Apocalypse: King of Zombies Chapter 1287: He Learned to Fly

"What—so we fight them on the ground?" Chris inquired, glancing at Ethan.

"Ground won’t work either." Ethan’s attention remained fixed on the approaching horde. "There are at least tens of thousands of them, and they’re all fire-type. If ten thousand of them unleash fire simultaneously, even Henry’s shield won’t withstand it."

"...Then what do we do?" Big Mike questioned, his jaw clenching.

"You get Flint and the others out," Ethan stated without hesitation. "Find a place to hide. I’ll handle them."

"Captain," Sean interjected, a frown on his face, "these aren’t those Yamato fools. This is a horde of tens of thousands of high-tier mutant beasts. Many are Tier 17, and they possess flight capabilities. Even you might not be able to endure this."

Ethan gave a single nod. "Indeed. That’s why you’re coming back to assist."

He reached into his ring and produced a cluster of crystal cores, tossing them out. "Take these. I am going to eliminate some Tier 15s first. Chris—once I bring down enough, you sneak in and retrieve the cores."

Chris’s eyes narrowed.

Ethan continued, his voice rapid and practical. "You all hide and focus on leveling up. The moment you reach Stage B, return here and support me."

Even Ethan felt a slight tremor of apprehension. Tens of thousands of flying, high-tier monsters with fire abilities was no trivial matter—regardless of who you were.

"Got it," Chris confirmed.

No one protested. No one hesitated.

Flint and the other mounts descended sharply, guiding the team towards the uneven mountain ridges below. Ample slopes and jagged protrusions offered concealment from view.

Ethan teleported to the summit of the nearest towering mountain, his boots meeting heated stone.

The instant the others disappeared into the rugged terrain, the crimson monsters descended.

Up close, they resembled a swarm of smaller pterosaurs—a deep red from head to tail, with elongated, needle-like beaks and hooked talons seemingly designed for stripping flesh from bone.

As they drew nearer, the sky darkened beneath their expansive wings. A palpable wave of heat radiated from them, causing Ethan’s brow to furrow.

He raised a hand.

Over a hundred daggers launched simultaneously, piercing the vanguard of the swarm.

His objective was to draw their full attention onto himself. If they veered off to pursue Chris and the others, the situation would become dire. Flint’s group, while swift for their tier, was not exceptionally fast.

Ethan could effectively control approximately one hundred daggers at peak performance. Any more, and his control would falter, diminishing the effectiveness of his attacks.

Ordinarily, he wielded only a few dozen blades.

This was far from an ordinary situation.

The daggers struck with the force of projectiles.

The red fliers advanced in a dense formation, and the blades moved too swiftly for them to even perceive. One after another, they were impaled through the chest, neck, or skull.

Piercing shrieks rent the air.

Bodies began to plummet, falling rigidly from the sky.

The mood of the swarm shifted instantaneously.

Infuriated, the leading ranks opened their beaks and unleashed a torrent of fire, a surging tidal wave of flames that engulfed the mountain peak and swept towards Ethan.

Ethan executed a blink-teleport directly upwards—materializing above the inferno.

Then, his daggers flashed once more, burrowing into a cluster of Tier 15 adversaries.

At the peak of Stage B, dispatching Tier 15 fliers was straightforward. They barely had time to react before their bodies went limp.

However, the remainder of the horde did not falter.

Wings snapped shut.

And suddenly, the air became thick with fire—condensed into countless flaming feathers, a barrage so dense it appeared as though the sky was shedding burning precipitation.

Ethan lacked an anchor in mid-air. Once he initiated an attack, gravity asserted its dominance, and his body began to descend.

The monsters took notice.

The lower-ranking creatures concentrated their fire, directing the onslaught precisely to his predicted landing zone.

Ethan was forced to chain-teleport continuously—dodging, reappearing, dodging yet again—merely to evade being crushed into the magma-lit terrain below.

Yet, with tens of thousands assaulting him simultaneously, the entire area was effectively saturated. Even with teleportation, he could not evade every projectile.

More than once, he reappeared only to immediately absorb a hail of flaming feathers across his shoulders and back.

One or two were inconsequential.

A dozen at once, however? It stung.

And when feathers from Tier 17 fliers grazed him, he felt tangible damage—his skin searing, the heat penetrating deeper than he found comfortable.

He refrained from employing Absolute Stasis.

The expenditure was too substantial. Against tens of thousands, immobilizing them would not allow him to eliminate enough foes to justify the drain. He required his mental energy for teleportation—at this moment, teleportation was his sole means of survival.

He cast a glance towards the mountain ridges.

Chris and the others had long since vanished from sight.

Excellent.

Ethan ceased retaliating directly.

Instead, he teleported forcefully into the distance—one jump, then another—luring the horde away.

As anticipated, the crimson fliers remained fixated on him, their fury and hunger compelling them forward.

The entire mass of monsters pivoted in unison, pursuing him across the dark crimson sky.

Ethan relentlessly drove the massive flock further and further away, leaving a trail of crimson corpses in his wake for Chris and the others to scavenge.

However, the strain soon became apparent.

His mental energy was depleting at an alarming rate. Chain-teleporting exerted a brutal toll, consuming his reserves swiftly.

And he couldn't simply abandon them; escaping cleanly would only prompt the swarm to circle back and hunt the others.

Just as he gritted his teeth through another teleportation, an idea materialized.

Ethan focused his mind.

A dagger shot forward beneath his feet.

He stepped down onto it.

Under the raw force of Telekinesis, the blade solidified in mid-air—stable enough to bear his weight.

Ethan’s eyes gleamed.

"Go—"

He exerted his will.

The dagger launched—

—and Ethan's body plummeted straight down.

"Damn it," he cursed. "Wrong again. Let's try once more!"

He teleported back up, heart pounding, and swiftly positioned a different dagger beneath him.

This time, he didn't allow it to surge forward immediately. He gradually increased its speed—from slow to fast.

Even so, that fractional moment of adjustment cost him. Sharp pain erupted across his back in a rapid series of stings.

He didn't need to see to know; he had just been turned into a living pincushion.

But Ethan was a quick study.

Within seconds, he grasped the correct technique—how to accelerate without destabilizing the 'platform,' how to maintain the dagger beneath his center of gravity, how to sway his body with its movement rather than resisting it.

His velocity increased.

Then it climbed further.

And in mere moments, he was streaking through the air at such a pace that the red flock behind him began to diminish in size.

Before long, he had completely outrun them.

The swarm of scarlet birds paused in mid-air, bewildered.

How could he possibly be that fast?

They possessed wings; he did not.

Yet, they couldn't even keep pace with his exhaust.

What kind of mockery was this?

They shrieked in frustration, circling a few times in irate confusion, and finally—defeated—began their retreat.

They needed to recover their fallen comrades.

And then... consume them.

This world was desolate. Cannibalism wasn't a taboo; it was a matter of survival.

They only preyed on the deceased of their own kind, never the living. While they typically hunted other creatures, a readily available source of meat was simply too tempting to ignore.

They had barely begun their journey back when—

A shadow flashed by once more.

The individual who had 'escaped' had returned.

"Hello there," Ethan called out cheerfully, his voice carrying over the shimmering heat haze. "Miss me? Haha!"

He was in an exceptionally buoyant mood.

This was due to his newly acquired 'skill':

Telekinetic flight.

What individual from the Atlas Federation grew up dreaming of flight? It was always a fantasy depicted in movies, comics, and novels—never a tangible reality.

And now, he was doing it.

Admittedly, his method was rather rudimentary—standing on a dagger like some budget-version superhero—but the outcome was the same.

Previously, he had relied on flying mounts, never even considering this possibility.

Today, circumstances had forced his hand.

And it had proven effective.

His Telekinesis could propel a dagger to incredible speeds, which implied—at least theoretically—that he too could achieve astonishing flight speeds.

Theory was one thing; reality was another. With his body adding significant aerodynamic drag, he could never match the pure velocity of an unburdened dagger.

Nevertheless, even so, he remained faster than the majority of flying mutant beasts.

These Tier 16 and Tier 17 red birds stood no chance of catching him.

And that sensation?

It was absolutely incredible.

The flock, upon seeing his return, erupted in fury. They unfurled their wings and unleashed a barrage that filled the sky—countless flaming feathers hurtled towards him like a fiery blizzard.

Ethan veered away in a graceful, unhurried arc, drifting towards a new trajectory—

Then he accelerated.

He vanished.

The swarm screeched in rage.

Being so thoroughly outmatched in speed was a profound insult to their collective pride.

But reality paid no heed to pride. They simply could not apprehend him.

So, they turned back once more.

They hadn’t traveled far—

when that infuriating pest reappeared.

"Hi," Ethan greeted. "I'm back again!"

As he spoke, a volley of daggers shot forth, sending dozens more of the flock plummeting from the sky.

Ethan was determined not to permit their return.

Not while his people were still consolidating their strength in the mountains.