Apocalypse: King of Zombies

Moments later, the chaos in the forest died down. That tall, lanky Zombie King personally finished off his former underlings, putting them out of their misery with his own hands.

But even after that, he still looked feral, eyes burning with rage. "Boss, let's go get revenge!"

"Forget it," Logan said, shaking his head. "Not worth it."

He figured there was nothing to gain from retaliating—just a waste of energy. He'd long since gotten used to these little skirmishes. Better to conserve strength and wait for the right moment to strike.

The other zombies bared their fangs, clearly pissed and not ready to let it go.

That's when Ethan spoke up. "We can't just let that slide."

"They came at us. That means they're askin' for it."

The horde turned to look at him. He wasn't a familiar face, so they figured he must be a friend of the boss. Still, they liked what he was saying.

After all, they were zombies—violence and bloodlust were in their bones. They didn't need much convincing.

Logan thought for a second, then said, "Alright. I'll take you to see for yourself. Then you'll understand how much of a pain those foreign Zombie Kings really are."

"Man, you really don't give a damn about anything, do you?" Ethan said, shaking his head with a half-smile.

"Huh???" Logan blinked, totally confused.

...

Then, with a single command, Logan's voice rang out—and the forest erupted.

Zombies howled and surged forward, snapping out of their aimless wandering like someone had flipped a switch. They all turned in the same direction and took off running.

In just a few seconds, a massive Zombie Horde had formed.

Logan wasn't just any Zombie King—he was the infamous Redgaze Zombie King, a name that carried weight in every file and report. His strength was no joke, and his crew was tough as hell. They'd even managed to drive out foreign zombies before.

But every time, those bastards came crawling back, and the fight would start all over again.

Soon, the horde thundered out of the forest and onto a vast snowfield. From above, they looked like a swarm of ants crawling across a blank sheet of paper.

The wind howled, sharp and icy, carrying with it the guttural roars of the undead.

Scattered across the snowfield were groups of foreign zombies, locked in small skirmishes. But when they saw the massive horde charging in, they started pulling back, retreating toward a distant mountain ridge.

"Boss, that bug-controlling Zombie King is up on that snowy peak," the tall, skinny zombie said.

"He's holed up in the mountains again," Logan muttered, frowning. "Be careful when we charge. He's tricky."

"Doesn't matter. I'm not scared of any of them," the lanky Zombie King growled, his eyes gleaming with bloodlust.

Ethan glanced over and took a good look at him. Not bad—definitely one of the stronger ones in Logan's crew. "What's his name?"

"Him? Rebar," Logan replied.

Ethan nodded. The guy was tall and wiry, with skin that looked like it had mutated into something hard and metallic. Probably had enhanced strength too.

Rebar. Yeah, that name fit.

"Gotta say, you're not half bad at naming people."

"Damn right," Logan said, clearly proud of himself.

Before long, they reached the base of the snowy mountain, the horde behind them like an army ready to storm the gates.

Ethan looked up. The mountain was crawling with black dots—foreign zombies, dug in and waiting.

Their skin tones varied, not just Canadian—clearly a mix from all over. Their faces were twisted with aggression, and instead of backing down, they roared back at the approaching horde, screaming and howling like they were daring them to come up and fight.

At the very top of the mountain stood a Zombie King.

His clothes were nothing more than shredded rags, his face half-rotted, and crawling all over him were pale, wriggling white bugs. The sight was enough to make your stomach turn.

"Boss! Redgaze just led his Zombie Horde out of the forest!" one of the underlings reported, his voice sharp with urgency.

Wormrot Zombie King let out a low snort, the corners of his rotting mouth curling into something between a grin and a grimace. "Perfect. I was worried he'd chicken out."

"He brought a hell of a lot of them this time," another zombie chimed in. "Looks like he's serious."

Wormrot didn't even flinch. "Don't be scared. This mountain's steep as hell—they won't be able to climb it easily. We've got the high ground. Even if Redgaze somehow makes it up here, we can just fall back behind the ridge. Going downhill's always faster than climbing up, right?"

"Boss, you're a genius!" the zombie underling growled, eyes gleaming with savage confidence. With the terrain on their side, they could attack or retreat at will. No matter how it played out, the enemy would bleed more.

Down at the base of the mountain, Logan's crimson eyes narrowed as he stared up at the ridge, where the enemy zombies were lined up, howling and taunting them.

"See that? They're ready for us. Just waiting for us to charge. It's a trap. We're not gonna get anything out of this."

"How would you know if you don't try?" Ethan said calmly, his gaze steady.

Rebar, standing nearby, nodded eagerly. "I agree with this guy. Let's go up there and tear 'em apart!"

Logan sighed, clearly exasperated. "...Fine. We're already here. Just be careful."

"Yes, sir!" came the chorus of growls behind him.

With a single command, the horde roared to life, their cries shaking the snow-covered ground.

Rebar surged forward, leading a squad of elite zombies. They moved like spiders, agile and fast, scrambling up the icy slope with terrifying ease.

From above, the foreign zombies didn't hesitate. They leapt down the mountain like boulders, slamming into Logan's climbers with bone-crunching force.

The two sides collided mid-slope, clawing, biting, and tearing at each other as they tumbled down the steep incline. Flesh ripped, bones cracked, and the snow turned slick with blackened blood.

Some zombies fell from high up, smashing into jagged rocks below. Skulls burst open like rotten fruit, limbs twisted at impossible angles.

The once-pristine snowfield was now streaked with dark, muddy trails of gore.

The battle quickly devolved into chaos. Roars and shrieks echoed across the mountain, the violence escalating with every second.

But it was clear—the zombies on the ridge had the upper hand. Only Logan's elite could climb well enough to fight back. The weaker ones barely made it a few feet before slipping and tumbling back down, crashing into the snow with sickening thuds.

Rebar, though, was a force of nature. As he climbed, he grabbed enemy zombies and hurled them down the slope like ragdolls. He carved a brutal path up the mountain, his elite squad following close behind.

But just as the fight reached its peak, a strange rustling sound came from beneath the snow.

"Huh?" Rebar frowned, sensing something moving.

Then they burst out—white worms, each as thick as a finger, wriggling up from the snow like something out of a nightmare. They were ravenous, latching onto any zombie they could reach, burrowing into flesh with terrifying speed.

Rebar's hardened skin held up fine. He crushed the worms with a swipe of his claw, splattering them into mush.

But the others weren't so lucky.

His squadmates howled in agony as the worms bored into them. Even the elite couldn't hold out—one by one, they stiffened, lost control, and tumbled down the slope.

The worms devoured their flesh, burrowed into joints, and in some cases, took over completely—nesting in their brains and hijacking their bodies.

Soon, infected zombies began turning on their own, attacking their comrades in a frenzy.

Rebar's squad, already struggling with the terrain, was now being torn apart from within.

At the top of the mountain, Wormrot Zombie King watched it all unfold, a sick satisfaction spreading across his decaying face.

"Come on, then," he rasped. "Didn't you want to climb up here and catch me?"

...