Apocalypse: King of Zombies Chapter 1228: I Did It!!!

Atlas City Emergency Operations Center…

Maxwell's brow furrowed deeply as he scanned the report transmitted from the satellite control center.

In recent weeks, zombie hordes had been obliterating compounds left and right. Within one week alone, numerous small and medium-sized compounds had been erased. The burden pressed heavily on his heart.

“Seems we must accelerate the Federal Emergency Summit,” Maxwell murmured.

He glanced upward. “Have satellite phones reached all compounds by now?”

“Yes, they have,” an aide replied at once. “Government Safe Zone personnel in every region already managed deliveries to non-government compounds. Most have gotten their phones. A handful remain without.”

“Why is that?”

“Certain compounds lie too far out—no nearby government Safe Zone exists to deliver to them. And others…” The aide paused. “…stem from leaders in some government Safe Zones shirking their duties.”

“Shirking duties?” Maxwell's face grew stormy.

A chill laugh escaped him. “Is that how they're spinning it?”

“Think the apocalypse shields you from accountability?” he barked. “Civilian-run compounds? Fine—we can't expect too much.”

“Government Safe Zones stand apart. Hoist the government banner, claim government arms and supplies, and you'll perform your duties. Slack off, and replace them on the spot.”

“Understood, sir!”

Maxwell breathed out, refocusing on tasks. “Schedule the Federal Emergency Summit. Instruct major compounds to trade low-Tier crystal cores for higher-Tier ones. It boosts their odds against the hordes.”

“Yes.”

From the side, a camouflaged man chimed in. “General Kane—what ratio for exchanges?”

Maxwell eyed the bald figure at his left. “R&D—what's our synthesis rate now?”

“With upgraded materials overall,” the bald man explained, “Tier 7 and lower synthesize at twelve cores for one Tier higher.”

“Tier 8 and up pack too much energy. Control remains imperfect—fifteen cores per higher one.”

His tone rose with thrill as he added, “Plus, another advance: Tier 10 crystal cores now possible, though twenty cores needed and failure risks exist.”

Maxwell gave a single nod. “Hold off on Tier 10. Ramp up Tier 6 and 7 production first. Mid-tier fighters form the core against zombie tides.”

“Yes.”

“Exchanges,” Maxwell declared firmly, “Tier 7 and below: thirteen cores for one Tier higher. Tier 8 and up: sixteen for one Tier higher. Cap at Tier 9 max.”

“General Kane,” a middle-aged man objected, “that leaves us with slim margins. Synthesizing crystal cores demands vast manpower and resources!”

Maxwell's gaze sharpened. “Worried about profits amid crisis? Profiting off national calamity?”

He slammed the report onto the table.

“Those compounds cling to survival by a thread. Fail to empower them now, and watch them vanish entirely?”

Silence fell; no one spoke. Heads bowed throughout the room.

In truth, the Federal Emergency Summit's initial aim was gathering crystal core resources from nationwide major compounds.

Some had eyed 100-to-1 rates back then.

None foresaw Maxwell inverting the summit's purpose entirely.

Yet many backed him. As Atlas Federation's capital, Atlas City bore responsibility beyond itself—for the federation's endurance.

While Maxwell's group buried themselves in duties…

Fallen Star Squad lounged like on holiday.

Daily, they dove into solo video games, board games, booze, feasts, and cards.

Not entirely their doing—no zombies merited their effort nearby.

Card games held purpose too. At minimum, nightly star-gazing absorbed mysterious energy, elevating their Tiers.

Through consistent cultivation, Fallen Star Squad members save Captain Ethan hit mid-Tier 11 solidly. Ethan, at Tier 11 peak, sensed breakthrough to Tier 12 looming soon.

Plunged in cards…

“BOOM—!”

A massive explosion rocked from Henry's room. The floor quaked, door blasted off hinges—smacking straight into Big Mike's skull with a crash.

“Damn! Incoming attack!” Big Mike leaped up wildly, eyes bulging, sweeping the room for wall-breakers.

Others gawked, stunned by the sudden mayhem.

What in blazes?

Moments later, a jubilant shout echoed from within.

“Hahaha! I did it!!!”

Henry burst out—hair a tangled mess, face grimy, reeking of week-long workshop frenzy—beaming insanely.

“Ethan! I did it!!”

“Uh…” Ethan recoiled visibly, repulsed. “Henry. Shower first, maybe?”

Henry eyed his state, shrugged it off, and gushed louder, “Ethan, grasp this? I activated the ritual circle successfully!”

“Activated?” Even Ethan showed shock.

“Henry,” Chris chuckled at his mess, “that ritual circle meant for self-explosion?”

“Piss off,” Henry retorted. “You know nothing. Wait—I’ll clean up, then demonstrate. Your minds will shatter!”

He dashed to the bathroom.

Squad exchanged glances. Bewilderment, intrigue… and reluctant eagerness.

Soon, Henry emerged scrubbed and clad fresh, human-like once more.

“Follow,” he buzzed with zeal. “Backyard.”

They trailed outside, queries etched on faces.

Henry cleared a spot, smoothed the earth. Then he knelt, etching began.

Silence reigned. Breaths held.

His pace deliberate, hands rock-steady—as if the ritual circle etched deep in his mind.

And likely it was. Days fixated on it, forsaking rest and food—it etched visibly.

Countless runes formed the ritual circle. Each arc, position, measure—slight deviation doomed it.

Complexity boggled memory, carving by hand pure torment.

Yet Henry thrived. Bolstered by power, he replicated it flawlessly in days.

Finally, Henry rose.

Interwoven lines sprawled across ground.

Nigh identical to the underground altar's… yet altered.

Original pillar slots became pits in his. Linkages rerouted some.

Not mere copy—he adapted thoughtfully.

“Your ritual circle?” Chris queried, brow knit. “Nothing happening.”

Henry smirked. “Heh. Behold.”

From pocket, Tier 5 crystal cores emerged in fistful. He slotted them into nine pits.

Last core placed—

Ritual circle ignited.

Blinding radiance flooded the yard.

Mysterious energy surged wildly nearby—echoing night skies under Nine-Star Dipper.

Ethan's eyes slitted. [True Sight] engaged instantly.

Indeed, faint mysterious energy threads yanked toward the circle, drawing unseen flows.

But then—

“BOOM…”

Circle erupted.

Earth shattered to fragments, crater yawned where lines lay. Debris pelted all, squad mud-caked like trench survivors.

“…”

Chris hawked mud, flat-toned. “Yep. Nailed it. Built for self-blast.”

“Uh…” Henry scratched neck, cheeks aflame. “Not my fault. Ground too shoddy.”