Chapter Sixty: Variants Great and Small

A roar shattered the silence of Radiation Zone D’s periphery. Sound itself was a luxury here—its presence rare, for the mutants inhabiting D Zone could not produce it. Their throats, ravaged by radiation, had long since lost the ability to emit anything but silence. The lesser mutants, from birth to death, struggled for a morsel of flesh and blood, ceaselessly fighting for sustenance. Many perished without ever tasting meat; deprived of the energy that blood and flesh provided, most failed to survive even a year.

But today, a single mutant broke the tranquility that had reigned for a year. It uttered a sound—a voice, a roar. Others nearby, clustered around a collapsed building, heard it—a mix of agitation and excitement, much like the frenzy that overtook them when they discovered fresh flesh.

A black mutant stood atop the ruins, then retreated into the deeper shadows of D Zone, further into the darkness.

At the boundary of D and C Zones, two mutants—one large, one small—were locked in fierce combat over a chunk of rotting flesh at the center of the ruins. The smaller mutant was roughly human-sized, its limbs wrapped in black sinews beneath which bulged explosive muscles. Its claws were dug deep into the cement floor; if Ye Bai were here, he would have no doubt that a strike from this creature would leave a gaping wound.

Curiously, the small mutant’s head was tiny, barely the size of two adult fists. Its eyes, nose, and mouth seemed huddled together, and a blade-like bone protruded from its spine, while its hands sported short, razor-sharp claws that left deep gashes in the larger mutant.

The smaller one roared in anger, declaring its claim over the flesh. The larger mutant, cow-like in its roar but not in temperament, responded with its own warning, unwilling to relinquish its prize.

In the radiation zone, mutants often battled ferociously over scraps of flesh; when the numbers were great, only the strongest survived to enjoy the spoils. The small mutant left numerous claw marks on the larger one—skin and flesh peeled back, but no blood flowed, only a yellowish pus oozed forth.

There was no water in the radiation zone; mutants extracted moisture by killing others and drinking the pus within their bodies. Victory meant not only meat but also the scant blood it contained. Radiation infection ensured that almost no mutant could produce blood; their insides were rotten, reduced to pus.

Both mutants circled the rotten chunk of flesh, wary of making the first move. The smaller one’s chest bore a deep imprint, bone protruding through a wound that leaked black fluid, which also spilled from its mouth. Both combatants wished for a swift end—to kill and eat, then flee before others arrived.

The small mutant’s leg muscles tensed; it leaped onto the larger’s back, claws aiming for its head—a known weak spot. But perhaps the larger mutant, expecting this tactic, was prepared. It slammed the smaller one into the cement, punching a deep crater in the ground.

The small mutant suffered another brutal blow—its fragile chest nearly smashed through—but it was ruthless, sacrificing defense to carve ten deep wounds in the larger mutant’s arm with its claws.

The larger mutant, enraged, grabbed the small one and hurled it against a cement pillar. The pillar snapped in half, and the small mutant fell but quickly stood again. Despite so many heavy blows, it rose—thanks to the spring-like bone growths along its spine, which absorbed much of the impact.

Tiring of this back-and-forth, the larger mutant launched an aggressive assault. Each step shook the ground; its massive fists swung for the small mutant’s head. The smaller one dodged, but the other fist struck its waist, smashing it into another pillar and breaking it entirely. The building shuddered as its supports failed.

The larger mutant, furious, charged with the force of a descending deity. The ground trembled with every stride, the building collapsing in its wake. Unscathed by the debris, it dragged the small mutant from the ruins.

The small mutant refused to die quietly, its claws scoring the larger’s arm, but the bigger beast ignored the pain. With two fingers, it plucked the small one’s head from its shoulders. Even in its final moments, the small mutant scratched at the larger’s wrist, desperate for escape.

Survival in the radiation zone was harder than beyond its borders—no food, no water, only mindless, low-level mutants that could never evolve further, no matter how many were slaughtered.

To finally evolve, to gain a measure of intelligence, only to realize that existence was still a fight for scraps. The small mutant was no weakling—it had emerged from thousands of lesser creatures, none of whom could be called feeble.

But the times were cruel—a blood-soaked era that even heaven refused to witness. Today, the small mutant died in a war for flesh; tomorrow, perhaps the large one would fall, its brain shattered and marrow devoured by another. Failure meant becoming nourishment for another’s evolution.

The larger mutant didn’t even glance at the small one’s head—it tossed it into its mouth, chewed, swallowed. A black gleam flashed in its eyes, and the wounds on its arm slowly began to heal as its pores sucked in the leaking pus like tiny mouths.

Turning to claim its prize, it strode toward the rotten flesh. Each step sent tremors through the ground, each tremor brought it closer, each approach marked an advance in its evolutionary journey.

A massive hand reached out to grasp the flesh.

Suddenly, from the shadow of a ruined building, a figure in gray clothing burst forth, wielding a long blade wreathed in red, fiery energy—just enough to envelop the blade.

Still reveling in victory, the larger mutant had no time to react. A slash of red light, and its head slid from its neck. There was no explosion of pus, not even a trickle—the burning fire sealed the wound as soon as it was cut.

The mutant died never knowing it would fall not to another beast, but to a human hand. In this forbidden zone, humans were not meant to appear. Its massive body fell, still reaching for the flesh, shaking the rubble with its impact.

The man in gray flicked his blade, chopping the rotten meat into pieces that tumbled into the ruins. Ye Bai recognized the chunk as a human thigh—dead for who knew how long, already infested by maggots unique to the radiation zone.

A woman in gray emerged from the place Ye Bai had just exited, standing before him.

“Ye Bai, it’s been almost two days and we still have no clues. What should we do?” Yao Ling’s brows furrowed, her eyes filled with worry.

Ye Bai gazed into the shadows on the far side of the building, lost in thought. Sheathing his blade, he replied, “Let’s wait. Maybe the turning point is just about to arrive.”

Yao Ling nodded, took two concentrated chocolates from her backpack, handed one to Ye Bai and kept one for herself, squatting nearby to eat.

Ye Bai moved to the other side, unwrapping his share. Each kept watch in a different direction; he didn’t want to end up like the mutant, beheaded without warning.

Within seconds of a mutant’s death, its body rotted completely, dissolving into pus and filling the air with a foul stench. Yet neither seemed to notice—they simply ate their food in silence.