The deformed man, cradling the crying infant, retreated step by step toward the wooden door. His single eye remained fixed on Damian, and the cleaver pressed against the infant's delicate neck had already drawn blood.
"Giggle…"
The deformed man roared, spewing foul-smelling saliva from between his blackened, yellowed teeth.
Damian's machete drooped slightly, but his muscles stayed taut. He crouched like a cheetah—poised to pounce and kill at any moment.
Three steps. Two steps. One step…
The deformed man's back finally thudded against the wooden door. He shoved his shoulder against the latch, and the door creaked open with a piercing shriek—
And there, standing outside, was Brenda. Her eyes widened in astonishment.
She froze, hands gripping the revolver tightly, the muzzle less than twenty centimeters from the deformed man's head.
The man clearly hadn't expected anyone to be waiting outside. His lone eye snapped wide as he whirled around.
In a flash, he spun, the cleaver flashing with cold light!
"Aaaaaah—!!"
"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Brenda screamed and fired six shots with her eyes squeezed shut.
Amid the deafening gunfire, the deformed man's head exploded like a ripe watermelon, splattering black blood and brain matter across the doorframe.
His massive body collapsed, and the baby tumbled from his arms—
Damian lunged like an arrow, catching the infant just ten centimeters above the ground.
Catherine shrieked in terror, her cries growing even louder.
"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry… I shouldn't have disobeyed you… I just couldn't help it…"
Brenda slumped to the floor, the revolver slipping from her trembling hands as she kept apologizing.
"Don't blame yourself," Damian said. "You did a great job."
After quickly checking the baby and confirming she had only minor abrasions, he handed Catherine to Brenda.
"You take care of her first."
He snatched up his machete and rushed toward the captives inside the house.
Bob was chained to a pillar, a deep, bone-revealing gash across his forehead. Doug and Ethel lay unconscious, their clothes soaked in blood. Little Bobby was tied in a corner, his mouth gagged with a rag, his face streaked with tears.
"Just a moment—it'll be ready soon."
With a single stroke, Damian shattered Bob's chains and sliced through the others' ropes.
At the sound, Bob weakly lifted his head, his cloudy eyes suddenly sharpening.
"Z?! Get Brenda out of here! Don't worry about us! Those monsters will be here any second—"
He rasped hoarsely, trying to shove Damian away.
Just then, Brenda hurried over, cradling the baby, and cried out:
"Dad!"
Doug and Ethel stirred awake one after another.
Seeing both her daughter and granddaughter safe, Ethel pulled Catherine into a tight embrace, tears welling in her eyes.
Doug struggled to his feet, favoring a clearly injured right leg.
"The gunshots probably alerted them," he said. "You go first—I'll cover your retreat."
Damian retrieved several keys and a hunting knife from the deformed corpse and tossed them to Doug.
Brenda was the first to object. She snatched up the revolver, swiftly reloaded it, and declared:
"No! We're leaving together!"
Bob stood up, leaning against the wall. Though his steps were unsteady, he still managed to say,
"Young man, this is not the time to play the hero…"
A series of howls echoed from afar, growing ever closer. Damian spoke directly:
"Listen to me. Those ugly monsters have killed a lot of people. They left the victims' vehicles and belongings in the valley to the west. You need to find a vehicle that can be driven—or repaired—and wait for me at the spot where the RV used to be."
"But—" Brenda started to argue.
"No buts!" Damian raised his voice—an unusual move for him—and continued,
"If I go with you, those deformed freaks will catch up quickly, and we'll all die together. If you stay with me, you'll only give those grotesque monsters a huge advantage. The best solution is for me to stay while you go find a car—right away!"
Doug looked at his daughter in his arms, then at the resolute glint in Damian's eyes, and finally nodded. In a harsh voice, he said,
"Thank you! We'll wait for you by the RV."
The moment the wooden door closed behind Bob and his group, Damian's gaze swept once more over this hell on earth.
Among the limbs hanging from the ceiling, several small arms—clearly belonging to children—swayed gently in the draft.
Among the skulls piled in the corner lay a hair clip, still tied with a pink bow.
"Brute!"
Damian's knuckles turned white from gripping the knife too tightly.
He bent down and picked up the cleaver the deformed man had dropped. The heavy blade was still slick with blood.
Outside, the howling of the deformed creatures drew terrifyingly close.
Damian took a deep breath, the stench of blood flooding his lungs.
He didn't want to rely on any character card's power. He wanted only to use his own strength—his own hands—to slaughter every last one of these abominations.
Bang!
The wooden door burst open. Five deformed men roared as they charged into the slaughterhouse.
Instead of retreating, Damian surged forward in a single stride, his machete flashing silver in the dim light.
Pfft!
The lead deformed man coughed up black blood—but its claws still slashed fiercely toward Damian's face.
He ducked, dodging just in time, then flicked his right hand upward in a swift arc, slicing open the creature's abdomen. Foul-smelling entrails spilled onto the floor with a wet splash.
As he repositioned, Damian rolled sideways to evade the iron hook swung by the second deformed man.
The hook sank deep into the wooden wall. Seizing the opening, Damian swept his machete across and severed the creature's ankle.
"Ah—!"
The deformed man screamed and collapsed. Before it could rise, Damian drove the machete through its heart.
Another deformed man charged, chains whirling overhead. Damian snatched a severed leg off the chopping block and hurled it into the creature's face. As the monster's vision blurred, Damian struck—crossing his twin blades in a single, brutal slash.
Pfft—!
The cleaver punched through the collarbone; the machete plunged into the chest cavity. Black blood sprayed across Damian's face.
Suddenly, a gust of wind rushed from behind him. A deformed brute wielding a massive machete swung downward.
Clang!
Damian raised his machete to parry, even as he thrust the cleaver backward—the heavy tip piercing clean through the attacker's gut.
Pfft—
But as the creature died, it clung desperately to Damian's right arm. In that split second, another deformed man lunged.
At the critical moment, Damian hurled the machete in his left hand. It struck the charging monster squarely in the neck.
"Giggle… giggle—"
While the creature choked and clutched its neck, Damian wrenched free, whipped his leg around in a brutal kick that sent it crashing to the ground, and brought his cleaver down in a final, crushing blow.
Then—another dozen grotesque figures poured through the doorway.
Panting heavily, Damian struggled to retrieve his fallen machete.
Surrounded, he met their snarling faces with e
yes burning fiercer than before. His voice cut through the chaos like ice:
"This used to be your slaughterhouse…
But it's going to be mine next."
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