He looked around the store, searching for a clock inside the room, but he couldn't find one.
His smartphone had been flung somewhere before he lost consciousness.
Finally, he walked, dragging his feet, toward the cashier's counter. The cash register and computer at the counter, of course, were not turned on.
He rummaged through the drawers on the cashier and eventually found a digital watch, perhaps left behind by some idiot.
He checked the time—it was now one o'clock in the afternoon.
Earlier, he had left and arrived at the shopping center at ten in the morning. If he counted six hours ahead, the first disaster after the tentacle attack would start at around 3:00 PM.
"Two hours," he muttered, tossing the watch on the counter.
Then his eyes caught sight of a backpack under the desk, and he picked it up.
Inside, there were some papers that he didn't care to read, a small comb, and a small bottle of perfume.
He turned the bag upside down, emptying all its contents onto the floor. Then, dragging his feet, he walked to the food shelves and filled the backpack with whatever he could eat for several days, along with bottles of water.
Once he was done, he collected some personal items he needed, including medicines. He also packed some clean clothes to change into later.
'Good thing I've done this before, so I know what I will need,' he thought as he glanced around the room once more.
After confirming he hadn't missed anything, he walked back to the counter and glanced at the watch lying there.
It was now 1:36 PM.
Groaning, he knelt as the pain shooting through his leg. He opened the cashier's cabinet and pulled out a shotgun and an automatic pistol from inside.
He also took all the bullets stored in the cabinet and stuffed them into the backpack.
'Stores like this always keep guns...'
And he was fortunate to have already known about it.
Then he stashed the backpack and shotgun behind the counter and tucked the pistol into his waistband.
After that, he walked to the kitchen equipment aisle, grabbed all the salt displayed on the shelves, and poured a thick line behind the rolling door.
Next, he went to the store's warehouse to gather more items he would need. He made sure to take some salt with him as well.
He returned to the counter, carefully organizing the items in his backpack, and then sat on the floor, leaning against the rack behind the cashier's desk, exhausted.
He checked his watch again—it was now 2:34 PM. Using his teeth, he secured the digital watch onto his right wrist.
His face, already pale, became even paler, and the pain from his wounds throbbed harder.
He grabbed a bottle of drink and a tablet of Paracetamol, then swallowed them quickly with a swig of water.
He glanced at the watch on his wrist—it was already 2:45 PM.
Fifteen minutes left...
He stared at the rolling door and slowly breathing.
The candle that had been burning was extinguished long ago; he didn't want the light to attract those creatures.
Then, the effect of the medicine began to kick in, his eyes grew slightly sleepy—even though he had deliberately taken it a while before exactly 3:00 PM.
Fought to stay awake, he glanced at his watch again.
Ten minutes left...
In the previous life, he might have prayed to God, but this time he chose not to. A few hours ago, he himself had been a god, so it seemed better to pray to himself than to any other gods.
"I was a god a few hours ago," he snorted bitterly. "Only one worth praying to is me."
Five minutes left...
He closed his eyes, thinking about his family from his past life. They were in another city—his father, mother, and younger sister. And they didn't survive this disaster.
Returning to himself in the present, he recalled the moment he went back to his city and found their house destroyed, with his family buried beneath the rubble of their home.
He opened his eyes again, feeling like he had almost drifted off to sleep, and glanced once more at the watch on his wrist.
One minute left...
His breathing grew a little faster, and he began to feel fear.
Fear?
He wasn't an immortal being anymore. Now he could die. No god powers, no immortality. Just a guy with a gun and a bad leg.
The thought made him tense up even more. It had been a long time since he'd ever thought about this.
"Get it together," he hissed.
Suddenly, he heard a sound like a large animal growling loudly in front of the rolling door.
His eyes froze, locked on the shop's front door.
BAANG!!
He flinched slightly at the noise of the rolling door being struck, as if someone was hitting it.
Then came the sound of roaring—echoing back and forth—and screams from people outside.
The noises went on for quite some time, and he could do nothing but sit silently inside the small convenience store.
He could only hope that the situation he was facing now would turn out just like it did in his past life.
And the growling noises, combined with snorting sounds, echoed once more. The creatures seemed to be communicating with each other.
But he knew their weakness—he had faced some of these creatures in his previous life. They couldn't stand salt.
His right hand slowly reached for the shotgun he had placed at the far end of the counter.
Earlier, he had coated each and every bullet he found with salt.
Even his clothes and hair were covered in it, though it made his wounds sting even more.
The creatures would finish feasting on the corpses outside—and even on those still alive—in about an hour and a half.
He knew he had to leave the store before that time was up.
Because if events unfolded the same way as in his past life, the creatures would destroy this convenience store too.
He stood up from his seat, carefully slinging his backpack over his shoulders, making an effort not to create any loud sounds.
Then, he glanced at his watch.
One hour left...
"Time to move," he muttered with backpack at his back and shotgun in hand.