Apocalypse Baby-Chapter 163: Tag Team

The undead rushed toward them, their movements frantic, their growls feral.

GRR… GRR…

The sound of bones rattling and flesh squelching filled the air as they closed in.

Ezekiel exhaled, gripping his greatsword tighter. Freya did the same.

There was no time for hesitation.

They had to hold the line.

As the horde reached them, Ezekiel muttered under his breath:

"Don’t die."

Freya’s grip on her blades tightened. Her gaze was sharp, unwavering.

"I won’t."

And then...

The undead were right on top of them.

Ezekiel moved first.

He stepped forward, planting his feet firmly into the ground.

With a powerful swing, his greatsword carved through the air and smashed into a charging skeleton.

CRACK!

Bones splintered and shattered, the undead collapsing into a pile of dust.

Without missing a beat, he charged forward, shield raised, and slammed into the next wave of enemies.

The force sent several undead stumbling backward, their snarls turning into pained hisses.

Freya inhaled sharply, then leaped back, creating space.

Inhale. Exhale.

Her body tensed.

Then—she lunged.

Moving like a streak of silver, she weaved through the gaps Ezekiel had created.

Her blades flashed.

SHING! SHING!

Like hot knives through butter, they tore through undead skeletons and beasts alike.

One creature lunged at her—she ducked.

Another came from behind—she twisted, spinning her blades outward, slicing through its neck.

Each strike was precise.

Each movement was flawless.

Ezekiel powered forward, his greatsword a blur as he swung, hacked, and sliced through the horde.

Freya stayed close behind him, her movements swift and precise. Each time an undead tried to swarm Ezekiel from behind—she was there, cutting them down.

Together, they carved a path of destruction through the monsters.

Then—the last of the undead fell.

For a fleeting moment, they paused, sucking in sharp breaths.

But their respite didn’t last long.

A new wave of undead monsters surged forward, their sheer numbers doubling, tripling.

Across the battlefield, Alex and his clones were pushed to their limits, their relentless fight leaving gaps in the defense.

More undead slipped through.

The battleground was too vast, too chaotic.

The clones couldn’t cover everything.

And now, Ezekiel and Freya were facing another onslaught.

Without hesitation, they readied themselves again.

Ezekiel roared, throwing himself forward.

His greatsword tore through the first skeleton in his path, shattering it into dust.

He barreled ahead, plowing through the horde with sheer force, his shield smashing into anything that stood in his way.

Freya moved behind him, using him as a shield.

She didn’t have Ezekiel’s raw strength or unyielding defense.

Instead, she darted in and out of openings, picking off zombies with deadly precision.

A slash—one fell.

A spin—another collapsed.

Her movements were quick, clean, and efficient.

But then..

A low, guttural growl made her stiffen.

She turned and saw pack of undead wolves was charging straight for her.

Their eyes glowed with eerie hunger, their decayed bodies twisted and unnatural.

Freya’s heart pounded.

They were fast.

And they were coming right for her.

One of the undead wolves lunged, its jaws wide open, yellowed fangs bared—ready to tear into Freya.

But before it could land—she vanished.

Like a ghost.

The wolf landed on empty air, its rotten paws skidding across the dirt.

The rest of the pack snapped their heads around, searching.

Their ears twitched. Their noses flared.

Nothing.

Freya was in stealth mode.

Then...

SHING!

A sickening slash tore through one of the wolves.

The beast shuddered, its body splitting apart before it even realized what happened.

The others froze, their glowing eyes flickering with confusion.

Then another fell.

And another.

They couldn’t see her.

Couldn’t hear her.

Couldn’t sense her.

Freya was everywhere.

Her movements were a blur, a shadow, a whisper of death.

With crazy speed, she sliced through the undead beasts and skeletons one by one, her blade striking like lightning—silent, swift, and merciless.

Ahead of her, Ezekiel rampaged.

With Freya holding her own behind him, he let loose.

His greatsword cleaved through the undead like they were made of paper.

Swing. One fell.

Hack. Another crumbled.

Crush. Bones shattered beneath his boots.

His attacks were relentless—but so were the undead.

The monsters swarmed, their sheer numbers threatening to bury him alive.

But Ezekiel refused to back down.

Instead, he threw his head back and roared.

A deafening, earth-shaking roar.

A shockwave rippled outward, blasting the undead back like ragdolls. Enjoy exclusive content from novelbuddy

The horde staggered, stunned for just a moment.

That was all he needed.

With a ferocious battle cry, Ezekiel raised his sword high—and swung with all his might.

One.

Two.

Three devastating slashes.

And the last skeleton crumbled to dust.

Again, the two barely had a moment to breathe.

Before them—more undead.

A swarm of skeletal warriors clattered forward, weapons raised—but the real problem loomed behind them.

A lava giant.

Its massive, molten body cracked and sizzled, glowing veins of fire running through its rocky form. Every step it took sent tremors through the battlefield, the ground beneath it melting into liquid stone.

Ezekiel’s brows furrowed.

Skeletons? Easy.

But a lava giant? That was trouble.

Still, he planted his feet, gripping his greatsword tighter.

Then...

Freya sprinted past him.

Ezekiel’s eyes widened.

"What the...?"

Before he could even ask, she shouted over her shoulder:

"Follow me!"

Ezekiel hesitated.

But only for a second.

Freya wasn’t reckless. She wasn’t the type to charge in without a plan.

Trusting her, he rushed after her.

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Freya reached the skeletons first.

They reacted instantly, their crude blades slashing toward her.

But she was faster.

She twisted, ducked, and spun, weaving through their attacks like a ghost slipping through the cracks of reality.

And as she passed them—

She slapped her palm against their skulls.

One.

Two.

Three.

Each touch was deliberate.

Each movement—precise.

All of a sudden the undead stopped moving.

Every skeletal warrior stood frozen in place, their weapons raised mid-strike, but completely motionless.

Ezekiel’s eyes widened.

Then it hit him—

Freya’s ability.

She must’ve used a skill that froze whatever she touched.

Realizing the effect wouldn’t last long, he reacted instantly.

With a fierce battle cry, Ezekiel swung his greatsword, cleaving through the immobilized skeletons as he sprinted after Freya.

Freya charged ahead, weaving through the battlefield.

But Ezekiel’s focus shifted as he saw the mouth of the lava giant gurgled.

A deep, bubbling sound echoed from its molten throat—a warning.

Ezekiel’s instincts screamed at him that it was about to attack.

Freya was right in its path.

And she realized too late.

The lava giant lurched forward, its massive mouth opening as a fiery glow surged within.

Then a torrent of lava erupted.

Freya skidded to a halt, eyes wide.