Apocalypse: King of Zombies

”Can you not scream like that?” Henry clutched his chest. ”Damn near made me slip and fall!”

”Ah, my bad. Keep doing your thing,” Skinny Pete said, rubbing the back of his head, clearly embarrassed.

Then his eyes slid toward the beat-up, gray-white Dire Eagle that was still clamped in Nugget’s beak. There was a gleam in his eyes now—calculating, interested.

”Hey, Henry. What tier you think this thing is?”

”Do you even have to ask?” Henry replied without looking up. ”It pushed Nugget to the brink of death. Gotta be Tier 9 for sure.”

”Mm,” Pete nodded slowly, mind churning with possibilities.

Controlling three Tier 9 mutant beasts used to be a stretch. But now it felt kinda easy.

Four might be doable.

And an aerial beast? Way more valuable than a groundbound one.

He glanced back toward where the team was still locked in combat. If he managed to bring this eagle under control, he’d have not one, but two flying mounts. That would double the speed on rescue operations.

The more he thought about it, the harder it was to hide the grin creeping up his face.

Down below, Henry was wrapping up the healing. Soft white light pulsed beneath his hands, slowly closing the last of Nugget’s wounds.

And right then—Nugget’s eyes fluttered open.

At the sight of Skinny Pete above him, the big bird froze… and then its eyes welled up.

No joke—if a bird could cry, this was it.

It had really thought it was dead. Thought it would never see him again.

It tried to lean in and nuzzle his chest, instinctively… but its beak wouldn’t move.

Because it was still clamped down on something.

Its eyes shifted. Saw the Dire Eagle beneath it.

Instant fury.

Nugget ripped its beak free and reared back, eyes blazing—and went straight for the Dire Eagle’s skull like it was aiming for a finishing blow.

”Hey—hold up!” Pete shouted, rushing over. ”Don’t kill her! She’s gonna be useful. You two are teammates now, got it?”

Nugget froze in mid-lunge.

Then turned to shoot Pete a look that could only mean:

Are you kidding me right now?

Still, despite the obvious disgust, Nugget backed off. It wouldn’t disobey a direct order… no matter how much it hated it.

”Henry, help me pin her—don’t let her get airborne. I’m taking control,” Pete said, all business now.

”Got it.” Henry nodded and threw his weight onto the eagle’s side.

Without a sound, Nugget pounced and locked both talons around the Dire Eagle’s still-wounded legs, anchoring her down.

Skinny Pete crouched beside her head and gave it a little tap.

The Dire Eagle stirred.

Eyes fluttered open—and spotted him.

Instant aggression.

She bared her beak and thrashed wildly, but she was in no condition to fight. Between her injuries, Henry’s weight, and Nugget pinning her down, there was no chance she was breaking free.

Pete leaned in, eyes locked.

Time to work.

He activated [Beast Control].

Spiritual energy surged from him, invisible threads latching onto the eagle’s mind. She resisted at first—fighting, snarling, eyes burning defiance.

But Pete didn’t let up.

Her struggling slowed. Her glare softened from violent to confused. She fought a little longer… then less… and eventually, her body relaxed, her breath steadied.

The beast was his.

”Done,” Pete exhaled, wiping his brow and tossing a crystal core into his mouth. ”God, that was intense.”

”Dude,” Henry said, impressed. ”At this rate, you really might end up commanding a full squad of mutant beasts one day.”

”Eh, maybe. Right now, four Tier 9s feels like the cap. Beast Control burns through mental energy like crazy. But yeah—as my level goes up, number of beasts should scale too. Still hard to guess how high I’d need to go for a real army, though.”

”You don’t have to stick to top-tier ones,” Henry suggested. ”You could always mix in some Tier 8s or lower. Wouldn’t be as heavy a load, right?”

”Technically, yeah,” Pete said. ”But come on—have some standards. You think I’m wasting brainpower managing crap-tier cannon fodder?”

”...Fair.”

”Anyway—Nugget’s good, now help patch up Pebble. We need to haul ass back to save the captain.”

”’Pebble’?”

”Yeah,” Pete said confidently. ”I’ve decided. Her name’s Pebble.”

”...Sure. Why not.”

Meanwhile, back on the battlefield...

Barely ten minutes had passed, but the squad was already in bad shape.

Aside from Ethan, everyone else was covered in cuts and bruises. Even their mutant beast allies—Goldie and the others—were beaten up, matted with blood and deep claw marks.

Without Henry around, no one could get their injuries treated. They were stuck tanking every hit and push through raw pain.

But the more wounds piled up, the slower they moved. And the slower they moved, the easier it became for the Bloodfang Wolves to land a bite.

It was a brutal loop—and for the first time, the survivors began to feel that cold thought creep in:

They might not make it out of this one.

That’s when it really hit them how important Henry was.

With him, they fought longer, harder, recovered faster. Without him? Every swing came at a cost. Every breath felt one step closer to bleeding out.

Honestly, if Fallen Star Squad had one MVP beside the captain—it was Henry.

”Ssshhhhiit—”

A Tier 9 Bloodfang suddenly burst from a pile of corpses, snapping its jaws around Big Mike’s lower leg, nearly ripping it in half.

He grit his teeth, eyes flaring from the pain, and rammed his pistol into its skull. One loud crack later, the wolf slumped, dead.

Big Mike stared down at what was left of his leg, face turning darker by the second.

”Damn it, where the hell is Skinny Pete? If he doesn’t get back soon, I am seriously gonna die out here.”

”Almost there,” Garrick said, shifting closer to help cover his flank. ”Just hang in a little longer.”

The Bloodfangs didn’t stop.

They didn’t hesitate. They didn’t retreat.

They threw themselves into the fight like berserkers, tearing and biting with zero concern for their own safety. And if one of them managed to land a bite? They didn’t let go.

It wasn’t just scrapes anymore. If a wolf got its mouth on you, it was leaving with a chunk of meat—if not half the bone too.

Only three people were holding up decently now—Ethan, Garrick, and Sean.

Garrick’s [Earthen Armor] was absorbing the worst of the damage. Sean’s reinforced metal arms were perfect for blocking and counter blows. And Ethan...

Ethan was just eating it all.

Tier 10 strength backed by brute skill and experience, he was holding down an entire direction by himself. Poleaxe in hand, he was a whirlwind of wide sweeps and spinning force, while his [Telekinesis] kept a curved longsword floating behind him, slicing through the air like a silver shark circling above.

But even he wasn’t unscathed. Bloody bite marks tore along his side and shoulder.

Poleaxe was high-risk, high-reward—devastating wide arcs, but it left huge openings between swings. The wolves had figured that out fast. They’d lunge on every gap he left, and while Ethan could’ve teleported out, he couldn’t risk blinking away while teammates were at his back.

So yep, he took the hits.

He could still hold the line—for now.

But if he cracked, even for a second?

They were done.

Ethan’s face tensed.

Far off toward the edge of the tree line, he spotted something that cranked his concern up another notch.

A single Bloodfang Wolf, noticeably larger than the rest. Tier 10.

It wasn’t charging.

It was watching.

Eyes cold and sharp. Probably acting as a commander, Ethan guessed. And thank god for that. If that thing joined the front lines, they wouldn’t stand a chance.

Then—

A rush of wind cut through the chaos.

Two massive birds appeared in the sky, flying fast and low. Ethan’s gaze snapped upward—and for the first time in over ten minutes, his heart eased.

Nugget. And a second bird… that looked weirdly familiar. Both carried riders.

Skinny Pete and Henry.

They’d done it.

Ethan blinked, incredulous—but also impressed. Pete had tamed another avian mount?

Meanwhile, down below, the pack of Bloodfang Wolves spotted the incoming birds. A chorus of angry howls rose from the forest floor—deep, furious, almost commanding.

They were warning the birds off.

Didn’t work.

Pebble and Nugget didn’t even twitch in response. They just tucked wings and dove.

From the ground, the Tier 10 pack leader let out a long howl—and instantly, a wave of wolves leapt high into the air, aiming to drag the birds down midflight.

Too slow.

The sky belonged to the birds.

The Bloodfangs could jump high—but they had no control midair. Nugget and Pebble easily dodged them, banking left or right. Those that jumped too close got a spear or pike to the face, courtesy of Pete and Henry riding tandem.

A few wolves managed to clip the birds—only to get kicked off or stabbed midleap.

Seconds later, both birds descended rapidly, landing beside the squad with force enough to kick up a wind blast.

And what they saw made their stomachs clench.

The team looked like hell—bloody, bruised, and barely standing.

Henry didn’t hesitate.

He vaulted off Nugget’s back, hit the ground running, and unleashed wave after wave of glowing white energy into the squad.

Healing light poured over their broken bodies.

Sliced flesh began stitching shut. Bruises lightened. Bleeding slowed.