Apocalypse: King of Zombies

Even Bloodveil and the other high-ranking zombies couldn’t help but feel a flicker of awe. They hadn’t expected the human reinforcements to flip the entire battle on its head.

And Claire? No question—she was the MVP of the eastern front.

Truth be told, Bloodveil and his fellow zombie overlords had always looked down on humans. To them, humans were weak, cowardly—nothing more than prey. Meat on legs.

But now? That image had been shattered.

Bloodveil narrowed his eyes, staring toward Heartland. Claire stood there in her flowing blue battle robe, long hair dancing in the wind, her pale skin glowing under the blood-red sky. Her profile was sharp, striking.

Surrounded by hordes of zombies—even facing off against a Deathless Sovereign—she stood tall, unshaken. Unafraid.

”Gotta admit,” Bloodveil muttered, almost to himself, ”that Claire’s still got it.”

”Uh…”

The Zombie Kings around him all froze, turning to stare at him like he’d just grown a second head.

After a long pause, one of the younger ones blurted out, ”Boss… she’s not even our species.”

”Oh, shut up,” Bloodveil snapped. ”I’m going to help her.”

Before anyone could respond, his mutated blood surged around him, and he launched himself forward like a crimson missile.

Claire’s duel with Nerissa had drawn the attention of Heartland’s elite. Several of the Voidborn Undying enforcers had begun pulling back to reinforce their Sovereign, hoping to eliminate the biggest threat first.

Among them was a short, wiry Zombie King—one of Heartland’s top-tier psychics.

He was just about to rejoin the fight when a crushing pressure slammed into him from behind. A wave of dread washed over him.

”You think you can just melt my aircraft and walk away?”

Bloodveil’s voice was low and deadly. His aura exploded outward, and with it, Bloodtide Domain unfurled—an endless sea of blood that swallowed the psychic zombie whole.

The psychic King panicked, unleashing a burst of mental energy to push back.

But Bloodveil wasn’t just some grunt. He might not be on the same level as a Deathless Sovereign, but as the Overlord of Eastreach, he was no pushover. And with his domain awakened, bullying a single enforcer was child’s play.

The psychic’s defenses crumbled. His mental energy shattered like glass, and the blood sea surged in, drowning him in corrosive crimson.

”AAARGH—!”

His scream tore through the battlefield, raw and agonized.

Back near Claire, two more figures suddenly appeared at her side—the heads of the other two human families. Reinforcements had arrived.

The three of them had fought together decades ago. Their synergy was flawless, their movements instinctive. Even facing a Deathless Sovereign, they didn’t flinch. In fact, there was a glint of excitement in their eyes—like old warriors reliving their glory days.

Real fighters never fear battle.

And now, the war had reached its boiling point.

The once-dominant Heartland zombie horde was being pushed back hard under the relentless assault of human tech and tactics.

The more dangerous SS- and SS+-class Zombie Kings? Ricky and Aria were handling them with ease.

Both were freakishly talented—borderline SSS-class in combat ability. Against anyone below that level, they were practically untouchable.

With the older generation holding the front, the younger ones had room to shine.

The tide of war had shifted.

Above, the massive Dreadnought-class Starcruiser continued its slow, unstoppable advance. Below, hundreds of thousands of Eastreach zombies charged forward, trampling everything in their path.

As the battle raged on, more and more humans and zombies broke through the front lines, storming into Heartland territory.

Fueled by momentum and morale, they fought harder, faster, stronger.

Nerissa’s fangs clenched tight. She could feel it—things were slipping out of control. The battle was turning against them on every front.

She’d counted on Heartland’s superior high-tier combatants to give them the edge.

But now? One of her elite Voidborn Undying was being tortured by Bloodveil.

And the human Dreadnought-class Starcruiser was getting dangerously close.

Every few minutes, it would finish charging and unleash another devastating blast from its Starbreaker Cannon—each shot carving a hole through their defenses.

Nerissa’s mind raced, panic creeping in.

Without Endless here… we really might not be able to stop them.

”...”

While the eastern front surged forward, pushing ever closer to The Origin Mountain with overwhelming momentum, the western battlefield was a blood-soaked hellscape—chaotic, brutal, and unforgiving.

Only the north, toward Frostmere, remained eerily quiet.

But the Heartland’s zombie forces stationed there didn’t dare let their guard down. They knew what lurked in the frostbitten shadows—Wraithshade, the two-headed terror of the north. If he was going to show up anywhere, it’d be here.

With most of the Deathless Sovereigns deployed elsewhere, Heartland had left two of their top Voidborn Undying to hold the line in Frostmere.

”How are they still not here?” one of them muttered, eyes locked on the northern horizon. The wind howled across the frozen plains, but there wasn’t a single undead silhouette in sight. Just snow, ice, and silence.

”Maybe… Wraithshade’s too scared to show?” the other offered, skeptical.

This second figure was clearly a fusion-type Zombie King—his skeletal features exaggerated, with two long, razor-sharp bone horns jutting from his skull. His name? Ironhorn.

Beside him stood Candlewraith, a psychic-type Voidborn Undying and one of Endless’s most trusted lieutenants. Where Ironhorn was all brute force and bone, Candlewraith was subtle, cerebral, and deadly in his own way.

Among the many Voidborn Undying, these two ranked near the top—just beneath the infamous Five Sovereigns of the Heartland.

They both knew Wraithshade wasn’t exactly a powerhouse. Compared to someone like Bloodveil, he was a minor player. A weirdo with two heads and a bag full of tricks. But still, he ruled Frostmere, and that place was no joke.

Candlewraith and Ironhorn had been stationed here for a reason. One had unmatched mental prowess, the other unbreakable physical strength. Together, they were a perfect counterbalance—an immovable wall.

”If Wraithshade doesn’t show, we’re just wasting our strength sitting here,” Ironhorn grumbled, his deep voice like grinding stone. ”We should head to the other fronts and help out.”

”No,” Candlewraith said flatly. ”Orders were clear. We stay here. No exceptions. The other fronts have Deathless Sovereigns holding them down. They’ll manage.”

”Yeah, but—damn, I’m itching for a fight.” Ironhorn scratched at the back of his clawed hand, frustration bubbling under his skin. The rest of Heartland was knee-deep in glorious battle, and here he was… babysitting snow.

But then Candlewraith’s eyes narrowed. His pupils dilated slightly, and he went still.

”…They might already be here.”

”What?” Ironhorn blinked. ”You serious?”

”Come on. Let’s check the perimeter,” Candlewraith said, his voice low and tense.

Wraithshade might not be the strongest, but he was slippery. Unpredictable. And Frostmere? That place was a radioactive nightmare. The zombies that survived there weren’t just strong—they were strange.

Someone once said: Every zombie that survives in Frostmere is a damn genius.

Candlewraith and Ironhorn began moving north, their presence drawing in elite Heartland troops. The area was quickly fortified, with squads of high-level zombies forming defensive lines, weapons at the ready.

On the outskirts, scattered patrols roamed the terrain, scanning for any signs of movement.

But none of them noticed what was happening beneath their feet.

The soil was shifting—just slightly. Barely enough to see.

Tiny white worms began to wriggle up from the ground, their pale bodies slick and silent.

”Ah—shit!” one of the elite zombies yelped, suddenly jerking his leg.

”What’s wrong?” his partner asked, glancing over.

”Nothing… I think something bit me?” He stomped his foot, looking down. The ground looked normal. No movement. No sign of anything.

”Probably nothing. Let’s go. If a fight’s about to break out, we don’t wanna be late.”

”Yeah, yeah… you’re right.”

…