Chương 9: Ripping Ghosts

Nyx's Armoured Racer rode across the endless dark plains like a white hawk taking flight under a clouded sky. At first, driving such a fast bike in such low-visibility conditions had him focusing intensely so he wouldn't crash into some stone and send his vehicle barreling out of control. He'd seen a fair number of cases of motorcyclists meeting their doom that way. Though mostly on social media. Thus, he made sure to keep its speed capped at 90 km/h even though it was capable of far more.

As he rode under the night filled with ghastly, guttural growls and screams for help and gunfire coming from every direction, he noticed a peculiar thing about himself. Change, and fast adaptation. He was adapting to everything way too fast, and not only him—the other survivors too. They'd begun grouping up, establishing hierarchy, and from the looks of it, many had turned extremely ruthless all of a sudden too. Sure, in his case, he had limited choices in who and how many he could help out.

He'd thus far intentionally avoided picking up radio calls for help from people whose vehicles were turned over, or people who were on the verge of death. There were also those in Syrin's condition, but much worse, as even their bullets had run out and they'd already spent much of their money on exorbitant foods. If he went around helping these people out, his situation would turn out to be similar to theirs in no time flat.

He didn't have an infinite-ammo gun with infinite durability, or a battle tank that couldn't even be scratched by the sprinter zombies. But that was exactly what confused him. Because those who had it—for example, the heavenly fleet and the green ghost fleet—both of these groups had the capability to save tons of lives. And yet, instead, they were on regional chat, hawking their rescue services in exchange for mod cards or exorbitant amounts of payment.

There were also rumors of some big shots going around accepting rescue requests. First forcing the victim in need to hand over payment, then leaving without so much as firing a single bullet. How had people who, not even half a day ago, were normal, law-abiding citizens living in the modern era of the internet turned so extremely self-centered? One thing could explain this: adaptation for the sake of survival.

Nyx had adapted—he was stealing resources from people right under their noses, and had even taken payment while rescuing Syrin, knowing full well how tough it would be for her if she couldn't find a treasure chest the next day. The ruthless, borderline cruel acts of these individuals could be explained in a similar manner. They were fishing for resources in a world where, without them, you wouldn't even survive the next night.

And the first night was by far the most fruitful time to pull out all the stops in gathering as many resources as possible, since the majority hadn't yet adapted as well as the select few.

"But then, the speed seems almost supernatural," Nyx thought out loud. After coming to the plains, he'd not only seen dead bodies—something he'd never even glanced at beyond the one funeral he'd attended where the body was covered with a white cloth—he'd also desecrated these already defiled corpses further with bullets without batting an eye. He'd gotten into the habit of sneaking around people and taking their resources with an ease that should, frankly, still feel alien to him.

So, with all these things combined—this unnaturally fast speed of adaptation in a land of magical construct-like systems—Nyx could reach only one conclusion. The system had somehow dialed up their brains' adaptive capability, and had made it so people took everything they were given and assimilated it into their quest for survival at rapid speed. But then why were so many people still dying? He contemplated that question while driving toward the green ghost fleet's location.

It was around the foothills of the Black Stone Mountains, north of the central plains where he'd first arrived. Within a few more minutes, he should start hearing gunfire. In the meantime, his brain kept wondering and searching for answers to that one question, until it reached a somewhat satisfying conclusion. Resistance.

Just because the humans brought here had likely had their brains' adaptation processes clocked up didn't mean the system was forcibly guiding their actions toward ruthlessness and cruelty to secure resources and cultivate strength. No. It was, in large part, because of their choices too. It depended on how accepting of the new reality one was, and what they did to survive in it. The speedy adaptation could only begin then.

"Plus, the system—this shitty thing—had given many of us garbage vehicles that guaranteed death right from the get-go." If not for him upgrading and advancing his vehicle before nightfall, he was a hundred percent sure he would've died to the first zombies he'd otherwise dealt with swiftly, much less encountering a sprinter, which could very well assure his death even now. They ran at nearly one hundred fifty kilometers per hour; anything hitting his vehicle at that speed would leave him wheezing from a concussion.

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. So, after the amount of deliberation Nyx could manage before hearing the shots fired by the green ghost fleet, he settled on this: the reason behind their fast adaptation was supernatural, which gave some of them a better shot at survival. But the reason for the deaths of others was also the system-given equipment. Hypocrisy—the system was pretty hypocritical. But then again, so were they.

"And speaking of hypocrisy," Nyx's ears perked up at the sound of relentless gunshots coming from the distance ahead.

"Guess the thief has found his second victim." He said with a villainous grin. Twisting the throttle, he increased his speed while taking a sharp turn. Hearing the noise, then zooming in to see the muzzle flashes with his goggles' heat detection, he got a very good idea of their exact location. The issue was the lack of a suitable spot—like the mound around the misty mountains—to park his vehicle and spy from.

He needed high altitude, one also far enough away to let his vehicle approach silently while still staying within the viewing range of his goggles. So, after a bit of head-craning and squinting, Nyx found just the right spot. It was a place with tall trees, right behind the group. The fleet was facing forward, with mountains and hills to their back. With about twenty vehicles and at least thirty people using guns to mow down the zombies outside, they were doing just as well as the heavenly fleet.

Nyx soon reached his destination after a minute of riding through the steep slopes and parked his vehicle beside a tree. Putting his goggles on maximum zoom, he observed the scene. One good thing about sneaking up behind these large groups was that there tended not to be many zombies behind them. Fair enough, considering the amount of noise they made firing tens of guns simultaneously without silencers—more than enough to attract every zombie around. He reopened the regional chat to check what they were up to.

Regional Chat [Boss sure is enjoying himself with Clara inside the tank.] [Don't even speak of it, it's hardly the time to be doing these things when we are literally surrounded by undeads.] [I wouldn't call them undead, these things die just fine, lol] [Still, everyone here really is up and using all the advantages they have, even beyond the gold and equipment.] [Well, can you blame her? She'd been given a dilapidated sedan! No way she could've survived the night that way.] [Good joke Ashin, you do realize we've just seen another girl zipping around the plains on motorcycle, sweeping through zombies with only a cold sword, right?] [Lol, we don't talk about that fiend, not everyone is a psychopath.] [I'm still surprised that boss folded so easily for Clara, he didn't seem so easy to sway.] [Lol, have you really not seen that fat ass of hers? Any man with testosterone would fold in no time.] [Ngl, she's a goth girl material.] [Fr, fr.] Nyx eyed them with an extremely judgmental look, then sighed. Guess they're doing fine enough. Also, what's that about someone running around the plains with cold weapons? Cold weapons were basically swords, spears, bats, and other primitive gear. They might have been useless against zombies unless you could sever their heads with a single slash or crush their skulls with one hit. But even then, the risk wasn't worth it. Even a single scratch from these undead would have you turning into one.

And an antidote for the zombie plague went for nearly three hundred gold online. Currently, none were capable of buying one. Though stealing happened often, with big shots threatening others or offering special treatment in exchange for one. And someone was going around killing zombies with one sword?

"The regional chats had become like news channels." He sighed, then focused his eyes on the muzzle flashes and the zombie bodies getting torn apart through continuous firing. Nyx activated his skill with a simple chant.

"Steal everything, [Usurper]," he spoke, feeling a distinct sense of satisfaction at the verbal recital. Immediately the jingling noise of gold began to ring in his ears. [Usurpation Successful] [Acquired. 05 Gold, Leather x3] [Acquired. 05 Gold, Glass Panels x5] [Acquired. 05 Gold, Leather x1] The dark night, filled to the brim with a starry sky, continued to pass, while Nyx kept "watch" over the Green Ghost fleet, like some haunted ghost himself.

Blinking intermittently to rest his eyes a bit before returning to his observation. After a full five hours of ripping them off, he finally checked his inventory. Inventory: [Gold x46, Fuel x4, Leather x300, Iron Plates x130, Glass Panels x300, Mechanical Parts x100, Universal Bullets x10008] He grinned with satisfaction, opening the regional window and viewing it from the corner of his eye. It was, as expected, full of confusion and rage. Regional Chat [The fucks happening?? How come we're only getting half the rewards???] [Shits have been happening for nearly the past several hours now! Were we cursed by something?] [I say the gods are punishing us, because of the boss banging girls in front of the dead.] [Vice Captain, this is not the time for these kinds of jokes.] [Sorry boss.] [But seriously, we're losing on so much resources here, we'd specifically come to the Northern mountains for its excessive amounts of zombie hordes, and had kept the places population of zombies a secret, and had even offed people so they wouldn't reveal it! For what?] [At this rate, doing rescuing work would've been more profitable.] [Hey, here this out, I'd just learned that similar things are happening to the Heavenly Fleet too.] [Damn it, at this rate we wouldn't have enough funds to dominate this resourceful mountain for ourselves!] [Immediately contact that archivist, or any deduction or divination skill users you can get your hands on!.] [On it captain!] Ignoring the blatant confessions of murder, he boarded his bike again. And almost at the same time, he heard a wail from far in the distance that seemed to shake the very plains. Nyx squinted his eyes to check.

A long-legged, slender entity was moving toward the green ghost fleet at speeds that would leave even his vehicle in the dust, kicking up clouds behind it as it barreled forward like some homing missile.

"Shit, that's a sprinter zombie."