Novel Full Chapter 1126 Specimen
Chapter 1126: Chapter 1126 Specimen
"These bastards didn’t protect survivors," Ross muttered. "They hunted them. They raped women. They abused their own people. Anyone weaker, anyone desperate... they used them."
His lip curled in disgust.
"Men like that have no right to breathe."
Giana and the rest exchanged uneasy glances. Their hearts were a mess of relief, fear, and confusion.
They were grateful he had cleared the danger... but terrified at how easy he made murder look.
Ross took another step, and his tone grew quieter—more honest, more chilling.
He kicked one of the corpses aside with casual disdain.
"And men like these? Monsters... real monsters? I’ll never pity them."
The group followed behind him slowly, cautiously, almost afraid to walk too close.
They saw his back—broad, calm, unyielding—and realized something undeniable:
If the apocalypse had birthed demons...
Ross was one of them.
But he was their demon.
And in a world this hellish, that might be the only kind of guardian anyone could hope for.
Ross kept walking, his pace unhurried, his expression unreadable.
Every guilty man who dared stand in his way met the same fate—a sudden, horrifying collapse as if something colossal had stomped them flat.
Bones snapped like brittle twigs, organs burst like overripe fruit, and blood sprayed across the floor in wide arcs.
The once-clean supermarket tiles were now painted in red.
Ace, Miku, and the rest followed several steps behind him, their legs trembling.
None of them had ever seen something like this—not even during the worst days of the apocalypse.
Ross wasn’t fighting. He wasn’t even exerting effort. He simply walked... and men died.
Ace whispered under her breath, though her voice shook violently.
"W-What... is he...?"
Giana hugged herself tightly.
"The Ross we know... he wouldn’t..."
But her words faltered, drowned by the wet crunch of another body collapsing ahead of them.
Their kind, polite, almost gentle Ross—the one who smiled and reassured them, who drove the car, who talked to them like they mattered—felt like a memory fading into smoke.
The Ross walking ahead of them now felt like a cold executioner, an unstoppable force wearing a human face.
The deeper they entered the superstore, the more survivors they encountered.
Some men held pipes, knives, or stolen firearms.
Many were shaking, realizing the intruder had already carved a bloody path through their comrades.
"No... no no no—please!"
A man crashed to his knees the moment he spotted Ross approaching.
His hands shot up in surrender, tears streaming down his face.
Ross stopped.
The air thickened.
Ace held her breath.
But Ross walked past him without inflicting harm.
The man collapsed forward in relief, sobbing uncontrollably.
And then it happened again—a terrified young man in torn clothing pressed his body against the wall, trembling so hard he could barely speak.
Ross’s eyes passed over him like one might glance at a piece of furniture. He was spared.
Giana watched, heart pounding, confusion twisting in her chest.
Why was Ross letting these ones live?
She couldn’t ask—not while Ross was drenched in the quiet, suffocating aura of a killer.
Not while bodies were still collapsing like crushed tin cans around them.
Instead, she simply followed, her boots stepping over cracked skulls and shattered bones, her eyes fixed on Ross’s broad back.
As they walked through the aisles, Ross’s judgment became clearer.
—The terrified, powerless men: spared.
—The ones with guilt thick in their eyes: crushed instantly.
—The ones who had laughed while women cried: obliterated.
—The ones who had enjoyed violence: wiped out before they realized they’d been targeted.
Ross didn’t need explanations.
He didn’t need confessions.
He could see their filth the moment his eyes landed on them.
"More of them..." Miku whispered as they crossed into the hardware section.
Groups of survivors huddled there, clutching whatever they could find.
Some had been forced into servitude. Others were clearly victims.
When Ross approached, they backed away instinctively, fearing the same fate as the corpses outside.
But Ross walked past them.
Not one died.
The spared men stared at him in disbelief, some collapsing in relief, others breaking down in tears after days—maybe weeks—of terror.
One of them whispered shakily:
"He... he knows... who the real monsters are..."
Finally, after passing through multiple aisles, crossing over what felt like a battlefield of blood and broken bodies, they reached the back of the superstore.
A set of heavy employee-only doors hung crooked on their hinges, forced open earlier by some panicked survivor.
Behind them was a massive storage area.
Dimly lit.
Smelling of sweat, fear, and something rancid.
Dozens of people huddled there, packed together like cattle. Some were crying silently.
Others kept their eyes down, too terrified to move. This was the heart of the supermarket’s torment.
And at the center of it all, lounging on a heap of blankets and stolen supplies like a tyrant on a trash throne...
...was Bruno.
He lifted his head when Ross stepped inside, his confident smirk freezing halfway.
Around him stood his loyal dogs—goons who had carried out his orders, abused the weak, and ruled this place with iron fists and twisted smiles.
They tightened their grips on their makeshift weapons, but their eyes were wide, filled with panic.
Ross didn’t stop walking.
His boots echoed through the storage area like tolling bells announcing death’s arrival.
Every guilty man flinched.
Every innocent person swallowed and prayed.
Giana, Ace, Miku, and the others stood at the entrance, watching in stunned silence as Ross finally came face to face with Bruno and the monsters who had turned this supermarket into a kingdom of pain.
The true confrontation was about to begin.
"Make a move and I’ll have my men kill these people!" Bruno roared, his voice booming through the storage hall.
The big, bald brute stepped forward, his boots crunching on debris and spent shell casings.
A wicked grin stretched across his scarred face as he jabbed a thick finger toward the terrified crowd.
Behind him, over three dozen armed men spread out in a rough semi-circle, guns raised and abilities flaring unevenly across their bodies.
Their fingers tightened on the triggers. Their eyes darted between Ross and the helpless survivors.