Apocalypse Gachapon

The first to land were the matte, elongated projectiles that Cloud Peak referred to as Type-1 rounds.

These shells flew high, bypassing interception attempts, and with the cover provided by missiles and rockets, they struck deep within the city.

The closer they got to the ground, the faster they became, eventually turning into mere blurs. Not only were most evolved completely incapable of intercepting them, even those who could dared not try—anything moving at that speed, coupled with its unknown nature, made interception a suicidal gamble.

While evolved in the apocalypse were willing to take risks, they were far from reckless or self-sacrificing. None would throw their lives away so easily for the Holy City.

The shells landed in several different locations with dull thuds, neither exploding nor producing the distinctive crackle of magic crystal weapons. It was as if they had simply burrowed into the ground and stopped functioning.

Duds?

Some residents of Holy City near the impact sites were puzzled. A few curious onlookers approached to investigate. Before they could get close, thick green mist suddenly erupted from the holes in the ground. Those who failed to hold their breath in time managed only two stumbling steps backward before collapsing, their bodies convulsing violently. Hands clawed at their throats, faces turning crimson as if trying—and failing—to vomit something up. Within seconds, their flesh began rotting away, leaving behind nothing but green-tinged skeletons.

The mist spread rapidly, outpacing even the fastest evolved. Soon, the three poison gas shells—all concentrated near the western sector—had contaminated a vast area.

This naturally alarmed every evolved in the vicinity. Specialists in toxins, protected by elite fighters, were quickly dispatched to the edges of the spreading gas.

An old man darted into the mist, then immediately retreated, his escorts following suit. Only when he signaled safety did another summon a translucent, jellyfish-like battle beast to envelop the group.

“It’s ‘Sewage Toxin,'” the old man declared with certainty. “A formula from intermediate alchemists. There was an Eastern European alchemist who mastered it—some potions made their way here, and I’ve encountered them before. No mistake.”

“Then what do we do?”

The question came from the western sector’s defense commander, one of the four generals overseeing the city’s garrison.

While the wall’s defenses were holding steady despite the chaos, the sudden appearance of poison gas demanded immediate attention. Cursing the Easterners’ ruthlessness, he had rushed here for solutions—conveniently forgetting his own forces’ black mist-spraying weapons mounted on the walls.

“Well…” The old man pondered briefly. “From the intel we have, those Easterners only fired three of these gas shells. Based on their size, the toxin payload can’t be too large. The wider it spreads, the more diluted it becomes. At the periphery, it’s no longer lethal.”

“Also, any standard antidote—potion or pill—will grant temporary immunity. At least until the gas dissipates. For those without antidotes, just avoid the blast epicenters. The outer areas are safe if you hold your breath—skin contact won’t harm you.”

The defense commander relaxed slightly.

But just as he began to exhale in relief, a chorus of furious shouts erupted from the walls. His head snapped up in time to see two merged shadows plummeting to the ground.

When the bodies hit, his eyes widened in shock.

“Where the hell did zombies come from?!”

In the Chinese region, zombies had become a normalized threat—so much so that humans often slept soundly just a wall away from them. The population density and pre-apocalypse economic development there ensured zombies remained survivors’ primary foes.

But here was different. Settlements clustered around scarce water sources, and while zombies existed, their numbers paled in comparison. The Holy City had long since purged all undead from its territory. Attacks were rare, with threats like sand monsters far more prevalent.

For many Holy City elites, going months without seeing a zombie was a normal occurrence.

Now, not only had zombies appeared—they’d emerged on the city walls. The commander’s shock was understandable.

“To the walls! Mobilize the Royal Guard, too!”

He bellowed the order, his instincts screaming that things were spiraling out of control. The 5,000-strong Royal Guard, held in reserve below, was summoned to reinforce the defenses.

But he overlooked one critical detail—or failed to connect the dots. The lower city was now engulfed in toxic mist, communications in disarray. By the time he personally led reinforcements up the walls, the Royal Guard’s belated mobilization had only just begun.

Chaos reigned atop the walls.

Zombies—impossible to count—were tearing into every evolved in sight. Their evolutionary levels were terrifyingly high; within the commander’s immediate line of sight alone, several were level seven.

And he himself had only reached level eight two months prior.

“Goddamn it, where are they coming from?!”

Drawing his weapon, he charged toward the high-level zombies wreaking havoc among his troops.

Soon, he got his answer.

With the wall’s defenses in disarray, nothing could stop the next aerial bombardment. Several massive metal spheres smashed into the ramparts, splitting open to disgorge hordes of zombies. Just this first wave—six spheres—spilled hundreds of undead onto the defenses.

Some were injured or even dead on arrival, but far more emerged unscathed.

“This is a desecration of your own kind!”

An evolved, his neck clamped in a zombie’s jaws, screamed the accusation with his dying breath—denouncing Cloud Peak’s crimes.

But no answer would come. His neck snapped, life extinguished.

This scene repeated across the western wall’s entirety.

With interception efforts collapsed, missiles and rockets rained unimpeded into the Holy City.

Outside the walls, Liang Chuyin led her thirty-five-woman squad to the vanguard of Cloud Peak’s forces. Each wielded a whip, their movements synchronized as they lashed upward in unison.

The whips’ trajectories transformed into strands of energy, weaving together into a colossal net. Linked to all thirty-six weapons, the mesh expanded before catapulting toward the incoming necrotic orbs.

The exertion visibly drained Liang Chuyin and her team. Escorts immediately pulled them back as a shield-bearing unit hundreds strong advanced, forming a barricade against the projectiles.

From the rear, Guang Yao watched, gripping his battle merit medal as he transmitted:

“Boss, the opening salvo’s done. The rest is up to you.”