Apocalypse: King of Zombies Chapter 1482: Not a Fight. An Execution.

Southern Region...

Several races living closest to Greyspine Range were the first to feel it.

The ground started to shake.

At first it was faint—like distant thunder rolling through stone. Then it grew heavier, more rhythmic, until it felt like the land itself was being trampled flat.

Experts from those clans rushed out to check.

And what they saw made their blood run cold.

In the distance, an endless wave of Outland Beasts was charging straight at them—eyes wild, bodies packed so tight it looked like a living tide.

Faces blanched. Minds went blank.

Then panic snapped everyone back into motion.

Alarms screamed across territory after territory. Orders were shouted. Civilians were dragged from their homes. Entire clans tried to evacuate in one frantic push.

It didn’t matter.

The beast tide was too fast.

Too close.

They didn’t get time.

The Outland Beasts hit the first domains like a flood smashing through a dam—surging in, tearing through gates and wards and walls, biting anything that moved.

Screams erupted everywhere.

The kind of screams that didn’t last long.

Warriors fought back with everything they had, but there were too many beasts, and too many of them were strong. Lines collapsed. Formations shattered. One defender after another went down under claws and fangs.

In less than an hour, several races were wiped out completely.

Extinct.

And the Outland Beasts didn’t slow down.

They kept running—toward the next territories, and the next, and the next.

The news spread through the Southern Region in waves of terror.

Every race that heard it went pale.

The ones closest to Greyspine tried to pack up and move immediately.

But "moving a race" wasn’t like moving a camp.

Caravans clogged roads. Families got separated. Supplies got left behind. The beasts caught evacuees in open ground—

And tragedy repeated itself again and again.

Soon the entire Southern Region was in survival mode. Races that hated each other yesterday formed emergency alliances today, throwing together joint defensive lines just to slow the tide.

It helped... a little.

At least the Stage SS-below beasts could be held back when enough high-Tier Stage S fighters stood shoulder to shoulder.

But there was one problem that made all that resistance feel like a joke.

Ten Stage SS Goldenwing Rocs.

The Southern Region had Stage SS defenders.

Those ten monsters were basically gods here. They dove into the densest clusters of fighters and ripped through them, killing so efficiently it looked unreal. Elite after elite died under their talons.

The defensive lines buckled.

Then shattered.

One race after another fell.

Far away, hidden in the shadows, Ethan’s group watched the carnage with bright, feverish eyes.

Big Mike’s fists were clenched at his sides, excitement buzzing through him. "Damn... these Outland Beasts are insane. Just watching this makes my blood itch."

Sean’s gaze flicked toward the stampede. "If they really could wipe the Southern Region clean... that’d be perfect. The dimensional rift is in Southern Region. Less chance of Eldoria’s freaks getting into Earth."

"Not happening," Ethan said quietly. "At most, the beasts get to vent for a bit. Other Regions’ heavy hitters are probably already on the way."

He narrowed his eyes.

"And we need to move."

Sean blinked. "Huh? I thought we were waiting until both sides bleed out, then picking up the scraps."

"If the big shots arrive, the fighting might stop," Ethan said, shaking his head. "The major races aren’t stupid. They’ll start asking questions."

He pointed toward the chaos like he was outlining a map. "This time they’ll send real weight. They’ll restrain these birds, then start tracing the chain of events."

"And once they do that..." Ethan’s voice cooled. "We’re going to pop up on their list."

"So we upgrade the situation again," he continued. "Before they can clamp it down. Make it so nobody can talk their way out."

Big Mike’s eyes widened. "Okay... and how do we do that?"

Ethan’s tone stayed calm, almost conversational, like he was planning a supply run.

"We disguise ourselves and mix into the major races’ forces. Everyone’s fighting too hard to notice extra faces."

"Then I grab chances and pull those Stage SS birds into Deadlock Dimension, one by one, and kill them."

Chris sucked in a breath, already seeing where this was going.

Ethan kept going anyway.

"Once those birds die, the major races won’t be weaker anymore. They’ll go berserk and counterattack."

"The battle becomes uncontrollable. Even if other Regions show up, it’ll be hard to mediate."

He looked at the battlefield, eyes sharp and hungry.

"Those ten Stage SS birds will die in the middle of a war against the major races," Ethan said. "Whether they want it or not... the major races will take the blame."

He let that sink in, then added, "And for the Outland Beasts, losing ten Stage SS powerhouses is a massive wound."

"After that, the Beast Sovereign won’t be thinking about ’agreements.’"

Big Mike stared at Ethan like he was seeing him for the first time. "Damn, Boss... I’m starting to think you’re way more evil than I gave you credit for."

"Get lost," Ethan said flatly. "It’s called strategy."

"Ethan... those birds aren’t all the same strength," Chris said, voice tight. "You sure you can handle it?"

"I checked," Ethan said calmly. "One of them is Tier 38, two are Tier 37. The rest are normal Stage SS."

He flexed his grip on the poleaxe. "If we try to fight them all at once, no chance. But with Deadlock Dimension, I can drag them in one by one and delete them. It won’t be hard."

Chris exhaled, still tense but relieved. "Good."

Ethan turned. "Emily, Mia—disguise us. Make us look like that race."

He pointed toward a nearby group of fighters who were roughly human-shaped.

Same build. Similar faces. The only real difference was the coloring—gray hair, gray eyes, gray skin. An earth-type race, judging by the way their abilities were rippling through the ground.

Other than the color, they were close enough to pass at a glance.

Mia and Emily normally didn’t bother with makeup, but this wasn’t about looking pretty.

It was a quick battlefield disguise.

They found crude pigments nearby and smeared it onto everyone’s hair and exposed skin, dulling them into that same muddy gray. It wasn’t perfect—anyone truly powerful could still tell by aura.

But in a battlefield this chaotic?

Nobody was stopping to "check paperwork" on a couple extra faces.

Once the last bit of skin was covered, they slid into the flow of bodies and moved toward the fight.

Just like Ethan predicted, the major races only had eyes for the Outland Beasts.

No one spared a glance their way.

Ethan spoke without turning his head, voice low.

"The moment I activate Deadlock Dimension, there’ll be a spatial distortion at the spot. If someone looks closely, they’ll notice."

He glanced at Chris.

"So you stay outside and stir up hell nearby. Keep attention off my position."

"And if anyone spot it," Ethan added, tone flat, "kill them before they can shout."

Everyone nodded.

"Got it."

Ethan’s gaze locked on the Stage SS birds in the air.

He waited.

Counted beats.

Then one of the Goldenwing Rocs peeled off and dove toward their section of the battlefield, talons extended.

Ethan’s eyes sharpened.

His mental energy snapped into motion.

In the same instant—

Both Ethan... and that diving roc...

vanished.

Where Ethan had been standing, the air warped in an irregular ripple, like heat shimmer twisting the world sideways. If you weren’t looking for it, you’d miss it.

The fighters nearby had gone white when they saw the roc coming. They’d fully believed they were about to die.

Then the bird disappeared.

Confusion swept the line.

"What the—?"

Chris and the others used that heartbeat perfectly. They dumped skills into the area, wiping out a chunk of nearby Outland Beasts—and a chunk of unlucky "allies" too—turning the entire patch of battlefield into pure chaos.

Bodies fell.

Shouts rose.

Everyone turned toward the sudden mess.

Exactly as planned.

Deadlock Dimension

The gray-feathered roc hung in the empty space, staring around like its brain had short-circuited.

Where was the sky?

Where was the battlefield?

Where was—

Its head tilted, genuinely lost.

Ethan didn’t give it time to understand.

Teleportation.

He blinked above the roc’s head and brought his poleaxe down in a brutal arc.

The roc reacted fast, wings flaring as it tried to counter—

But Ethan’s eyes flashed.

A cold light snapped into his gaze.

Silencing Gaze.

The bird’s body jerked—just for an instant, like its mind had been yanked out of gear.

That half-second was enough.

Ethan’s poleaxe, wrapped in dark-black light, came down cleanly.

"BOOM—!"

No suspense.

No miracle save.

The roc’s skull shattered under the strike, blood spraying out in a hot burst.

Stage SS or not, Ethan’s strength was already oppressive at the same Stage—

And inside Deadlock Dimension, where the target was forcibly suppressed?

It wasn’t a fight.

It was an execution.