Internet Mage Professor-Chapter 69: Pathogen Knife

The movie continued with a slow, haunting pace, the eerie silence of a ruined cityscape stretching across the screen. Dust floated in shafts of moonlight.

Broken neon signs flickered above gutted buildings.

The husband, now weathered and alert, led a small scouting party out of their temporary mall refuge to secure more resources.

He didn’t speak.

None of them did.

Each step was calculated—boots rolling heel to toe to minimize sound, breath held in anticipation.

The camera panned out to show distant infected lurking in alleyways, twitching and bobbing their heads like puppets on invisible strings.

The soft crackle of broken glass underfoot made one of the scouts flinch, his hand tightening around the hilt of his machete.

The classroom was deathly quiet.

Even Selin didn’t move.

Even Ruvin didn’t breathe.

Tension tightened like a coiled spring.

Then, a noise—a distant clatter, like a can falling—broke the stillness. The group on-screen froze, eyes wide. But it was too late.

The infected screamed.

Dozens came barreling from side streets and open windows. One of them—a lanky, blistered horror with a bone-jutting jaw—lunged at the husband.

He fumbled backward, pulling his sidearm—

Click.

Empty.

In desperation, his hand reached for something—anything—and instinctively pulled out the Pathogen Knife from his boot sheath.

Without thinking, he twisted and plunged the blade deep into the infected’s skull.

Slick. freewebnoveℓ.com

Clean.

Immediate.

The infected stopped. Its eyes froze. Its body slackened and crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut.

Silence.

The husband stared, shocked.

And in Nolan’s classroom, the students exploded—but in whispers.

"He did it—he DID IT!" Erik whispered with wide eyes, leaning toward Selin.

"Shhhh!" Selin slapped his shoulder, but her face was radiant with glee. "That was SICK—did you see how fast that was?!"

"Straight into the head! ONE SHOT! One. Shot!" Ruvin hissed, his fists clenched tight enough to shake.

"This man is HIM. He’s the main character. He’s W." Calien’s lips barely moved, but the reverence in his tone was nearly spiritual.

"That stab... it was perfect," Erik whispered, clutching his chest like he was swooning. "Like poetry."

"The prophecy is real," Selin murmured, nodding gravely. "The stabber has risen."

They watched, barely containing their excitement, as the others on-screen rushed over. One of the men asked, voice hoarse with disbelief, "What did you just do?"

The husband lifted the blood-slick blade and shrugged. "I just... stuck it in the head."

Another man whispered, "We tried everything. Guns, axes, even decapitation. They kept twitching. That—" He gestured at the corpse. "That thing didn’t even shiver."

The medic’s eyes went wide. "Was it the knife?"

The husband nodded. "Straight in the head."

The others, wasting no time, pulled their own Pathogen Knives from their belts or packs, some with disbelief, others with reckless hope.

They scattered through the street, testing the technique. One by one, they dropped the infected like stones in water.

Whumph. Whumph. Whumph.

Head after head. The infected fell instantly—no spasms, no shrieks, just eerie, clean deaths.

In the classroom, the students leaned so close to the screen that they were nearly nose-to-glass.

"It WORKS," Ruvin breathed. "Why didn’t they DO THIS EARLIER?!"

"Because they’re stupid!" Erik hissed.

"Because plot convenience!" Calien growled.

"Because the old lady kept saying ’pathogen disruption’ instead of just STAB THE BRAIN—" Selin muttered under her breath, red-faced from excitement.

But the jubilation didn’t last.

On-screen, the killing and shrieks had attracted attention.

Too much attention.

The alleyways rumbled.

Street lights flickered.

Then, the moaning began.

Not just a few.

Hundreds.

Thousands.

The infected poured from the shadows like rats escaping fire.

"Oh COME ON!" Ruvin growled under his breath. "Why would they ALL go loud?!"

"You finally figure out how to kill them—and then scream it at the top of your lungs?" Erik whispered angrily. "Shut UP and do it silently!"

"They’re killing the infected like it’s a party game," Selin said bitterly. "And now you’ve got the ENTIRE INFECTED POPULATION OF NEW YORK on your ass!"

"You’re supposed to pick them off quietly!" Calien whispered with a hiss. "Strategize, eliminate, regroup! Not open a disco of death and turn the place into a buffet line!"

Back on screen, the men ran, the horde behind them growing with every block they crossed.

They ducked into back alleys, weaving through overturned cars and collapsed structures.

The camera dipped low, following boots pounding against concrete, while the horde’s unearthly screams grew louder.

Suddenly, one of them pointed. "There! That alley!"

They turned hard left and sprinted into the dark gap between two crumbling buildings. At the end of the narrow corridor, a wide plaza stretched out.

No infected.

Nothing.

The men slowed, confused.

Behind them, the horde came to a screeching halt at the alley’s edge.

Some snarled, others shrieked—but none of them crossed into the plaza.

They paced back and forth like leashed dogs, growling, snapping their teeth—but refusing to enter.

"What the hell...?" whispered the youngest scout.

The group turned, stunned.

"This place..." the husband murmured. "They won’t enter."

"Why not?" one of them whispered.

"I don’t know," said another. "But they won’t."

The students stared in awe as the men stepped fully into the abandoned space.

A few broken tents sat nearby. Crates of old supplies littered the ground. Bottled water. Canned food. Medical packs. Ammunition. Even fuel tanks.

It was untouched.

Pristine.

Too pristine.

The men fell silent, staring wide-eyed at the bounty.

"Is this—?"

"Everything we need."

"And it’s all just here?"

"Looks like it."

"Let’s grab it," one of them said, already moving to a crate. "Grab everything."

They whispered among themselves while they scavenged. The classroom watched intently, leaning in again.

"I’m taking the antibiotics," said a man with a shaved head. "My daughter’s got a fever back at the mall."

"I’ll take the fuel. We’ve been out for three days."

"There’s glucose packs here," another said. "Perfect for injuries."

"I’ve got two propane tanks. That’s enough for a week."

"Add the solar panels. They could power our comms again."

"No way... This place has copper wiring and unlooted electronics?"

"God, even freeze-dried meals."

"I found batteries!"

"What is this place?!"

"It’s like it was meant to be left for us."

"I say we stay here."

"What?"

"This could be our next hideout. No infected. Resources. Shelter. We reinforce the barricades, set up lookout posts."

"Do you think it’s safe?"

"They’re scared of this place. Look at them," the husband said, nodding toward the edge of the alley. "They won’t even cross the shadows."

The others fell quiet.

"...It’s a sign," one of them murmured.

"We don’t know why they’re scared," said another, doubt lingering in his voice.

"Maybe we don’t need to."

"Maybe that’s exactly why we should stay," said the husband, eyes glinting. "And if we figure out what repels them, we use it everywhere."

"Yeah," someone whispered. "Use it as a weapon."

"Turn their fear against them."

It was hopeful.

It was reckless.

It was too good to be true.

And then...

Something moved.

Something big.

In the deepest part of the plaza, where the light from the shattered windows couldn’t reach, a shape stirred. Slow. Deliberate.

A low groan echoed across the chamber. Wet. Guttural.

The men froze.

The husband’s hand crept toward his knife.

Out of the shadows came a creature—massive, malformed, unlike anything they’d seen before. Its limbs bent the wrong way. Its mouth stretched too wide. Its body radiated heat, as if stitched together from burning flesh.

The infected at the alley’s edge backed away.

And in Nolan’s classroom?

The students forgot to breathe.

They know what it is...

Just like in the game, the one they couldn’t kill—the BLOATER!