Apocalypse: King of Zombies

But after what felt like forever, there was still nothing—just the sound of wind and rain swirling through the night.

”No one’s here...?” Sophia muttered, her brows furrowed as she shivered violently from the cold.

BOOM!

Suddenly, a thunderclap ripped through the sky, and a jagged bolt of lightning lit up the rain-soaked darkness. For a split second, everything turned stark white, as if the world had been drained of color.

”Who are you looking for?”

A man’s voice came out of nowhere, right by Sophia’s ear.

She jumped, heart lurching, and spun around. Somewhere behind the iron gate, a young man had appeared—she had no idea when he’d gotten there.

He was dressed sharply in a tailored suit, crisp white shirt, and a bow tie at his collar. A large black umbrella rested in his hand.

His face was pale, but striking—sharp features, deep-set eyes. Handsome, in a cold, almost unreal kind of way.

Sophia stared, stunned and speechless.

”V–Vanessa sent me,” she stammered.

”Oh. Come in, then.”

The young man smiled faintly, revealing two rows of unnaturally white, slightly pointed teeth.

Sophia’s eyes widened. Her throat tightened, and she swallowed hard, instinctively. Something about him felt... off.

The iron gate creaked open with a metallic groan, just wide enough for her to slip through.

”Welcome to Nightfang Keep,” the man said with a polite smile.

”Th–thank you,” Sophia replied, a little thrown by how courteous he was.

She stepped into the courtyard, following him as they made their way toward the looming silhouette of the castle.

As they walked, Sophia glanced around. The courtyard was beautifully maintained—flowerbeds, statues, a fountain. Everything was ornate, almost regal.

Could this really be the home of the mysterious leader of the Black Hand Legion?

Vanessa had sent her here, so it probably wasn’t a trap... right?

”Excuse me,” Sophia asked, mustering her courage, ”are you the master of this castle?”

”No,” the young man replied. ”I’m the steward of Nightfang Keep.”

Sophia nodded. That made sense—he didn’t exactly give off ”supreme leader of a shadowy organization” vibes.

They were getting closer to the castle now, and as they reached the massive front doors, the sheer scale of the place hit her. It towered above her like a mountain, making her feel small—insignificant, even.

What kind of world was hidden behind these walls?

Creaaak...

The steward closed his umbrella and pushed open the heavy doors.

A wave of warm air rolled out, brushing against Sophia’s frozen skin and making her shiver with relief.

Inside, the castle was brightly lit and lavishly decorated—old-world elegance mixed with a kind of dark grandeur.

”Follow me,” the steward said, leading the way.

”Thanks,” Sophia murmured, trailing behind him.

Now that she was out of the cold and wrapped in warmth, the tension in her shoulders began to ease. Her nerves, which had been stretched tight, started to relax.

But after a few steps, she caught a strange scent in the air—faint, metallic, and unmistakably... blood.

”What is that smell?”

”Am I just imagining things because I’m nervous?”

She frowned, unsettled, but didn’t say anything.

Soon, they entered a grand hall, the floor covered in a plush red carpet that felt oddly soft underfoot—almost too soft. It gave her the weirdest sensation, like stepping on something... squishy.

The hall was lined with tall columns, each carved with intricate patterns she couldn’t quite decipher. But what really caught her eye was the massive statue at the far end of the room—easily over twenty feet tall, nearly brushing the ceiling.

It was a giant bat, sculpted with eerie precision. Every detail was lifelike, down to the texture of its fur.

Its mouth was open in a silent snarl, two long fangs bared. Its eyes glowed a deep, menacing red, and it looked so real, so vicious, that Sophia half-expected it to leap off its pedestal and attack.

Beneath the statue, a man sat in a high-backed chair, calmly flipping through an ancient-looking book. He looked completely at ease, as if the monstrous sculpture looming above him was nothing more than a decorative piece.

”Master, someone from America has arrived,” the steward said respectfully.

The man seated beneath the towering bat statue closed the ancient tome in his hands, then casually picked up a glass filled with a deep crimson liquid. He took a slow sip, then finally lifted his head.

The moment his eyes met hers, Sophia’s heart skipped a beat. She instinctively stepped back, her gut screaming that something was very, very wrong.

The man’s face came into full view—strikingly handsome, but deathly pale, like all the blood had been drained from his skin. His eyes locked onto hers, and for a split second, they flashed a chilling shade of red.

”Not bad,” he said, voice smooth and low.

”Wh–what do you mean?” Sophia asked, her nerves tightening again. There was something unnatural about him—something cold and lifeless, colder than the storm raging outside.

”Are you... are you the supreme leader of the Black Hand Legion?” she asked, her voice barely steady.

He nodded. ”Yes.”

Then he took another sip from the glass, the red liquid catching the light.

”But you probably know me better by another name,” he added, his tone almost amused. ”Genesis Biotech prefers to call me... The Crimson Count.”

BOOM!

Right on cue, lightning split the sky outside, followed by a thunderclap so loud it shook the windows.

Sophia’s eyes went wide. She froze, completely paralyzed, like her body had turned to stone.

Then the trembling started—violent, uncontrollable. She wanted to run, to get the hell out of there, but her legs felt like they were filled with lead. They wouldn’t move.

She forced herself to push back, stumbling a few steps before collapsing to her knees on the blood-red carpet.

Just hearing that name—The Crimson Count—was enough to make her body give out.

Being the supreme leader of the Black Hand Legion was terrifying enough. That title alone struck fear into the hearts of anyone who heard it. But The Crimson Count? That was something else entirely. That name was legendary... and not in a good way.

Because it was the very first name listed in the Zombie King Files.

Sophia had once been a high-ranking executive at Genesis Biotech. She knew exactly what that meant.

Back in the early days of the apocalypse, there had been a creature—powerful, cunning, and utterly ruthless. It slaughtered humans indiscriminately, even elite Awakeners from Genesis Biotech. No one could stop it. Not even the company’s global headquarters.

So they created a file. A warning. A record of the most dangerous beings to ever walk the earth. And at the top of that list... was The Crimson Count.

He was the reason the entire Zombie King File system existed.

And now, Sophia was kneeling in his lair.

”The supreme leader of the Black Hand Legion... is a Zombie King,” she thought, her mind reeling, her thoughts spiraling into chaos.

No wonder the whole castle felt so... wrong. It wasn’t just the Black Hand Legion’s base of operations—it was his nest. The Crimson Count’s domain.

And that glass in his hand? That wasn’t wine. That was fresh human blood.

As she knelt there, trembling, Sophia’s eyes dropped to the carpet beneath her. That’s when she noticed it—tiny pores, almost like skin.

Her stomach turned.

It was skin.

The entire carpet... was made from human skin.

And not just the carpet. She looked around, her breath catching in her throat. The entire grand hall was lined with it. The walls, the upholstery, the drapes—stitched together from human flesh.

”Ahhh—!”

Sophia screamed, unable to hold it in any longer.

”Please don’t kill me! Don’t kill me! I—I came to serve you!” she cried, her voice cracking as she broke down completely.

She was shaking so hard she could barely speak, cold sweat pouring down her face. Her mind had gone blank—there was no plan, no strategy, just raw, primal fear.

It wasn’t cowardice. It was survival instinct.

Even the steward beside her raised an eyebrow, mildly impressed. Most humans couldn’t even form words in the Count’s presence, let alone beg for their lives.

The Count’s eyes stayed fixed on her, unreadable.

”Tell me,” he said at last, his voice calm and commanding. ”What’s happening in America?”

...