Apocalypse: King of Zombies

”No! Dad… I swear I saw her smiling at me!” Naomi cried, her brows furrowed tight with fear.

”It’s okay, sweetheart. We’re leaving right now,” Hiro said, pulling his daughter into his arms. He gently stroked her hair, trying to calm her down.

”Mm-hmm…” Naomi nodded, but the unease in her eyes didn’t fade.

Just then, a faint pink mist began to drift out from deep within the forest, light and gauzy like silk, slowly wrapping around the group.

A sweet, almost intoxicating fragrance filled the air, slipping into their noses.

”What’s that smell? It’s… really nice.”

”Probably just wildflowers from the woods.”

”Yeah… smells kinda amazing…”

”…”

Everyone started murmuring, caught off guard by the sudden freshness. After living so long in the stench of blood and decay, the scent of flowers felt like a breath of life—like hope blooming in the middle of the apocalypse.

Even Naomi felt her nerves settle a little as the scent washed over her.

But then—crack.

A sharp, brittle sound came from the ground nearby, like something breaking. Naomi’s head snapped in that direction, and her eyes widened in horror.

Because right where the old memorial photo had been placed… a pale, withered hand was reaching out from inside the frame.

”Dad… look!”

Hiro and the others turned at once, having heard it too—and their faces went pale.

From the photo frame, an entire arm had emerged. Then a shoulder. And then… the old woman’s head, her face twisted into that same eerie smile they’d seen before.

”What the hell…”

Hiro’s eyes went wide. A chill shot down his spine, his scalp tingling as pure terror gripped him. He could barely breathe.

The old woman’s body cracked and popped grotesquely, like her bones were folding in on themselves. She was squeezing her entire form out of the tiny frame, like some kind of contortionist from hell.

”What kind of monster is this?!”

Hiro’s instincts kicked in. His jaw clenched, and with a metallic hiss, he drew his katana in one swift motion.

”Shing—!”

The blade sliced through the air and struck the old woman cleanly, tearing a deep gash across her torso. Her body jerked back and collapsed.

”Run!”

Hiro grabbed Naomi’s hand and bolted.

The others didn’t need to be told twice. Panic surged through the group as they scrambled to flee the graveyard, glancing back over their shoulders as they ran.

The old woman wasn’t getting up.

”Is… is she dead?” someone asked breathlessly.

Hiro didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure. She hadn’t felt alive to begin with.

But something told him this wasn’t over.

Could they really escape?

…

Elsewhere, Ethan had followed the trail to the edge of the forest. One look, and he knew something was off.

A faint, almost invisible layer of pink dust floated in the air between the trees.

With his sharp eyes, Ethan could see it clearly.

”Pollen…?”

But it wasn’t just that. Mixed in with the floral particles was a familiar, unsettling presence—the aura of a Zombie King.

A plant-type one, by the feel of it.

Ethan narrowed his eyes. ”So, a Zombie King that’s fused with plant matter…”

This forest wasn’t far from San Diego—kind of like the sprawling woodlands on the outskirts of L.A.

It could be guarded by something like Lil’ Shroom… or Sprout.

Either way, that pollen wasn’t harmless. It could be a vector for infection—or a weapon.

Ethan had no intention of letting it touch him.

Mostly because it would ruin his clothes.

But for him, it was no big deal. He released a faint pulse of his Domain of the Dead, just enough to create a barrier that kept the pollen at bay.

Then, he stepped into the forest.

The Japanese Awakeners had left plenty of footprints behind—scattered, frantic. It was obvious they’d been running for their lives.

Looks like the Zombie King had already found them.

...

Ethan stepped into the forest, following the trail of human footprints that cut through the underbrush. His pace was steady, eyes sharp, scanning every detail.

A few minutes in, a faint metallic tang hit his nose.

”Someone’s already dead,” he muttered, not exactly thrilled by the news.

If the others had already been eaten, that meant he’d be stuck with just the Zombie King for dinner… and that wasn’t ideal.

He picked up his pace, heading straight for the scene of the kill.

The forest was thick with vegetation, shafts of sunlight piercing through the canopy in scattered beams, casting a surreal glow over everything. It was almost dreamlike—if dreams came with a side of dread.

But the silence was what really stood out. Not a single mutated beast. Not even a birdcall.

Ethan had seen this before.

When a forest goes dead quiet, it means one thing: a top-tier predator has claimed the territory.

Soon, the trees began to thin out, and ahead, the ground rose into a series of mounds. Stone markers jutted from the earth—an old cemetery, half-swallowed by the woods.

The air here was thick with pollen, and beneath it, the unmistakable scent of blood.

Ethan glanced down.

Not far ahead, a black-and-white memorial photo lay on the ground, smudged with fingerprints—someone had touched it recently. The image was of an elderly woman, her face deeply wrinkled, expression solemn.

Next to the photo, a body.

A young Japanese man, judging by his clothes. But his shoulder was grotesquely swollen, a tumor the size of his head bulging from the flesh—ugly, misshapen, and clearly unnatural.

A deep gash split his chest wide open, katana-inflicted, the wound so deep it exposed bone. He was long gone.

His eyes were still wide open, frozen in a look of pure terror and despair.

But what really caught Ethan’s attention were the flowers.

Tiny pink blossoms had begun to sprout from the corpse—delicate, vibrant, and in full bloom.

The contrast was jarring: the soft, innocent flowers growing from a body twisted in horror. It was grotesque. Surreal.

Anyone else stumbling on this scene would’ve been freaked the hell out.

The whole forest had that same eerie, off-kilter vibe—like something was deeply wrong beneath the surface.

But Ethan? He didn’t even flinch.

He knew exactly what he was looking at.

This was his domain. No one understood mutated flora like he did.

And this… this was way too similar to Lil’ Shroom’s parasitic tumors.

Still, something didn’t add up.

The chest wound—it was clearly made by a human blade.

”Why would they kill one of their own?”

It wasn’t hard to guess. The Zombie King here was manipulating things from the shadows. But the exact method? Still unclear.

Ethan kept moving.

The trail of footprints continued, even more erratic now—people had been running, panicked, stumbling over themselves to get away.

After leaving the cemetery, the forest gave way to open land. He crossed through the last stretch of trees and emerged at the edge of an overgrown farmland.

Weeds choked the fields, and without the trees to block the view, the landscape opened up wide.

At the far end of the field stood a few crumbling buildings—old farmhouses, probably used by workers before the world went to hell.

But the pollen had followed them here too, like ghostly fingers stretching out from the forest, curling around the buildings like they were claiming them.

Inside, Ethan could sense it—human presence. Strong.

Hiro and the others had clearly bolted straight out of the woods and into the nearest shelter they could find. They hadn’t even hesitated.

Now, huddled inside, they were still shaken, trying to process everything they’d just been through.

First, the crash.

Then, stumbling into a nest of corpses.

Barely escaping that, only to run into… whatever the hell that thing was.

Hiro sat against the wall, breathing hard, sweat clinging to his skin.

”There’s no safe place left,” he muttered, voice low and bitter.

”This place is just too damn dangerous.”

…