Apocalypse: Reborn with a Soul Sync Farming Space System-Chapter 119 Bitten

Day 4

Meanwhile, at the center of the city, the half-broken five-star hotel was swarmed with infected from all corners. They crawled over one another trying to reach the top floor.

Inside the building, people who had been bitten or injured by the infected began turning to one. The red mist oozed through the corridors of the once elegant hotel. Blood stained the wall in splashes, sprees, and hands of unknown people who once tried to escape from the horror.

The infected low growls rumbled through the air as they walked at a fast pace, their heads turning clockwise and anti-clockwise, searching for the next prey.

Inside the janitor’s office on the ground floor, Ronan hid behind the table he had used to block the entrance door, and cold beads of sweat trickled down his temple.

His ears strained for any noise of the infected coming towards him. ’F**k!’ He cussed in his head, afraid that if he said the word out it would garner the attention of the infected.

He didn’t even dare to breathe too loudly, his mind wandered to the near encounter with death, he had apparently stared at death’s face but somehow managed to escape.

...

A few days ago

Crash!

His body slammed into the wall as he tried to make a turn down the stairs, but he didn’t feel any pain, maybe it was the adrenaline rushing through his veins.

The guttural growls rumbled through the stairs, and the metal railings trembled and made noises as the infected’s body slammed into them in an arbitrary movement.

Just as Ronan was about to reach the second floor, the infected slammed into him, and he fell from the stairs, his body rolling like a log down the bumpy hills.

His leg got caught in one of the spaces between the railings, stopping him from slamming his head on the last stair.

Ronan groaned in pain, his vision blurring momentarily. He squinted his eyes trying to gain full consciousness.

When his vision cleared, the sight before him made his heart jump out of its cage before jumping back into his chest... The infected jumped from the upper staircase towards him.

He quickly moved sideways, his foot trapped in the railings, which limited his movement.

His fingers scrambled blindly against the concrete step, searching for anything solid to grip. His trapped leg twisted painfully between the metal bars of the railing, and when he tried to yank it free, a sharp pain shot up to his hip.

The infected landed where his head had been a second earlier, its weight cracking against the stair edge. Its teeth snapped shut with a loud click, missing his face by inches.

Ronan shoved himself backward, his palms scraping against rough concrete. His heel remained wedged between the railings.

The infected lunged again, Its breath was thick and wet, carrying the stench of blood and rot.

Ronan reached for the knife instinctively, but he quickly realized it was not on him.

His heart dropped.

And his gaze darted downward. The knife was lying two steps below him, near the edge of the landing. It was too far to reach...

The infected grabbed his shirt collar and yanked him forward.

The fabric tore with a sharp sound, slicing through the air.

Its face lowered toward his throat.

Ronan raised both hands and shoved against its jaw, straining to keep its teeth away from his skin. Its saliva dripped onto his wrist, warm and sticky. The strength in its neck was overwhelming, pushing down with relentless force.

His trapped leg limited how far he could twist away and he could feel his muscles trembling. He knew he would not hold it for long.

He shifted his weight abruptly and slammed his forehead into its face.

The impact stunned it for less than a second, but that second was enough.

He released one hand and reached downward, throwing all reasoning through the window, stretching his fingers desperately toward the knife.

His fingertips brushed the handle...

The infected roared and bit down on his shoulder instead of his neck as he shifted, its teeth tearing through his jacket. Pain exploded across his upper arm, sharp and agonizing.

He let out a muffled cry. "Bastard!" Ronan said through gritted teeth.

He successfully grabbed the hilt of the knife, and turned around, driving it upward blindly.

The blade struck the infected’s chest, sliding against the ribs. He pulled it out and stabbed again, this time higher, angling toward the throat.

The infected jerked violently, squealing in anger, its grip tightened around him. Its blackened blood spilled from the wound, splattering across Ronan’s face and collar.

Ronan stabbed again. And again. "Die motherf**ker!"

His arm burned with the effort.

The knife finally found the space beneath its chin. He forced it upward with every ounce of strength left in him, ignoring the tearing pain in his shoulder.

The blade pierced through the infected chin upward to its head. Ronan forcefully dragged the knife out, and blood spurted out, staining his face and the surroundings.

The infected convulsed, its body shuddering violently as more of the dark blood poured out. Its body slumped over Ronan’s, its blood coating his hands, his chest, and his neck.

For a terrifying moment, it did not stop moving.

Its fingers clawed at him weakly, its nails digging into his skin. Then it stopped moving.

Ronan shoved it off him, gasping for breath.

The infected’s corpse slid down two steps and stopped awkwardly against the railing.

The stairwell fell into a brief, heavy silence.

Ronan closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath. His leg was still trapped, and he knew he needed to start moving or else another infected would discover him.

He twisted sharply and yanked it free, ignoring the fresh wave of pain. He staggered to his feet, his shoulder throbbing where the teeth had pierced.

He swallowed hard... hoping it didn’t have any repercussions.

Black blood dripped from his hairline and slid down his cheek. It soaked into his collar and shirt, spreading across him in thick patches.

He wiped at it instinctively, then paused when another growl echoed faintly from above...More were coming.

He grabbed the corpse by the collar and dragged it aside, clearing his path down the remaining steps.

When he descended to the second-floor landing, two infected stood at the far end of the corridor feeding, their heads turning sharply at the sound of his steps.

Ronan froze, his face whitened with fear. However his expression was stiff, and his face was covered in the black blood of the infected he had killed.

The infected sniffed the air, as if confused whether he was a prey or just like them.

One took a step toward him, then stopped before him. Its head tilted slightly as it sniffed his body.

Ronan did not move, not because he didn’t want to, but because his legs had refused to. Fighting one infected was like Mission Impossible, how was he supposed to fight against two?

The creature’s gaze passed over him uncertainly before returning to the prey they were feeding on.