Apocalypse: King of Zombies-Chapter 1099: Golden Eagle!

Inside the command center of the Clearford City compound, a tense meeting was underway.

At the head of the table sat a middle-aged man in full military uniform, his presence radiating the hardened discipline of a career soldier.

This was General Adrian Cross, the compound’s supreme commander. After the apocalypse shattered the civilian government, martial law had been declared, and Cross had taken full control—both military and administrative. No one in the room questioned his authority. Most of them were alive because of him.

His swift, ruthless decisions—launching counteroffensives, locking down the perimeter, and pushing outward to secure more ground—had turned the compound into a fortress.

But right now, Cross didn’t look pleased.

"You’re certain the Zombie King has reached Tier Nine?" he asked, voice low and sharp.

"Almost positive," a young man replied from further down the table. "It probably advanced to Tier Nine last night. This morning, it started rallying its forces. Looks like it’s preparing to attack the compound."

"Attack us?" Cross snorted. "I hope it does. If it dares show up, I’ll make sure none of them walk away."

"But General," another officer cut in, concern etched across his face, "that Zombie King’s defense is insane. Back when it was Tier Eight, it could already tank our artillery. Now that it’s Tier Nine, I doubt we can even scratch it."

"Then we didn’t hit it hard enough," Cross said coldly. "I’ve still got a few 8-inch heavy artillery pieces in reserve. If it gets anywhere near us, we’ll unload everything we’ve got. I don’t believe it can survive that."

The room eased slightly at his words. Just thinking about those massive guns sitting in the armory gave everyone a bit more confidence.

"What I’m more worried about," Cross continued, tapping his fingers on the table, "is that it won’t attack the compound at all. It might go after our Enhanced teams when they’re out scavenging."

He looked around the room. "Have the scouts keep eyes on that thing at all times. And when you’re out hunting zombies, stay the hell away from wherever it’s lurking."

"Yes, sir..."

"Alright. Colonel Mitchell, stay. Everyone else, dismissed."

"Yes, sir!"

The room cleared quickly, leaving only General Cross and the man seated just below him—a grizzled officer with a stern face.

"Mitchell," Cross said, turning to him, "if that Zombie King doesn’t come to us, do we have any other way to kill it?"

Colonel Mitchell shook his head. "If it doesn’t attack the compound, we can’t use the heavy weapons. And light arms won’t do much against a high-tier zombie."

"Using the Enhanced won’t work either. We’ve only got three Tier Eight Enhanced in the compound. That’s nowhere near enough to take down a Tier Nine, especially when it’s got Tier Eight lieutenants backing it up."

"General, isn’t it a good thing if it doesn’t attack? That gives us time to grow stronger."

Cross shook his head. "We can’t afford to wait. Zombies evolve faster than we do. The longer we stall, the wider the gap gets. If it hits Tier Ten before we’re ready..." He didn’t finish the sentence.

Mitchell frowned. "Then what do we do?"

Cross was silent for a moment, then said, "We provoke it. Force it to come to us. Might cost us something, but desperate times call for desperate measures."

"Yes, sir!"

On the highway...

Three mutant beasts were sprinting at full speed, the wind from their charge so fierce that the riders on their backs could barely keep their eyes open.

Their overwhelming presence had cleared the road ahead—no zombies or other mutant creatures dared come close. Even the smarter ones knew better than to mess with these three.

But suddenly, all three beasts skidded to a dead stop at the same time, as if sensing something.

The abrupt halt sent all eight riders flying forward from the momentum.

Thud! Thud! Thud...

Seven heavy impacts hit the pavement in quick succession. Seven people slammed into the ground and tumbled forward in a chaotic roll.

As for the eighth?

He’d teleported the moment he was launched, landing smoothly on his feet without a scratch.

The rest weren’t so lucky.

Fortunately, they were all strong enough to recover quickly. After a few rolls, they scrambled to their feet, glaring furiously at the mutant beasts.

"Holy shit! Would it kill you to give us a heads-up before slamming the brakes?!" Skinny Pete snapped. "It’s not like we’ve got seatbelts up there! You trying to kill us or what?!"

"Yeah!" Big Mike chimed in, rubbing his bruised backside. "If you’ve got beef with Skinny Pete, take it out on him! The rest of us are innocent!"

But the three mutant beasts didn’t even glance at them. Their eyes were locked on the sky, expressions tense.

Ethan was staring upward too, a flicker of shock in his eyes.

Seeing that, the others dropped the complaints and looked up fast.

In the distance, a black speck was hurtling toward them, growing larger by the second.

"Holy shit! What the hell is that?!"

"Golden Eagle!"

"Jesus, that thing’s huge!"

"It’s mutated. What did you expect?"

"Less talking, more prepping!" Ethan shouted. "That’s a Tier 9 mutant beast!"

"!!"

The moment Ethan’s warning hit, everyone snapped into action—drawing weapons, eyes locked on the incoming threat.

The massive Golden Eagle dove like a missile, talons aimed straight at Goldie, the Bengal tiger. Maybe it had some kind of grudge against big cats.

But Goldie wasn’t about to back down. As the king of the forest, she roared and swiped upward with a massive paw.

Unfortunately, she was still a tier below—and slower.

The eagle’s talons raked deep gashes across Goldie’s side before she could land her strike. And before her claws could connect, the eagle had already pulled up and soared back into the sky.

The others reacted instantly, unleashing a barrage of skills and attacks toward the eagle.

But it was too fast. With a single beat of its wings, it vanished back into the air.

Everyone stared up, frustrated.

Yeah, no doubt about it—mutated birds were way scarier than beasts on the ground.

They could fly. And once they were airborne, there wasn’t much anyone could do.

The Golden Eagle circled overhead, scanning for another opening.

The group stayed tense, eyes tracking its every move.

Running wasn’t an option. Even with Goldie’s speed, there was no outrunning something that could dive from the sky at Mach speed.

So they had only one choice: stand and fight.

Either it died, or they did.

The eagle dove again—this time, its target was clearly Big Mike or Skinny Pete.

Everyone was watching, but the damn thing was too fast. One second it was in the clouds, the next it was right on top of them.

Its talons were inches from Big Mike’s skull when a dagger shot through the air, aimed straight at the eagle’s throat.

The others hadn’t tracked its movement, but Ethan had. He’d been ready.

The eagle twisted mid-dive, abandoning its attack to dodge the blade.

But before it could climb again, Ethan appeared above it in a flash—teleporting midair, poleaxe raised high.

He brought it down in a brutal arc.

The eagle hadn’t expected someone to be above it, but its reflexes were razor-sharp. With a sudden burst of speed, it dodged the strike and shot back into the sky.