Apocalypse Gachapon

The Holy City’s intelligence had made one critical error.

Their assessment of Cloud Peak’s troop numbers was wrong.

True, only about 110,000 evolved from Cloud Peak had initially surrounded the city—their main force.

But they’d forgotten one thing: Cloud Peak possessed more teleportation equipment than any other faction in the Chinese region. The Netherbone Platforms and other devices ensured they could deploy massive reinforcements anywhere in minutes.

Before the battle, Ye Zhongming had worried that revealing their full strength might frighten the Holy City into desperate measures.

So he’d hidden the vast gene-modified army in the oasis, ready to emerge when needed.

This might also catch the Holy City off guard.

Now that West City had been designated the main assault vector, the gene army’s main force appeared here.

From multiple teleportation gates, lifeforms poured forth like divine magic—thousands of gene soldiers emerging every minute.

But the Holy City’s western defenders had no time to investigate. They were under furious bombardment.

The Exquisite Floating Balls reappeared after their brief disappearance, launching incendiary missiles. War Fortresses concentrated their rocket barrages here, saturating the battlements. The grenade-launching rocket launchers became an outright nuisance—their sheer volume painting the sky above the walls red with exhaust trails.

Zombies still rampaged across the walls, leaving few hands free to intercept the projectiles. The Thousand Defender’s long-range support was clearly overstretched. Had the remaining 5,000 Royal Guards and reserves not reinforced the position, the rocket onslaught alone would have turned the city walls into an inferno.

Even so, West City’s defenses had degraded from active interception to passive resistance.

Before, skilled evolved had easily shot down missiles with precision attacks—no great challenge for those with ranged abilities or weapons.

Now? Those specialists were either zombie fodder or dead. The fresh reserves relied on defensive gear and skills to weather the storm.

While their levels and equipment could barely handle the bombardment, the sheer volume threatened to overwhelm them.

Regardless, West City’s walls were in chaos.

And it was at this moment the gene soldiers entered the fray—in an utterly unexpected manner.

Their first wave wasn’t a roaring charge, but a silent infiltration.

A thousand shadows shot from Cloud Peak’s lines like loosed arrows—so fast that under the flares’ glow, anyone below level-six saw only faint blurs.

And occasional glints of light.

That familiar metallic sheen of edged weapons.

Some defenders noticed, shouting warnings, but no one took it seriously. Why would they? A thousand shadows meant nothing against a city’s defenses—no siege equipment, no threat. Besides, with Royal Guards stabilizing the situation, what could these stragglers do against ballistae and catapults?

Under the garrison commander’s lead, zombies were nearly cleared. Many defenders resumed intercepting projectiles, though smoke now obscured the ramparts.

“Catapults! Soulscourge Ballistae! Crews, return to positions!”

The commander roared, realizing his usually proud troops were crumbling under pressure.

“Opdu—” He began calling his deputy to take another wall section when his voice suddenly sharpened to a shriek.

“DROP THE BARBED VINES! NOW!”

Sprinting to the parapet, he kicked a bundled mass over the edge. Others followed suit after a stunned moment.

“Those shadows! Almighty, what are they?!”

A defender who’d just claimed a level-six magic crystal from a zombie glanced down—and froze.

The towering walls didn’t stall the shadows. They were scaling vertically at terrifying speeds. Five seconds—that’s all they’d need to reach the top.

“Cici! Activate it!”

Crushing something in his grip, the commander watched liquid evaporate from his palm.

The dropped bundles unfurled midair—five-meter-wide nets of black vines studded with spikes, covering half the wall’s height. Shadows caught beneath were either smashed downward or snagged, their ascent halted.

Now the defenders saw them clearly.

Gaunt, pitch-black humanoids with cracked, stone-like skin. Their limbs ended in suction-cup pores, wielding oversized silver daggers. No gear except wooden crates strapped to their backs.

Of the thousand shadow gene soldiers, vines claimed over a tenth—either impaled or sent crashing down.

Defenders leaned over the parapets, attacking frantically. Whatever these things were, nothing good.

Five seconds was nothing to evolved—enough time to unleash hell.

A storm of attacks ravaged the wall face. Meanwhile, the very bricks beneath the climbers’ feet began scorching hot. Some shadows stumbled; a few even burst into flames and fell.

Casualties mounted rapidly—hundreds per second. By the time the first shadows crested the wall, fewer than thirty remained.

The garrison commander exhaled in relief. Between the barbed vines and Cici’s thermal enchantment, the assault had been contained. Thirty stragglers couldn’t possibly—

Then the survivors detonated.

Or rather, their wooden crates did.

Below the walls, Guang Yao smirked. The gene army’s first wave had succeeded.

This meant the Western Wall would fall.

He gestured. The repositioned Candy Siege Cannon elevated its chasm-like barrel. After a pregnant pause, it launched a gargantuan shell over the charging gene army’s heads—straight for West City’s energy-shrouded gates.