The heat of discussion hit its climax with a single comment.
"I don't care about anything else—just lower the price of electricity so my grandma will dare to turn on the AC in a sweltering 118-degree summer."
This seemingly plain remark unlocked the softest switch in countless hearts.
In an instant, the like count rocketed skyward.
One hundred thousand! Five hundred thousand! One million!
People forced it to the very top of every comment section.
Even more unexpectedly, beneath that comment…
…the official account of the US National Energy Administration showed up, clicked like, and left a brief, thunderous reply.
"It will go even lower."
These words crushed every doubt with the weight of a mountain.
Yet, even in utter defeat, the paid trolls refused to quit.
[Hahaha, fools—think mana falls from the sky? Didn't you see the news? The US is quietly dumping gold across the globe. They're robbing Peter to pay Paul, mortgaging the house just to keep you breathing a little longer.]
Command Center.
The online uproar outside couldn't reach here.
General Randy stared at the screen, the towering zombie rampaging there, and his gaze turned ice-cold.
"Go."
He issued an unquestionable order to the combat staff officer beside him.
"Pull one DF-17 from stock, lock it on target; if conventional fire can't kill it, blast it with that."
"Yes, sir."
The officer hurried off to ready a weapon that could erase a city.
Over the battlefield, thirty-six armed choppers of Divine Punishment had arrived first.
Sky-hunters, they launched probing strikes at the colossus.
"Open fire."
Howling rockets trailed flames, raining down and smashing into the zombie's rock-like body.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Blasts swallowed it in fire and smoke.
When the haze lifted, it still stood—only sporting a few scorch marks of no consequence.
Right then—the ground shook.
On the horizon, hundreds of main battle tanks formed a steel torrent, racing at a terrifying speed belying their bulk.
Refitted with nuclear power, these kings of land cast off old engines and became cheetahs of the plain.
"All units, lock and fire."
Steel clashed with flesh in primordial, brutal aesthetics.
A simultaneous barrage from hundreds of nuclear-powered MBTs slammed like Iron Fists into the giant zombie's frame.
Yet the armor-piercing shells that could flatten a hill only sparked and left shallow dents.
Divine Punishment in the sky emptied its rocket pods, still failing to wound the monster.
On the other side of this artillery-lit field…
Half-collapsed high-rise rubble. Several figures spied from behind broken walls.
They were the squad Garry sent to scout.
"Zack, that's a peak-tier-three Tyrant."
A young scout, seeing the shell-proof giant, trembled in fear.
The one called Zack was a wiry second-tier Awakened with speed powers.
He raised high-power military binoculars, face grave.
"Tanks, gunships…"
He lowered them, a cold smirk mixing dread with mockery.
"Looks like the official survivor base—military boys."
He knew only the army could field such heavy gear in this apocalypse.
"Military?"
A teammate's eyes flashed with greed.
"Then their supplies must be huge."
"So what?"
Zack sneered.
"These brass hats must've peacocked too long; their brains rusted."
Trying to kill a peak-tier-three Tyrant with those toy tanks?"
He recalled a battle half a year earlier.
A mere ordinary third-tier zombie had massacred several allied bases.
Only a half-step-to-Fourth Tier expert, at the cost of an arm, finally killed it.
And this Tyrant's aura was clearly stronger.
It even brushed the threshold of the Fourth Tier.
"Idiots."
Zack shook his head, ready to retreat and report.
Yet his gaze caught tall, odd black figures setting up a perimeter.
"What are those?"
He trained his binoculars on one.
A creature pitch-black, eerily slender, eyes glowing violet under the gloomy sky.
Just as he zoomed in for a clearer look—
—change struck.
Through the powerful lens his eyes met a pair of violet ones.
In an instant, an indescribable, soul-piercing cold malice enveloped him.
He saw that black being, hundreds of metres away, snap its bizarre head and lock onto him across the distance.
An Enderman's passive trigger had fired.
"Crap!"
Killer dread exploded in Zack; he hurled the binoculars and spun to sprint.
But as he turned, lightning struck his heart—he froze.
Behind him, beside him, on every escape route, silent tall black forms emerged from the shadows.