Zhihan stared at the ammunition rules on his System panel, his irritation growing by the second.
The Weapons category was wide open, practically dripping with potential. There were Spirit-infused handguns, high-caliber rifles, black-steel katanas, explosive charges, an entire arsenal he would have happily emptied his point balance for if every single item didn’t demand the exact same absurd price.
Zhihan had even bothered to pull up his hidden Sanity status.
[Sanity: 100%]
He stared at the bold, perfect number for three seconds before dismissing the screen with a sharp flick of his wrist.
He was starting to get why the other Players bowed down to those so-called Witnesses, relying on divine sponsorship to power their gear.
But that didn’t mean he was about to drop to his knees for a bunch of glorified cosmic freeloaders. Not a chance in hell.
He’d never bought into the concept of gods. If these omnipotent bastards were so noble, why build a bloody meat-grinder like the Infinite Endgame?
Why sit back with popcorn and watch their "beloved creations" get torn apart by grotesque abominations?
And yet, back in the real world, psychiatrists had branded him a cold-blooded sociopath.
The sheer hypocrisy was almost funny.
Not that he dwelled on it. The truth was, as fucked up as this place was, the Infinite Endgame felt infinitely more freeing than a six-by-eight prison cell.
Here, he didn’t have to put on a polite mask. He didn’t have to watch his tone, pull his punches, or shrink himself to fit into society’s neat little boxes.
Here, he could just unleash the violence and be.
Feeling the bruised impact on his back rapidly stitch itself together with the help of his system healing, Zhihan rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and sat cross-legged right onto the cold stone of the courtyard. He threw one last, dismissive glance at the Weapons shop before closing it up.
"Hello there."
He Zhihan cut his eyes sideways as Elder Bo lowered himself onto the stone beside him, looking far too casual for a guy who’d just watched a potato-shaped corpse-eater fall out of a second-story window.
Zhihan raised a dark brow, his tone flat and unbothered. "What do you want, old man?"
Elder Bo let out a soft chuckle. "Just checking if you’re still in one piece."
"I’m fine." He Zhihan skipped the fake pleasantries, his dark fringe casting shadows over his sharp eyes. "Were you the one who threw that monster off me before it crushed my skull?"
Zhihan’s gaze went completely dead. "And the people standing behind you?"
"Fresh meat," Elder Bo replied smoothly. "Their profiles are locked down tight, none of them have the juice to pull off an invisible kinetic shockwave."
Zhihan nodded slowly, his mind turning over the memory of the blast.
What actually saved me?
It hadn’t felt like a defensive spell or a raw kinetic strike. It had felt like an absolute command as if the space around him had simply decided the monster wasn’t permitted to touch him.
Elder Bo pushed himself up, dusting off his long robes. "Shall we get back inside? We still have a mission to complete."
Zhihan rose to his feet, brushing the damp dirt from his trousers. "How many Players did you count on the bus, Elder Bo?"
"Thirty-one," the old man answered.
Zhihan’s movements halted.
Thirty-one.
He had done the exact same head count in the dining hall. Thirty-one Players but he didn’t see Ji Changsheng on that bus or the dining.
Zhihan replayed the beautiful man’s smooth, velvet introduction in his head.
Hello, He Zhihan, My name is Ji Changsheng. Your roommate.
Hmm.....
He hoped the man was still breathing. He had questions.
And as that voice echoed over and over in his head, the realization hit him. It was the exact same voice he’d heard on the bus!
Meh.
°
Meanwhile, Ji Changsheng stood before the shattered window He Zhihan had fallen through.
The cold night wind drifted through the broken frame, gently lifting his long silver-gold hair.
The darker strands beneath it swayed against his back, catching the pale moonlight as his mismatched eyes remained fixed on the courtyard below.
He watched as He Zhihan spoke to the old man, his dark, sharp figure slowly disappearing from view along with the three players as they headed back toward the motel entrance.
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he muttered, "He just left me to die."
There was a faint note of disbelief in his voice. As if he genuinely couldn’t comprehend the audacity of the man.
Ji Changsheng stared at the empty courtyard for a few lingering seconds before finally turning away from the ledge.
His gaze dropped to the floorboards. Where dark, foul blood covered the polished wood, splattered across shards of shattered glass and smeared in thick, gruesome trails toward the window.
The monster that had nearly turned He Zhihan into a midnight snack lay completely motionless several meters away.
Dead. Torn apart from the inside out.
A look of disgust crossed Ji Changsheng’s face as a thin, viscous trail of black blood rolled across the wood, threatening to touch the tip of his polished shoe.
"Filthy." He took a smooth step back, his dark eyes darkening. "You almost killed my favorite toy."
His gaze drifted past the corpse, settling on the shattered window frame where the night wind continued to howl.
"He doesn’t have my string tied around him..." A faintly offended look of discontent crossed his breathtaking features. "They keep snapping."
Ji Changsheng stared out into the vast, pitch-black sky, his mismatched amber and jade eyes locking onto the crescent moon as though he were staring at an unseen spectator.
Then, his gaze lowered back to the dark floorboards.
He offered the mutilated corpse one final dismissive glance, his lip curling in quiet disdain. "I have to stop them from snapping."