Extraterrestrial demons invaded; I laid the groundwork eight years in advance.

Four o'clock in the morning.

Shandong Province, Jinan, Daminghu Road.

Zhang Hao felt that he would die here today.

Every breath he took felt like being pressed against his chest with a red-hot iron rod. Two nicks appeared on his standard combat knife, his hand was torn, and blood slid down the hilt, leaving fine, round stains on the asphalt.

A month ago, he was still shipping goods in the warehouse of the Shandong branch of Shuguang Group, scanning barcodes. On the day he was selected for the reserve force, the instructor said he was a one-in-a-million talent, and he believed him.

But now, hiding behind the overturned bus, with the dark red light from the cracks staining half the street blood-red, he suddenly felt that the "one in a million" was a joke.

Fear filled every part of his body, and his stomach felt like it was frozen solid. For a moment, he wanted to throw away the knife and run away.

He glanced at the bus's rearview mirror; the pupils of the face reflected there were as black as holes, so distorted that he couldn't even recognize himself. He looked away, unable to bear it any longer.

Two kilometers behind, a few windows in the residential area were still emitting warm yellow light. I wondered if it was someone working overtime because they were suffering from insomnia, or a mother trying to soothe her crying child to sleep.

The light was dim, but on this street shrouded in dark red, it was like a needle piercing the night, making his pupils ache.

He knew he couldn't run, but between that "can't" and "not afraid," there was a chasm he couldn't cross.

The rift opened at the intersection of Daminghu Road and Xianxi Lane. Team leader Sun Li stood alone in front of the rift. He had just entered the ninth level of the first stage of cultivation a few days ago and was an old team member who specialized in Qi refining.

A first-tier monster squeezed out of the rift and slashed down, severing its neck bone and soaking half of its combat uniform with black blood.

But Zhang Hao could see that Sun Li's left arm had been ripped open with a half-foot-long gash, and blood was dripping down his elbow. After more than an hour of intense fighting, his movements had slowed down considerably.

The group consisted of five people: Sun Li was in charge of the front, and the four reserves guarded the flanks.

Zhang Hao stood beside the bus, having already slain countless monsters; the nicks on his battle blade had increased from two to five.

Another one pounced, and he slashed with all his might. The blade embedded itself in the skull and then broke off, leaving only a short blade attached to the handle.

He was stunned for a moment.

Then, as if pushed by something, he lunged forward with the broken sword, the tip of which pierced the monster's eye socket and swirled violently inside its skull.

He remembered what the instructor had said: If the knife breaks, use a stab; if you can't stab, use your fist; if your fist doesn't work, use your teeth.

The broken sword was still stuck in the monster's head, while another one had already rushed in front of him.

He took a quick half-step back, his heel hitting a piece of gravel—the sharp edges digging into his ankle, a dull pain shooting straight to his knee. He bent down, grabbed the fist-sized piece of gravel, and raised it above his head, aiming it at the charging monster.

He knew that the stone wouldn't even scratch an itch, but he didn't run away, whether because he forgot or didn't want to.

Fear churned his mind into a jumbled mess, leaving only one thought—even if it meant death, he had to give it a go.

A cold glint flashed past his ear as a tactical knife precisely pierced the monster's eye socket, penetrating its skull, the tip sinking three inches into the asphalt.

The monster crashed down three steps in front of Zhang Hao's feet.

Sun Li stood a dozen meters away, maintaining his throwing posture. The wound on his left arm had opened up even wider, and blood beads formed a dark red line running down his fingertips.

He took a couple of deep breaths and shouted, "Pick up the knife!"

The sound wasn't loud, but it felt like a slap across Zhang Hao's face.

  

He snapped back to his senses and pulled the broken sword from the monster's corpse.

Sun Li didn't look at him again, turned around and returned to the edge of the rift, raising his battle sword again with his right hand.

Zhang Hao stared at that figure from behind.

His left arm was ripped into strips of cloth, the flesh torn open to reveal bone beneath, and blood pooled along the hilt of his knife. Yet his back remained straight, a lone figure blocking the crevice, like a reef weathered by the waves.

Zhang Hao's nose suddenly stung—not with fear, but with something hot welling up in his chest and getting stuck in his throat.

He gripped the broken sword and continued charging into battle, his legs still trembling, but he still charged forward.

4:15 a.m.

The light from the rift began to flicker, and the frequency of the monsters emerging slowed slightly, but it was far from stopping.

Sun Li stood guard at the crevice, holding a knife in his right hand. Black blood splattered as the sword rose and fell. His left arm was completely unable to be raised, hanging down at his side like an unnecessary ornament.

The other three reserve team members were closing in on the crevice. Zhang Hao heard footsteps behind him but did not turn around.

He recalled when the instructor asked him when he first joined, "Why did you join Dawn?" At the time, he replied, "I don't want to be a coward."

He thought the answer was cool and that he was very insightful, but it wasn't until this moment that he truly understood what those seven words meant.

A turtle that cowers in its shell hides its head when danger comes, pretending it can't see anything. It pushes others ahead of itself, comfortably hiding behind. It chooses to crouch down when given the chance to stand up.

He is not.

4:30 a.m.

Sun Li took two steps back and leaned against the door of a private car. His battle sword was still stuck in the monster's corpse, and his face was pale.

"Captain!" Zhang Hao rushed over.

Sun Li raised his hand to stop him, then took a deep breath and drew his sword again.

His face was covered in black blood, obscuring his expression, but his eyes were still shining, like two pieces of charcoal that had been doused with water but hadn't been completely extinguished.

He glanced eastward. "It's not dawn yet."

Zhang Hao glanced at the night sky.

The dark red sky hung heavy, obscuring the stars, the moon, and the dawn.

Unlike the coastal areas, Jinan takes at least another hour to get light.

He gripped the broken sword, walked to Sun Li's left, and stood beside him.

After a moment of silence, Zhang Hao spoke in a hoarse voice, "Captain... can we hold out until dawn?"

Sun Li didn't turn to look at him; his gaze remained fixed on the direction of the crack, but his voice was as steady as a rock: "Yes. As long as the prophet is here, dawn will break; as long as dawn breaks, hope will remain."

"As long as hope remains, dawn will surely break."

"We must have faith."

"The long night will eventually break, and the dawn will eventually break."

The hoarse voice carried around, filled with an unyielding determination and resolve—unbreakable by the wind, unswallowable by the night.

Zhang Hao opened his mouth and nodded heavily.

The two stood in front of the rift, behind them were three reserve team members who were still clearing out scattered monsters, and behind them was the residential area at the end of Daming Lake Road—people whose names he didn't know and who he had no chance to get to know.

They had no idea what had happened that night.

They will probably never know his name.

Sun Li shifted his body slightly to the side, blocking his left side—that was the direction from which the frontal impact of the rift was greatest.

Zhang Hao suddenly realized that the fear was still there; it hadn't disappeared. It was still crouching in his stomach, shrinking between his bones, waiting for the moment he relaxed to jump out.

But at this moment, something overwhelmed him—not courage, not awareness, but the figure standing beside him, the teammates he could rely on, and those whose names he couldn't recall but who were willing to stand in front of him.

They didn't run, so why should I?

The crimson light was still flickering, and the monsters were still crawling out, but Zhang Hao knew he would stand here until the rift closed, until the sky lit up, until the very last moment.

It's not because he's not afraid.

It's because he didn't want to be a coward.

It was because someone was standing in front of him.

The red light gushing from the crack spread across the road, casting a long shadow that covered the overturned bus before falling into the intact rearview mirror—the figure in the mirror was soaked in black blood and red light, but his back was as straight as a knife.