I Am a Hero With A Hundred Abilities-Chapter 65: Ch 64. Full Proof

The barrier surrounding the cabin was unlike any ordinary wall or dome—it wasn't made of visible energy or reinforced stone.

It was space twisted by the will of the Sanctum itself, woven into the fabric of reality like an invisible curtain.

It didn't repel intruders with force or sound alarms when crossed. Instead, it operated on something deeper—recognition.

If one was not linked to the Sanctum, they wouldn't even know the barrier existed. It was not a wall to the eyes, nor a pressure to the skin.

The world simply continued—until you tried to step where you weren't meant to go. Those without a connection would find themselves unknowingly walking through an empty space, unable to ever reach the cabin no matter how close it appeared. But those attuned—like Ethan, Gray, and even the zombified version of Ethan—could pass through without resistance.

That was exactly why the Prime never noticed when the undead Ethan slipped back into the Sanctum's protected grounds.

As far as it knew, the reanimated corpse was still under its control, and there was no "barrier" to stop it. And despite the Prime's rampage outside, not even a fraction of his fury could pass through the veil. Inside, Ethan and Gray were entirely untouchable.

Ethan, seated near the altar of rebirth, smirked and said aloud, "I didn't expect the plan to work so perfectly."

He leaned back slightly, his eyes flickering with memory as he recalled the system's three options after the corpse was nearly reanimated:

Option One: Self-destruct the corpse.

Option Two: Allow the corpse to be fully reanimated.

Option Three: Hijack the reanimation process and take full control of the corpse.

Ethan had dismissed the second immediately. There was no way he would let that Prime puppet him like a tool.

The first option—exploding the corpse—was appealing, but it would've raised red flags. If the Prime later saw Ethan alive, it would undoubtedly grow suspicious, possibly capturing him alive to uncover the truth.

So, Ethan had chosen the third—hijack the corpse. It was clever. It let the Prime believe it had succeeded in reviving him while masking the truth.

From the Prime's perspective, Ethan had somehow resisted its control after being turned—a rare but possible fluke.

It never even considered that Ethan had orchestrated everything from the start.

But the control wasn't just about avoiding suspicion. Ethan had more plans for his undead counterpart.

His smirk widened as he muttered under his breath, eyes glinting with mischief and vengeance.

"I'm going to make that Prime's life a living hell."

****

The Prime's rampage had turned into a chaotic storm of destruction. Its aura lashed out wildly, ripping through the land like a tempest of wrath. The very ground cracked beneath its fury, trees snapped like twigs, and the once-marching horde of undead that had accompanied it were now nothing more than collateral damage—torn apart, flung into the air, and reduced to broken corpses.

"I command you!" the Prime bellowed, its voice echoing like thunder across the ruined field. "Where are you?! You dare humiliate me?! Show yourself, coward!"

But no answer came. Only silence.

Snarling, the Prime raised its hand to continue its rampage again when suddenly—a ripple formed in the air.

A shimmer of warped space, and then from it, zombie Ethan stepped out, as if he had just materialized from thin air.

The Prime, unaware of the Sanctum's hidden barrier, didn't realize Ethan had simply crossed from safety back into the danger zone.

The Prime froze mid-strike, its fury simmering as it laid eyes on the smug figure. "You dare… show your face in front of me?" it growled, venom in every word.

Zombie Ethan tilted his head, amusement glinting in his hollow eyes. "Are you dumb or something? I thought you wanted to see me. And now that I'm here, you're asking how I dare appear? Are you some kind of—"

Before he could finish, a brutal strike from the Prime cleaved through the air, reducing the zombie to a burst of gore and torn flesh. freёweɓnovel.com

The remains slapped wetly against the ground as the Prime lowered its hand with a chilling calm. "How dare you talk to me like that."

But the silence didn't last. As another ripple shimmered just a few meters away, and yet again, zombie Ethan stepped out, completely intact.

"Next time," he said casually, brushing off nonexistent dust, "let someone finish talking."

"..."

The Prime stared in stunned silence.

"What happened?" Ethan mocked. "Cat got your tongue?"

A vein bulged across the Prime's neck. In one sharp motion, a twisting force of energy coiled around zombie Ethan, yanking him off the ground and pulling him directly in front of the Prime's face.

The Prime's massive eye gleamed as it scanned the body. It was searching—digging into the corpse's essence.

But before it could complete its inspection, BOOM!

Another explosion. Flesh and gore detonated outward, splattering the Prime and taking out even more of the remaining zombies nearby.

A crater formed at the point of detonation, but the Prime stood unfazed, its body smoking slightly—but otherwise unharmed.

A third ripple formed.

And once again, zombie Ethan emerged, stepping out with a wide grin. "Damn. Still didn't affect you? I thought that one would do the trick."

The Prime didn't raise a hand this time. It just stared.

And finally, it asked in a low, simmering tone, "…What are you?"

Zombie Ethan's grin deepened, his hollow eyes glowing faintly with wicked glee.

"I," he said, stepping forward slowly, "am your worst nightmare."

Inside the cabin, Ethan was laughing hysterically, his body trembling from the sheer satisfaction of how flawlessly everything was going according to plan.

The walls of the sanctum-protected cabin echoed with his laughter, a wild, triumphant sound that only those who had danced with death could ever make.

Scattered around him were the results of his twisted genius—several versions of his own corpse, half-rotted and imbued with a sickly aura of undeath.

They were grotesque, pale, and cold—but to Ethan, they were beautiful. Tools of vengeance and Weapons of mockery.

When he had first dragged the initial zombified version of himself into the cabin, a bold idea had struck him like lightning. "What if I turned myself into a zombie willingly?"

The thought was insane, reckless, and dangerous—so naturally, he embraced it.

He let zombie Ethan bite him, letting the infection take hold. As his body withered and he died, the system had presented him with three options:

1. Allow the transformation and grant the zombie version of himself full autonomy.

2. Trigger an explosion that would destroy the zombie body completely.

3. Deny the transformation and revert the corpse to a neutral state.

He chose the first, activating the transformation—and a spark of brilliance followed. If one zombie Ethan could fool the Prime, what about multiple?

From that moment, the plan formed: create expendable zombie duplicates—his own corpses reanimated under his control, each one with a purpose.

With each death and respawn, Ethan would make sure to select the second option ensuring that if the Prime ever got too close or tried to capture one—BOOM.

It was perfect.

Now, outside the cabin, the latest zombie Ethan stood before the Prime, skin hanging loosely from his bones, eyes burning with an unnatural intelligence.

The Prime, towering and seething, was silent, fury radiating from its very core.

Zombie Ethan crossed his arms, his grin never fading.

"So…" he said with a taunting tilt of the head, "Now what are you going to do?"