Chapter 288: Hunter Goes Out

The air outside the door solidified for a few tenths of a second.

Immediately after, the body that had lost half its brain sagged like a torn burlap sack, brain matter spraying onto the hallway wall like a fountain, staining the originally pallid plaster wall a glaring scarlet.

"Ah—!!"

Li Dama's scream was at least three octaves higher than the swearing she just did, sounding not like anything a human could make, more like a sow about to be slaughtered seeing a butcher's knife.

The crowd instantly erupted.

The neighbors who had been raging, ready to pry the door open, now wished they had grown two extra legs.

Da Liu had just been clutching a crowbar, playing the big wolf, but now he dropped the stick and tried to run toward the Stairway Entrance; his foot slipped, stepped straight onto the brain matter that Lao Zhang had spewed, and took a tumble.

"Don't... don't eat me! I'm a good person! I have diabetes, the meat is sour!"

Da Liu babbled there, using hands and feet to try to scramble up.

Too late.

The 'delivery person' hanging upside down from the ceiling moved.

It was like a boneless soft creature, its limbs clinging to the wall, and with a "Squelch" it slid down.

The motion was ridiculously fast, the afterimage not even discernible, and that mouth, split to the ears, had already sunk into Da Liu's neck.

"Creak—"

The sound was crisp.

It was like snapping sugarcane at New Year, and like a cleaver chopping ribs.

Su Ming leaned against the back of the security door, clutching the half‑eaten ham sausage in his hand.

He didn't even glance toward the cat‑eye.

No need to look.

Just from the sound, his mind could conjure a high‑definition, uncensored R‑rated movie.

Da Liu's trachea was torn, his once desperate cry turning into a leaky "ho‑ho" sound, like a broken bellows.

Then came the sound of fabric tearing, the belly being ripped open, and a swallowing noise that made teeth ache.

"Help! Murder! Cannibalism!!"

Li Dama pounded Su Ming's door like a madwoman.

Just now she had wanted to pry this door open to loot; now she wanted to crawl through it to save her life.

"Su Ming! Little Su! Auntie was wrong! Auntie bows to you! Open the door! It's a monster! It's eating Da Liu! After it finishes, it'll eat me!"

"Dong! Dong! Dong!"

The old woman's head knocked against the iron door, the sound was truly loud; this time it wasn't acting, it was real.

"Little Su! We're neighbors! Distant kin is not as good as close neighbors, you can't stand by while someone dies! My grandson is still at home waiting for me... sob sob sob..."

Su Ming's face was expressionless.

He leisurely tore open the remaining wrapper of the ham sausage, revealing the pink meat inside.

He took a bite.

The starch content was a bit high, the meat not abundant, but at a time like this, it was like dragon liver and phoenix marrow.

"Munch, munch."

He ate the ham sausage inside the door.

The monster ate Da Liu outside the door.

The two chewing sounds, separated by a door, oddly fell into the same rhythm.

Li Dama heard the "slurp slurp" sound of blood drinking from behind, her crotch instantly soaked, a strong urine odor spreading.

She desperately clawed at the door panel, her nail caps flaking, scraping a harsh "Sizzle" sound on the metal.

"Su Ming!! You heartless beast! Do you just listen to us die?! You won't die a good death!!"

With no rescue, the old woman began cursing again.

But the curses didn't last two seconds.

Because Da Liu fell silent.

The monster's eating speed was astonishing, or perhaps it didn't care about cleanliness, only picking out organs and soft meat.

Now, it lifted its head.

Su Ming could feel it.

Even though separated by the door, his post‑apocalyptic honed sixth sense made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Outside the door, the silence was terrifying.

Only Li Dama's heavy panting could be heard, the sound of lungs spasming in extreme terror.

"Tick—"

It was the sound of blood dripping from the monster's mouth onto the floor tiles.

"Ah..." Li Dama let out a short gasp, like a duck with its throat pinched, followed by a rapid series of footsteps as she tried to run upstairs.

"Whoosh—"

The sound of wind.

It was the sound of something whirling at high speed, tearing through the air.

Then came the muffled thud of a heavy object hitting the wall.

"Clack."

The sound was like a ripe watermelon being slammed onto a concrete floor.

No need to see, Li Dama's head at this point should already have become an abstract painting on the wall.

The world fell silent.

All those annoying shouts, moral‑blackmail cries, and that nauseating surge of greed are gone.

Su Ming swallowed the last bite of the ham sausage, and even, as if not yet satisfied, licked the oily specks on his fingers.

Comfortable.

Listening to the sound of an enemy being chewed to bone by a monster is a hundred times more delightful than a Berlin Philharmonic symphony. The oppression that had pressed on his heart for two generations, with this bloody auditory feast, largely vanished.

But now is not the time to relax.

The thing outside the door hasn't left yet.

Su Ming held his breath, even deliberately slowing his heartbeat. He was like a lifeless statue, pressed tightly against the shadow of the wall behind the door panel.

"Huff...... Huff......"

The heavy breathing pressed against the door crack.

The monster was sniffing.

Did it smell a living person? Or the fragrance of the ham sausage just now?

Su Ming gripped the Watermelon Knife tightly, the blue veins on the back of his hand bulging.

This burglar‑proof door was a cheap install from the developer; although furniture blocked the interior, if the monster's strength reached a certain level—or if it were a variant that could spew acid—this defense might not hold long.

Sweat slid down his temples into his eyes, burning and astringent, and Su Ming didn't even blink.

Through the tiny shift in the peephole's faint light, a massive black Shadow blocked the light completely.

It was right at the doorway.

It might even be pressing its still‑unevolved eye against the peephole, looking inside.

If any sound arose inside the house, even the scrape of a foot on the floor, this door would be hammered as if by a storm.

One second.

Two seconds.

This standoff was a test of one's nerve endurance; a person with weaker mental fortitude would already be screaming or wetting their pants.

But Su Ming was as steady as an old dog.

In his previous life he had slept among corpses, staged dead bodies within a swarm of mutated rats; such scenes were a piece of cake for him.

Finally.

The black Shadow outside the door shifted.

The monster seemed to think there was nothing to gain inside, or perhaps the wailing of other survivors from the floors above and below caught its attention.

Thump, thump, thump.

The heavy footsteps climbed the stairs.

The footsteps grew farther until they vanished.

Su Ming finally exhaled a long gust of stale breath, and his tense muscles relaxed like springs.

Leaving.

He muttered lowly, his voice hoarse.

The monster was probably an early‑stage mutation, low‑intelligence, acting on instinct. As long as it made no sound, produced no bright light, and with this door sealed tight, it was temporarily safe.

But he couldn't stay crouched like this forever.

And besides, the hallway was now full of "treasures".

Da Liu was dead, Li Dama was dead, and that bunch of nosy neighbors from earlier probably didn't all flee.

The items those people were holding, the things they wore......

Su Ming stood up, stretched his stiff neck, and produced a crisp "crack" sound.

He turned and walked into the Storage Room, taking down the unused mop handle.

It was a solid wood rod, thick and hard, far more reliable than those stainless‑steel hollow tubes.

He joined the Watermelon Knife's hilt with the top of the mop rod.

It was industrial‑grade insulating black tape, extremely sticky and strong when stretched.

Snick—snick—

Su Ming wound it round after round.

His movements were so practiced they were heartbreaking. In his previous life, he had used such a homemade spear, enchanted with Weird blood, to pierce the throats of many small monsters.

The Watermelon Knife was too short; close‑quarters combat with it was suicide—an inch long, an inch strong—an ancient truth.

After wrapping it, he swung it forcefully twice.

"Whoosh" with wind.

The balance was solid, the feel sturdy.

He went to the entrance hall, not hurrying to move the furniture blocking the door.

Instead, he looked through the peephole again, carefully surveying the outside.

The Corridor was a mess: rivers of blood, limbs and severed arms strewn everywhere, the air thick with a stinging, eye‑burning scent of gore.

There was no Shadow of a monster.

Very good.

Su Ming licked his cracked lips, his voice so low only he could hear it.

Now, it's time to collect the "loot".

Su Ming inhaled deeply and began nudging the sofa blocking the door, inch by inch.

This time, the hunter is going out.