Ghostface refused to surrender to fate.
Zhang Yang, on the other hand, seemed to relish the game of cat and mouse.
Through repeated assaults, he had imprinted threads of his psychic power onto Ghostface. No matter how far the latter ran, he could always sense him.
Thus, Zhang Yang allowed Ghostface to run for a while longer, only to reappear when his prey thought he had narrowly escaped, striking with brutal precision.
In essence, Zhang Yang's goal wasn't just to kill his "enemy"—he aimed to shatter his spirit.
In a dilapidated urban village, within a shadowy, narrow alleyway, Ghostface, battered and exhausted, emerged from a small corner. Like a bird startled by the wind or a dog driven from its home, he gasped for air and scanned his surroundings nervously.
"Ha... ha... I've run so far already. Surely, I've lost that guy," he muttered to himself, still shaken.
After a frantic escape, Ghostface was utterly spent. His energy reserves were nearly depleted, leaving him incapable of retreating into the shadows for further flight or concealment. Stripped of all his tricks, he could only bide his time to recover.
"That damned bastard! Not only has he destroyed my army, but he's hell-bent on taking my life!" Ghostface snarled, his face contorted with fury. "So what if you're a Tier 4 zombie king? The tides will turn—mark my words! One day, I'll make you and your lackeys pay for this, with interest!"
His hatred burned bright as he cursed Zhang Yang, Tyrant, and Dominator. Swearing vengeance, he resolved to find a hiding place. Although stripped of his territory and minions, he still retained the strength of a Tier 2 zombie. If he could weather this storm and retreat to some obscure corner of the city to recuperate, he might one day rise again, perhaps even more powerful than before.
However, as Ghostface stumbled out of the alley, his steps faltered, and he froze in place.
First came shock and disbelief. Then, terror seized him. His hair stood on end, and his pupils contracted sharply. Words failed him, leaving his voice trembling.
"Y-You… how did you catch up to me?!"
It was Zhang Yang, standing before him once more. Unlike his previous dramatic entrance, Zhang Yang had arrived silently this time, his sole purpose to give Ghostface a grim "surprise."
Seeing Ghostface's petrified expression, as though he had truly seen a ghost, Zhang Yang smirked, satisfied that his plan had worked.
With a teasing grin, he declared, "You've been marked with more than one psychic imprint. Even if you flee to the ends of the earth, you won't escape my grasp."
Ghostface finally understood: from the very beginning, Zhang Yang had never intended to grant him a swift death. This was all a cruel game.
"Hahaha!" Ghostface's sanity snapped. He lunged wildly at Zhang Yang with clawed hands, his energy reserves long depleted, reduced to the crude savagery of an ordinary zombie.
To Zhang Yang, who valued elegance in every movement, Ghostface's feral attack was unbearably crude and repugnant. Even the slightest trace of amusement evaporated.
"Die."
With a wave of his hand, his psychic power froze Ghostface mid-air, locking him in place. Then, tendrils of energy invaded Ghostface's body, swelling from within until—
Boom.
Like an overinflated balloon, Ghostface exploded into a bloody mess, painting the alley walls red. Protected by his psychic energy, Zhang Yang's immaculate attire remained untouched, exuding an air of refined elegance.
He reached out, catching a dark crystal that fell from the remnants. With the casual ease of a snack, he popped it into his mouth, crunching it into pieces. The Tier 2 zombie king's energy crystal was potent, providing nearly thirty energy points—a hearty meal for Zhang Yang.
Just as he was about to leave, Zhang Yang abruptly paused. He felt a gaze, faint yet piercing, watching him from a distant high-rise.
"Who's there?"
Whipping around, his crimson eyes locked onto the 32nd floor of a building several hundred meters away. He caught the fleeting shadow of the observer, who hadn't expected to be discovered.
The figure—a slender silhouette wearing glasses and a white lab coat—vanished almost instantly.
"A human?" Zhang Yang murmured, frowning. Despite the brief, distant encounter, something about that figure felt eerily familiar. It wasn't a face he recognized but rather an aura, a sensation he had encountered before.
"An experiment… my parents' lab!"
The realization struck him like a thunderbolt: the mysterious figure must be connected to the secretive laboratory where his parents once worked.
Years ago, Zhang Yang's father, Zhang Qi, and mother, Xu Yalin, were among the world's leading biologists. They conducted groundbreaking research in an enigmatic facility, and Zhang Yang, diagnosed with a rare blood disorder, was brought there as a child. He recalled wandering through the lab, where he saw announcements from the "ElectroGenesis Corporation" and met children housed in glass chambers, allegedly volunteers for experiments.
Among those children were names and faces etched into his memory: Bai Yuan, Butterfly, Gu Ao. They had been his friends.
Now, with his sharpened mind in the post-apocalyptic world, Zhang Yang realized the truth. Those "volunteers" were not participants—they were test subjects. The "ElectroGenesis Corporation" funded the lab's dark experiments, which likely harbored a massive conspiracy.
Burying these revelations deep within, Zhang Yang left the alley as if nothing had happened. It wasn't indifference—he knew uncovering the truth required strength far greater than he currently possessed.