I Got Reincarnated as a Zombie Girl-Chapter 360 - 356 – Roar from the South

The long enemy trumpet sound shattered the fog like the scream of an enraged god.

TuuuuuuuuuuuUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!

The low note echoed from all four directions at once long, deep, and brimming with vengeance. Their banners fluttered more violently. The holy light of the archangel Seraphiel blazed brightly in the gray sky, as if granting a final blessing before the slaughter. Thousands of swords were raised in unison. The alliance army advanced like a wave of metal and light.

Inside Nocturne, the response did not come from trumpets, but from the darkness itself.

From the peak of the central castle tower, a gigantic shadow opened its jaws.

ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

The roar of the zombie dragon Noir shook the entire city. That sound was not merely a bellow; it was a vibration of death that seeped into the bones, making the fog swirl, the death crystals on the walls glow with fierce purple light, and every undead in Nocturne felt their cold blood boil. It was Nocturne’s signal for war. It was the answer to the enemy’s trumpets.

The battle had begun.

At the southern front, Velthya stood atop the gate, her silver fur bristling. She heard Noir’s roar and grinned widely, her fangs gleaming.

"Time’s up, kids!"

CRASH!

The first enemy wave slammed into the crystal traps. The ground split open, and ten-meter-long purple spears erupted from below, piercing stomachs, chests, and necks of dozens of soldiers at once. Human screams mixed with the agonized howls of wounded beastmen.

"ATTACK!"

Velthya leaped from the twenty-meter-high wall. Her body transformed completely mid-air, muscles swelled, claws lengthened, her muzzle extended into the massive jaws of a giant wolf. She landed right in the middle of the enemy formation.

BOOM!

The ground cracked beneath her feet. Two human soldiers wielding flaming swords of Ares were flung back like ragdolls. Velthya swung her claws sideways.

SHRRRRRIP!

Two heads separated from their bodies in a single motion. Warm blood sprayed across her face, but she only laughed.

The lycanthrope clan followed from behind. They leaped from the walls like a rain of wolves.

ROAR! ROAR! ROAR!

Furry bodies crashed into the enemy lines. Claws met swords, fangs met armor. Nocturne’s lycanthropes fought wildly yet in disciplined pairs one distracted, the other killed. A massive beastman swung at a young lycanthrope, but his partner lunged from the side and tore out the enemy’s throat.

CRUNCH!

Bones snapped. Blood gushed.

Velthya pushed deeper. She spotted the second enemy line priests of Athena raising their staves, holy light glowing at the tips.

"Protect the sacred!" a priest shouted.

Too late.

Velthya leaped, her claws smashing into the priest’s chest. CRACK! Ribs broke like dry twigs. The holy light extinguished instantly. Velthya bit into his neck and tossed the body backward like trash.

"KEEP PUSHING!" she roared.

Elite zombies moved in behind the lycanthropes. They didn’t run. They advanced steadily, black crystal spears raised. Every thrust found its mark.

SCHLICK!

A human mutant with plasma arms tried to fire, but a crystal spear had already pierced his chest. The plasma flared briefly, then died.

The enemy began to panic. Their formation cracked. Those blessed by Ares’ fire tried to burn the lycanthropes, but the fur of Nocturne’s wolves had long been tainted by undead poison; they were no longer pure lycanthropes, yet they were neither fully zombies.

"They’re not dying! They’re not dying!" a soldier screamed.

Velthya laughed hoarsely. "We’re different from before, you idiot!"

She charged again. BOOM! BOOM! Every step shattered the ground, every claw swipe cut down three or four enemies at once. Blood flowed like small rivers across the dead plain. The stench of iron mixed with wet earth and fading holy fire smoke.

But the enemy numbers were still vast. A third wave arrived of giant beastmen wielding axes blessed by Thor, their bodies crackling with tiny lightning.

One of them charged Velthya. CRASH! Axe met claw. Sparks flew.

"You’re big, but I’m bigger!" the beastman growled.

Velthya grinned, blood dripping from her muzzle. "You’re wrong."

She yanked the axe closer, then bit down on the beastman’s arm.

CRUNCH!

The arm bone shattered. The beastman screamed. Velthya spun her body and hurled him into his own ranks, crushing five others.

BAM!

Other lycanthropes immediately pounced on the fallen, teeth and claws working mercilessly.

"VELTHYA! FOURTH WAVE INCOMING!" one of the betas shouted.

Velthya turned. From the hill, hundreds of white-armored soldiers charged, led by a knight whose sword blazed brilliantly, one of Ares’ champions.

She smiled broadly, breathing hard, fur soaked in blood.

"Good... the more, the merrier."

She threw her head back and howled again, calling the entire clan.

ROOOOOOOOOOAAAAAARRRRRRRRR!

The lycanthropes answered in unison. Their voices merged with the faint, lingering echo of Noir’s roar from afar.

The southern front became hell.

The ground turned to blood mud. Human and beastman corpses lay scattered. Wounded lycanthropes kept fighting, their injuries closing slowly thanks to the undead poison. The Elite zombies never tired; they advanced relentlessly, their spears like killing machines.

Velthya stood in the center, her body covered in scratches and gashes, but her eyes still burned.

She glanced briefly at the sky, toward the distant, still-calm castle.

"No need for you to come down yet, Queen," she muttered. "We can still play a little longer."

Then she turned, claws ready for the next wave.

...

At the eastern front, the ruins of the old Earth city stretched out like the skeleton of a long-dead giant. Cracked concrete buildings, shattered asphalt roads, and broken power poles stood like skeletal fingers pointing at the gray sky. The fog here was thinner than elsewhere, but it still carried the ancient smell of rust and eternal dust.

Zark stood in the middle of the main ruined road, his long black coat fluttering gently in the cold wind. His bright red eyes never blinked, scanning the horizon where the enemy formation was now clearly visible. Thousands of old-Earth human soldiers, former apocalypse veterans, mutant survivors with stolen plasma weapons, and fanatic priests still clutching holy crosses marched in neat ranks under the alliance banners. They advanced with confidence, as if these ruins were their home.

Zark did not move. He simply raised his right hand slowly.

KREK... KREK... KREK...

The sound of cracking bones and armor echoed in unison. Behind him, thousands of old-Earth zombies stepped forward in perfect sync. They were not stiff-moving corpses; they walked with terrifying precision, like reprogrammed machines. Damaged helmets, tattered armor, plasma weapons once taken from enemy corpses now glowed with faint blue-black light. No roars. No war cries. Only the steady rhythm of footsteps, like the heartbeat of a dead city.

The enemy halted for a moment. A human commander, a former colonel with a bionic arm raised his hand, stopping the line.

"That’s... Earth zombies?" he muttered, voice trembling. "They look like us..."

Zark finally spoke, his voice flat, cold, emotionless.

"You came to our home. You brought light we don’t need. Leave, or die again."

The commander laughed nervously. "You think corpses can talk? We’ve seen death thousands of times!"

Zark gave no reply. He simply lowered his hand.

SCHWING!

Thousands of zombie plasma weapons ignited simultaneously. Blue-black light illuminated the ruins like an aurora of death.

BRRRRRTTTTT!

The first plasma wave swept through. Not random shots they fired in perfect formation, line by line, striking the enemy front ranks. Humans in the front were hurled back, armor melting, screams cut short.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Small plasma explosions dotted the ruins. A mutant soldier tried to return fire, but the zombie in front of him advanced, catching the plasma rounds with his own body. The body burned, yet it kept walking, its hand seizing the mutant’s throat and twisting.

CRACK!

The neck snapped. The body fell.

Zark walked forward slowly, his coat untouched by blood or dust. The zombies around him formed a living wall in front of him, an impenetrable moving fortress. Every time an enemy tried to break through, they were met by bodies that felt no pain.

A fanatic priest stepped forward, his holy staff blazing bright white.

"In the name of the light, you will burn!"

WHOOSH!

A wave of holy light swept out, incinerating ten zombies in front of Zark. Their skin blistered, yet they remained standing. Their wounds closed slowly, rotting flesh regrowing like a grotesque plant.

The priest’s eyes widened. "Impossible... holy light should "

Zark was already in front of him. He raised no weapon. He simply extended his hand, fingers touching the priest’s forehead.

"You died once before. You forgot what it feels like."

The priest screamed. The holy light went out. His eyes bulged, then emptied. His body collapsed like a puppet with cut strings.

Other zombies dragged the body back into the ranks.

The enemy began to retreat. Their formation broke. Those who had been so confident now faced reality: their foes were not ordinary undead. They were reflections of themselves humans who once lived on old Earth, died in the apocalypse, and rose again without hatred, without pain, only duty.

"Fall back! Fall back to the second position!" the bionic commander shouted. 𝑓𝓇𝘦ℯ𝘸𝘦𝑏𝓃𝑜𝘷ℯ𝑙.𝑐𝑜𝓂

But it was already too late.

Zark raised his hand once more.

KREK... KREK...

The zombies advanced like a black tide. They didn’t run, they walked steadily, unhurried. Every step crushed small debris beneath their feet. Every plasma shot hit its mark, never missing.

A young soldier perhaps only twenty stood trembling in the back line. He watched a zombie approach, its face eerily similar to his father who died in the apocalypse long ago.

"Pa... Papa...?"

The zombie didn’t stop. It simply raised its plasma weapon and fired.

BRRRRT!

The young man’s body was thrown back, dead before he could scream again.

Zark continued walking through the center of his zombie ranks. His coat remained clean. His eyes remained cold.

He paused for a moment, gazing toward the distant castle. The fog still shrouded the garden there, and he knew Sylvia was still sitting calmly with her tea.

"No need for you to descend yet, Queen," Zark murmured softly, his voice almost lost amid the plasma bursts and enemy screams. "We can still bleed them... slowly."

Then he resumed his walk.

The eastern front became a walking graveyard.

Human corpses littered the ruins. The old-Earth zombies pressed forward, never tiring, never hesitating. They were a horrifying mirror of their enemies humans who once lived, once feared, once died... and now felt nothing except their task.