Dinl moved silently through the lower levels of the mall, his knife steady in his hand. The air was heavy with decay, and the faint groans of zombies echoed through the halls. The bodies of his latest kills lay sprawled across the cracked tiles, their twisted forms still leaking black ichor.
He paused, crouching near a broken display case. His reflection in the jagged glass showed blood streaked across his jawline and exhaustion etched into his features. Ignoring it, he studied the objects scattered inside: a set of utility knives and a small but sharp blade with a serrated edge.
Dinl reached in and gathered the blades quickly, testing their weight. They weren't ideal, but they would do. His current knife was reliable but showing wear from hours of constant use. He slid the extra blades into his belt, taking a deep breath as he assessed the hall ahead.
'These will help,' he thought. 'But I'll need more than weapons to finish this.'
The mall's shattered shelves and scattered debris offered more than obstacles—they were tools. Dinl moved carefully, his steps quiet as he worked to prepare the environment around him.
He collected shards of broken glass from the floor, placing them in choke points where zombies would stumble through, slicing their feet and legs as they passed. At key intersections, he stacked debris: metal racks, splintered chairs, and overturned tables. The barricades weren't meant to block the undead completely, but to slow them, forcing them into narrow paths where they would be easier to handle.
Every broken mannequin, discarded piece of clothing, and plastic bag became part of the strategy. The mannequins served as decoys, placed near entrances to draw zombies' attention. The clothing and bags were scattered to create false trails, luring groups away from his position.
By the time he finished, the lower levels of the mall had been transformed into a makeshift battleground. Dinl wiped sweat from his forehead, inspecting the final barrier he'd constructed. The environment was ready… now he just needed to test it.
Leaning against a crumbling pillar, Dinl waited for the sound of shuffling feet. It wasn't long before a small group of zombies stumbled into view. Five of them, each jerking unnaturally as they moved, their decayed faces blank and unfeeling.
He remained still, watching as the first zombie tripped over a pile of scattered clothing. Its body hit the ground with a heavy thud, followed by the scrape of glass shards cutting into its limbs as it struggled to rise.
The noise attracted the others, drawing them into the kill zone. One by one, they moved through the narrow pathway between the barricades, each one stepping directly into Dinl's trap.
When the last zombie was close enough, Dinl struck. He lunged forward, his knife flashing as he drove the blade into its temple. Spinning on his heel, he cut down the next two with swift, efficient strikes. The final two zombies were disoriented, their legs shredded by glass. Dinl took them down with ease.
As the final corpse hit the ground, he stepped back, his chest rising and falling steadily.
'It's working,' he thought, his gaze shifting to the darkened corridor ahead. 'Now to clear the rest.'
Dinl repeated the process as he moved through the lower levels, dismantling small groups of zombies and clearing areas of the mall one section at a time. His traps thinned their numbers, but his own blade did most of the work.
The kills were methodical. A quick stab to the base of the skull. A clean slice across the throat. Each motion was practiced and precise, leaving no room for error.
But with every kill, the strain began to mount. His arms ached from the constant movement, and his breaths grew heavier. He paused briefly in the corner of a department store, leaning against the wall as he checked his system screen.
System Notification:
"40 Zombies Eliminated: +800 XP."
His lips pressed into a thin line. He wasn't there yet, but he was close.
Dinl glanced at his bloodied knife, his expression unreadable. He'd killed more zombies in this single stretch than he had during most of his first life's early trials. The knowledge brought no satisfaction, only a grim understanding of how far he'd come—and how much farther he still had to go.
He pulled up his stats screen, the soft blue light illuminating his face in the shadowed hallway.
Stats:
Level: 14
HP: 114/114
Strength: 19
Stamina: 29
Endurance: 17
Defense: 9
Agility: 24
Speed: 21
Luck: 1 (Fixed)
Stat Points Available: 2
The numbers told the story of his steady progress. Dinl had spent most of his five stat points carefully at each level to shore up his speed, stamina, and agility—attributes that had kept him alive in the chaos of the Tower. However, two points always remained unspent. It wasn't caution; it was strategy. His first life had taught him that emergencies demanded flexibility, and those extra points were his safety net.
He dismissed the screen with a flick of his hand. "Not yet," he muttered.
The system notification appeared in the corner of his vision after the last zombie fell, accompanied by a familiar chime.
"Level Up! Level 15."
Dinl opened the stats screen again, his breathing steady despite the ache in his muscles.
Stats:
Level: 15
HP: 120/120
Strength: 19
Stamina: 30
Endurance: 18
Defense: 10
Agility: 25
Speed: 22
Luck: 1 (Fixed)
Stat Points Available: 2
The increases were deliberate, as always. Dinl had spent five points earned at this level, bolstering his endurance and speed to balance his already high agility and stamina. He kept the remaining two in reserve, knowing they could be the edge he needed in the fight against Cerberus.
The distant roar of the creature echoed louder, shaking the walls and stirring the dust in the air. Dinl dismissed the screen, adjusting the grip on his knife.
"This ends now," he said, stepping toward the sound.