CHAPTER 729: THOSE ARE... CARRION REAVERS!

The surging Zombie Horde thundered forward, blood smeared across their faces from the last battle, making them look even more savage and terrifying.

Under the pitch-black night sky, they looked like vengeful spirits charging out of hell.

The desolate, lonely land was quickly swallowed up by the advancing horde. That earlier fight? Just a warm-up.

They were just getting started—ready to tear through cities and claim new territory.

Ethan trailed behind at a leisurely pace, waiting for the right prey to show up before making his move.

"Eastreach hunting grounds are pretty sweet," he said casually. "Feels like picking up crystal cores off the ground."

"Uh..." Hammerhead glanced at him, a little stunned. "You sure talking like that won’t get you punched?"

The zombie nests were spaced far apart, so it would take a while to reach the next battlefield. Along the way, they occasionally ran into scattered monsters.

But those poor creatures didn’t stand a chance. The Zombie Horde swarmed over them like a tidal wave—nothing left behind, not even bones.

Eastreach was mostly hilly terrain, and the steep slopes slowed the zombies’ charge.

Ragnar and the other Zombie Kings were getting antsy. They hadn’t gotten their hands on any high-grade crystal cores yet, and they were itching for another fight.

Hours passed in the blink of an eye. It was deep into the night now—so dark you couldn’t see your own hand in front of your face.

Cold wind howled through the hills, carrying with it the rising chorus of howls and screeches.

Both zombies and Xenobeasts were creatures of the dark. And at this hour, they came alive—more frenzied, more bloodthirsty. This was when the real killing began.

Especially a certain type of Xenobeast—night hunters by nature. This was their prime time.

Up ahead, a massive slope loomed in front of the horde. It was steep—almost a forty-five-degree incline—and stretched so far up it seemed to pierce the night sky.

"Get your asses up there!" Bloodveil barked.

The vanguard of the Zombie Horde didn’t hesitate for a second. Some dropped to all fours, others sprinted upright, all of them charging up the slope with the same feral energy.

Nothing could stop them.

These zombies didn’t fear death. They followed orders without question. If someone told them to jump into lava, they’d do it without blinking.

Ethan watched quietly from the back. He couldn’t see what was waiting at the top of the slope, but something didn’t sit right. The terrain was perfect for an ambush.

And Xenobeasts weren’t dumb—they were intelligent predators.

"Looks like round two’s about to start..." Ethan muttered.

"Really? I don’t smell any Xenobeasts," Hammerhead said, tilting his head, curious.

BOOM!

Before he could finish the thought, a thunderous crash echoed from the top of the slope. The ground trembled violently.

Then came the rumble—massive boulders, each over twenty feet tall and weighing close to a hundred tons, came crashing down from above.

They rolled like monstrous steamrollers.

The giant stones plowed into the Zombie Horde. Even the elite zombies couldn’t withstand the impact—they were crushed instantly.

Screams tore through the night as zombies scrambled to get out of the way.

But the horde was packed too tightly. Dozens were flattened into bloody paste.

Each boulder carved a gruesome path through the crowd, like a red paintbrush dragging a line of gore through the sea of undead.

"What is this, a zombie pancake factory?" Ethan muttered under his breath, completely unfazed.

Not like it was his zombie minions getting squashed, anyway...

Bloodveil’s brow furrowed, clearly not surprised. "So it was an ambush. Get up there and clear those damn rocks!"

"On it."

The Zombie Kings didn’t waste a second. They surged forward.

Several of the brute-type Zombie Kings raised their fists as the boulders came crashing down—ready to meet stone with raw power.

BOOM!

A thunderous blast echoed as one of the Zombie Kings slammed his fist into a boulder, shattering it like a bomb had gone off. The massive rock exploded into a spray of rubble, chunks flying in every direction.

The other Zombie Kings followed suit, smashing the tumbling stones with brute force, clearing the path in a matter of moments.

"What the hell is up there?" one of them muttered, eyes narrowing.

They scanned the slope, following the trail of blood and mangled corpses up toward the summit. But even with their heightened senses, they couldn’t pick up any scent. Whatever was lying in wait wasn’t parasitic—it was something else entirely.

Then, out of the darkness above, dozens—no, hundreds—of glowing red dots suddenly lit up. Each one was the size of a baseball, gleaming with a sinister light.

Even from a distance, you could feel the malice radiating from them.

"RRAAAHHHH—!"

A deafening roar tore through the night, and the glowing dots surged forward like a swarm of fireflies from hell.

As they got closer, the zombies finally saw what they were dealing with—towering beasts, over twenty feet tall, with pale gray skin stretched tight over hulking, hairless bodies. Their jaws jutted forward grotesquely, filled with rows of jagged, interlocking fangs.

Their blood-red eyes were set wide apart on either side of their heads, glowing with a hunger that was almost palpable.

"Those are... Carrion Reavers!" one of the zombies cried out in horror.

Panic rippled through the horde.

These things were nightmare fuel for the undead—predators that fed exclusively on zombies. Their natural enemy.

No one knew exactly what they evolved from—some kind of mutated Xenobeast that had adapted to the harsh environment and turned into this zombie-devouring monstrosity.

Their bodies were immune to viral infection, their skin tough enough to shrug off claws and fangs, and they secreted a strange fluid that masked their scent—making them invisible to a zombie’s nose.

Perfect ambush predators.

Now, a whole swarm of them was charging straight into the Zombie Horde. The ground trembled beneath their massive feet.

The Carrion Reavers were practically vibrating with excitement, eager to feast.

They lunged into the horde, mouths gaping wide. Long, whip-like tongues lashed out, wrapping around zombies like steel cables, yanking them in with terrifying speed.

Then—CRUNCH—those jaws snapped shut.

With over ten tons of bite force, they pulverized even elite zombies like they were made of paper. One bite, and it was over—bones shattered, flesh liquefied.

It was like watching a hydraulic press in action—zombies exploding into gore with every chomp.

"So many Carrion Reavers?!" Bloodveil’s expression darkened. He’d seen them before—rarely, and only in small numbers, usually scavenging near the Xenorift. But this many? That was new.

Had they evolved again?

Or maybe something had happened in the Xenorift—something that drove them out?

But now wasn’t the time to speculate. The Carrion Reavers were tearing through the horde like wolves in a sheep pen, ripping and devouring everything in sight.

These Xenobeasts had been slaughtering their way through Eastreach for days now. Many of them had already reached S-rank.

And your average S-rank Zombie King? Might not even be a match for one of them.

"We’re going in," Bloodveil growled. "Kill them all. Those S-rank crystal cores are worth a fortune."

"Hell yeah," Ragnar snarled, eyes gleaming. "Let’s see who bags the most!"

Before he even finished speaking, he launched himself forward like a missile.

Bloodveil wasn’t about to be outdone. He shot after him, a blur of motion.

As he passed, he glanced at Ethan—still standing calmly at the rear, unmoving. That gave him a bit of comfort.

If Ethan wasn’t worried, maybe things weren’t as bad as they looked.

Ethan, meanwhile, was watching the ambush unfold with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

"Carrion Reavers, huh?" he murmured. "Didn’t think those existed..."

This planet—Originis—was full of surprises. The Xenobeasts here had adapted in wild, unpredictable ways. And now, some of them had evolved into zombie-eating monsters.

But Ethan wasn’t worried. He wasn’t a zombie anymore.

He was The Voidborn Undying.

And those S-rank crystal cores the Carrion Reavers carried? Oh, they were valuable. Not for eating, of course—but his Guard Mechs back at the nest? Those things were energy hogs.

They didn’t just need S-rank cores—they burned through A and B-rank ones too, like candy.

And right now? These Carrion Reavers were walking batteries.

Perfect fuel for his war machines.

...