However, before he could even utter a word, the surrounding Walker horde swarmed in.
Deprived of the protection of his special disguise, the Whisperer could only watch helplessly as the Walker's gaping maw rapidly enlarged before his eyes!
What would be the consequence of a living person falling into a Walker horde?
When the Walker horde surrounded him, the Whisperer's figure could no longer be seen; he was completely engulfed.
The screams continued; he wouldn't die the moment he was bitten. Instead, he would watch helplessly as his flesh was torn away bite by bite, as his abdomen was ripped open, and his internal organs were hollowed out.
When the Whisperer's consciousness was hazy, he looked out through the swaying Walkers in front of him, only to find that Shawn had left at some point.
Suddenly, the Walkers around him began to fall.
A figure walked to his front, looking down at him.
The Whisperer couldn't describe the look in his eyes, but the desire for life made him use his last ounce of strength to plead.
"Save… save me…"
Bray looked at him coldly, simply raising his pistol.
Bang--
…
On the other side.
The Whisperers were running through the jungle.
The moment they realized they had been exposed, they turned and ran.
Even now, they still held a glimmer of hope.
"With the Walker horde dragging them back, we should be safe, right?"
"I don't know, but Thomas couldn't get out."
"How did he pinpoint Thomas's location immediately?"
"I'm not sure, but this matter should be brought to…"
Mid-sentence, the man wearing the slightly yellowish Walker skin suddenly paused.
He stopped, his gaze sweeping over the few people beside him.
"1… 2… 3…"
Finally, he placed his finger on himself and counted '5'.
"Wait, besides Thomas, where did our fourth person go?"
The man in the yellowish Walker skin's words sent a chilling sensation through everyone.
"Could they have run somewhere else?"
"But there were 5 people here just now?!"
As his words fell, everyone looked at each other, and the man in the yellowish Walker skin counted again.
"1… 2…"
Cold sweat crawled up their scalps. In just the time it took to turn around and count, another person had drowned in the darkness, their figure gone.
"1… 2… 3…"
This time, when he counted to '3', the man in the yellowish Walker skin placed his finger on himself.
"4!"
A deep, slightly hoarse voice sounded, as if speaking right next to their ears.
Upon hearing someone finally respond, the man in the yellowish Walker skin first let out a sigh of relief.
But the next second, he saw numbers 1 and 2 opposite him staring at him with wide eyes.
The man in the yellowish Walker skin felt a chill in his heart, as if he had fallen into an endless abyss, experiencing weightlessness and panic simultaneously. Every hair on the back of his neck visibly stood on end.
He tried to turn his head to the right… there was nothing.
He couldn't help but let out a breath, but before his hairs could relax, his intelligent brain seemed to guide him to another possibility.
He stiffly turned his head to the left.
But he didn't know that, moving with his action, there was also a knife the length of a forearm.
As the man in the yellowish Walker skin looked left, the small knife slowly extended from the darkness on his right, hovering in front of his throat.
His head rotated 70° to the left.
The moment his peripheral vision caught a glimpse of red, the man in the yellowish Walker skin was nearly terrified out of his wits!
But as he opened his mouth wide, a hand immediately extended from his left, covering his mouth and nose, suffocating him.
In the last moments of his life, he only heard a sentence in his ear.
Just like before, though low, it was clearly audible to everyone present.
"The Whisperers… The Prison sends its regards."
Swish--!
The blade swept across his neck beneath the yellowish Walker skin, and hot, fresh blood gushed from his throat.
The man in the yellowish Walker skin immediately clutched his throat with both hands and fell to his knees.
But this did not slow down his death; instead, it only made the other two even more terrified.
Watching their companion slowly die, they looked up again but didn't know where the person had gone; there wasn't even a ghost of a shadow in the previous spot.
Number 2, a woman, panicked and spun around to flee, turning so quickly that she accidentally crashed into a tree trunk.
When she had somewhat recovered, she looked around and saw another corpse on the ground.
"Ah!!!"
The Number 2 Whisperer screamed frantically, gripping the dagger she carried tightly, pointing it in every possible direction.
But then, her intelligent brain seemed to realize something.
Forcing herself to suppress the urge to turn around, she was terrified yet desperate, and she actually drew the dagger across her own neck, instantly collapsing lifelessly.
Fear had consumed her life force even before Shawn did.
Shawn's figure emerged from the darkness behind her.
By now, he had changed into a pitch-black 'stalker suit,' and he was clearly the one who had attacked these Whisperers.
After merely glancing down and confirming no one was left alive, Shawn turned and left.
Returning to The Prison, the Zealots were clearing out Walkers.
Earlier, there was a distant fog, so Shawn couldn't discern the exact number of the Walker horde, only sensing that it wouldn't be small.
But upon returning here now, the remaining Walkers were few.
800 Zealots swarmed out, coupled with the ranged support from Shane and others on the high wall. The Walker horde, which had once driven Shawn and his group into a dead end, was nearly annihilated in a short time.
When Shawn joined the battlefield, his already exaggerated attributes, further amplified by the Blood Moon, inflicted a catastrophic disaster upon the Walker horde.
In just half an hour, the Walker horde had been completely wiped out.
Shawn delivered the final blow to a Walker's shoulder bone, and as the Walker's health bar emptied, the heavy, swaying bell sound he expected finally echoed in his ears!
"Good, there's still time!"
If this Walker horde had charged first, the pre-arranged minefield at the very front might not have lasted until the Blood Moon.
"Let's go, quickly back!"
It would take time for 800 people to return to The Prison.
Shawn stood at the back of the crowd, looking far ahead, and sure enough, that familiar, frantically rushing figure arrived on time once again.
The momentum of their surging arrival even dispersed the fog somewhat.
When Shawn returned to the high wall, he saw the Mutated Corpse horde had already approached within 200 meters.
In that instant, the moment they caught sight of the Mutated Corpses affected by the Blood Moon!
Shawn felt an invisible substance pulsating beneath his scalp, hormones soaring within him, as if his soul was about to fly out at this moment, enjoying a feast unique to himself!
"Rick, Michonne, Daryl, Merle! Watch the left and right!"
Shawn's voice echoed throughout The Prison, then his lips twitched with a hint of madness.
"And I…"
As he spoke, the Mutated Corpse horde had already approached within a hundred meters.
"Art is an explosion!"
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