Apocalypse: King of Zombies

”Shit! It was a trap!”

Gorthas’s expression darkened as he realized too late—what he’d dodged was just an illusion.

Ethan had baited him, playing to his strengths and exploiting Gorthas’s blind spot.

With a surge of blood-red energy erupting from his fists, Ethan unleashed his [Blood Rite] ability at full throttle.

His aura flared, more intense than ever.

Then—he struck. A brutal punch aimed straight at the back of Gorthas’s skull.

Gorthas felt the air around him freeze, a razor-sharp chill crawling down his spine. Every pore on his body screamed in pain, like needles stabbing into his skin.

In a split-second panic, he lunged forward, trying to escape.

BAM!

Ethan’s punch missed the mark by a hair—but still landed squarely on Gorthas’s upper back.

A sickening crack echoed through the air. His chest bulged grotesquely as a torrent of black blood burst from his throat.

His body was launched forward like a ragdoll, slamming into the ground with a thunderous crash. The impact carved a massive crater into the earth, spiderweb cracks radiating outward.

One hit—and Gorthas was wrecked.

”Damn it!”

His hair hung in wild tangles, his gaunt face twisted in agony. Torn clothes revealed patches of hardened skin and a few scattered scales.

No doubt about it—he was an SSS+ fusion-type Zombie King. Whatever Primordial Beast he’d merged with was impossible to identify now, its traits buried under layers of extreme evolution.

Just as Gorthas began to recover, he felt Ethan’s presence closing in fast. Panic surged through him. He whipped his head around—

And saw Ethan, dressed in white, holding something in his hand. It glowed with a fierce, radiant light, pulsing with strange energy.

”You wanted this, right? Well, here—take it!” Ethan swung his arm in a wide arc, hurling the Star Map tablet straight at Gorthas’s face.

Right to the face—textbook move.

Gorthas had already been outmatched. Now, injured and sluggish, he couldn’t even react in time.

He took the hit full-on.

The impact exploded like a falling star.

BOOM!

Gorthas’s body was insanely tough—his skull didn’t shatter, but it twisted grotesquely under the blow. His jagged fangs shattered, flying out in all directions.

The force of the strike sent him flying, his body flung through the air in a wide arc before crashing down like a sack of broken bones.

He hit the ground hard, unmoving.

His injuries had worsened. His regeneration slowed to a crawl. Thick, black blood oozed from the corner of his mouth.

He was done. Completely out of the fight.

From a tactical standpoint, Ethan’s assassination plan had worked. He’d taken out a Deathless Sovereign before the final battle even began.

But Ethan didn’t stop.

He kept walking forward, determined to finish it—once and for all. To end the grudge that had haunted him for so long.

Gorthas lay sprawled on the ground, staring at the dirt beneath him. His face was a mess of blood and torn flesh—but somehow, he was smiling.

”Lucky me,” he rasped. ”Looks like... I’m not dying today.”

Then, with a sudden burst of motion, he slammed one clawed hand into the ground, channeling every last drop of energy he had left into it.

The earth beneath him began to shimmer with golden light, pulsing with a strange, ancient power. The air vibrated, humming like a storm about to break.

The ground trembled harder and harder.

Ethan froze mid-step, eyes narrowing. Something was happening.

Beneath Gorthas, glowing runes lit up one by one. They slithered across the ground like glowing tadpoles, spreading in every direction.

VMMMM—!

The air let out a low, mournful wail as massive golden barriers erupted from the earth, towering up like walls of light.

They surrounded Gorthas completely—like a divine shield, sealing him inside.

”There’s something like this?”

Ethan raised an eyebrow, eyes narrowing as he studied the glowing runes. The barrier they formed looked eerily familiar—almost a perfect replica of humanity’s Skywall, down to the last detail.

”Hahaha! Did you forget? I’m a master of runes too!” Gorthas burst into manic laughter, his voice hoarse and wild.

Over the years, aside from boosting his own power, he’d thrown himself into the study of runic arts. After countless sleepless nights carving and refining, he’d constructed multiple layers of defensive barriers.

Originally, they were meant as a last resort—to hold back the Zombie Horde if things ever spiraled out of control.

He never expected they’d end up saving his own ass.

Gorthas was confident. Even with Ethan’s monstrous strength, these rune barriers were no joke. There was no way he could break through them in time.

Soon, Nightwraith and the others would arrive. Once they did, he’d be in the clear...

The golden glow from the runes lit up the entire area, casting long shadows across the battlefield.

Ethan stared at the barrier, his gaze sharp. ”You pick that up from the Dreadnought-class Starcruiser we captured?”

Gorthas blinked, surprised. ”How’d you know that?” A flicker of unease crossed his face. Could Ethan know runes too?

”Just scratched the surface,” Ethan replied casually, stepping toward the barrier.

With each step, a faint golden shimmer began to pulse from his body. Under his pale skin, intricate patterns flickered—runes of his own, hidden until now.

As he reached the barrier, he didn’t slow down.

And then—he walked right through it.

No resistance. No pushback. Like stepping into a pool of still water.

One by one, Ethan passed through the layers of golden barriers, completely unhindered.

Gorthas’s bloodied face froze.

He stared, wide-eyed, like he’d just seen a ghost.

”What... what the hell is this?”

The barriers he’d spent decades crafting—his ultimate failsafe—meant nothing. They didn’t even slow Ethan down.

In seconds, the man in white was standing right in front of him, towering over him like a god about to pass judgment.

”You can go join your little army in hell,” Ethan said coldly, raising the Star Map tablet high.

”Wait—!” Gorthas’s voice cracked with panic.

But Ethan didn’t hesitate. The tablet blazed with radiant light, ready to come crashing down.

Then—BOOM.

A wave of pressure surged from the distance. A powerful psychic force slammed into the rune barrier, making it hum and flicker, the golden light pulsing erratically.

A Deathless Sovereign had arrived.

”Nightwraith! Help me!” Gorthas shouted, desperation bleeding into his voice.

Ethan turned his head.

A young man had appeared just outside the barrier, seemingly out of thin air. His face was cold, his eyes sharp as blades.

”Hey. That’s enough,” Nightwraith said flatly, his tone more command than request.

He’d been the closest to Gorthas’s territory, which was why he’d arrived first.

Anyone at the level of a Deathless Sovereign had terrifying sensory range. And clearly, Nightwraith wasn’t the only one who’d picked up on the disturbance.

From the direction of the Origin Mountain, another presence surged forward—powerful, unmistakable.

Moments later, a woman appeared.

She was stunning—flawless features, ethereal beauty—but her eyes glinted with something dark, something twisted.

Lilith.

One of the infamous ”Five Sovereigns of the Heartland.”

She frowned slightly as she studied Ethan, a flicker of surprise in her expression.

”You... actually dared to come here?”

”You guys showed up faster than I expected,” Ethan said, sweeping his gaze across the gathering Sovereigns. He’d known from the start that killing Gorthas would blow his cover. This wasn’t a surprise.

And yet... he wasn’t done.

Because aside from Nightwraith and Lilith, Ethan could sense another presence—silent, hidden, but even more dangerous.

Stronger than both of them.

”Since you’re already here,” Ethan said, voice calm, ”why keep hiding?”

Right on cue, the shadows beside Lilith twisted and condensed, forming into a humanoid shape.

A man stepped forward, cloaked in black. His features were sharp, regal, and his eyes radiated authority—like a king who feared nothing.

He stood in stark contrast to Ethan’s white-clad figure.

For a moment, the two locked eyes.

And the air between them crackled—like lightning waiting to strike.

...