Apocalypse: King of Zombies

"What?"

The Lizardfolk Chieftain's face turned an even deeper shade of green. That meant it wasn't just the parasitic monsters—they might also be facing a full-blown zombie horde.

This was a nightmare stacked on top of a disaster.

"Don't panic just yet," Ethan said after a moment's thought. "The zombies might not be coming for you."

The horde on the other side of the jungle was under the command of the Overlord of Eastreach—Bloodveil. He and his undead followers had retreated into Xenorift, likely to lay low.

Bloodveil's main goal was to avoid drawing attention. He probably wouldn't go on a killing spree—too risky for him.

"Of course…" Ethan added casually, "that doesn't mean he won't go after some low-hanging fruit."

Even if they were hiding out, the Eastreach zombies still needed fresh meat to survive. They'd definitely target weaker species for food.

"Wait—who's the low-hanging fruit?" the Chieftain blinked, confused.

Ethan turned to him slowly, staring in silence.

"..."

The Chieftain's face darkened with realization. "Oh…"

"Sir, what should we do?" he asked, voice full of desperation. "You're a Zombie King too, right? You must know them. Could you maybe… I don't know, tell them not to attack us? If they do, we won't even have time to grow any fruit!"

Ethan shrugged. "Depends on how you behave."

The Chieftain nodded furiously, immediately switching to full-on bootlicking mode. He'd been terrified Ethan would wipe out his tribe before—but now, he was clinging to him like a lifeline.

Soon after, the Chieftain led Ethan and the others to the heart of the Clan Stronghold. The destruction here was even more intense.

The Lizardfolk's former king had been an SS+ level powerhouse, and the aftermath of his final battle had left nothing standing. Every structure had been reduced to rubble.

Ethan scanned the area. There wasn't much left worth salvaging—except for a section of solid rock wall that had somehow remained intact. It was covered in carvings.

"What's that?" he asked.

"That… should be the recorded history of the Lizardfolk tribes," the Chieftain explained respectfully. "And some major events that happened across the continent."

"Huh." Ethan stepped closer for a better look.

The carvings showed scenes of Lizardfolk hunting massive beasts, working together to bring them down, then drying the meat into jerky for long-term storage.

Apparently, jerky-making was a time-honored Lizardfolk tradition.

The Chieftain had once claimed the High Priest was more skilled in rune magic—but really, it was just because he made more jerky. The Stronghold had a bigger population, so they needed more food.

Not exactly the kind of ancient wisdom Ethan was hoping for.

There were also carvings of Lizardfolk laying eggs—entire clutches at once. The newborns were tiny, barely the size of a grown Lizardfolk's palm.

Ethan moved along the wall, scanning the murals, until something caught his eye—depictions of a major event on the Xenorift continent.

A massive horde of mutant beasts, all shapes and sizes, swarming across the mountains. The sheer number of them was staggering.

But behind the horde… was something else. A colossal figure, towering over the land like a god, watching from above.

"What's this?" Ethan asked.

The Lizardfolk around him suddenly grew solemn, their expressions reverent.

"That… is the god of Xenorift," one of them said quietly.

"God?"

"Yes," the Chieftain nodded. "Legend says Xenorift has a god who maintains balance between all races. Aside from hunting for food, large-scale slaughter is forbidden."

"This god created the order of the land. If anyone breaks it, the mutant beast hordes will gather and deliver divine punishment."

As he spoke, the Chieftain's face grew more devout, eyes full of awe.

Ethan, however, frowned. "Then why didn't your god punish the parasitic monsters for wiping out your tribe?"

"Uh… well…" The Chieftain scratched his head, clearly stumped. "I… don't know."

Ethan had a theory. Maybe they were just too weak. In this world, weakness was a sin—and gods only protected the strong.

"Stop believing in that god," Ethan said flatly. "He's not on your side."

"Uh… okay." The Chieftain nodded slowly. Something in his expression shifted. The blind faith in his eyes faded, replaced by a flicker of clarity.

Yeah…

Where was that so-called god when his people were being slaughtered?

Ethan didn't believe in any so-called "god." Most likely, it was just an extremely powerful mutant creature—something strong enough to command the mutant beast hordes. In that sense, it was more like the ruler of Xenorift than a divine being.

The Lizardfolk Chieftain continued explaining, "The last time the mutant beast horde gathered was decades ago—when those Zombie Kings from Necroterra invaded. One of them broke the balance, and the god's punishment followed. When the horde assembled, even those Zombie Kings… had to retreat."

Ethan studied the mural more closely. Sure enough, it showed the mutant beast horde chasing a lone figure. The beasts were ferocious, unstoppable, tearing through everything in their path. The figure was clearly overwhelmed, fleeing in all directions.

In the end, it looked like he used some kind of cloaking ability to escape with his life.

Clearly, this "great event" was a rare victory for the Xenobeasts—one they were proud of, given how detailed the carvings were.

"This Zombie King was a damn joke…" Ethan muttered under his breath. If a mutant beast horde ever tried to block his path, he'd just wipe them all out. And if there really was some fake god pulling strings behind the scenes? He'd drag it out and slaughter it too.

...

Elsewhere, Ricky and the rest of the White Robe Order were sitting on the ground, catching their breath.

The battle had drained a lot of their energy, so they'd pulled out some rations to refuel.

Aria, meanwhile, was chained up with alloy restraints, slumped against the thick root of a massive tree.

She watched them eat, the smell of food wafting through the air. Her stomach growled loudly—grrrrgle—and the hunger hit her hard.

"Hey! I'm starving. Give me something to eat!"

"I'm not 'hey.' I'm Ricky," he replied without even turning around. He broke off a chunk of greenish food and popped it into his mouth. It was a foraged veggie ration—wild greens mashed and steamed with flour.

"..." Aria rolled her eyes but swallowed her pride.

"Ricky, give me something to eat."

"Alright, alright." Ricky stood up. Ethan had made it clear—she wasn't to die. And besides, he still wanted a fair rematch with her. He couldn't have her starving to death before he got his revenge for that kick.

But with her chained up like that, she couldn't exactly feed herself.

So Ricky broke off a piece of the veggie ration and held it up to her mouth.

"Uh…??" Aria's eyes widened in disbelief. She was the daughter of a powerful Inner City family—when had she ever been hand-fed by some random guy in the woods?

"Don't feed me. Just untie me. I'll eat it myself."

"Cut the crap. Are you eating or not?" Ricky frowned, clearly running low on patience.

Aria hesitated, then glanced down at the food in his hand. It was a soft green, kind of like matcha, and gave off a surprisingly pleasant aroma. She'd never seen—or smelled—anything like it.

Reluctantly, she leaned forward and took a bite.

As she did, her warm breath brushed against Ricky's fingers, sending a strange jolt up his arm—like a static shock.

For a moment, both of them froze.

But then Aria's expression twisted. Her brows furrowed, her face scrunched up in pain.

"Blegh—what the hell is this?!"

...