Apocalypse: King of Zombies

Back at the compound’s central command area, Maxwell and the others finally let out the breath they’d been holding when they realized the Winged Clan weren’t going to start slaughtering everyone on sight.

A few dozen guards had died—but compared to a full-on massacre, that price was practically the lightest possible outcome.

Winged Clan with actual brains weren’t the same as those savage, man-eating monsters.

When the Infernals had shown up at Nova City, they’d gone straight to killing, because humans were food to them.

But whether it was the Winged Clan or the Stoneborn they’d encountered before, humans weren’t on the menu. Killing people didn’t benefit them, so under normal circumstances they wouldn’t massacre a city for no reason.

That didn’t mean they were ”kind,” though.

If you disobeyed, they’d kill you without blinking.

They preferred something else—slavery.

They liked keeping humans as servants, forcing them to wait on them, just to prove how far above everyone they were.

Maxwell and the others had accepted the reality.

Servants, then. Fine.

As long as it bought time.

While he had people arrange food and comforts for the Winged Clan, Maxwell called Ethan.

Ethan was still on his way.

When he heard the situation, he loosened up a little too.

If the Winged Clan weren’t going full butcher mode, then there was room to breathe—at least for now.

Not that it made the problem easy.

There were more than ten of them, and they could all fly. Ethan had no confidence he could keep every single one from escaping.

And if even one of them got away…

The Winged Clan’s main force would come down on them next.

So from the start, Ethan hadn’t planned to smash into them head-on. He’d told Maxwell to keep them calm, keep them contained, keep them here.

He needed time for Chris and the others to break through.

Once Chris hit Stage A, Ethan was confident he could take all of them.

For now, Maxwell had them stabilized—which meant Ethan still had time.

He flew to within a few dozen miles of Atlas City Compound, then stopped. Circling wide, he approached from another direction and slipped in quietly.

They were here to find him. Letting them spot him meant he’d be forced into a fight whether he wanted one or not.

After infiltrating the compound, Ethan followed Maxwell’s directions and quickly found him and the rest of the leadership.

By then, they’d already given up several large rooms in the compound center to the Winged Clan. Maxwell and the others had relocated to a residential area on the other side.

The moment Ethan walked in, the room’s tension visibly eased—like just having him present lowered the pressure by half.

”Ethan. Thank God you’re here.” Several Atlas Federation higher-ups looked genuinely emotional.

Ethan didn’t waste time. ”What’s the situation right now?”

”I had the chefs make them a spread,” Maxwell said. ”They seem satisfied. They’re still eating.”

Ethan nodded once. ”Good. As long as you can keep them steady.”

One of them leaned forward. ”So what do we do next?”

”Stall,” Ethan said. Simple as that. ”Right now, I can’t guarantee I can kill all of them. We wait a few days until Chris and the others get here.”

”You can kill them?” Eyes lit up around the room.

”I can,” Ethan said. Then his tone hardened. ”But they’re too fast in the air. I can’t guarantee a clean wipe. If even one escapes, we’re finished. Their side has thousands.”

”…What?”

Faces went blank.

”Thousands?” someone choked out.

”You think I’m being cautious for fun?” Ethan shot back. ”If it were just these guys, I’d have already moved.”

The room sagged like someone had pulled the supports out.

Maxwell exhaled and looked around. ”Tell everyone below to be careful. Let them have their way. No conflicts.”

”Understood.”

Ethan added, ”There’s one other option. If you can split them up, I can pick them off one by one.”

Maxwell grimaced. ”That’s… going to be hard.”

”Try anyway,” Ethan said.

”Alright.”

Gabriel suddenly spoke up, voice low but urgent. ”Ethan—what Tier are they, exactly? Is there any chance we could poison them?”

Ethan shook his head without hesitation.

”I haven’t seen this group personally yet, but every Winged Clan expert I’ve run into was at least Stage A.” He looked Gabriel dead in the eye. ”With that level, none of the poisons we have—mutant beast venom, mutated plant toxins—will do anything.”

”Stage A…” Someone whispered it like a curse.

The room went cold.

No wonder Ethan said they could wipe Atlas City Compound.

Atlas City’s strongest people were only around Tier 19 right now.

The gap was so big it wasn’t even a fight. It was an execution waiting to happen.

”I know what to do,” Maxwell said, voice low.

Ethan nodded. ”I’ll stay here these next few days. See if I can find a chance to kill a few of them.”

”Alright,” Maxwell said, then added with real feeling, ”Thanks. Seriously.”

Days crawled by.

Ever since the Winged Clan showed up at Atlas City Compound, the entire place had been running at maximum tension. You could feel it in the air—people speaking softer, walking faster, flinching at every sudden sound.

Every day, a dedicated group was assigned to serve the Winged Clan—food, drinks, comforts, entertainment—anything to keep them pleased. They were treated so well they were starting to look like they’d forgotten why they’d even come.

It wasn’t that they’d truly forgotten.

The deadline Lord Aeralon had given them had already passed.

They just didn’t want to think about it anymore.

Aeralon’s temper was infamous. He’d been obsessed with Aerisara for ages, and now—before he’d even won her over—she’d been snatched away by humans.

Of course he was furious.

They could practically see the future: if they went back empty-handed, the rage waiting for them wouldn’t be punishment.

It would be annihilation.

So they chose not to go back. Not yet. Staying here, living comfortably, was a lot easier than walking home to their own execution.

And sure enough…

Inside Moskva City Compound, Aeralon was losing his mind.

So many days had passed. Not only had they failed to find the person, a few of the search teams had simply disappeared.

Several teams still hadn’t returned. No contact. Nothing.

That alone was enough to drive him into a frenzy.

”Good. Really good,” Aeralon snarled, pacing like a caged beast. ”You come to this world and suddenly you’ve all gotten brave.”

”Betray me? You think you can betray me?”

He whirled toward the Winged Clan experts kneeling below him, and his voice cracked through the hall like a blade.

”Everyone. Get out there. Search!”

”When you find those traitors—bring them back. I want them alive.”

”I’ll make sure they understand what it means to betray me!”

”Yes, my lord!” The kneeling men answered in unison, then scrambled to withdraw, heads bowed, afraid to breathe too loud.

But even after they left, Aeralon’s anger had nowhere to go.

So it spilled onto the only targets available.

The survivors of Moskva City.

Storms roared through the compound like living creatures. Wherever the wind passed, people and buildings were shredded into pieces—concrete, steel, flesh—torn apart and flung into the air.

In moments, the entire compound reeked of blood.

Those who survived ran, screaming and sobbing as they fled into the distance. Some had grief stamped openly across their faces—families erased in an instant, bodies not even left behind.

To these Void Realm beings, humans weren’t people.

They were disposable.

And what could the survivors do?

They were weak. They couldn’t fight back. They could only wait to be butchered.

Worse—they couldn’t even stop serving them. If they resisted, they’d all die anyway.

A few Winged Clan experts sensed something was wrong early and had already flown away from the compound. From the air, they watched the slaughter unfold, swallowing hard, wings stiff with unease.

Lord Aeralon was truly furious this time.

Which meant those missing teams…

Were finished.

No. Worse than finished.

The Winged Clan experts exchanged grim looks, then sped off into the horizon—searching for the humans, and searching for the Winged Clan who still hadn’t come back.