as he can move! Hurry and drag him already, such a pain!” The second man was already dripping with impatience.
Just as they moved in, a dark blur shot out like lightning, pouncing straight at one of them!
“The hell is that?!”
Before he could even react, his neck went cold—hot blood burst from the wound, spraying nearly two meters.
His hands clamped over the gash, eyes wide in shock, bulging like they might pop out. He died before he even knew what hit him.
The black shape landed with a wet thud, stepping over the spreading puddle of blood, and took a few calm steps toward the other man, letting out a low, menacing growl.
“D-Don’t come closer!” The man freaked, spun around and bolted.
The shadow crouched low, muscles coiling—then sprang after him again!
Right at the brink of death, the man remembered the weapon in his hand. But before he could even pull the trigger, a gunshot cracked through the night—a bullet smashed into his wrist.
He screeched, the gun flying from his hand as he stumbled and crashed to the ground. A second later, the dark figure caught up and slammed into him head-on.
His scream cut through the night, sharp and raw—the scent of blood only grew thicker.
Stella Berenson hurried up, stopping beside the beast. She tapped the creature’s hip with her toe and frowned. “Who told you to run out in the middle of the night?”
The shadowy figure lifted its head, revealing a pair of innocent gray-green eyes.
It was a jet-black leopard.
Stella let out a sigh, annoyed. “Drag it down and eat it somewhere else, not here.” She glanced over at the human still lying on the ground.
No sound came from him. Probably scared stupid by now.
She frowned again, the headache kicking in. She didn’t want to reveal her shelter to any stranger. If Whiskers hadn’t wandered off, she wouldn’t have bothered.
In a world like this, one kind gesture could cost you everything. She knew that damn well.
“Hey, you able to walk?” she asked coldly—not that she planned to help even if he said no.
The youth seemed to snap out of it, voice shaking violently, “N-No. I got shot…”
Stella clicked her tongue, considering whether knocking him out and tossing him somewhere far away would save her more trouble. Just then, a faint rustling sound rang out in her ears.
Something was slithering across the ground—fast. It had a low, sticky sound that crawled right under your skin.
Her back tensed. She narrowed her eyes at the all-too-familiar noise and asked in a low voice, “You hear that?”
“Hear what? No—nothing!”
The rustling was closing in. Fast. Stella looked down at the stunned youth, jaw clenched, then turned and yelled, “Whiskers! Get him out of here!”
The leopard had been busy dragging the dead man’s body back to its lair. It was strong, but lean rather than bulky—clearly not built for hauling big weight.
Still, the moment it heard her call, it dropped the corpse without hesitation, dashed back, and grabbed the collar of the wounded youth with its teeth, pulling him away.
At the same time, Stella hoisted up the corpse of the first man—nearly twice her size—and with a grunt of force, hurled it into the darkness.
The boy’s eyes went wide. He barely noticed the pain from being dragged—his mind was stuck on one thought: Damn, she’s strong.
With a heavy thud, the body hit the ground. From the shadows came a squelching, clicking noise, an eerie chorus of gurgles and monstrous cackles. The rustling intensified, closing in fast.
Stella’s scalp tingled. That many of them? This place wasn’t supposed to be totally safe, but this… this was too much.
She snatched up the handgun the second man had dropped. Holding both pistols now, she backed away, every step cautious.
Crunched bones, tearing flesh, low hissing growls—they filled the night. A single corpse clearly wasn’t enough for the swarm. But after a moment, the noise cut off.
Stella’s eyes narrowed. Then she spun around.
“Run!” she shouted.
