Apocalypse King: Recruiting S-Tier Beauties With My Ruler System
Chapter 158: First Step into Madness

Chapter 158: First Step into Madness

March 20th, 10:12 PM — Longwan Mall, Service Wing

John Wang POV

———

The silence was almost perfect.

Tang Wei had fallen asleep forty minutes ago, bundled beneath her jacket and half-zipped into her sleeping bag, one hand still resting near her shotgun. The others were out cold—snoring lightly, breathing slow, no movement beyond the occasional twitch of a leg or turn of a head.

I sat cross-legged beside the ammo case, sliding rounds into magazines by feel.

The rhythm was simple. Calming. Click. Slide. Tap. Stack.

Nine-millimetre rounds for Chen and Deng Hua. Buckshot for Tang Wei and Liang Mei. The motion kept my hands busy and my mind still, one mag at a time.

My system pinged softly with restock notices. I ignored them.

Then—

clink

A sound.

Soft. Faint. But there.

My fingers paused above the next magazine. I didn’t move. Just listened.

A slow drag. Like bone scraping metal. Then a pause. Then again. Drag. Scratch. Silence.

It came from above.

The vents.

I glanced at the door—sealed. Nothing had passed us.

But I heard it again.

This time clearer. Close.

"Nnnhh... ahh... Jooohn..."

My skin crawled.

The voice wasn’t loud, wasn’t right. It had the tone—Roulan’s tone—but none of the breath. No weight. Just sound. Like it was remembering the shape of her moan and trying to echo it back.

I stood slowly, grabbing my smaller knife—one I used for gear work, not combat.

The vent was half-blocked by crates nailed to the floor and wall, which Yifei had stacked. Smart. If something tried to crawl through, it’d bottleneck.

I stepped onto the lower crate, the wood groaning softly under my weight. My other boot followed, then my knee. From here, the shadows swallowed the upper vent completely—just a dark square cut into the ceiling, surrounded by water stains and spiderweb cracks in the concrete.

The air was colder up here.

Not moving. Just still. Too still.

I leaned forward, slowly, easing onto the top crate until my eyes were level with the vent slats.

That’s when I saw it.

A shape.

Pale. Distorted.

Pressed up against the metal mesh from the inside.

Not breathing. Not blinking.

Just... there.

The face was wrong.

So wrong.

It had no nose... just smooth skin where one should’ve been.

The lips weren’t lips, just a tight seam. The sockets where eyes belonged were caved in, blackened, as if burned out. Its cheekbones jutted sharp and cracked under the surface like marble under pressure. The skin looked almost stretched, stapled to bone.

But the worst part?

It was smiling.

Not with a mouth. But with the angle of its face, the curve of the cheek, the soft, grotesque pressure of its head pushing just enough against the mesh that it formed an imitation of emotion.

A mockery of one.

Its flesh twitched when I leaned closer. Not a flinch. Not fear. More like... curiosity.

I could hear it.

A low clicking in its throat. Like a dying animal trying to speak. A wet sound, full of phlegm and hunger.

Then—

"...John..."

A whisper.

Distorted.

Coming from inside its chest.

I didn’t breathe.

It had no mouth.

No lungs.

But it spoke anyway, like it remembered the sound of her voice. The pattern. The rhythm. Like it wanted to wear her moan like a skin.

My stomach turned—not in fear. But in something colder. Deeper. Like I was staring at something that shouldn’t exist. Something that wasn’t pretending to be human.

A monster that remembered being human.

The Ghoul didn’t move.

Its face was still flush with the vent screen, mashed up against the mesh, like it had grown content just listening. Observing. Waiting. The pale skin glistened faintly under the flickering hallway light, stretched thin and oily, translucent in places—like meat left in bleach.

I didn’t speak right away.

I didn’t need to.

The blade I held was small—just a black-handled utility knife I used to open crates. But the edge was sharp. Clean. One I’d honed earlier while everyone else slept, just to give my hands something to do.

I pressed the tip into the mesh.

The Ghoul didn’t flinch.

Its head shifted slightly—a faint tilt. Curious.

Like it was wondering what I’d do.

I pushed the blade through the gap in the vent screen just far enough that the tip met skin.

Not stabbing.

Not yet.

Just... touching.

Its flesh dimpled inward with almost no resistance. It didn’t react. No twitch. No hiss.

Just the same quiet watching.

Then it copied Roulan’s voice again, and my anger peaked.

"Aah... haah... oh my god... It’s so warm... you came on my ass—"

I exhaled through my nose, then whispered, "You really like her, huh?"

No answer. Just that same low clicking from somewhere in its chest cavity. Wet. Rhythmic.

"...Lan..."

My grip tightened.

The way it said her name made my skin crawl—but not from fear. It wasn’t the word itself. It was the intent behind it. The imitation. The mimicry. Like it wasn’t saying her name.

It was remembering how I said it.

Like it wanted to be me.

Like it thought that would bring her closer.

I smiled.

Calm. Even.

My hand moved on its own.

The knife dragged slowly across its cheek.

Not deep. Not fatal.

Just enough to slice a shallow line beneath where an eye should’ve been.

The Ghoul didn’t scream. It couldn’t. But its head twitched with the cut. And the clicking grew faster. More agitated.

I leaned closer, voice soft. "Do you feel that?"

I made another cut. This one longer. Across the jawline.

Blood—not red, but dark grey—oozed out in thick globs, clinging to the mesh like oil.

Still no sound.

No rage.

Just... watching.

"You shouldn’t have copied her," I said, almost gently. "She’s mine."

Another slice.

This time down the bridge of the nose. I split the skin clean to the upper lip. Watched it peel slightly with the tension.

"You’re not human," I said quietly. "You don’t get to talk like one."

The Ghoul blinked.

Or tried to.

The sockets pulsed like jelly, and the clicking suddenly stopped.

My hand hovered.

Then I dragged the knife across the same line again—deeper this time.

Grey blood spat against the crate.

Even so, I spoke like I was soothing a friend.

"You’re going to stay right here," I whispered, voice low, steady. "And I’m going to cut you until you forget what she sounds like."

I’d carved four lines now.

Two across its face.

One tracing the soft curve of its lower lip.

One straight down the side of its neck—just beneath where a pulse should’ve been.

The Ghoul wasn’t fighting.

Wasn’t resisting.

Just breathing wetly through a throat that didn’t move. It did not attempt to crawl free. It couldn’t with its chest wedged between crates and steel. But that wasn’t why it didn’t struggle.

It wanted to stay here.

It was listening.

I wiped the blade against the mesh, slow, smearing the oily blood across the grating. My fingers itched for something to do—so I flipped the knife in my hand, caught it by the spine, then gripped it again.

"You heard us, didn’t you?" I said, voice low. "You heard her cry out my name."

The Ghoul clicked once.

A wet, heavy tick from inside its chest cavity.

I leaned in closer—so close I could smell it now. The scent was sour. Not rot. Not sweat.

Just... wrong. Like melted glue and old teeth.

I didn’t pull away.

"I bet you were jealous."

I pressed the flat of the blade under its jaw.

No reaction.

No twitch.

"I wonder what you were thinking about, when you curled up in here. Were you imagining it was her under you?"

My insides were burning, my chest racing as my muscles throbbed... I wanted to move, to fight, to hit something... a violent desire.

I didn’t notice the way my hand had started to shake.

I didn’t notice that I was smiling again, even as I pressed the blade harder and watched its skin stretch under the pressure.

But somewhere behind me, I heard a sound.

Shift.

Someone rolled over.

Another breath. Different. Faint.

A sigh.

Maybe Tang Wei. Maybe Yifei.

I didn’t turn around.

Didn’t pause.

My hand tightened unconsciously on the knife, the urge to carve growing sharper. A slit formed—new. Splitting down the centre of its face. Not natural. Just skin pulling itself apart.

But no voice came.

Not this time.

Just dripping. From the wound in its jaw. Blood pooling between the vent mesh and its chin. Slow. Viscous. Silent.

"You’re learning," I whispered.

Another cut. This one is shallow. Just to see it twitch.

I didn’t even blink.

The air had changed—thicker, heavier, like it was pressing down on the back of my skull.

The silence behind me wasn’t peaceful anymore.

It was watching me.

Just like I was watching it.

The blade stopped mid-drag.

My hand hovered.

There was a tightness in my chest. I’d ignored it. I thought it was tension or habit. Residual adrenaline.

But it wasn’t.

It coiled behind my ribs—hot, sharp, ugly in a way that didn’t feel foreign anymore.

I looked at the Ghoul’s face again.

Pressed against the mesh. Still smiling without lips. Still watching me.

And I knew what it was.

Jealousy.

I wasn’t angry that it tried to kill us, or that it mimicked Roulan’s voice, but because it heard her. That it listened to the way she moaned under me and remembered it better than I expected from a monster.

I hated that something not human had shared that moment.

I hated that it wanted it.

And I hated that part of me wanted to erase that memory from my mind—carve it out—so no one else could have it.

Not even this thing.

Especially not this thing.

"Ah... maybe I am going crazy." I muttered, sliding both gauntlets into place—Crushing Moon humming as the slug chambers locked in with a click.

"But I’m still sane enough to pull the trigger."

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.