Apocalypse: King of Zombies

The battlefield ahead was pure chaos—zombies shrieking and roaring, the clash of combat brutal and unrelenting.

Candlewraith had made up his mind. With a swift leap, he surged forward.

His plan? Play dumb. Stick close behind Ironhorn, and when Wraithshade made his move to ambush, they’d strike together and take him out.

”I really am a genius...” Candlewraith smirked, thoroughly pleased with himself. This was the true value of a psychic-type Zombie King—not just raw power, but total battlefield control.

Up ahead, Ironhorn was still tearing through enemies like a force of nature. As one of the Voidborn Undying, his presence alone radiated crushing pressure. Every stomp of his massive foot shattered waves of zombies into pulp.

But Frostmere’s undead horde wasn’t backing down. They charged head-on, fearless and relentless.

Bloodleech, pale as bone, was slinking away while releasing swarms of parasites behind him—cowardly and slippery as ever.

”Don’t even think about running!”

Ironhorn roared, seething with rage, desperate to rip Bloodleech apart. He charged after him, pushing even farther ahead.

Candlewraith followed at a cautious distance, eyes sharp and alert.

”Where the hell is Wraithshade hiding? He should be making his move right about now…”

He scanned the area, sweeping with his psychic senses—but still, no sign of Wraithshade’s presence.

Ironhorn, meanwhile, had gone berserk. His eyes were bloodshot, and he was plowing through the zombie horde like a juggernaut, rapidly closing the gap between him and Bloodleech.

At this point, Candlewraith had no choice but to keep moving forward.

”If Wraithshade doesn’t show, taking out Bloodleech wouldn’t be a bad consolation prize…”

He was already calculating his next steps, convinced this plan was flawless.

After all, they had two Voidborn Undying on their side—overwhelming power. No matter how this played out, the advantage was theirs.

Ironhorn was just about to catch Bloodleech when—

The ground began to tremble.

BOOM... BOOM... BOOM...

Each impact came with a deep, rhythmic thud—like footsteps. Massive ones.

Candlewraith’s heart skipped a beat. He snapped his head up—and froze, eyes wide in disbelief.

On the horizon, a colossal shadow loomed, like a mountain on the move.

A suffocating aura of bloodlust rolled across the battlefield—an overwhelming presence that could only come from a creature that had slaughtered countless beings.

It was the Leviathan of the North—a deep-sea monstrosity of mythic proportions.

Its size was beyond comprehension. Just its head alone looked like an island. The rest of its body rivaled a Dreadnought-class Starcruiser in scale.

Its grotesque head was lined with tusks the size of skyscrapers. Two massive nostrils gaped like black holes, and every breath it exhaled sent the air howling, like the mournful cry of a whale.

Perched casually on the Leviathan’s nasal ridge was a figure—another Zombie King, arms crossed, two heads gazing forward. Psychic energy pulsed around him in eerie waves.

”Finally made it…” one head muttered.

”Good thing we’re not late. Big guy, dinner’s on me—buffet style.”

”Wait, what the hell? Why are there two Voidborn Undying charging into our lines?”

”...”

Wraithshade’s two heads were casually chatting with the Leviathan beneath him, like they were catching up over drinks.

”ROOOAAARRR—”

The Leviathan let out a thunderous bellow. A shockwave of air exploded upward, rippling through the sky. The sheer force of the sound made the surrounding zombies tremble uncontrollably.

It was deafening.

”Uh… what the hell…”

Candlewraith stood frozen, completely dumbstruck. The Leviathan’s massive form was reflected in his wide, terrified eyes.

And then he felt it—a psychic presence locking onto him, coiling around his mind like a predator ready to strike.

It was dangerous. Lethal.

And the Leviathan wasn’t slowing down. It was charging straight into the battlefield—fast.

Frostmere’s zombie horde had been ready for this—they scattered the moment the tremors hit, clearing a path in every direction.

Everyone except Ironhorn.

He stood frozen in place, staring up, eyes wide with disbelief.

With a thunderous roar, the Leviathan raised one massive claw and brought it crashing down.

Its shadow swallowed the sky.

Ironhorn was instantly engulfed in darkness.

BOOOOM!

The Leviathan’s claw slammed into the ground like a meteor strike, carving a massive canyon into the earth. As the undisputed king of the deep sea, its power was easily SSS-tier. And with a body like that—skin thicker than bedrock—its combat strength was off the charts.

Ironhorn took the hit head-on, smashed deep into the ground. Moments later, he clawed his way out of the rubble, glancing around at the devastation. Everything was wrecked—cracked earth, shattered stone, and even wisps of white-hot mist hissing up from the fissures.

And looming in front of him, the Leviathan still stood tall—like a living mountain, radiating pure pressure.

”You… where the hell did you get a deep-sea monster like that?” Ironhorn asked, stunned.

”What, you thought I went into hiding in the Northern Seas just to sit on my ass?” Wraithshade replied coolly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Ever since he’d disappeared into the Endless Sea, Wraithshade hadn’t been idle. He’d made a powerful new friend—The Leviathan of the North.

The beast had expressed interest in seeing the surface world, and Wraithshade had been more than happy to play tour guide.

So he brought it straight to the Heartland battlefield.

”But you two… you’ve got some serious balls, charging this far in. You’re practically begging to die,” Wraithshade growled, his voice raspy and cold.

Candlewraith and Ironhorn glanced behind them—and their hearts sank.

They’d been tearing through the battlefield like gods among corpses, relying on their Voidborn Undying strength. But their zombie underlings hadn’t been able to keep up. They were completely cut off.

Now, the two of them were stranded—deep in enemy territory, surrounded by Frostmere’s horde.

Candlewraith looked utterly lost. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. ”Wait… you weren’t hiding? You were supposed to be lying in ambush! What the hell is this?”

”Me? Ambush?” Wraithshade blinked, genuinely confused. ”Dude, I showed up late because this big guy walks slow. When Bloodleech got spotted, I was worried we wouldn’t make it in time.”

”You…” Candlewraith opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Everything he’d planned for had gone completely sideways.

And now, they were in deep shit.

”Ironhorn, we’ve gotta fight our way back!” he barked, snapping into action.

”Got it!” Ironhorn growled, spinning around to charge back the way they came.

But Wraithshade wasn’t about to let them escape that easily. His psychic energy surged, dark and twisted, like a swarm of vengeful spirits screaming through the air. They lunged at the two Voidborn Undying with deadly intent.

Candlewraith, no slouch himself, unleashed his own psychic force. The two powers collided mid-air, crackling and writhing like a storm of shadows.

They were evenly matched—two titans locked in a mental war.

But then the Leviathan raised its claw again.

And brought it down like a living Starbreaker Cannon.

BOOOOM!

Neither Ironhorn nor Candlewraith could dodge in time. The impact slammed them both into the fractured earth, sending debris flying in every direction.

Back in the Heartland lines, their zombie troops howled in fury, desperate to rush forward and help their fallen leaders.

But Frostmere’s undead were already surging in, ferocious and unrelenting.

At the front of the charge was Wraithshade’s other brother—Hexarm.

A brutal warrior with six arms and SS+ level strength, he’d already taken down multiple SS-tier Zombie Kings.

”You wanna get through here? You’ll have to go through me first!”

Hexarm roared, all six arms swinging in a blur, creating afterimages as he tore through the enemy. Zombies were sent flying, crushed, or shattered with every blow.

The battle had reached a fever pitch—both sides locked in a savage, no-holds-barred slaughter.

Above it all, Wraithshade stood atop the Leviathan, launching psychic attacks like lightning bolts, his Voidborn Undying aura blanketing the battlefield.

He looked to the distance—toward the mist-shrouded Origin Mountain.

The sacred place all zombies dreamed of reaching.

And in that moment, his resolve hardened.

He would stand at the summit.

No matter what it took.

...