Chapter 2
The mutated Cyber-Ghoul rapidly magnified in my pupils.
Its entire body was covered in livid, grayish pustules. Inside its gaping maw, torn all the way to the base of its ears, lay a terrifying mess of palid fangs and putrid slime.
I felt no fear. I simply glanced down at the Colt Anaconda in my hand.
Rusted from years of neglect, cylinder completely empty—essentially scrap iron.
"[Status Reset]."
A pale gray light brushed past my fingertips.
Within 0.1 seconds, the rust on the gun was annihilated out of thin air, and the metal components gave off a crisp, mechanical click.
The harmless scrap metal reverted to its flawless, factory-new peak condition in the blink of an eye.
Another flick of my wrist, and the cylinder snapped shut.
It was fully loaded with six gleaming Magnum hollow-point rounds.
A system prompt flashed:
[Locked Attribute: Infinite Ammo. Upon every fired shot, the cylinder status will be forcefully reset to 0.001 seconds prior to firing.]
I raised the gun. The muzzle pressed directly against the center of the monster's forehead.
BANG—!!!
The downright terrifying kinetic energy of the Magnum blew its rock-hard, grayish skull into pieces at zero range. Foul black blood and brain matter blasted backward in a massive fan shape.
The headless, massive corpse carried its momentum only to flop heavily at my feet, completely dead.
The survivors still left in the hall were utterly dumbfounded.
But this was only the start.
The thick, heavy scent of blood lured in more than a dozen Ghouls from the streets outside.
They scurried relentlessly on all fours, thick bone spikes jutting out from their hunched backs, swarming madly toward me like a wave.
My expression remained completely apathetic. I leveled the revolver with one hand and paced slowly into the horde.
BANG! BANG! BANG...
Fifteen continuous shots!
Tongues of fire spat relentlessly from the muzzle. Under the extreme fire rate, a pale gray glow stayed firmly locked onto the cylinder; the millisecond a bullet left the chamber, a brand-new primer materialized out of thin air.
The barrel glowed red hot and smoked wildly from the continuous shooting, but with a single thought, I [Reset] it back to a freezing room temperature.
An F-Rank piece of trash?
No, this was the Reaper's scepter, tampering directly with the laws of causality. Treading over a floor of brains and severed limbs, I calmly carved out a path of blood.
Kicking open a ventilation grate, I slid down the maintenance shaft and dropped into Manhattan's gloomy subway network.
Under the dim, flickering emergency lights ahead, more than a dozen Ghoul corpses lay scattered, sliced cleanly into pieces with smooth cuts.
Leaning against a concrete support pillar was a blonde woman wearing a Blackwater International tactical windbreaker.
Victoria. A top-tier agent.
In my past life, she was the sharpest blade of the Resistance Army. Yet in this life, within the very first hour of the apocalypse, she was already on the verge of mutation.
Her right neck was brutally torn open. The crimson mutation toxin had morphed into deep, web-like black veins, spreading madly toward her heart.
Seeing me approach, she steadily leveled her Glock handgun at me. Her voice was raspy and laced with murderous intent: "Get lost."
"Top-tier counter-attack awareness," I praised calmly, stopping three meters away. "It's a pity the zombie virus has already invaded your veins. You have exactly two minutes of lucidity left."
Victoria let out a bleak smile. Reversing her grip on a tactical vibro-knife, she aimed the razor-sharp tip at her own temple. "When the toxin hits my heart, I'll end it myself."
The exact second her muscles involuntarily spasmed, I lunged. My hand clamped down on her wrist like an iron vise, forcefully pressing the blade away.
"Conventional methods can't save you," I said, looking down into her trembling eyes. "But I can."
To extract a zombie virus that had already fused on a cellular level, there was only one method that defied the laws of physics—a status rollback recorded at the exact millisecond of the host's death.
If I wanted to save her, I had to kill her first.
I drew my revolver and, without a single warning, pressed the muzzle directly against Victoria's left ventricle.
Her pupils contracted sharply. She only had time to catch a glimpse of the abyssal, cold-blooded void residing in my eyes.
BANG!
The Magnum violently shredded her heart.
Victoria didn't even have the chance to scream. Her pupils dilated, her vital signs completely flatlined, and her lifeless body slumped softly into the bloody water.
[System Prompt: Target is dead.]
The instant the mechanical voice chimed in my head, a blinding gray light erupted from the depths of my eyes.
"[Status Reset: Cellular-Level Rollback]!"
A conceptual-level "Zeroing" was forcefully triggered.
The horrifying, gaping hole blasted entirely through her heart furiously reconstructed itself, like a video tape set to rewind! The rampant mutant toxin was violently stripped from her cell membranes, dissipating entirely into black smoke.
Three seconds later.
THUMP—! A strong, steady heartbeat echoed in the underground tunnel.
Victoria's eyes snapped open. She gasped violently for air, her entire body spasming.
She instinctively reached for her left chest and the side of her neck—there was no wound. No blue, mutated veins. Her skin was as smooth and pristine as ever.
She was alive. Brought back to the mortal realm in one hundred percent peak condition.
The battle-hardened Reaper agent was completely stunned. This wasn't healing... this was usurping God's authority to resurrect the dead!
"You died, so I claimed your life," I looked down at her, my tone completely devoid of emotion. "Now, this body belongs to me."
Victoria took a slow, deep breath, reaching down to pick up her high-frequency vibro-blade from the ground.
She understood the fundamental rules of the apocalypse better than anyone alive—following a walking miracle was the only true path to survival.
She dropped to one knee in the foul-smelling stagnant water, deeply lowering her proud head. "Victoria. From this moment forth, my blade swings only for you, Master."
I gave a faint nod of acknowledgment.
Just then, a glaring red text rolled violently across my retinas.
[Manhattan District-Wide Broadcast]
Brad (S-Rank · Thunder Tyrant): "Listen up, all survivors of this city! I've already established the 'Thunder Shelter' on the top floor of the Wall Street Skyscraper! Everyone, bring your supplies and rally to me! Anyone who disobeys will be electrocuted to cinders! Arthur, you little piece of shit, keep your dog eyes peeled and watch closely how I become the King of the New World!"
A god? A king?
I sneered coldly and swiped the interface closed. Just an overgrown man-baby relying on overdrawing his own life essence to spark some electricity.
Without me operating in the shadows every single day, using [Reset] to stitch up his crumbling genes like I did in our past life, his arrogance wouldn't last a few days. The harder he blasted his lightning, the worse his death would be. Very soon, he would find his own flesh peeling off his bones like burnt charcoal.
"Master, do you need me to go slaughter him?" Victoria stood up, a deep frown creasing her forehead.
"No need. That would be letting him off too easy." I mentally pulled up the underground structural map of Manhattan. A red cursor locked dead onto a location dozens of meters directly beneath Wall Street.
"Let's go, Victoria. Before we enjoy watching the high tower crumble, we need to go take over our throne first."
The fourth-level underground vault of the Federal Reserve.
Down there lay the world's most impenetrable nuclear bunker, eight thousand tons of old-world gold, and... the most vital nuclear reactor cluster in the entire apocalyptic wasteland.
