Apocalypse: King of Zombies

The sudden, piercing scream sent a chill through everyone's hearts, making them freeze in place before instinctively turning toward the source. What they saw made their blood run cold—a pool of crimson blood spreading slowly across the floor beneath the feet of a burly man.

But what truly sent shivers down their spines was the realization that the blood wasn't his. It was dripping from the third floor above.

"What… what the hell is going on?" someone stammered, their voice trembling with fear.

Flashlights immediately swung upward, their beams slicing through the oppressive darkness, desperate to uncover the truth hidden above.

In the faint light, they could just barely make out a shadowy figure near the third-floor railing. But before anyone could get a clear look, the figure dissipated like smoke blown away by the wind, vanishing without a trace.

"G-ghosts!" someone screamed, their voice shaking with terror.

"I saw it! It was right there! But then… it just disappeared!" another person blurted out, their words tumbling over each other in panic.

"But… where did it go?" murmurs spread through the group, their voices laced with dread and unease.

The darkness around them seemed to grow heavier, suffocating, as if it were alive and pressing down on them.

The beams of their flashlights darted frantically in every direction, searching for any sign of the figure. But no matter how hard they tried, the eerie shadow didn't reappear.

Marcus's expression darkened, his face grim and tense. His sharp gaze swept across the room as he spoke in a low, steady voice: "It's already here. It's come down."

"W-what?!" someone gasped, their fear spreading like wildfire through the group.

The survivors began to glance around nervously, their nerves stretched to the breaking point, ready to snap at any moment.

But Marcus knew better than anyone else just how close the danger truly was.

As a psychic Awakener, his heightened senses allowed him to perceive things others couldn't. That suffocating, predatory pressure he'd felt moments ago—it had come from that thing. And now, he could feel it clearly. The creature's target wasn't just anyone.

It was him.

Suddenly, an unnatural, chilling presence surged from the shadows.

Without a sound, Ethan appeared on the first floor, as if he'd stepped out of thin air. One moment, the space was empty; the next, he was simply there. He didn't bother hiding anymore. Instead, he stood openly before the group, his presence as undeniable as it was terrifying.

The sound of gasps and screams erupted like an explosion.

The survivors scattered in every direction, their panic driving them to flee as fast as they could. Some tripped and fell in their haste, but even then, they scrambled to their feet, crawling and stumbling to get away. They didn't care how they looked—anything to put as much distance as possible between themselves and Ethan.

In mere moments, a wide, empty circle formed around him. No one dared to come within even a few feet of where he stood.

But as much as they feared him, they couldn't help but be struck by his appearance.

Ethan's face was unnervingly handsome, almost otherworldly. His features were sharp and clean, his expression cold and detached. He looked nothing like the grotesque monster they'd imagined. And that contrast only made him more unsettling, as if he were something far beyond human comprehension.

Marcus and the burly man, however, didn't move.

It wasn't that they didn't want to. It was that they couldn't. It felt as though an invisible force had pinned them in place, their breaths shallow and cautious. The oppressive feeling of being watched by a predator was suffocating. They both knew that any sudden movement could trigger a fatal response.

It was like encountering a bear in the wild. Running would only provoke it. The only chance of survival was to stay still and hope it lost interest.

But Ethan wasn't a bear.

"Marcus, we can't just stand here and wait to die! If we're going down, let's at least fight!" the burly man whispered, his voice low but tinged with desperation and a hint of madness.

Marcus shook his head, his eyes never leaving Ethan. "If he's showing himself so openly, it means he's confident. He knows we're no match for him. If there's even the slightest chance, I'll hold him off. You run."

The man hesitated, his jaw tightening. After a moment, he gave a reluctant nod. "…Alright."

Marcus closed his eyes and took a deep breath, steadying himself. There was no turning back now. He focused his mind, summoning his psychic abilities.

The air around him seemed to thicken, growing heavy with tension. His mental energy surged outward like a storm of invisible needles, all aimed directly at Ethan.

This was no ordinary power.

For most people, even a glancing hit from Marcus's psychic attack would leave them dazed or unconscious. A full-force strike could render someone comatose—or worse.

But Ethan didn't flinch. Instead, he smiled faintly, his lips curling into a chilling grin. His eyes glowed faintly red, a sinister light flickering in their depths.

"Interesting…" Ethan murmured, his voice laced with amusement.

The next moment, Ethan's Absolute Domain unfolded.

It was part of his power—Domain of the Dead—a force that spread out like an unstoppable tide, completely nullifying Marcus's psychic attack.

Marcus felt as though his mental energy had slammed into an invisible wall. The backlash hit him like a hammer, sending a sharp, splitting pain through his head. His vision blurred, and for a moment, everything went black. He nearly collapsed.

Clenching his teeth, he bit down hard on his tongue, the sharp pain jolting him back to consciousness.

"Now! Attack! I can't hold him off for long!" he growled through gritted teeth.

The burly man hesitated, his gaze fixed on Ethan. In his mind's eye, it was as if he were staring into an endless sea of blood.

He knew that stepping into that domain meant certain death.

"My psychic power is still holding for now! Attack, or we'll lose even this slim chance!" Marcus's voice was low and urgent, carrying a tone of unyielding determination.

The man took a deep breath, his resolve hardening.Nôv(el)B\\jnn

There was no way out now. Even if the path ahead led straight to hell, he had no choice but to charge forward.

"Alright!" he barked, his voice filled with grim determination.

His body tensed, muscles coiling like a drawn bow. His skin began to harden, taking on a rough, stone-like texture that gleamed faintly under the dim light.

This was his awakened ability—Steel Skin, granting him extraordinary defense.

In the next instant, he launched himself at Ethan like a cannonball, his heavy footsteps pounding against the floor with a resounding thud. Each step seemed to crack the ground beneath him. His fist clenched tightly, muscles bulging as he swung a devastating punch straight at Ethan's face.

But the moment he stepped into the Domain of the Dead, his momentum faltered. His movements slowed as if he were wading through thick, invisible mud.

Each step became a grueling effort, as though he were carrying an unbearable weight on his back.

He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to push forward despite the crushing pressure.

"RAAAH!" he roared, throwing a powerful punch aimed directly at Ethan's chest.

Ethan moved with effortless grace, tilting his body just enough to let the punch sail past him. His movements were fluid, almost elegant, as if he were toying with his opponent.

At the same time, Ethan's hand shot out, his fingers curling like talons as they reached for the man's head.

"Damn it!" The man's heart sank as Marcus's earlier warning echoed in his mind—this guy can bypass your defenses and attack your insides directly!

He twisted his body desperately, narrowly avoiding Ethan's grasp. But the oppressive force of the domain made his movements sluggish and clumsy. He stumbled, nearly losing his balance, and barely managed to steady himself. Cold sweat dripped down his forehead.

"That was too close…" he muttered, his chest heaving as his heart pounded like a drum.

In just one exchange, he had felt the icy grip of death looming over him. The adrenaline coursing through his veins was overwhelming, but it couldn't mask the growing sense of helplessness.

As he tried to regain his footing, his body suddenly felt even heavier. His limbs stiffened, and it became nearly impossible to move.

The pressure within the Domain of the Dead had intensified, locking him down even further. Raising his arm felt like trying to lift a mountain.

"What's happening?" he gasped, his voice tinged with panic. He turned his head, searching for answers.

What he saw made his blood run cold—Marcus was gone.

The spot where Marcus had been standing was now empty.

"He ran…" The man's heart sank like a stone.

Marcus hadn't continued his psychic assault. Instead, he had used the momentary distraction to turn and sprint toward the mall's entrance. His figure disappeared into the shadows, his retreat frantic and unhesitating.

"Your leader abandoned you," Ethan said, his voice low and icy, with a mocking edge that cut deep. The words echoed in the man's ears like a death knell.

The man froze, his eyes wide with disbelief.

He couldn't comprehend it. Marcus, who had just sworn to hold Ethan off and buy him time to escape, had turned tail and left him behind as bait.

"What a liar…" the man muttered, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and despair.

He thought back to how Marcus usually acted—the dependable leader who always seemed to have everything under control, the one who was the first to step up in moments of crisis.

But now, he finally understood. When true danger struck, Marcus's carefully crafted facade crumbled completely.

Meanwhile, Marcus had already reached the mall's main entrance.

His movements were frantic, his hands trembling as he fumbled with the chains binding the steel barricade in place.

He muttered under his breath, over and over, like a mantra: "Screw brotherhood! Screw loyalty! This is the apocalypse—survival is all that matters!"

With a final, desperate tug, he unfastened the last chain and shoved the heavy steel plate aside.

"Boom—"

The barricade fell with a deafening crash, kicking up a cloud of dust. The mall's entrance was finally open.

A gust of cold night air rushed in, sharp and biting, jolting him awake.

The faint light of dawn was beginning to creep over the horizon, painting the sky with pale streaks of gray. The first hints of morning were visible, fragile but undeniable.

The dim light illuminated the scene outside the door.

But as Marcus and the other survivors stood at the threshold, their steps faltered.

No one cheered. No one rushed forward. Instead, an oppressive silence fell over them.

Outside, an endless horde of zombies stretched as far as the eye could see, packed so tightly together that they seemed like a single, writhing mass. Thousands of hollow, lifeless eyes stared back at them, unblinking.

At the forefront of the horde stood several figures that radiated an overwhelming sense of dread—special infected.

There was the Bulldozer, a hulking monstrosity with muscles like steel cables, its massive frame exuding raw, destructive power. Beside it stood Laura, a lithe, predatory figure with razor-sharp claws and an unsettlingly human-like grace. And then there was the one they called The PhD, a grotesque, twisted figure whose very presence seemed to ooze malice and intellect.

These special infected didn't move. They didn't snarl or growl. They simply stood there, silent and still, like a forest of deathly statues.

Their silence was far more unnerving than any roar or scream could have been.

They were waiting. Waiting for something.

Marcus's face turned ashen. His lips quivered, but no sound came out. His mind raced, but there was no plan, no escape. Only the crushing realization that he had just opened the door to hell itself.

And then, from behind him, a voice broke the silence. Low, chilling, and dripping with malice, it sounded like a whisper from the depths of the abyss.

"Dinner is served."

…