Chapter Fifty-Seven: Vengeance

“Fight!”

The Tank’s eyes turned scarlet in an instant. With his massive frame, he charged directly at the Corpse King, ignoring the pain of bone spurs piercing his palms as he seized its fist.

The towering Corpse King, overwhelmed by sheer force, was pushed back relentlessly by the Tank.

Crash!

Both of them smashed through the last exterior wall and plummeted straight from the high-rise. Even in midair, they rolled, grappled, and tore at each other in a brutal frenzy.

Bang!

They hit the ground simultaneously, making the entire street tremble. Cracks spread outward from the impact.

In terms of raw strength, the Corpse King was no match for the Tank. In moments, the Tank had mounted him, raining down heavy blows.

But immediately, a swarm of zombies on the street threw themselves upon the Tank, their grotesque jaws ripping and tearing.

The Tank roared in agony, seized a zombie by the neck, and flung it far away with a single motion.

He spun and delivered a crushing elbow strike, spinning another zombie’s head a full three hundred sixty degrees, blood gushing from its mouth and eyes.

Yet the Corpse King beneath him seized the opportunity. Its sharp bone spurs stabbed repeatedly into the Tank’s backside.

The Tank howled in pain and leapt away, unable to bear the agony. But by now, his vision was filled with nothing but terrifying zombie faces—the horde had swallowed him whole, piling on layer after layer.

Razor-sharp fangs tore at his flesh, pain wracked his entire body. Even a man of steel would soon be shredded to pieces!

“Is this the end…”

The Tank could no longer resist. Despair engulfed his heart.

Suddenly, a pitch-black crow swept across the sky, its cry sharp and mournful—as if heralding the beginning of slaughter.

The ground trembled. Countless legions thundered in.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

A suffocating pressure descended; the zombies atop the Tank exploded one after another—blood and flesh flying, the air thick with the stench.

“What’s happening?”

The Tank felt the crushing weight on his body growing lighter. When the last zombie burst apart, his sight returned.

Through the shower of blood, he beheld an extraordinarily handsome face.

Lin Dong, clad in a pristine white shirt, stood spotless amid the blood-soaked killing field. His expression was calm as he lowered his gaze to observe the Tank.

“So tragic…”

Lin Dong noted that the Tank was drenched in blood, stained completely red—now a ‘Red Tank’—and his body was covered in bite marks and gaping wounds left by bone spurs.

“Treating my little brother like a pincushion—how vicious can they be?”

“Boss…” Tears welled in the Tank’s eyes at that moment.

It was as if a heavenly warrior had descended at his darkest hour to save him.

He glanced around and saw two zombie factions locked in fierce combat—they bit, clawed, gouged eyes, and choked throats, each more savage than the last.

Among them, Little Eight moved like a ghost—bone claws flicked and sent heads flying, his figure flickering and vanishing, only to reappear before another zombie the next instant.

With a twisted grin, Little Eight’s bone claws continued to reap, beheading zombie after zombie, each corpse collapsing in his wake.

Elsewhere, the Doctor led his own horde, dispatching enemies with a punch or unleashing psychic attacks upon the hostile undead.

“All my brothers are here…”

Were zombies capable of tears, the Tank would now be sobbing a river.

As for the Bone-Spur Corpse King—

A chill seized his heart. Somehow, endless waves of the undead had surged forth, devouring his own minions, and among them, many elite zombies fought like murderous machines, wild and unstoppable!

He looked again and saw, amidst the chaos, a tall figure dressed in white, eyes cold and indifferent, fixed upon him.

The Bone-Spur Corpse King could sense nothing from him, but an inexplicable dread gripped his soul.

It was a suppression that came from the deepest part of his being.

The last time he’d felt this way was in the presence of his own king.

“How dare you trespass into our territory?” the Corpse King roared harshly.

Lin Dong did not even bother to reply—this was but a minor lackey. With a single thought, the domain of the dead spread out before him, extending dozens of meters.

The Corpse King’s body went rigid, feeling as if he were drowning in a sea of blood.

“Boss, let me handle this!” The Tank leapt up from the ground. His wounds seemed to hurt no more as he glared murderously at the Corpse King, vowing vengeance for his wounded behind.

“Go ahead,” Lin Dong nodded.

The Tank charged forward with two powerful strides, leaped, and slammed a heavy fist down, flattening the Corpse King.

He pinned him to the ground with one hand and pummeled his face relentlessly with the other.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

With each blow, the earth quaked; in no time, the Corpse King’s head was driven deep into the ground, cracks radiating outward.

Unsatisfied, the Tank seized both of his arms and twisted with all his might, like wringing out a rag.

With a sickening crackle, the Corpse King’s entire arm tore apart, flesh torn asunder, gleaming white bone jutting out.

“Still dare to stab me? I’ll smash your skull and grind your overgrown bones to dust!”

The Tank muttered as he worked.

This Bone-Spur Corpse King was not the absolute ruler of the region, merely a capable lieutenant, his strength on par with the Tank and his comrades.

Even without Lin Dong, Little Eight and the Doctor could have dispatched him with ease.

What’s more, their side commanded thousands of elite undead, utterly overwhelming the enemy—making this a one-sided, crushing victory.

It wasn’t long before every hostile zombie had been slaughtered.

Corpses piled up like hills, blood pooled below like streams, the air thick with the stench of rot and gore.

In this macabre tableau, Lin Dong stood immaculate and alone, as countless zombies gathered to him.

“Boss… this is all my fault…” The Tank’s guilt deepened. He’d meant to come here to hunt, to make amends for past mistakes, but instead he’d courted disaster and had to be rescued by the Boss, causing even more trouble.

Lin Dong, however, only shook his head.

“You did very well.”

“Huh?” The Tank, ignorant of the Z virus incident, was baffled by the Boss’s praise.

“I think… I shouldn’t have left the territory without permission. I caused trouble for everyone. It’s all my fault.”

“It’s not your fault. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me… My territory is just too small,” Lin Dong replied.

The Tank was even more moved. With a leader like this, he hardly knew how to repay him.

Little Eight tilted his head, blood still dripping from his sharp claws.

“I agree, you did well. I should save you a few more times in the future.”

“I’d rather you didn’t…” The Tank shook his head like a rattle drum—once was enough. Any more and his backside would never survive…

He then looked up at the sky, where a red-eyed crow fluttered down to perch nearby.

“Little Blackbird, I owe you too. If you hadn’t called for help in time, I would’ve been torn to shreds.”

The Tank’s gratitude was sincere.

The crow stared at him with crimson eyes and, after a moment’s pause, replied,

“You’re welcome, Pin Cushion.”

…