Chapter 79: Forbidden Zone

A stark white building stood under the blistering sun, yet it exuded an unnatural gloom, as though the light dared not penetrate its walls. From time to time, strange hissing sounds reverberated through the silence, amplifying the sense of dread and suffocating oppression.

A hospital.

The place where life and death converge—where the line between joy and despair is paper-thin. For some, it offers salvation; for others, it serves as a gateway to the inevitable. Over time, it becomes tainted, accumulating a sinister energy that lingers far beyond the ordinary.

Now, amidst the apocalypse, no living souls remained within. The absence of life had steeped the building in an even deeper, more oppressive horror, turning it into a monument of decay and dread.

Chen Feng approached the hospital alone, his figure moving through the empty streets like a shadow. Wei Xun had been left behind to guard the factory. The creature he sought—the Thunder Scorpion—lurked within, a beast the Elementalist had described as at least Silver Realm. Even with his formidable strength, Wei Xun would have stood no chance. The scorpion's pincers were like living guillotines, capable of slicing a man in half with one swift motion.

And that wasn't the worst of it.

The Thunder Scorpion also commanded the power of lightning, a force that paralyzed and burned its prey long before death came.

It was a creature of hybrid power—both physical strength and elemental fury.

Such creatures were the deadliest. The Thunder Scorpion excelled in both close combat and ranged attacks, capable of immobilizing its enemies with crackling lightning before tearing them apart piece by piece.

A slow, agonizing death.

To feel life ebb away while helpless to resist—that was the fate of those unlucky enough to encounter it.

The hospital stood as a grim monument of J City's former prestige, once a bastion of healing and medical expertise, spanning over a hundred acres. Its reputation as a national landmark had been replaced by a haunting desolation, with flickers of movement from strange, lurking figures in the shadows.

This was no longer a place of recovery.

It had become a breeding ground for horrors.

Insects swarmed here, drawn to the hospital's dark, damp corridors—a perfect nest for the nightmarish creatures. Over a dozen species now infested the once-pristine halls: Blood Mire Centipedes, Hermit Scorpions, Ghost-face Spiders, and Six-winged Poison Flies.

The hospital had transformed into their kingdom.

The Zerg, while less intelligent than humans, more than made up for it with their ability to evolve and multiply at an alarming rate. Their combat skills far surpassed mankind's, and their diets had grown more savage. No longer did they feed on plants; their hunger now was for flesh and blood—zombies, beasts, or humans, it made no difference.

And zombies, with their decaying but plentiful bodies, had become an endless feast for the Zerg.

With an abundance of food, the bugs thrived. Their sole mission now was to mate and reproduce in a cycle of endless multiplication. In the city, their numbers swelled, while the population of other creatures steadily dwindled.

A shift in dominance.

The city was slowly but surely becoming a haven for these creatures. This exponential growth was a harbinger—a sign of the Bloodmoon Zerg Tide that was bound to come.

According to the Elementalist's information, the Thunder Scorpion resided on the 17th floor of the inpatient wing. To obtain this powerful sacrifice, Chen Feng would need to scour the entire hospital, navigating floors teeming with grotesque predators.

He wasn't a insect-controller. He had no affinity with these nightmarish creatures. His only option was to cut through the swarm with brute force.

Seventeen floors.

This would take time.

Squelch.

The wet sound of flesh being pierced echoed through the stagnant air. A sanguine bee had attempted to sneak up on Chen Feng, but in an instant, his blade cut through it with lethal precision. The insect fell lifeless to the ground, its body twitching as dark blood pooled around it.

Beside Chen Feng stood the Harbinger, a hulking figure that radiated an aura of death. Its monstrous frame loomed over him, the hulking body a patchwork of scars and wounds, each a testament to the countless battles it had survived. With ease, the Harbinger swung its weapon—the Epic Fang—as if it weighed nothing. The massive blade cut through a corpse beetle like it was paper, splitting the grotesque creature in half, its innards spilling out in a grotesque display of gore. The strength in the Harbinger's swing was enough to shatter stone and pierce steel.

The Harbinger's body was a grotesque sight—three thick iron nails jutted from its neck, twisting its form into something that no longer resembled anything human. It was like a demon ripped from the darkest depths of the underworld. Its presence alone brought an oppressive cold that seemed to cling to the air, and an aura of malevolence bled from it like a toxin.

It was coated in a thick layer of dried blood—an armor made from the remnants of its slaughtered enemies, hardened and grotesque, but providing an impenetrable defense. And in its hand, the Epic Fang—a relic of unimaginable power. Weighing a crushing 70 kilograms, it was an impossible weapon for most, but the Harbinger wielded it like a toy. Its misshapen, tumor-riddled arms made swinging the tooth as easy as breathing.

With the Epic Fang, the Harbinger's already fearsome presence became something even more hellish. A casual swipe of the tooth reduced the Corpse Beetle to a mangled heap of flesh and shattered exoskeleton. Each blow was a reminder of the creature's terrifying strength, of the raw power that would obliterate anything in its path.

As they pushed deeper into the hospital, the insects became more vicious, more feral. The deeper they ventured, the more the walls themselves seemed to press in with an unshakable malevolence. Ambush after ambush came without warning, and Chen Feng lost track of the countless enemies they had cut down. His military knife was dull, worn from the endless onslaught, the blade slick with blood, a symbol of the relentless war they fought.

They had entered a Forbidden Zone.

A place where death reigned.

Even a team of Bronze Realm professionals would have perished in this place, reduced to nothing but broken bodies, fodder for the beasts that roamed these halls.

Chen Feng had not summoned the Dark Elf or Dretch. He knew that relying too much on his creatures would make him soft, complacent. He needed this battle to sharpen himself, to remind his body of its limits. Too long without challenge, and he would rust like an unused blade, fragile and brittle.

For this reason, he called only the Harbinger to his side, its presence a constant shadow of death looming behind him.

They traversed the halls in silence, each step bringing them closer to the inpatient department. As Chen Feng reached the entrance, a foul odor drifted through the air. He sniffed, his expression darkening.

Blood.

The scent was thick, cloying, but not fresh. It was the stench of rot, of blood left to fester and decay. The air itself seemed to curdle with the scent, mixing with the stagnant atmosphere of the hospital, filling the lungs with the sour tang of death.

Chen Feng's gaze shifted down the corridor, his eyes narrowing as a grotesque shape emerged from the shadows.

A hulking, bloated figure, its swollen body gleaming with a slick, dark red sheen. It stood over two meters tall, its grotesque form resembling a leech, though hideously mutated. Limb-like appendages jutted from its lower body, twitching grotesquely as it moved. The entire thing pulsed with an eerie, nauseating energy, and the smell of it—thick, putrid, suffocating—was overwhelming.

A Blood Leech.

A monstrosity born from mutation, once no larger than a finger, now bloated to an abomination nearly the size of a small animal. Ordinary leeches fed on blood, growing fat and bloated with their victims' life force. But this one—this thing—had consumed countless lives to grow to such a horrifying size. Its body, swollen and engorged, was as thick as a pig's, its skin stretched tight over the blood it had gorged on.

It was a horror beyond imagining.

When it attacked, it released a network of writhing, barbed tentacles—each one latching onto its prey. In mere moments, an adult human would be reduced to nothing but a shriveled husk, their blood siphoned away, their bodies left as empty, desiccated shells.

It was a creature of brutality, of mindless hunger.

Worse still, this Blood Leech had evolved. Where its kind once slithered, this one had grown legs—ghastly, twisted things that made it alarmingly fast, its agility far beyond what any ordinary human could match. It was a predator of nightmares, a horror of writhing limbs and endless thirst.

Chen Feng's eyes flickered with recognition.

This was no ordinary creature.

A guardian.

Blood Leeches like this one claimed territories for themselves, and where they dwelled, other creatures dared not tread. They became the sole predators in their lairs, ruling over the territory with absolute dominance.

This abomination was likely the final obstacle between Chen Feng and the Thunder Scorpion.