"Looks like I'll be the one to put an end to the age of horror in this world."
Steve lay back on his bed, excitement sparking in his eyes. Compared to the mindless slaughter of the zombie hordes, these challenging new planes stoked a genuine fire of conquest within him.
"In that case, let's open two fronts at once."
Pre-war Strategy Meeting: 03:00 AM.
The Command Center was ablaze with holographic displays and flickering monitors. Steve sat at the head of the table, relaying the intelligence he had gathered about the two anchors to the assembled staff officers and generals.
"The Anomalous Plane... a threshold of Fourth-Order mental strength?" one officer mused, frowning. "Then we'll have to deploy our top Tier 5 masters, like Yor and Gabriel. Their mental fortitude should be more than enough to bridge the gap."
"No," Steve shook his head, his expression grim. "The 'Fourth-Order' that world demands isn't the Tier 4 of the Zombie World—it is Tier 4 on my scale."
Before his words faded, a vast, ocean-like mental force erupted from Steve's body.
BOOM!
The air in the room seemed to thicken instantly. Everyone present, including Randy, felt their breathing seize. The soul-level pressure was like an invisible hand tightening around their throats.
Randy's pupils shrank. "This... this psionic pressure?!"
When Randy controlled his zombie vessels, he had been near the mental fluctuations of Tier 5 masters; they were formidable, but compared to the condensed, sharp vastness Steve was currently projecting, they were mere trickles next to a surging river.
"Yor and the others reached Tier 5 physically, but their spirits are still anchored at the peak of Tier 3," Steve explained, reining in his aura. The room collectively exhaled. "The zombie evolution system prioritizes the vessel, not the mind. Therefore, I must lead the expedition into the Anomalous Plane personally."
Steve leaned forward. "My mental capacity has expanded enough to coordinate a few hundred high-tier units without losing focus. Coupled with the 'Totem of Undying' providing a safety net for trial and error, I can brute-force that world's rules one by one."
He then turned to the other map. "As for the High Fantasy Plane... that's much simpler. We apply the standard rescue protocol: distribute food, hand out weapons, and exterminate the local monsters.
The humans there live in squalor, oppressed by beasts and corrupt clergymen. Give them a warm meal and a god who actually answers prayers, and their faith will fall right into our laps."
"Understood," Randy nodded. "What support do you need for the anomalies?"
"I need brains," Steve said, tapping his temple. "I can't analyze the logic of every supernatural phenomenon while managing combat units. I need an elite analysis team watching through my eyes—psychologists, logicians, and game-theory experts—to help me decode the trigger conditions and taboos of that world."
"Consider it done," Randy replied, slamming his hand on the table. "I'll build you a thousand-brain think tank. They'll be on standby the moment you step through."
The Next Afternoon.
The two gates were live. On a barren plain millions of blocks from the base, Steve stood before a swirling black vortex, controlling a vanguard of two hundred Tier 5 zombies. These units had been genetically refined—lean, taut, and two meters tall, with obsidian wings folded like demons.
Simultaneously, in a distant desert, Randy and Sovereign Wu stood before the High Fantasy gate, commanding an army of over a hundred thousand, their eyes burning with the hunger for conquest.
[Ding!][World Passage Construction Complete!]
[Anomalous Plane Initial Quest: Obtain an 'Anomaly Core'.] [Reward: Detailed Analysis of the Anomaly Logic System.]
[High Fantasy Plane Initial Quest: Gain the sincere faith of 500 humans.] [Reward: Master Alchemist's Compendium (Complete Brewing & Refinement Recipes).]*
"Let's knock on the door," Steve whispered.
He willed the two hundred Tier 5 units forward. Steve marched his columns into the black mist of the Anomalous Plane—an unknown domain of crimson fog and a sickeningly sweet, metallic scent.
Woom!
A blood-red vortex appeared in a clearing of twisted, charcoal-colored trees. Steve's zombies filed out. But as the eighth unit stepped through, the air rippled.
BANG!
The ninth zombie slammed into an invisible barrier. No matter how much strength it exerted, it couldn't penetrate the red curtain.
"A head-count rule? Or a spatial limit?" Steve frowned, ordering the eight units already inside to form a defensive ring.
Suddenly, a high-pitched, hair-raising laugh echoed through the fog. "Hehehe... Hahaha! People! Real people at last! I've been so bored!"
The voice paused, sounding puzzled, then delighted. "Wait... why aren't they human? Little monsters with souls? No matter, as long as they have 'feelings.' Look at these eight cuties—identical faces! Are you a family? Perfect! The finest materials for my stage!"
"Show yourself," Steve snorted, his mental force surging outward like a tide to peel back the mist.
In his perception, a figure emerged: a tall, grotesque entity in vibrant crimson theater garb, its face a mask of gaudy, smeared greasepaint. Instead of fearing Steve's power, the creature doubled over in manic glee.
"Wonderful! I feel it—anger, arrogance, excitement! You meet every condition for my masterpiece. Welcome, little playthings... to the Clown's Carnival Theater!"
"My name is Pennywise!