Apocalypse: King of Zombies Chapter 1365: Borrowed Claws

After settling things with Maxwell, Ethan collected every Winged Clan corpse and stowed them away. Then he left Chris behind and departed Atlas City Compound with the two crippled Winged Clan prisoners.

He needed to create them into thralls as soon as possible—before anything unexpected happened.

One was Tier 29. The other was Tier 28.

Ethan planned to personally control the Tier 29.

The Tier 28, he’d give to Miles.

Back in Fallen Star City, nobody really dared challenge Miles’s authority anyway. A Tier 28 thrall as a hidden trump card was more than enough.

Once Ethan returned to Fallen Star City, he took Miles straight down into the basement and began creating the thralls.

Rus Federation — Moskva City Compound...

When the Winged Clan experts returned and reported what they’d found to Aeralon, the already foul-tempered Aeralon exploded.

"Oh, good," he snarled, fury flaring. "So someone really opposing the Winged Clan. Fine. Then I’ll wipe every last one of you out!"

"Lord Aeralon..." one of the Winged Clan experts asked cautiously. "Do you think the ones who killed our people this time are the same group we ran into here last time?"

"Doesn’t matter whether it’s the same group or not." Aeralon’s face was dark as storm clouds. "Anyone who dares lay a hand on the Winged Clan dies."

He slammed the decision down like a blade.

"Call everyone we sent out back in. This time, we find them."

"Yes!"

More than fifty miles from Moskva City Compound, in a secluded mountain hollow, a force of several hundred people was moving quietly toward a nearby massive peak.

They were Rus Federation survivors—locals who’d once lived in Moskva City Compound before the Winged Clan took it over.

After the compound fell, they’d been enslaved by Winged Clan experts.

At first, most of them had swallowed it. Staying alive was already a win in this world.

But a few days ago, the Winged Clan devil in charge had suddenly snapped—and butchered tens of thousands of their people.

Almost everyone in this group had lost family in that senseless disaster.

Most of the compound’s survivors chose to grit their teeth and endure.

But these people couldn’t.

Being treated like livestock—worked, beaten, killed on a whim—made every day feel worse than death.

They wanted revenge.

Even if it cost them their lives, they refused to let those monsters walk away without paying.

Their strength was nothing compared to the Winged Clan. Like ants facing a boot.

But that didn’t mean they had no options.

When the Winged Clan’s forces were dispatched elsewhere, they escaped Moskva City Compound.

They couldn’t take revenge themselves...

So they would borrow someone else’s blade.

And in the mountain ahead was exactly the blade they needed—a terrifying mutant beast from the Void Realm.

That creature had once wiped out dozens of compounds. Later, it had flown deep into these mountains and never come out again.

In the past, people avoided this place like a plague.

This time, they came on purpose—fully prepared to die—so long as the Winged Clan devils would suffer.

A middle-aged man spoke quietly as they moved. "We just got word from the compound. That demon had someone call his men back."

"Seriously?" The leader’s eyes lit up with a flash of excitement. "That’s perfect. Maybe we won’t even need to lure the mutant beast all the way to the compound."

This mountain was more than fifty miles away. Their original plan was hard to execute.

But if they didn’t need to reach the compound—if they could intercept Winged Clan experts along the way—then it became much simpler.

"So what do we do?"

"If that Winged Clan devil recalled them," the leader said, voice tight with anticipation, "then Winged Clan will be returning one after another soon. Tell the people up front to watch carefully. The moment any Winged Clan show up, we hit them—then lead the mutant beast straight to them."

"Got it."

After Aeralon’s order went out, it didn’t take long.

Winged Clan experts scattered across the region began flying back from every direction, converging on Moskva City Compound.

About an hour later, a team of a hundred Winged Clan appeared in the distance—right in the binoculars of several hidden humans.

Those humans quietly tapped a button on the satellite phone in their hands.

Elsewhere, the middle-aged man who received the message narrowed his eyes. A cold glint flashed through them.

He reached into his personal dimensional space and pulled out several Super-Heavy Mobile Artillery Platforms.

Nobody hesitated.

They loaded ammunition, swung the barrels toward the distant mountain, and opened fire.

The thunder of artillery rolled across the valley. The top of the far-off peak was blasted flat, the entire mountain shuddering under the impacts.

"SKREEEEE—!"

A piercing shriek split the air.

A massive shadow surged up from deep within the mountains, then arrowed straight toward them.

It was enormous—like a giant roc, a savage bird of prey. Its wingspan stretched close to ninety feet. As it approached, the sky dimmed, its shadow swallowing the ground.

The humans didn’t look scared.

They looked deranged.

Laughing, shouting, breathing like they were on their last line of sanity, they bolted in one direction. And as if they were afraid the thing notice them, they raised AK-74M rifles and sprayed wild bursts into the air.

"SKREEEEE—!"

The roc screamed again, furious. One beat of its wings and it plunged down.

The wind blast alone sent people tumbling like leaves.

Its talons flashed—two people were ripped open in an instant, guts spilling as they hit the dirt.

The rest kept running anyway, firing as they went.

To the roc, these were ants. But the way they kept provoking it—kept it—made it snap.

It flared its wings.

A violent storm erupted, shredding the cluster of humans ahead into chunks and mist.

For a heartbeat, it seemed satisfied.

Then—farther out—another group appeared, rifles up, dumping rounds into its direction like they to die.

The roc’s rage spiked.

The bullets couldn’t hurt it. Not even close.

But the insult did.

It shot forward and appeared in front of them in a blur. Its claws tore through bodies three, four at a time, reducing them to ragged pieces.

And the moment it finished—

Yet another group popped up nearby.

More gunfire.

The roc’s fury ignited completely, and it dove again.

At the same time, a large force of Winged Clan experts was flying hard toward the compound.

"Huh?" one of them said, slowing. "What’s that sound?"

"Gunfire," another answered, dismissive. "Those natives and their little toys."

"Why are natives out here at all?"

"Let’s check it out."

"Forget it," someone else cut in, uneasy. "That direction has a strong mutant beast. Don’t go near it. We need to get back."

"Fine."

They turned to continue—

And a group of humans suddenly burst out from not far away, screaming curses at them at the top of their lungs.

"You winged freaks! You killed my wife and kids! I’ll make you pay, you sons of bitches!"

He was speaking Federation language—clumsy, accented, but clear enough.

The Winged Clan experts stared for a beat, genuinely confused.

Then their faces twisted with rage.

"Looking for death!"

The humans finished yelling and ran.

It was pointless. You didn’t outrun wings.

The Winged Clan caught them in seconds.

Wind blades dropped in a casual sweep—Wind Cutters—and the humans were shredded into fragments.

"Idiots," one of the Winged Clan spat, face cold.

They’d killed them, sure, but getting screamed at by slaves still left a sour taste.

Then—more humans appeared.

A dozen or so, shouldering RPG-7 launchers. They fired immediately.

A chain of explosions engulfed the Winged Clan group. The blasts didn’t really injure them, but when the smoke cleared, they were dusted in gray ash and debris—faces streaked, eyes narrowed in pure fury.

"You’ve got to be insane!"

The Winged Clan experts surged forward, wings snapping as they dove toward the RPG team, ready to tear them apart—

Meanwhile, the massive roc finished ripping through yet another group of humans. Drawn by the explosions, it turned and shot toward the noise.

The Winged Clan had just reached the humans’ position when they felt the light around them dim.

Like the sun had been shut off.

They looked up.

Every face went white.