Apocalypse: King of Zombies

Ethan turned to Bulldozer and the others, giving them a quick order: "I'm heading out for a bit. Keep an eye on things here. Things might get a little chaotic soon."

"Don't worry, boss," Bulldozer replied with a goofy grin.

The next moment, they watched as Ethan's figure gradually disappeared into the distance, vanishing around the corner of the street.

Bulldozer stared in the direction Ethan had gone, a hint of admiration in his eyes. The boss had just brought back a load of food, and now he was heading out again to hunt. His heart swelled with gratitude.

"Man, he's really something else…"

...

After leaving the territory, Ethan activated his stealth mode. Silent and unseen, he moved like a ghost through the wrecked streets, not disturbing so much as a blade of grass.

A short while later, he arrived at the museum district. Something felt off. He could sense it.

A cold wind swept through, carrying the faint metallic tang of blood. Above the museum, dark clouds loomed, black as ink, pressing so low they seemed to almost crush the roof. The oppressive atmosphere was suffocating.

Boom!

Lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the clouds as thunder rumbled in the distance.

The wind picked up, howling like a chorus of wailing spirits. Dust and debris swirled through the air, plastic bags fluttering like restless ghosts.

Ethan's sharp eyes locked onto the museum ahead.

The massive building loomed like a slumbering beast. Bloodstains were splattered across the ground outside, and the corpses of zombies lay scattered around. The eerie silence was almost deafening, a stillness that felt like death itself.

But Ethan could sense it—three humans were still alive inside. They were hiding, their fear practically radiating off them.

As for what was threatening them… Ethan couldn't quite pinpoint it. That alone was unsettling.

"What the hell is it?" he muttered to himself.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward, activating his Domain of the Dead ability to phase straight through the museum walls.

Inside, the dim light made the atmosphere even more oppressive. Occasionally, a flash of lightning would illuminate the space, casting fleeting shadows across the room.

Ethan scanned his surroundings.

The place was a mess—shattered glass, dried blood, and decayed corpses reduced to little more than skeletons. These were the remnants of the chaos from the early days of the apocalypse. The museum had been packed with people back then, making it one of the hardest-hit areas.

The bloody handprints smeared across the walls told a story of desperation and terror.

Ethan pressed on, moving toward the faint traces of life he could sense.

It didn't take long.

In a dimly lit hallway, three figures came into view, panting heavily as they ran.

"Hurry up! I think it's catching up to us!" one of them shouted.

"Jason, I swear it's just toying with us," another said, his face tense. "Like a cat playing with a mouse."

Jason tried to reassure them. "Don't worry! My brother said to hold on. He's coming to save us."

"When's your brother Ryan getting here?" the third person asked, their voice trembling.

"Probably… soon, I think!" Jason replied, clinging to the sliver of hope that had kept him going this far.

What Jason didn't know, though, was that Ryan… was gone. His body had been torn apart, his remains now fused with the very zombies they were running from.

The three of them reached the end of the hallway.

Ahead was a door leading into a large room. With no other options, they pushed it open and rushed inside.

The room was massive, at least 2,000 square feet, but it felt eerily empty.

Paintings hung on the walls, though many had fallen to the floor.

Their frames were shattered, glass shards scattered everywhere, glinting faintly in the dim light.

"No way out!" a dark-skinned young man exclaimed, his voice tinged with panic.

"Shh—"

Jason quickly raised a finger to his lips, signaling for silence. "Don't make a sound. Let's hide."

"Got it."

The two companions nodded and huddled into a corner, pressing their backs against the wall. The solid surface gave them a false sense of security, as if it could shield them from whatever was out there.

What they didn't know was that Ethan was already there, concealed within the very wall behind them, silently observing the trio.

But he wasn't planning to act just yet.
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Killing them would be effortless, but that wasn't his priority. The real concern was the thing lurking in the museum.

And now, Ethan could feel it. Ever since the three had entered this empty room, a faint presence had begun to approach. It was elusive, almost intangible, as if it wasn't entirely of this world.

"Could it really be… a ghost?"

In the apocalypse, there had been countless inexplicable phenomena, but Ethan had never encountered an actual spirit.

CRACK!

A sudden flash of lightning split the sky, its blinding light flooding the room for a brief moment.

Jason's unease deepened. His instincts screamed that death was closing in.

He pulled out his phone and frantically sent another message.

"Bro! Where are you? I'm out of options here!!!"

But no reply came.

"FUCK!" Jason cursed under his breath, his frustration boiling over. Still, he trusted his brother. They had relied on each other since they were kids. Ryan would come for him. He had to.

Suddenly, a strange sensation crept over him, like a cold hand gripping his heart.

Jason's eyes darted to the paintings on the walls. His gaze shifted rapidly from one to the next until it landed on something that made his stomach drop.

One painting stood out—a portrait of a black figure. Its face was pitch black, like coal, with no discernible features. Only its mouth, filled with sharp fangs, and its eyes, radiating a menacing aura, were visible. It looked like a demon straight out of hell.

"Hey, you two, look at that painting! Doesn't it seem… off?" Jason whispered urgently, nudging his companions.

"Huh?"

The two looked at him in confusion before following his gaze.

"Which one are you talking about?"

"The one in the middle!"

"I don't see anything weird," one of them said, frowning.

"Yeah, me neither," the other added, shaking his head.

Jason's frustration flared. "Are you blind? It's right—"

He stopped mid-sentence, his words catching in his throat.

The painting was gone.

His eyes widened in disbelief. The portrait he had just seen… had vanished.

One of his companions spoke hesitantly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Jason… the middle one… that's a window."

CRACK!

Another bolt of lightning lit up the room, illuminating everything in stark detail.

Jason's heart nearly stopped.

Where the painting had been, there was indeed a window.

And something had been looking at him through it.

"Holy shit!"

A wave of terror surged through him, sending chills racing up his spine. His entire body broke out in goosebumps as a cold sweat drenched him.

"I saw it… I saw it! RUN!"

Jason bolted, sprinting back toward the hallway like a man possessed.

"Huh? Saw what?"

His two companions were bewildered, but seeing Jason's panic, they didn't dare stay behind. They scrambled after him, their footsteps echoing in the vast, empty room.

But then, a shadow slipped through the crack in the window.

It moved like liquid darkness, merging seamlessly with the surrounding gloom. It was no longer just a shadow—it was a predator, something born of nightmares.

The shadow darted forward, its speed inhuman, closing the distance in an instant.

Before they could react, it reached the last person in the group.

SHLUNK!

A clawed hand, wreathed in black flames, pierced through the man's back. Warm blood sprayed out, splattering across Jason and the other companion's necks and hair.

"Ah?!"

The two froze in terror, their bodies trembling as they turned to look.

Behind them stood a towering figure cloaked in darkness. Its clawed hand was embedded in their friend's back, lifting him off the ground like a ragdoll.

The victim wasn't dead yet. His legs kicked weakly, his bloodshot eyes bulging as he struggled to speak.

"Help… me…"

...