Apocalypse: King of Zombies

Ragnar narrowed his eyes, scanning the battlefield with a slow, confident sweep. Sizing up the crowd, he didn’t see anyone who looked like real competition. He turned to Bloodveil with a smirk. ”Looks like… if a high-grade crystal core shows up, it’s just gonna be you and me splitting it again.”

Bloodveil gave a polite smile, still playing the humble card. ”Nah, as long as we can drive the Xenobeasts out of Eastreach, I’m more than satisfied.”

”Hahahahaha! Great—then I’ll just take the whole damn thing!” Ragnar bellowed with a booming laugh.

The last sliver of red light on the horizon was fading fast.

Nightfall was coming—and with it, the slaughter.

The undead horde was practically vibrating with bloodlust, their killing intent rising like steam off a boiling pot. They were ready. More than ready.

Ethan had a clear read on the situation now. Sure, zombies might kill each other under normal circumstances, but when it came to fighting Xenobeasts, they stood united. Same species, same enemy.

But that didn’t mean they weren’t still rivals. Everyone wanted those high-grade crystal cores.

Bloodveil might look like a smooth-talking diplomat, but Ethan wasn’t fooled. That guy was sharp, calculating, and when it came to real stakes, he’d fight harder than anyone. That’s how he became Overlord of Eastreach in the first place.

Not that it mattered to Ethan.

Because no one—no one—knew how to snatch a crystal core better than he did.

The suns finally dipped below the horizon. Darkness blanketed the land. The glow of countless undead eyes lit up the night, and the air was thick with killing intent.

”Move out!”

Bloodveil’s command rang out like a war horn.

The Zombie Horde erupted with a deafening roar, shaking the mountains and rattling the earth.

There were so many of them that the front lines had to break off and charge ahead first, creating space before the rest followed. It was like a tidal wave of death, crashing forward with unstoppable momentum.

Their bloodlust churned in the night sky like a black storm cloud. They looked like demons from the pits of hell, surging across the land.

This wasn’t just a skirmish—it was war. A real one. And it could last for days, maybe even weeks.

The vanguard zombies were fast and agile, elite units with B- to A-rank strength. They had evolved intelligence, which made them better at identifying parasitic monsters hiding among the Xenobeasts.

With the vanguard leading the charge, the Zombie Horde swept across Eastreach like a plague. Any stray monsters in their path were torn apart and devoured on the spot.

They moved like a swarm of locusts—nothing survived in their wake.

Before long, they reached the first fallen zombie nest. The moment they arrived, they stirred the hornet’s nest.

From within the towering ruins came a shrill, piercing screech. Then, wave after wave of grotesque creatures burst out—tentacles flailing, eyes glowing with malice.

They poured from cracks in the stone, from behind crumbling walls, from every shadow and crevice—like a cup overflowing with filth.

In the blink of an eye, the battlefield was crawling with them. Hundreds of thousands. Maybe millions.

”CHARGE!”

The zombies didn’t hesitate. If anything, the sight of so many enemies only made them more frenzied. They picked up speed, howling as they ran.

And then—impact.

The two monstrous tides collided.

They slammed into each other with bone-crunching force. Zombies tackled and bit, parasitic monsters lashed out with tentacles. Some were impaled, others torn limb from limb. In places, the bodies piled so high they formed grotesque hills of flesh and bone.

Some of the brute-type Zombie Kings took the lead, smashing through both friend and foe alike, clearing paths with sheer force. Anything in their way—zombie or monster—was sent flying.

”Boss, it’s on!” Hammerhead called out from the rear, craning his neck to see over the chaos.

”Let ’em fight,” Ethan said casually, glancing over. He noticed Ragnar and Bloodveil weren’t moving either. None of the top-tier Zombie Kings had joined the fray yet.

They weren’t about to waste energy on cannon fodder.

The frontlines were a mess—zombie roars and monster shrieks filled the air, bodies flew through the sky, and blood rained down like a storm, soaking the ground in a foul, sticky red.

The violence only fueled the madness. Both sides were in a frenzy now, completely unhinged. They didn’t care about wounds or pain—just tearing into the enemy, ripping off chunks of flesh with every bite.

”Why’s it all low-tier trash? Not even a single commander?” Ragnar muttered, arms crossed, his sharp eyes narrowing.

To him, this wasn’t even worth watching. A battle like this didn’t deserve the attention of someone as ”noble” as an SSS-rank Zombie King.

Bloodveil smiled calmly. ”No need to rush. With a swarm this massive, there’s bound to be at least one or two commanders hiding in the mix.”

Right now, the zombies clearly had the upper hand. They were like a tidal wave, crashing through the monster horde and scattering them like leaves in a storm.

The vanguard had already pushed deep into the fallen zombie nest, on the verge of wiping out the remaining creatures and reclaiming lost ground.

But then—

A piercing shriek tore through the air from the side of the nest, echoing up from a pitch-black fissure in the earth. The sound was so sharp it felt like it could rip through eardrums.

Suddenly, a fresh wave of monsters came pouring out of the crack like ants from a nest.

Parasitic monsters surged upward in a writhing mass, like a geyser of flesh and limbs.

”There’s more of them! With me—charge!”

An S-rank brute-type Zombie King roared, his massive frame barreling forward as he led his crew into the fray.

But almost immediately, the ground began to tremble—deep, rhythmic, like the heartbeat of something ancient and monstrous. Cracks spiderwebbed outward from the fissure, splitting the earth beneath the charging zombies.

Many of them stumbled and fell, thrown off balance by the sudden quake.

Something huge was coming.

Then—BOOM!

Chunks of stone exploded into the air as a massive tentacle burst from the ground.

It was colossal—nearly 300 feet tall and thick enough that it would take five or six zombies linking arms just to wrap around it.

It rose like a pillar to the heavens, a grotesque monument of flesh and muscle.

The brute-type Zombie King who had led the charge barely had time to react before the tentacle whipped around and coiled around him—then crushed him like a soda can.

The tentacle slammed down, sweeping across the battlefield like a giant scythe. It plowed through the Zombie Horde, grinding them into pulp.

Screams filled the air as dozens—maybe hundreds—of zombies were shredded, flung into the sky, or flattened into the dirt.

Where the tentacle passed, it left behind a wide swath of devastation—nothing but mangled limbs and shattered bodies. The carnage was overwhelming.

”Now that’s more like it. This one’s mine.”

Ragnar’s eyes gleamed with savage delight. He could tell right away—this was a commander-class parasitic monster. At least SS-rank.

In a blur, he launched himself forward like a hurricane, his massive frame moving with shocking speed.

”This bastard’s mine!” he shouted.

Bloodveil didn’t move, just watched with a faint smile. ”Be my guest…”

Ragnar’s muscles bulged, his body radiating raw, violent energy. He cocked his fist back—and then slammed it into the tentacle with the force of a volcanic eruption.

The impact was brutal.

The tentacle, which had just been mowing down zombies like grass, suddenly jerked to a halt. Flesh exploded. Muscle tore. The entire thing snapped in half with a sickening crack, chunks of meat flying through the air as blood rained down.

”SKREEEEEE—!”

A shriek of agony echoed from deep within the fissure.

The ground trembled again—harder this time. Two more tentacles erupted from the earth, lashing out like giant pincers, aiming to crush Ragnar from both sides.

He just grinned. ”That all you got?”

But before the tentacles could reach him, a wave of crimson light surged through the air.

Streams of blood—thick, writhing like serpents—shot forward and coiled around the tentacles. The blood hissed on contact, eating through the flesh like acid.

Smoke rose. The tentacles sizzled, then snapped apart, chunks falling to the ground in steaming, twitching pieces.

”Huh?”

Ragnar narrowed his eyes and turned.

Bloodveil stood nearby, his hands dripping with glowing red blood—the source of the corrosive attack.

”I figured I’d lend a hand…” he said smoothly, his voice calm, almost amused.

…