Apocalypse King: Recruiting S-Tier Beauties With My Ruler System
Chapter 141: Screamer’s Nest

Chapter 141: Screamer’s Nest

March 20th, 8:24 AM — Longwan Mall, Second Floor, North Wing

John Wang POV

—

The moment my foot hit the second-floor landing, I knew we were walking into something worse.

The air was thicker here. Not warmer. Just heavier. It clung to the skin like a leech, quietly sucking each person’s lifeblood. It smelled faintly of wet rust, like copper that had been left in a damp sink too long.

Behind me, Tang Wei swept her shotgun across the darkened corners, keeping low and steady.

Jiang Roulan took the left side with both tonfa in hand, twirling one once in a habitual motion before locking her grip. Shen Yifei didn’t speak, but her fingers tensed around the shaft of her spear, loosening and tightening in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

Something was stalking us. I couldn’t see it. Not directly. But I felt the shift in pressure, the small tremors in the air—vibrations running along the ground, just beneath conscious notice.

They were faint, but unnatural. Coordinated. Like something was testing how close it could get before we noticed.

We moved forward past an abandoned smoothie bar. Half the signage had collapsed, and the tiles were smeared with a strange, chalky residue. Not blood. Not human, at least. Something darker and flaking, like dried sap boiled out of concrete.

The escalator to the left had been torn apart—metal teeth bent backwards, the handrail snapped and hung like a torn ligament. No bodies, no signs of gunfire, just a quiet aftermath that didn’t belong to a random outbreak. It was methodical. Too clean in the wrong places.

"Movement—left side," Tang Wei said under her breath, steady but tense.

I turned toward the food court’s outer edge. The darkness wasn’t full, but the way the light broke through the broken ceiling made shadows stretch longer than they should.

Behind the central map kiosk, something shifted. It moved fast, not in a stagger or lurch, but in a straight line—purposeful, like it knew the layout better than we did.

Jiang Roulan whispered near my shoulder. "That wasn’t a normal zombie."

"No," I said. "They’re not acting like the ones outside."

She tapped one tonfa softly against her thigh, jaw tight. "A little too smart."

Shen Yifei took a half-step forward, pausing near a decorative fountain filled with murky water and the remains of what looked like a store sign.

"Are they watching?" she said. "Waiting for something."

And then we heard it.

A sound rose from the far end of the floor, high and sharp. It didn’t shriek. It pierced—a clean, narrow tone that slid beneath the skin and curled into the bones. The walls didn’t shake, but the light flickered. One bulb snapped and shattered above the seating area.

Shen Yifei hissed and covered one ear.

Jiang Roulan muttered something and moved to intercept.

My gauntlets clicked into place around my wrists.

"Eyes up. We’re not alone down here anymore."

The noise didn’t stop.

It didn’t climb or drop. It held steady, threading through the air like a wire pulled tight. Not loud enough to cause panic, but sharp enough to set every nerve on edge. It didn’t feel like something meant to scare us. It felt like something meant to guide.

Shen Yifei adjusted her grip, spear angled low but ready. Her shoulders didn’t move, but I could see the stiffness in her movements, the way her body moved, and she hesitated.

We moved past the central court, where several escalators formed a crossroads. The upper floors were silent, but I didn’t trust the shadows watching from the railing above.

"They’re not attacking," Tang Wei murmured, sweeping her shotgun through a broken dining stall. "They’re trying to separate us."

The pitch in the air spiked slight, barely noticeable. But Jiang Roulan flinched.

"They know we’re listening."

At the far end of the lounge, something stepped into view.

It wasn’t like the zombies we’d seen in the first few days.

This one stood tall—maybe six feet three—with a narrow, stretched body. Not emaciated. Just elongated. Its head tilted unnaturally to the left, like its spine hadn’t formed properly, or it had broken too many times to heal right.

Its eyes weren’t white. They were black. Wet. Reflective.

The mouth didn’t open.

But the sound got louder.

Shen Yifei swore under her breath.

"What is that?"

"Something worse," I said. "Don’t let it speak."

It didn’t charge. It didn’t run. It walked—casual, measured—like it had nothing to fear.

That was worse than screaming.

Jiang Roulan moved first, her feet hitting the tile with sharp precision as she broke right. Her tonfa struck the railing once, loud enough to bounce through the open space.

The creature stopped.

Its neck twitched. Not turned. Twitched—short, erratic movements, like it was testing its limits.

Then it opened its mouth.

There was no scream.

Not yet.

Just pressure.

The air compressed in my ears. Shen Yifei stumbled, catching herself against a kiosk frame. Tang Wei grimaced, her hand shaking for a second before she reset her grip.

The sound didn’t come out in a wave. It came out like a drill—directed, thin, precise.

My vision blurred slightly.

Then I moved.

I slammed forward, both gauntlets primed, steps quick and heavy. The creature tilted its head again, but didn’t move. It just stared.

And then it opened wider.

The shriek hit us in a straight line.

Not from the throat. From somewhere deeper—chest, stomach, maybe even the lungs if it still had those. The pitch scraped against the metal in my gauntlets and sent a ripple through the floor tiles.

It wasn’t meant to deafen us.

It was meant to call.

I caught a flicker of movement from the upper floor.

Then another.

And another.

"They’re coming," Shen Yifei called, already setting her feet to brace. "A lot of them."

The Screamer tilted its head again.

And smiled.

No, was that really a smile!? Muscles didn’t shape a smile torn into place.

The corners of its mouth stretched too far, splitting skin that had once tried to heal but never closed right. Each time it moved, the flesh peeled back slightly, exposing more of the black-stained gums.

Thick, tar-like residue clung to its teeth in broken threads. Not blood. Something else. Something rotten that wasn’t decaying fast enough. Its teeth weren’t crooked or shattered — they were filed, dull, shaped like a predator’s idea of control, like it wanted to tear, but slowly.

It didn’t blink. Didn’t shift.

It smiled and stared.

Not because it was mocking us, but because we were in place. It had waited, listened, and brought us exactly where it wanted.

Above us, the sound changed.

Not the scream. That stayed constant — a frequency just sharp enough to crawl under the skin but never loud enough to justify covering your ears. But the echo... that shifted.

Something else was coming.

I caught the sound of bare feet slapping metal. One pair. Then two. Then more. From the floor above, down the vent shafts, across broken tiles.

"All directions," Tang Wei said, already spinning around.

Jiang Roulan drew in a breath and clicked her tonfa against each other once — not a flourish, just tension. A warning to herself.

Shen Yifei didn’t say anything. She moved to cover the western corridor, near the broken sign for the subway stall. She planted her back foot, braced the spear, and waited.

The first one dropped from the ceiling vent — legs bending hard, hands out like a mantis, body far too long. Its arms scraped the tile as it skittered forward. The shriek hadn’t stopped.

Then came the second. And the third.

Four of them.

Not like the one that led us here — smaller, but similar in shape. Same thin limbs. Same distorted posture. Not wild, not drooling — coordinated.

A different type of zombie.

"Right side," I called.

Tang Wei fired once, her shotgun’s boom echoing. A spread of shells caught one in the shoulder, spinning it off course, and tearing off its arm, but it didn’t stop. It just shifted its weight and kept crawling.

I charged forward, both gauntlets snapping into active mode.

The first impact shattered a half-table that the thing had just leapt over.

My punch landed square in its ribs. I felt the bones break — but it didn’t scream. It didn’t flinch. It only twitched — then turned, trying to bite my wrist through the gauntlet housing.

Jiang Roulan tackled it from the side, both tonfa striking down in a double arc, cracking the skull clean.

Shen Yifei caught another mid-air with the butt of her spear, pivoted, then ran it through.

Tang Wei backed against a pillar, shooting twice more, holding the corner.

More were coming.

A scream tore through the hallway again — not from the one we fought. From deeper inside. Another Screamer. Closer.

"They’re trying to split us," Roulan snapped. "Crush them!" She took out the Type-9k and aimed it at the screamer.

I moved toward the next shadow.

"They don’t want to win," I muttered. "They want to pull us apart."