Apocalypse: King of Zombies

The Ironback Rats, despite their intimidating appearance, didn’t seem particularly alert. Their dull eyes stayed glued to the ground, and even when the team passed surprisingly close, the rats didn’t notice.

That helped—Ethan’s group was able to push forward much quicker than expected.

But that pace came to a dead halt the moment they stepped beyond the rats’ territory.

Ethan’s body tensed the second he saw what was up ahead.

Wolves.

But not like any on Earth—these were blood-red from snout to tail, huge, muscular, and visibly lethal. Their exposed fangs gleamed like bone-daggers, and just the sight of them stirred a cold chill down the spine.

Ethan raised a hand, his team freezing behind him.

He didn’t dare move forward.

Wolves were fast. Their noses were insane. And if these were anything like real packs, they hunted in sync. Stealthing past something like this? Not happening.

”Skinny Pete. How close are we to Nugget’s position?” Ethan asked quietly, eyes locked on the red wolves.

”Close,” Pete replied, pointing just past the tree line. ”If my guess is right… it’s just ahead.”

Ethan’s brow twitched.

Just ahead meant inside Bloodfang Wolf territory.

Great.

He studied the pack more closely. Easily over a hundred of them. Most ranged between Tier 7 and Tier 9. No Tier 10s in sight—but that didn’t mean there weren’t any hiding nearby. Wolf packs had territory and back-up. Engage one, you’d be fighting five in a minute, fifty in five.

It’d spiral fast.

”We’re headed into a fight, whether we like it or not,” Ethan said, voice steady. ”That’s a pack of Bloodfang Wolves. No way around them, and with those noses, they’ll sniff us out the second we get too close.”

He glanced at the others. ”If we really get dragged into a fight, Skinny Pete, you take Henry and get to Nugget. Fast. Heal it, bring it back here. Let Nugget pull us out.”

The group went quiet. Tense.

If Ethan was already planning contingencies like ”have Nugget come rescue us,” it meant even he wasn’t confident they’d survive this clean.

”Captain…” Skinny Pete hesitated, frowning, ”Maybe we call this off? It’s just one beast. We can always find a new pet.”

”We’ve come this far. No way we’re leaving without it.”

Ethan looked back at the wolves. ”Don’t worry too much. From what I’ve seen so far, these guys aren’t as strong individually as the Titan Apes. They’re dangerous, yeah—but it’s their teamwork that makes them deadly. Now that everyone’s hit Tier 9, we can hang in there long enough for you two to reach Nugget and bring reinforcements.”

”...Alright.”

With the plan set, they crept forward again, blades drawn, senses sharp.

Ethan activated True Sight to its limit—every muscle tense—as they slowly approached the outer edge of the Bloodfang pack.

But just like he expected, there was no getting around it.

As they neared, one of the wolves at the perimeter suddenly paused. It sniffed the air once, twice, then turned its head—eyes locking almost directly onto them.

It started padding forward, slow and cautious.

Ethan sighed under his breath. ”Here we go…”

”Pete, Henry—fall back and wait for your opening,” he said, voice clipped. ”Rest of you—on me!”

Without another word, he raised his poleaxe and teleported straight in front of the approaching Bloodfang Wolf.

The massive beast barely had time to blink before the axe came down.

Clean slice. Split right down the middle.

The sound echoed through the forest like a thundercrack.

Instantly, the entire pack erupted.

Howls filled the air. Dozens of wolves surged toward the group like a crimson flood.

Ethan didn’t wait.

Poleaxe in hand, he roared and charged forward, slamming into the front line of wolves with brutal efficiency.

Chris, Mia, Big Mike, and the rest burst from the grass behind him, weapons drawn, expressions hard. They slammed into the right flank of the wolf pack in a tight formation.

Battle ignited.

The wolves came fast and relentless, lunging with fangs bared. But the squad moved like a unit—backs to each other, striking in every direction, cutting down any wolf that got too close.

This wasn’t their first siege.

They’d done this dance in the zombie zones, in mutant nests, in flesh-pit dungeons.

But this time… it was different.

These weren’t mindless corpses. These wolves were fast, smart, brutal. They moved in coordinated waves, using real tactics—feinting, circling, doubling back. A wolf would leap to one side, drawing attention, only for another to lunge through the blind spot.

And they hit hard.

Ethan’s poleaxe became a blur as he wove between attacks. Each swing took down another threat, but there were always more waiting.

No breaks. No let-up.

The Bloodfang Wolf pack was out for blood.

Garrick slammed both palms into the ground. With a low rumble, the earth gave way beneath a cluster of Bloodfang Wolves, dropping more than a dozen of them into a sudden pit trap.

Before the startled wolves could even react, massive boulders began smashing down from above—one after another, crushing them like falling meteors.

”Light it up!” Garrick shouted.

Big Mike didn’t need to be told twice.

A flurry of fireballs rained down into the pit, blazing with elemental fury—his [Rain of Flames] ability unleashing a storm of controlled chaos. The scent of scorched fur filled the air as Bloodfang Wolves shrieked in pain, some dying on impact, others barely managing to scramble up the sides, battered and bleeding.

But even half-dead, those wolves were hunting machines.

Several of them leapt out of the pit, jaws gnashing, and flung themselves straight at the team.

”Awwooooo!”

One of the Tier 9 wolves threw its head back and let out a piercing howl.

The response was instant.

From all directions—ground, trees, shadows—more Bloodfang Wolves came flooding in. Dozens of snarling bodies pounced from every angle. Some charged head-on, others dove from the trees, their terrifying coordination making it almost impossible to read their angles.

It was overwhelming.

Even for a veteran squad used to being outnumbered, the precision and aggression from these wolves were something else. This wasn’t a brawl with zombies. This was a siege run by predators who knew exactly how and when to strike.

Most of the wolves were Tier 8 or Tier 9. The problem? Outside of Ethan, no one could one-shot them. The best they could do was knock them back—any kill took work. And in between attacks, small openings started to show. Openings the wolves exploited ruthlessly.

Here and there, a few wolves managed to sneak through the defenses—clamping jaws onto an arm, a leg, tearing through combat gear with terrifying force before someone else forced them off.

And now they understood why Ethan had said: ”Let Nugget come save us.”

These wolves weren’t just stronger than zombies—they were in another league entirely.

The squad held their circle, backs pressed together, weapons swinging in tight, practiced arcs, elemental abilities flaring with every blow. No one panicked. They didn’t have time to panic. But the pressure kept climbing with each second.

Somewhere behind the frontlines, Skinny Pete and Henry were already making their move.

With the entire pack zeroed in on the main squad, the two veered off along the edge, slipping through the chaos unnoticed.

Dozens of wolves thundered past them as they rushed toward the noise of the fight. Pete and Henry didn’t say a word—they couldn’t afford to. Just kept their heads low and focused on speed and silence.

”C’mon, just hold out a little longer,” Pete muttered under his breath.

After nearly ten solid minutes of racing through Bloodfang territory, they arrived at a towering, overgrown tree—its massive limbs disappearing into a tight canopy above.

”This the place?” Henry whispered, looking up.

”Yeah,” Pete said, not wasting a second. ”Get climbing.”

He jumped up, toes catching bark, fingers gripping tight as he started to scale.

Henry followed right behind.

Normally, they’d be on edge. This was still wolf territory. But judging from the silence and the direction of the howls? Every single Bloodfang was at the fight.

For now, they were in the clear.

Half a minute later, they broke through the canopy—and saw it.

A giant bird nest, so wide it could’ve doubled as a camping tent. Easily big enough for four or five people to stretch out inside.

Pete and Henry hauled themselves over the edge—and froze.

Inside were two massive aerial mutant beasts, beaks and claws locked in a death struggle.

One of them was Nugget.

The other resembled a Dire Eagle—hooked beak, gray-white feathers, razor talons. Probably another elite aerial predator.

Nugget’s sharp golden beak was still buried deep in the eagle’s throat.

But the eagle’s claws had pierced straight through Nugget’s chest, talons sunk deep into vital tissue.

Both birds were completely still. Not even breathing.

If Skinny Pete couldn’t still sense Nugget’s faint life signal through their bond, they’d have thought both were already dead.

”Henry!” Pete barked. ”Hurry—get Nugget healed!”

”On it,” Henry said, already rushing over.

”First—I’m getting these claws out!”

Pete knelt beside Nugget, grabbed the Dire Eagle’s foot with both hands, and yanked it free in one hard pull.

Nugget’s body shuddered.

Blood sprayed out of its chest, thick and fast.

Henry didn’t waste a second. He thrust out his hand, releasing waves of soft white light over the wound. Healing ribbons of energy sank into Nugget’s chest, knitting flesh, sealing gaps, slowing the bleeding.

Pete let out a shaky breath of relief.

And then the foot he was still holding twitched.

Just a little. But it twitched.

The talons curled slightly, the entire leg flexing once like a muscle waking up.

”Holy shit!!” Pete jumped back, eyes wide. ”It’s not dead?!”