Apocalypse: King of Zombies

Windora State…

Above an endless stretch of prairie, a group of Winged Clan elites hovered in midair, staring down at the zombie horde with undisguised surprise.

They’d only flown this way to try their luck. Based on the clues they’d found, their target hadn’t escaped in this direction.

And yet—down there—the zombies looked eerily similar to what they were hunting.

Sure, the eyes were the zombies’ signature dark red. But everything else… almost identical.

Hope sparked through the group.

Maybe—just maybe—the trail they needed was here.

Because Lord Aeralon had issued a final ultimatum. If they still couldn’t find anything, they were dead. All of them.

”Should we notify Lord Aeralon?” one of them asked.

”Notify him when we haven’t even found the person?” another snapped. ”You trying to get screamed at?”

The first man hesitated. ”I’m worried we don’t have enough people to handle whoever it is.”

”We don’t need to handle them,” the other said, impatient. ”We find them first. Then we report. That’s it.”

He glanced down again at the shambling sea. ”And these zombies might not even be related. Could just be similar faces.”

”Didn’t they say that group came from another world, like us?” someone else cut in. ”These zombies look like natives.”

”Humans looking similar isn’t weird,” the second man said, voice colder now. ”If we report to Lord Aeralon without solid proof, it won’t just be a scolding.”

The first man swallowed. ”Alright. You’re right. So… we look for a human compound?”

”Yeah. Find a compound first. We’ll get information out of the humans there.”

They’d been in this world long enough to understand how it worked.

The ones roaming outside were mutated humans—zombies. You couldn’t communicate with them.

Real humans hid inside compounds.

If they wanted answers, they needed living people.

”Move.”

The Winged Clan elites lifted off again, slicing through the sky as they began searching for a human compound.

Atlas City Emergency Operations Center…

The top brass of the Atlas Federation had all gathered in one room.

On the massive screen at the front, a live feed played—grainy, jittering satellite footage of a group of figures flying at terrifying speed, so fast even the satellites struggled to track them.

But the figures had paused briefly earlier.

Long enough for Atlas City to get a good look.

Charles stared at the screen, face heavy. ”General Kane… these are the Winged Clan Ethan mentioned?”

Maxwell nodded once. ”Yeah.”

Charles didn’t look away. ”Did Ethan say how strong they are?”

”No. Just that these dozen-or-so could wipe our compound off the map.”

”….”

Silence settled like a weight.

Finally, someone asked the question everyone was thinking. ”Then what do we do?”

Maxwell’s jaw tightened. ”We wait for Ethan and the others to get here. Ethan said if they arrive first, we don’t engage. Stall if we can.”

He looked around the room. ”And notify everyone in the compound—no one speaks Federation language. Everyone uses other languages. If you can’t speak anything else, keep your mouth shut.”

A stunned voice went up. ”What? Why?”

”I don’t know,” Maxwell said flatly. ”Ethan specifically told us to do it.”

The man swallowed. ”Understood. I’ll get it out right now.”

The Winged Clan moved fast.

In less than an hour, their silhouettes appeared above Atlas City Compound.

They looked down at the enormous walls, the sprawling blocks inside, and the countless human figures moving around like ants.

A smile crept across several faces.

Finally.

”We found them,” someone murmured.

”These humans do look like the ones we’re after,” one Winged Clan expert said, frowning as he assessed the people below. ”But their strength is nowhere close.”

”Doesn’t matter,” another replied. ”We go down first. Ask questions.”

”Agreed.”

Without any attempt to hide themselves, the Winged Clan elites angled their wings and descended straight toward the compound.

When the people of Atlas City Compound saw the Winged Clan descend, everyone’s stomach tightened.

At least they’d been warned. They were mentally prepared.

Still—whatever happened, they had to look shocked. Too calm would only raise suspicion.

”¿Quiénes son ustedes?!” A guard captain shouted, glaring at the Winged Clan with open wariness. Around him, the guards tightened ranks, weapons coming up as they slid into fighting stances.

The Winged Clan froze.

”…?”

They traded looks, confusion passing between them.

The leader’s brow furrowed. He spoke sharply, voice carrying clear irritation. ”Do you understand what I’m saying?”

”¿Qué dijiste? No entiendo.” The guard captain frowned back, playing dumb.

The Winged Clan elites looked at each other again, helpless annoyance creeping in.

”Looks like these natives really aren’t the same as that group.”

”Then what? Keep searching, or go back?”

”Go back for what?” someone snapped. ”To die? Lord Aeralon’s deadline is today. If we still come up empty, we’re all dead.”

”With just us, finding a handful of humans in a world this big is basically impossible. I’d bet the other teams won’t find them either.”

”Instead of going back to get executed, why don’t we just stay here?” another said, voice turning greedy. ”This world is paradise to us. Living here, enjoying these humans serving us every day—how is that not better than going back to die?”

”But if Lord Aeralon finds out…” someone muttered, the fear in his voice real.

”Doesn’t matter. We’re dead either way,” the greedy one said coldly. ”At least here we can live a few more days.”

He narrowed his eyes at the compound below. ”And I’ve got a feeling these people are connected to the ones we’re looking for. They look too similar for it to be random. If we stay, maybe we’ll dig up something—some trace.”

”…Fine.”

The others nodded, one after another, accepting it.

Nearby, the humans listening didn’t understand the words, but the tone was enough. Sweat broke out across faces. Cold fear crawled up spines.

They could maybe bluff their way through a meeting.

But if these things stayed?

Sooner or later, something would slip. Something would go wrong.

Even so, nobody dared show it.

”¡Rodéenlos! ¡Mantengan las armas listas!” the guard captain barked, rattling off a long string of orders. He slashed his hand down.

The guards surged forward, surrounding the Winged Clan.

The captain knew the truth as well as anyone: if a real fight started, they’d be wiped out.

But letting aliens stroll into the compound without even pretending to resist? That would look even stranger. If the Winged Clan didn’t get suspicious from that, they were idiots.

The Winged Clan’s expressions turned ugly.

One of them snorted.

Then—

A terrifying pressure burst out from his body.

The air around him twisted. A storm exploded outward, howling like a living thing. In the blink of an eye, the vortex snatched up the surrounding guards—

And shredded them.

Armor, flesh, bone—everything ripped apart and flung into the air as a red mist.

People stared, eyes bulging, faces drained of color.

This time, the fear wasn’t an act.

Command had said these Void Realm creatures were strong, but most of them had never seen one fight up close. They hadn’t had a real frame of reference.

Now they did.

That oppressive aura, that casual violence—it crushed any thought of resistance before it could even form.

The Winged Clan expert who’d attacked swept his gaze across the crowd and spoke loudly, voice sharp with ownership.

”From today on, this place belongs to us. From now on, you are our servants. Anyone who dares resist will end up like them!”

His voice carried a psychic force, punching the meaning straight into their minds even though they didn’t understand a single word.

The surrounding crowd burned with humiliation, but nobody moved.

They remembered the order from above: Go along with them. No matter what. Stall them as long as possible.

The Winged Clan expert’s lips curled.

”Good,” he said, satisfied. ”Looks like you’re a little smarter than the trash we ran into before.”