Second Coming Of A Villain

Chapter 5: Information

Edited By: Bruce Williams

Chapter 5

"This isn’t right," Mo Fan thought, his mind racing.

In the memories of this body’s previous owner, the woman now chewing on her colleagues had been rational, composed, and ordinary. Yet now, she was a grotesque shadow of her former self—eyes clouded, irises lost in a milky white void, and blood smeared across her mouth and chin. Flesh dangled from her teeth like ragged threads, her expression vacant and feral, stripped of any humanity.

A flicker of recollection from both his own world and the memories he’d inherited bubbled to the surface.

“A zombie?” he muttered with faint curiosity. In the former owner's world, zombies were mere myths—fictional horrors on screen. But in his experience, they were all too real, though rarely seen in such a deranged state.

The woman’s chewing ceased, her head jerking up sharply, her lifeless eyes zeroing in on him as if having sense a living being. Her body snapped to attention like a marionette yanked by invisible strings, and she let out a guttural, inhuman snarl. Without further hesitation, she bolted forward, a blur of distorted, unnatural speed—her gait twisted, yet powerful, like an animal’s. The pounding of her footsteps echoed, growing louder with each thudding beat as she closed the distance.

Despite her speed, Mo Fan remained calm, in his eyes there was no sign of emotions. He stood his ground, unflinching as the deranged woman lunged at him, hands clawing out like talons. In a heartbeat, he sidestepped her with a swift, fluid movement, allowing her momentum to carry her past him. Before she could fully pass, he snatched her ankle mid-air, his grip like an iron vise.

With a sharp twist of his torso, Mo Fan swung her airborne form in a powerful arc. His muscles tensed, then exploded with force as he brought her down like a hammer striking an anvil. The impact of her body meeting the concrete floor sent a dull, bone-jarring thud reverberating through the hallway.

Yet, he knew one strike wouldn’t suffice—not for a mindless, ravenous beast like her. In one brutal motion, he yanked her back up by a clump of her hair. The woman thrashed, her broken nails clawing at his hand, attempting to reach his face with unnatural vigor. Mo Fan’s face twisted with faint disgust, but his movements remained efficient and relentless. He lifted her skull high, then drove it down again with merciless force.

Bam!

Her head struck the floor, splitting her brow open. Blood smeared across the ground, but Mo Fan’s grip didn’t waver. He lifted her again, slamming her down a second time, then a third, the impacts growing more savage with each swing. Her teeth cracked, fragments scattering like broken glass, yet she continued to twitch and snap her jaw in feeble attempts to bite.

Bam! Bam! The sickening sounds of breaking bone filled the hallway until, with a final, resounding squelch, her skull burst. Blood and gray matter pooled beneath her head, the thick stench of iron filling the air as remnants of her brain oozed from the shattered cavity.

Mo Fan released her limp form, her grotesque, shattered face now unrecognizable. He looked down at her remains with cold indifference, wiping his blood-slicked hands on her tattered clothing.

“Mindless creature,” he muttered, disdain flickering in his eyes, before turning away, his expression unreadable.

Groooowl

Mo Fan paused, tilting his head as if hearing something faint and distant. In that split-second, two figures began to stir—figures that moments ago lay lifeless on the blood-splattered floor. The dead woman’s former colleagues, who had been savaged by her insatiable hunger, were now rising in a slow, jerky motion, their limbs twisting grotesquely as if pulled by some dark, unseen force.

The man’s once pristine white lab coat was soaked in deep, wet blood, his neck a gaping maw where his artery had been torn, leaving his vocal cords exposed in raw, torn strips. His eyes were sunken, clouded with the opaque hue of death, and his skin held a sickly, gray pallor. He moved with an unnatural stiffness, every step grinding his torn muscles and fractured bones together with a sickening crunch.

Beside him, the woman was a sight of grotesque horror. Her coat was shredded, hanging in blood-soaked tatters over what remained of her body. One of her breasts was mangled, half-chewed, exposing raw, torn tissue, while her stomach was ripped open, revealing intestines that dangled grotesquely, slapping against her legs as she stumbled forward. Her eyes were rolled back, displaying only the whites, her mouth a gory, gaping mess filled with bits of wounds and clotting blood.

"Now I get it..." A realization hit Mo Fan like a sudden jolt. Unlike his world, where the undead merely killed, here, these so-called zombies turned their victims into the same twisted creatures they had become—infecting them like a plague, turning them with each vicious bite, much like vampires would.

With predatory calm, Mo Fan shifted his gaze to the woman he had just dispatched, her skull crushed in like a shattered melon. An idea sparked in his mind. Moving with swift precision, he grabbed her corpse and hurled it forward in a brutal arc, her broken body slamming into the female zombie whose intestines were swaying like chains. The impact drove the staggering zombie backward, her exposed organs dragging along the blood-slicked floor.

Without hesitation, Mo Fan darted forward, narrowly sidestepping the male zombie who lunged at him with snapping jaws. He pivoted, and using his momentum, he leaped high, planting a foot against the cracked wall beside him. With a sudden, explosive burst of power, he propelled himself toward the pinned female zombie, lifting his leg in midair. In one brutal, hammer-like blow, he brought his foot crashing down on her head.

A sickening crack split the air as her skull imploded, sending a gruesome spray of brain matter and blood across the floor, mingling with shards of broken glass and bone fragments.

Barely catching his breath, Mo Fan sidestepped just as the male zombie lunged at him again, snarling mindlessly. With fluid precision, he crouched low and swept his leg in a circular motion, taking out the zombie’s legs and sending it sprawling onto the cold, hard floor. The creature let out a deep, guttural growl as its body collided with a thud.

Seizing the moment, Mo Fan rose, lifting his foot above the creature’s face. Then, with pure brutality, he slammed his boot down onto its head. Once, twice, each stomp more savage than the last, the crunch of bone and cartilage filling the hall as his heel tore into the creature’s nose, then shattered its teeth, its face folding in under the relentless assault. Finally, with a powerful, final strike, the skull gave way with a wet burst, brain matter splattering outward like overripe fruit, pooling onto the floor.

The air was thick with the nauseating stench of iron and death as Mo Fan stepped back, his expression cold, almost detached. Blood spattered his clothes, and chunks of gore clung to his shoes, but he remained unmoved, surveying the wreckage of his work.