Apocalypse: King of Zombies

The pack of zombies, rabid like wild dogs, instantly swarmed the big guy. Their razor-sharp teeth tore into his flesh, blood spraying in every direction. He didn't even get a chance to scream before he was completely consumed by the horde.

Everyone froze in horror.

"What the hell just happened?!"

This was way beyond anything they'd ever seen. But it wasn't hard to guess—this had to be another Zombie King, one with some freakish ability.

Lena's face twisted with grief. The big guy had looked out for her more than once. And now, just like that, he was gone.

"It's gotta be that voice—it messes with your mind!"

"Oooh, someone's clever," the voice echoed again from the darkness, smooth and mocking.

But what came next sent a chill straight down their spines.

"You know too much. You should take that pretty little knife of yours and shove it right into your mouth."

Lena's eyes glazed over the moment she heard it. Her expression went blank, like her mind had just shut off.

Travis's heart dropped.

"No! Don't—!"

He shouted, desperate, but it was useless.

Lena slowly pulled out her long, slender dagger. Then, without a flicker of hesitation, she opened her mouth and drove the blade straight in.

Shhk!

The sickening scrape of metal against bone echoed in the silence. The tip of the knife burst out the back of her skull. Her body twitched violently, then collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud.

She'd just killed herself—stabbed herself through the head.

Travis and the others stared, eyes wide, frozen in shock and terror. The horror of it all was suffocating.

Ethan, watching from a few steps back, felt a chill crawl up his spine. He stopped in his tracks, eyes narrowing as he peered into the darkness.

And then, from the pitch-black shadows, a figure slowly emerged.

It was a young man—pale-skinned, with a few strands of hair falling over his eyes, giving him a wild, untamed look. His lips curled into a smirk, revealing two sharp, fang-like canines.

"Hey there," he said casually, like he was greeting old friends.

"Uh…" Travis and the others were stunned. A deep, primal unease settled over them. There was no doubt—this was a Zombie King.

And not just any Zombie King. This one had powers that were twisted and terrifying.

The creature's eyes swept over the group, his smile fading into something colder, darker. A chill settled in the air.

"What's with the long faces?" he said, voice low and mocking. "Don't you know it's rude not to smile? Come on… stretch those lips a little."

"You—shut up!" Travis shouted, panic rising in his voice. He knew what was happening. The bastard was using his power again.

But there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Behind him, one of their male teammates suddenly twitched, like a puppet on strings. His hands reached up, grabbed the corners of his mouth, and began to pull.

"No—!" someone screamed.

Too late.

With a sickening rip, the man tore his own cheeks open, splitting the skin all the way to his ears. Blood gushed out in torrents. His jaw hung grotesquely, teeth bared in a gruesome, involuntary grin—a "smile" carved in flesh.

"Ha… ha ha… ha ha ha…"

The sound that followed was a twisted mix of laughter and agony, broken by ragged, wheezing breaths. His eyes were bloodshot, wide with pain, but there was something else there too—something unhinged. Like the pain had freed him somehow.

Then his body convulsed and dropped to the ground, twitching. Blood still dripped from the torn corners of his mouth, the grotesque smile frozen on his face.

The others could only watch, helpless, as another teammate—someone who'd been fighting beside them just moments ago—died in the most brutal, horrifying way imaginable.

A crushing sense of helplessness settled over them like a weight.

What the hell kind of power was this?

Was it like "The Word" from Preacher?

Why did everyone do exactly what he said?

If that was really the case… then this was beyond terrifying.

"If I end up falling under his spell too… please, just kill me," the last girl in the group said, her voice trembling, tears welling in her eyes. "I don't want to die like that…"

The others fell silent, a heavy sorrow settling over them.

This night—this long, hellish night—was one they'd never forget. They'd seen more Zombie Kings with twisted powers in a few hours than most people would in a lifetime.

"This is definitely a high-level zone…"

…

Off to the side, Ethan stood calmly, eyes locked on the Zombie King before him. He could tell—this one was at least S-rank.

And yeah, his power was bizarre as hell.

But it wasn't what Travis thought. This wasn't The Word from Preacher. It was more like a form of hypnosis—using his voice as a medium to transmit psychic energy, turning words into weapons.

It was similar to the mind control used by the Elegy Zombie King, but this guy? He was on a whole other level.

"Hey," Ethan said, his tone casual but firm. "Stop scaring the kids."

The Zombie King turned to face him, locking eyes. That same crooked smile crept back onto his face.

"Almost forgot," he said, voice smooth. "You're the real guest of honor here. Let me introduce myself. Name's Falseword—one of the Four War Generals of San Diego. The zombies in my territory call me the Deathspeaker."

"Is that your last words?" Ethan replied coolly, eyes steady. He hadn't expected one of San Diego's War Generals to show up alone.

But that just made things easier. Take him out now, and the enemy's overall strength would take a serious hit.

Falseword didn't flinch. Instead, his psychic energy surged, radiating outward like a pressure wave. He opened his mouth slowly, and spoke his death command.

"I just want you to understand before you die. So go ahead—die for me."

The moment the words left his lips, the world seemed to fall silent.

Travis and the others held their breath, eyes locked on Ethan. This was it—a showdown between two Zombie Kings. Would Ethan fall like their teammates had? Would he suddenly turn his blade on himself?

But Ethan didn't move. He just stood there, staring back at Falseword, completely unaffected.

Of course he was. His willpower and mental strength were far beyond anything Falseword could influence.

Falseword's smile faltered.

"…Huh," he chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. "Guess I was just kidding."

"Oh," Ethan said, eyes flashing red. "I'm not."

A pulse of raw power exploded from him—his Domain of the Dead erupting like a shockwave. The air cracked. The ground trembled. Deep fissures split the earth beneath their feet.

Then, in a blur, Ethan vanished from sight.

Falseword barely had time to react. The pressure coming at him was like a tidal wave of destruction—unstoppable, overwhelming.

"Whoa, okay, no need to get all violent," he muttered, trying to rally his psychic energy into a defensive storm.

He was strong—no doubt. An S-rank Zombie King didn't go down easy. But compared to Ethan? He was two tiers below.

His mental defenses crumbled under the weight of Ethan's Domain. The backlash hit him like a spike to the brain—sharp, searing pain stabbing through his skull.

"Shit… he's strong!"

Falseword's expression tightened. He saw Ethan's tachi slicing toward him and twisted his body, trying to dodge.

But Ethan was faster. Stronger. Sharper.

"You should learn to keep a lower profile," Ethan said, his blade shifting mid-swing into a horizontal arc. Flames burst along the edge, trailing behind like a meteor streaking across the sky.

Falseword's eyes widened in panic. He couldn't dodge in time.

The tachi sliced clean through his neck, no resistance at all. The blade passed through like air.

"Wait—he's that strong?" Travis muttered, eyes wide. The others were just as stunned.

That was Falseword. The Deathspeaker. One of San Diego's Four War Generals. His power was terrifying—he could kill with a single sentence.

And yet, in front of Ethan, he barely put up a fight. One strike. That's all it took.

"The talkative Zombie King… he's dead?"

"Does that mean we're safe now?"

"Let's get the hell out of here while we can!"

Hope flickered back to life in the eyes of the few survivors.

But Ethan didn't move. He just stood there, unmoving, eyes still fixed on the spot where Falseword had fallen.

Something wasn't right.

The moment his blade had passed through Falseword's neck, the body had dissolved—vanishing like mist.

"That wasn't real," Ethan muttered. "An S-rank Zombie King, one of San Diego's War Generals… no way he'd make a rookie mistake like showing up here alone."

He looked up, eyes narrowing into the darkness ahead.

There were other presences out there. Stirring. Watching.

Something about tonight… was off. Way off.

And then he felt it—something subtle, something hidden. A strange energy had crept in, surrounding the area without a sound, without a trace.

"…Absolute Domain," Ethan whispered.

…