In downtown New York, massive, unnatural black spheres plummeted from the sky.
Upon hitting the asphalt, an ocean of thick, tar-like black liquid flowed out. In mere moments, the sludge covered the thousands of fresh corpses left behind by the Super-Tier magic.
The sludge bubbled and rose. A moment later, the horrifying, deafening bleats of monstrous goats echoed through the empty streets. Five towering, Lovecraftian horrors composed of writhing tentacles and gaping maws—the Dark Young of the Black Goat—had successfully hatched.
High above the skyline, Ainz Ooal Gown did not stop after the sacrifices were complete.
Instead, the Overlord raised his skeletal hand, his mana flaring.
[Tier 7 Magic: March of the Dead]
The ground of New York literally churned as the asphalt cracked open. An infinite, relentless legion of skeletons, rotting zombies, howling wraiths, and other undead creatures began to claw their way out of the earth and the shadows.
"Go!" Ainz commanded, his voice cold and absolute. "Go and slaughter all humans!"
Under the Supreme Being's command, the undead legion began to violently rampage through the streets of Manhattan.
The surviving civilians who had managed to escape the Chitauri invasion hadn't even had time to catch their breath. The threat of the undead followed immediately after. And this time, the threat to the civilians was infinitely more severe.
The Chitauri soldiers had largely stuck to the main avenues, engaging in a conventional military invasion. However, these undead were driven by a magical hatred for the living. They ruthlessly smashed through apartment doors, flooded into subway tunnels, and chased humans into basements. The wraiths simply phased right through solid walls to slaughter those hiding inside.
The grim reality of Ainz's magic took hold: the more humans died, the more undead would be born from their fresh corpses. As long as the Overlord's mana reserves remained sufficient, the undead army would never rest.
[Washington D.C. - The Capitol Building]
"What do we do now?!"
"Didn't you assure us that tactical nuclear payloads would take them out?!"
"Do you have any idea how much political pressure I'm under right now?! The perimeter of the White House is already surrounded by the media! Do you know that?!"
Inside a secure, subterranean meeting room beneath the Capitol, the current President of the United States was screaming at his generals and congressmen, his face purple with rage.
Because of their ruthless, foolish decision to backstab the Avengers, they had not only failed to destroy the Great Tomb of Nazarick, but they had actively provoked a sleeping god into turning New York into a literal City of the Dead.
It was now completely impossible to cover this up. Every major news network in the country had their own helicopters and private satellite feeds. The horrifying, supernatural apocalypse unfolding in New York had already been broadcast live across the globe.
The congressmen sitting around the mahogany table did not show much genuine panic for the lives lost. After all, no matter the death toll, they weren't the ones sitting in the Oval Office. They wouldn't be the ones forced to resign in historical disgrace. While the President roared at the podium, the politicians were already quietly whispering among themselves, calculating how to leverage this disaster for future campaign funding and emergency defense contracts.
At this moment, the President turned his furious spearhead toward the military representative who had been the most vocal advocate for the strike.
General Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross.
After all, Ross was the one who had originally proposed the dual nuclear bombardment.
The President's eyes gleamed with a fierce, desperate light. His removal from office was practically a foregone conclusion. But finding a scapegoat to avoid being nailed to the pillar of historical shame all by himself was what he needed to focus on now.
"General Ross," the President hissed venomously. "Launching the nukes was your brilliant idea. Now, what do we do?! Give me a solution!"
Ross swallowed hard, the President's murderous gaze making him shift uncomfortably in his uniform. He knew the Commander-in-Chief was trying to drag him down to political hell with him. To survive, Ross could only brace himself and speak the unthinkable.
"We have no way back, Mr. President," Ross said, his voice completely devoid of emotion. "Let New York be destroyed. We carpet-bomb the island. We bury the evidence, the aliens, and the necromancers in the ruins."
The secure room fell into a dead, horrifying silence. Not a single sound of conversation remained.
Anyone who would propose such a plan was either a total psychopath or a desperate madman.
Destroy New York! One had to realize that there were still millions of living American citizens trapped inside the city limits. The necromancer's horde only occupied the downtown area. Ross was casually proposing the execution of over eight million people.
The moment Ross finished speaking, the congressmen sitting next to him visibly leaned their chairs away. No one wanted to be near this madman, terrified they would be seen as his accomplice when the transcripts leaked.
"Otherwise, what can we do?!" Ross snapped, slamming his hand on the table. "Light infantry weapons can't cause any damage to those monsters at all! If we use conventional missiles to clear the streets, what's the difference between the civilian casualties caused by urban carpet-bombing and a nuclear bomb?! Since we've already launched two, what's a few more?!"
No matter what insane logic General Ross spewed, no one in the room dared to publicly agree.
Only the President standing at the podium remained silent, a dark, deeply hesitant expression flashing in his eyes...
...
With just Albedo alone, the Avengers were left struggling to hold their ground.
Whether it was Thor's divine lightning strikes or the Hulk's earth-shattering fists, they all failed to have any lasting effect against Albedo's impenetrable black armor. Not to mention the completely useless, pea-shooter weapons of Hawkeye and Black Widow.
Tony Stark, who had successfully deployed and suited up in his fresh Mark VII armor, floated in the air, casually firing his palm repulsors to keep Albedo's attention while staying out of axe-range.
"Captain," Tony called out over the comms, dodging a massive swing from the demonic knight. "Where's that short blonde kid? I think it would be a whole lot more appropriate for him to handle this kind of opponent!"
"Meliodas?" Steve grunted, raising his chipped shield to deflect a shockwave. "I don't know where he is either! He's an outside consultant invited by Fury, not official S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel. He doesn't have a comms unit!"
"Wow. Fantastic timing," Tony deadpanned, firing a barrage of micro-missiles. "That's a real pity."
While the Avengers fought for their lives, Meliodas, located a few blocks away in the city center, was currently sitting on a gargoyle, incessantly tossing small stones from his hand.
Meliodas had clearly seen the Avengers battling the dark knight. However, since the heroes were still able to hold on and coordinate their defenses, Meliodas didn't feel the urgent need to go rescue them just yet.
Compared to the tactical plight of the Avengers, the ordinary humans trapped in the city center were the ones facing a true, inescapable dead end.
Countless undead were swarming the streets, pouring into alleyways, and scaling fire escapes. There was no safe place. Even a slight lapse in running could lead to a brutal death. It was infinitely more terrifying than a horror movie.
If not for Meliodas's hyper-lethal, supersonic pebble-sniping from the rooftops, the civilians trapped in this sector would have long been slaughtered by Ainz's legion.
"We're short-handed," Meliodas complained, dusting off his hands after flicking another rock through a zombie's skull. "If only Ban were here. His Sacred Treasure is perfectly suited for clearing out this kind of weak, widespread trash."
"Eh!" Hawk squeaked, his floppy ears perking up at the mention of the name. "I can call him over!"
Using his mysterious, magical connection to the Boar Hat tavern back in Britannia, the pig focused his energy.
"Ban!" Hawk squealed at the top of his lungs. "Come and help!"
A swirling, starlight vortex suddenly flashed into existence on the rooftop.
A tall, muscular man with spiky, pale blue hair, wearing a tight red leather jacket and pants, casually stepped out of the portal.
"Captain, what's going on?" Ban asked lazily.
The newly arrived Fox Sin of Greed used his pinky finger to dig in his ear while looking around the apocalyptic skyline. The gruesome scenes of undead hordes violently attacking screaming humans on the streets below fell into his crimson eyes.
"Yo! Hisashiburi dana, Ban," Meliodas grinned, tossing him a casual wave. "Long time no see. Do me a favor and please clear this place out?"
"Tch. How annoying," Ban sighed, rolling his shoulders.
Despite his look of total disdain and boredom, Ban's body moved honestly to obey his Captain. He opened his hands, and with a flash of magical light, the Sacred Treasure—the **Holy Rod Courechouse**—manifested in his grasp.
Ban's lean body leaped high off the edge of the skyscraper. Mid-air, his hands gripped the ends of the four-section staff.
Ban swung the weapon with such terrifying, blinding speed that the holy staff blurred into a massive, glowing afterimage. Countless kinetic light-bullets and razor-sharp shockwaves were swung out from the tip of the staff, raining down on the city blocks below.
It looked as if a brilliant, lethal meteor shower of light was striking the streets.
In just a matter of moments, the hundreds of undead swarming the sector were violently shredded to dust, completely cleared out.
Such a magnificent, flashy display of power naturally did not escape the Overlord's magical senses. High above, Ainz Ooal Gown watched the man in the red jacket massacre his summons.
Ainz issued a cold order to the massive Floor Guardian standing faithfully behind him.
"Cocytus. Go and check that man's situation," Ainz commanded. "Test him out and see if he can be taken down. If not, call for support immediately."
Two streams of freezing, pale mist puffed out from the razor-sharp mandibles of Cocytus.
"UNDERSTOOD. AINZ-SAMA."
The towering, eight-foot-tall bipedal insectoid, clad in natural ice-blue armor, gripped his massive halberd. Coupled with his four arms and terrifyingly cold aura, he was a demonic fusion of war and winter, twisted to the absolute extreme.
.....
.....
.....
Support me and read advance chapters on patreon.com/ImmortalDaoWriter