Apocalypse: King of Zombies

Ragnar’s massive frame slammed down onto the mountaintop, the sheer force of his landing cracking the ground beneath him. Shards of rock exploded outward, tumbling down the slopes.

He glanced down the mountainside—and sure enough, there they were. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of Xenobeasts lurking in the shadows. Hulking bodies, claws like scythes, mouths packed with razor-sharp fangs. Their eyes—each the size of a baseball—glowed with a savage, bloodthirsty light.

Carrion Reavers. A whole damn swarm of them.

The moment they caught the scent of a zombie, they stirred. Thousands of glowing red eyes snapped toward him in unison.

”Raaaargh!”

A guttural roar tore through the air, and the entire horde surged upward, scrambling toward the summit. Their twisted faces were locked in snarls, their movements wild and frenzied. The air itself seemed to hum with the promise of violence.

To Ragnar, it looked like a legion of demons clawing their way out of hell.

But he didn’t flinch. Not even a little.

”Hiding out here, huh? Thought you could get away from me?”

He raised a fist and slammed it into the ground.

BOOM.

The mountain shook with the impact. The raw, overwhelming power of an SSS-class Zombie King tore through the rock like paper. The peak crumbled beneath him, sending a cascade of boulders crashing down the slope.

Screams erupted from below as the avalanche crushed dozens of Carrion Reavers. Some were flattened outright, others tumbled off the cliff’s edge, their bodies mangled and broken.

Snout had once joked that a fall like that would knock out at least two teeth. Looked like he was right.

Still, a few of the higher-tier beasts—S-class, no doubt—moved with terrifying agility. They dodged the falling debris, some even leaping from rock to rock, using the momentum to launch themselves higher up the mountain.

”Well damn,” Ragnar muttered, watching them close in. ”Didn’t expect this many elites.”

One of them got too close.

Ragnar swung.

His punch landed like a wrecking ball. The Carrion Reaver exploded on impact—flesh, bone, and blood mist bursting outward in a wet pop. A crystal core shot out from the remains, spinning through the air.

”Jackpot,” Ragnar grinned, eyes gleaming. ”Looks like it’s payday.”

He kept swinging, tearing through the monsters like a living storm. Each kill was clean, brutal, efficient.

But then—something shifted.

Behind him, a shadow loomed. Massive. Silent. Towering like a small mountain. Two glowing red eyes pierced the darkness like twin searchlights. Its mouth opened, revealing rows of jagged teeth, each one gleaming with saliva.

The monstrous face emerged from the gloom.

The Lord of the Carrion Reavers.

Its body secreted a strange fluid that masked its scent—perfect for sneaking up on zombies. And Ragnar, caught up in the thrill of the fight, hadn’t noticed a thing.

The beast crept forward like a predator on the hunt, low to the ground, muscles coiled tight. It was less than sixty feet away when it struck.

With a sudden lunge, it launched itself into the air, claws outstretched, aiming straight for the back of Ragnar’s skull.

It was going for the kill.

But Ragnar wasn’t just any zombie—he was The Voidborn Undying. And his instincts were razor-sharp.

He felt the air shift behind him, a sudden gust of pressure.

He spun around just in time to see the massive shadow bearing down on him, claws gleaming, inches away.

”Another sneak attack? Really?”

He barely had time to raise his arm in defense.

CRACK!

The impact was thunderous. The Lord of the Carrion Reavers hit like a freight train. Its SSS-class strength was no joke. Ragnar’s body was hurled backward, smashing through several boulders before tumbling off the cliff’s edge.

Darkness swallowed him whole.

Below the mountain, the abyss echoed with snarls and screeches. The sound of countless Xenobeasts waiting in the shadows. A full-blown monster nest.

Ragnar hit the ground hard. Pain flared through his body, but he forced himself up, scanning the area.

And froze.

All around him—dozens, maybe hundreds—of Carrion Reaver heads turned toward him. Eyes gleaming. Jaws twitching.

Everywhere he looked, enemies.

”…Shit.”

His expression tightened. Something was off. Way off.

This wasn’t just a random ambush.

Something bigger was going on here.

Pain shot through Ragnar’s arm—sharp, sudden. One of the Carrion Reavers had sunk its jaws into him, its bite force easily in the tens of tons. But his body, forged in the abyss, was far too tough. Its fangs couldn’t pierce deep enough.

With a snarl, Ragnar clenched his fist and let loose a surge of raw energy. The beast’s skull shattered like glass, spraying bone and gore in every direction.

He scrambled to his feet, but the onslaught didn’t stop. More Reavers came at him, wave after wave, their snarling maws and slashing claws blotting out his vision.

”What the hell is this place?”

His jaw clenched, fangs bared. The fury of an SSS-class Zombie King erupted from within him. He swung his fists, slashed with his claws, tearing through the monsters like a living meat grinder.

But then—he looked up.

Perched at the edge of the cliff above, a massive shadow crouched low. Two glowing red eyes stared down at him, unblinking.

The sight sent a chill down even Ragnar’s spine.

And then—it leapt.

The Lord of the Carrion Reavers launched itself from the cliff, a hulking mass of muscle and death, diving straight for him.

Ragnar tried to dodge, but the swarm around him wouldn’t let up. He barely had time to crush a few more Reavers before the Lord came crashing down.

BOOM!

The impact cratered the ground. Dust and debris exploded outward. Ragnar was caught directly beneath the beast, pinned under its massive weight.

The Lord roared, its claws slashing down again and again. Ragnar raised his arms to block, but the talons tore through his skin, black blood spraying across the dirt.

The pain only fueled his rage.

With a guttural roar, Ragnar lashed out, punching back with everything he had. The two titans rolled across the ground, locked in a brutal, primal struggle. Claws raked. Fists slammed. Blood flew.

”Damn it!”

Ragnar gritted his teeth, fury burning in his eyes. He’d walked right into a death trap. The place was crawling with monsters—and now he was pinned down by their alpha.

If this kept up, he might actually die here.

He planted both feet against the Lord’s gut and kicked with all his might. The beast’s massive body was launched into the air, crashing into a pile of boulders.

Ragnar sprang to his feet and backed off fast, trying to put some distance between them.

But the Reavers kept coming. Clawing. Snarling. Biting. They wouldn’t let him go.

”What the hell do I do now?”

Then—movement.

Up on a rocky outcrop above, a familiar figure stood watching. A fellow Zombie King. Vulturea.

The one who’d led him here.

Relief surged through Ragnar. He immediately sent out a signal.

”Go! Find Bloodveil! Bring everyone here—now!”

But Vulturea didn’t move.

She just stared at him, cold and expressionless. And then—her aura shifted. The hostility she’d been hiding flared to the surface.

Without a word, she raised her arm—and it began to change. Swelling. Warping. Transforming into a thick, muscular tentacle nearly as long as she was tall.

It lashed out, straight for Ragnar.

”What the—?!”

His eyes widened in shock.

She was an Overmind Queen?

The realization hit like a thunderclap. He hadn’t seen this coming at all.

Before he could react, the tentacle wrapped around him, coiling tight. Both of them were SSS-class, but her grip was something else—slick, sinuous, and crushing. Like being caught in the coils of a giant serpent. No matter how hard he struggled, he couldn’t break free.

He thrashed, muscles straining, trying to tear himself loose.

But then—another presence.

A wave of killing intent slammed into him from the front.

The Lord of the Carrion Reavers had closed the distance again, taking advantage of his helplessness. It raised one claw, gleaming and deadly, and drove it straight toward Ragnar’s skull.

He twisted his head at the last second.

SHNK!

The claw punched through his right chest, ripping clean through. Blood gushed from the wound, dark and thick, pouring down his side.

”Got you now,” the Lord hissed, its voice a guttural growl in his mind.

Its grotesque face loomed inches from his own, eyes gleaming with triumph. Then it opened its jaws wide, fangs dripping, and lunged for his throat—

…