Apocalypse: King of Zombies

Outside the northern border of the United States, foreign Zombie Kings were itching to get a piece of the action. One after another, they surged across the border, eager to join the plunder.

They tore across the snowy plains in a frenzy, their numbers swelling to nearly 160,000. The Zombie Kings came in all shapes and sizes, and among them were terrifying zombie beasts—massive, mutated creatures that looked like nightmares given flesh.

A horde of this scale was rare. The sheer spectacle of it was overwhelming.

But maybe the Zombie Kings were too hungry for glory, too focused on the prize—because none of them noticed the crows darting through the sky above. One by one, the birds swooped low, their crimson eyes gleaming as they scanned the horde from above.

It was as if an invisible net was being woven around them.

Leading the charge was the Big Thighs Zombie King. He and his followers were tearing through the snow, slaughtering the weak and the slow as they went. But the scattered killings were starting to slow them down.

Then came a thunderous roar from behind—so loud it made the snow tremble. It sounded like an army of beasts stampeding across the tundra.

Big Thighs turned to look—and sure enough, the Slouchy Beanie Zombie King had caught up, leading another massive wave of the undead.

"They got here fast," Big Thighs muttered, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

The Slouchy Beanie Zombie King's gaze locked onto him, his eyes glowing with menace. "You did well. Scouted the enemy for us. Now step aside—we'll take it from here."

"Oh?" Big Thighs didn't look pleased. In fact, his brow furrowed deep with irritation.

The message was clear: once Redgaze was taken down, the Slouchy Beanie King and his crew planned to hog all the spoils. Big Thighs wasn't having it.

"No need," he growled. "I'll finish them off myself. That's the safer bet."

Without waiting for a reply, Big Thighs kicked into high gear, sprinting even faster in the direction Redgaze Zombie King Logan had fled.

The other Zombie Kings understood exactly what he was thinking. Not wanting to be left behind, they surged forward too, each one determined to claim the glory.

Meanwhile, Logan had reached a wide, open plain. He came to a sudden stop, scanning the area. The terrain dipped into a natural basin, surrounded by steep, snow-covered mountains. It looked like a giant bowl.

"Perfect," he muttered. "A fine place for these cross-border bastards to meet their end."

He turned around.

Behind him, Zombie Kings like Rebar were practically vibrating with bloodlust. Their eyes gleamed with savage excitement. The time for pretending was over—now they could finally unleash hell.

Moments later, the valley echoed with deafening roars. The sound bounced off the cliffs, growing louder with every second. The foreign Zombie Kings were closing in, leading their massive horde.

Within minutes, the first wave of zombies appeared on the horizon—like a black tide spilling into the basin.

At the front were the elite—agile, fast, and deadly. They leapt from boulders, scaled cliffs, and moved with terrifying coordination.

Behind them came the swarm. A sea of ordinary zombies, packed so tightly together it was impossible to see where they ended. Their blood-smeared faces twisted in hunger, they growled and snarled, a wall of death rolling forward.

The invasion from the north felt like a full-scale military assault.

But Logan—Redgaze—stood his ground. He didn't flinch. His glowing red eyes swept over the enemy with the calm confidence of a king surveying his battlefield.

"Redgaze, why aren't you running?" the Slouchy Beanie Zombie King called out, his voice laced with mockery.

Logan smirked. "Pied King, you think I need to run from the likes of you?"

The Slouchy Beanie King's eyes narrowed, his voice turning cold. "Hmph. You're not the king you used to be. Falling for a human? That kind of weakness drains a Zombie King's rage."

"I—wait, what did you just say?" Logan's eyes widened, glowing brighter as the words sank in.

"I said," the Slouchy Beanie King repeated, "falling in love with a human weakens your rage. Makes you soft. Hurts your combat strength."

"...???" Logan froze, stunned. Behind him, even his zombie underlings went silent. Those who had evolved enough to understand what was said looked completely dumbfounded.

What the hell is going on?

Logan was completely dumbfounded. How the hell did the whole "falling in love with a human" thing make it all the way across the border? Seriously—how did this become international gossip?

Across the vast frozen plain, over a hundred thousand zombies had gathered—and now, a good chunk of them had apparently heard the rumor. It was like being publicly executed in front of the entire undead world.

"Who the hell spilled the beans?!"

The foreign zombies started murmuring among themselves. A zombie falling for a human? That was like a human falling in love with a lizard—completely insane.

"Wait, is that even possible?"

"Maybe... I mean, anything can happen in the apocalypse."

"Man, the end of the world really brings out the freaks."

"..."

The tension of the impending battle was suddenly undercut by this bizarre little twist.

Logan, meanwhile, was grinding his teeth. The whole damn zombie world knew his secret now. How the hell was he supposed to show his face after this?

His eyes darkened with fury. Screw it—he'd kill them all and shut them up for good.

"Brothers! Crush them!"

"ROOOAAARRR—!"

At his command, a thunderous roar erupted from behind him, shaking the snow-covered ground. The sheer force of it sent tremors through the valley—and even triggered a small avalanche on a distant mountain slope.

Tens of thousands of zombies surged forward, and more were still pouring out from the valley behind Logan. These weren't the weak or the wounded—these were his elite. Hardened, vicious, and battle-tested. Their presence shifted the entire atmosphere. The pressure they gave off was on a whole different level now—easily several times stronger than before.

"Huh? Something's off…"

The Slouchy Beanie Zombie King narrowed his eyes, scanning the battlefield. Logan's forces were massive—easily over a hundred thousand. And they weren't just standing around either. They were organized, aggressive, and ready to tear through anything in their path.

How the hell had Big Thighs managed to push them back before?

Was this a trap?

But it was too late to back out now. Besides, his own numbers were still greater. Victory was within reach.

"Charge with me!"

With a furious roar, the Slouchy Beanie Zombie King led the charge. His horde howled in response, surging forward like a tidal wave of death.

The two massive zombie armies collided with a deafening crash.

At the front lines, the elite units clashed—ripping, tearing, biting, trampling. It was pure carnage.

Brown-black blood sprayed through the air. Severed limbs and shredded flesh flew in every direction, quickly covering the snow in a grotesque, steaming layer of gore.

The entire basin had become a slaughterhouse.

But high above, on the peak of a snow-covered mountain, a tall figure stood watching.

He wore a white fur coat that fluttered in the wind, his face sharp and strikingly handsome. Around him circled several pitch-black crows, their red eyes glowing like embers.

Ethan's cold gaze locked onto the chaos below.

"…Time to close the net," he murmured.

What the foreign Zombie Kings didn't know was that the real nightmare was just beginning.

Surrounding the basin, nearly half a million zombies were scaling the snowy mountains, forming a massive ring. They were moments away from reaching the ridgelines, ready to seal off every escape route.

From Ethan's vantage point, the white slopes were crawling with black specks—zombies, everywhere. Among them were several S-class and higher Zombie Kings, tens of thousands of elite units, and even monstrous zombie beasts.

The killing intent rolling off them was suffocating. Their numbers alone dwarfed the two armies currently tearing each other apart in the basin.

Then, as if on cue, the crows circling Ethan shot forward like missiles, diving straight toward the battlefield.

And Ethan's white-clad figure vanished into the swirling snow.

...