Evil MC's NTR Harem

Chapter 1130: Chapter 1130 Dagger

Ross wanted Bruno to live, to feel, to endure, until he became nothing more than a hollow shadow of the man he had once been.

Brandon’s laughter swelled once more, echoing over the carnage around them.

It was cruel, relentless, unyielding—a soundtrack to a nightmare that had no dawn.

And in that moment, as Bruno lay battered, broken, and yet painfully alive, he wished, with a desperation so deep it bordered on madness, that eternity itself would have an end.

But eternity had no mercy. And Ross... Ross had none for him either.

Somewhere far above, in a warehouse that no longer stank of Bruno’s blood, Ross walked away.

Behind him, the concrete floor was clean.

Far below, in a pit with no bottom and no exit, Bruno learned the true meaning of eternity.

One merciless, unending thrust at a time.

***

"Thank you!"

"You saved us!"

"Wahhhhhh..."

One voice broke into sobs, then another, until the entire group seemed to collapse emotionally all at once.

Gratitude, relief, and pure exhaustion surged through the survivors like a wave.

In moments, they rushed toward Ross, surrounding him from all sides—men with trembling hands, mothers clutching their children, elders whose legs nearly gave out now that the danger was finally gone.

For a moment, they simply stared at him, their expressions full of awe.

They wanted to know who this man was—this stranger who appeared out of nowhere and crushed the nightmare that had tormented them.

But what stunned them even more was Ross’s reaction.

He didn’t recoil. He didn’t brush them off. He didn’t act superior.

Instead, he opened his arms slightly, allowing them closer, letting their desperate hands cling to him as if he were the only solid thing in their collapsing world.

"You’re all safe now," Ross said gently, his voice steady and strangely soothing against the backdrop of chaos and broken shelves.

"No need to cry anymore."

"I’m here now. I’ll make sure no one ever hurts you again."

A few of the bolder kids peeked up at him from behind their mothers’ legs, eyes big and red from tears.

For the first time since the nightmare began, they weren’t looking at the world with terror—but with hope.

Ross reached out and ruffled one boy’s hair, offering a warm smile.

That single act of kindness broke the last bit of restraint the children had.

Instead of calming down, they burst into even louder cries—raw wails of relief and heartbreak, their tiny bodies shaking as days of pent-up fear finally slipped out.

Their parents held them tight, crying just as hard, their tears wetting Ross’s sleeves whenever they leaned into him.

Some of the adults fell to their knees, overwhelmed.

Others touched Ross’s arm as if needing to confirm he was real.

The entire scene turned into an ocean of trembling bodies, quiet thank-yous, loud sobs, and desperate attempts to express everything they felt.

Ross said nothing more—he didn’t need to.

He simply stayed with them, the eye of their emotional storm, letting them cry, letting them lean on him, letting them feel safe for the first time in who knew how long.

And slowly, their sobs shifted—still loud, still uncontrollable—but now filled with something entirely different.

Hope.

People slowly began to open up, their voices weaving together into a fragile tapestry of fear, frustration, and exhaustion.

Now that the danger was gone, they could finally speak—finally release everything they had been holding inside.

"It was good before... a few weeks back there was still media coverage in the city," one man said, rubbing his hands together as if trying to warm himself despite the heat.

"Yeah. Journalists came by, helicopters flew overhead," another added. "We thought help would be just around the corner."

"But now it’s like we’ve been abandoned."

"We kept waiting... and waiting... and nothing happened."

"No more help came. Even when we told them—over and over—that survivors were still holed up in Parkland City, trapped in this supermarket, nobody showed up."

"We sent messages, livestreams, videos—everything."

"People even commented at first... but as days passed, the comments stopped too."

"It feels like the whole world forgot about us."

"We’re all alone."

Their voices cracked. Their shoulders sagged.

Some wiped their eyes with trembling hands—not tears of fear now, but of sheer exhaustion.

They had held onto hope for so long, only for that hope to wither day by day.

And yet, ironically, their phones still worked. Signal bars glowed mockingly. The internet connected.

Their cries for help reached the world—yet the world never reached back.

Ross rubbed his chin slowly.

"Hmmmm..."

He had expected this, of course. This wasn’t a surprise to him; it was confirmation.

The situation these people described... this hopelessness he was hearing firsthand... was the result of his own meticulous planning.

He had the entire U.S. government under his control.

High-ranking military officers, senators, governors—thousands of them were now nothing but puppets, their wills bound to him by undeath.

The president himself was just another undead minion by Ross’s will.

And under Ross’s direct instruction, Parkland City had been left to rot.

All rescue teams were pulled away. Supply lines rerouted. Drones prohibited from entering airspace.

Anyone who tried to help was reassigned or silenced.

He wanted this region untouched—isolated.

He wanted Bunker Aegis to expand freely, without interference from outside forces.

Letting the zombies flourish here wasn’t an accident.

It was part of the grand design.

Hearing the survivors describe their suffering—their fear that nobody cared—might have inspired guilt in another man.

But Ross simply filed it away as information. Useful, but not personally affecting.

He didn’t regret it.

Why would he?

He was the one who allowed this zombie apocalypse to happen in the first place.

Still, as he turned back to the crowd, his face softened into a gentle, reassuring smile—so different from the truth he held inside.

"Don’t worry," Ross said calmly, his voice smooth and comforting, the kind of voice that made people want to believe him.

"I’m here now."