Apocalypse: King of Zombies

BOOM!

With a thunderous roar, the four stone slabs finally locked into place. A surge of powerful spatial energy burst outward, growing stronger by the second.

Seven Radiant Crystals embedded in the slab lit up, forming the shape of the Big Dipper. Strange, intricate patterns surrounded them—like the paths of stars in motion—mysterious and mesmerizing.

A soft glow, almost liquid in texture, flowed through those patterns, igniting them one by one until the entire slab blazed with dazzling brilliance.

At that moment, the spatial energy reached its peak. A blinding column of light shot straight into the sky, like a pillar holding up the heavens, towering between earth and sky.

The clouds above churned violently, spiraling into a massive vortex. Thunder cracked, lightning flashed, and countless silver bolts danced like serpents across the sky.

The scene was nothing short of breathtaking.

Everyone watching could only see a blinding white light. Everything else—the land, the sky, even the people around them—seemed to lose all color.

"So this is the power of the stone slab?"

"That spatial force is insane!"

"Feels like the whole world just got punched through…"

"…"

Chris and the others stared in awe, eyes wide, completely transfixed.

Ethan's figure, now swallowed by the white light, had become just a dark silhouette. From above, a powerful suction force pulled at him, lifting his body off the ground.

The light was so intense that even the Zombie King, with its razor-sharp vision, began to lose sight of him. Everything turned into a blinding white void.

Then, one by one, the Zombie King's senses shut down—smell, hearing, even touch. Gone.

The swirling clouds spun faster and faster. At the center of the vortex, a chaotic void opened up—like the gaping maw of some ancient beast. And in the final moment, it swallowed Ethan and the entire column of white light whole.

Then—silence.

All the energy vanished. The world went still, as if nothing had ever happened.

The clouds stopped spinning. Only a massive hole remained in the sky, revealing a patch of deep blue.

The sudden calm, after such violent upheaval, felt almost surreal.

As the white light faded, everyone slowly regained their vision.

And then they noticed—Ethan was gone.

The open field was completely empty.

"That's it? He's just… gone?"

"Did he make it?"

"I mean… I guess? Who knows…"

"…"

People murmured in disbelief, shaking their heads in wonder.

"ROOOAAARRR—!"

The Zombie King and the entire horde let out a deafening howl, their voices shaking the earth. It was a farewell cry, a primal salute to their leader.

…

Meanwhile, Ethan was still surrounded by white.

He had no idea how much time had passed—it could've been a second, or a century.

Finally, the light dimmed. His vision returned, along with his other senses.

But everything around him had changed.

The open plains and the zombie horde were gone. The hovering aircraft had vanished too.

All he could see now was a vast expanse of reddish-brown terrain, jagged rocks stretching endlessly in every direction.

The stones were etched with deep, weathered grooves—so many, so tightly packed, it would've triggered anyone with trypophobia.

"This… is this Mars?" Ethan muttered.

He looked down. Same terrain beneath his feet—no grass, no trees, no soil. And definitely no water.

A wave of dry, scorching wind swept past him, easily over 150 degrees Fahrenheit. It felt like standing inside a furnace, like the air itself wanted to suck the moisture out of his body.

The sunlight here was blindingly bright.

Ethan looked up—and froze.

There were three suns hanging in the sky, blazing down with ruthless intensity, roasting the land like a giant oven.

"What kind of hellhole is this?" he muttered, squinting against the glare.

One thing was certain—this wasn't Earth anymore.

The environment was brutal. If a regular human or even a standard zombie had been dropped here, they wouldn't last more than a few minutes before dropping dead. But oddly enough, the air was thick with oxygen—way more than Earth. Five, maybe six times as much.

Which could only mean one thing: whatever lived here was probably huge.

"Where the hell is all this oxygen coming from?" Ethan wondered aloud.

Back on Earth, oxygen came from photosynthesis—mostly from ocean algae and green plants. But here? Nothing but barren rock and scorched earth. Not a single blade of grass, no trees, no water. Just endless wasteland.

Maybe... this wasn't the whole planet. Maybe there were other regions—places that actually supported life.

Either way, he needed to figure out where he was. And the best way to do that? Find something—or someone—native to this place.

So, bracing against the searing wind, Ethan started walking.

He moved fast. Really fast. Each step launched him hundreds of feet forward, his body flickering like a mirage. The landscape blurred past him, red and brown rock whipping by on either side.

He kept it up for over two hours.

But the scenery never changed.

Still the same jagged, rust-colored rocks. Still the same scorched emptiness. Occasionally, he'd spot a few scattered bones, but they were so brittle and decayed they crumbled at the slightest touch—impossible to tell what kind of creature they'd once belonged to.

"This is ridiculous…" he muttered.

Back on Earth, at this speed, he could've crossed several states by now. But here? It felt like he hadn't moved at all. Like he was stuck in some kind of geological loop.

He was also starting to feel a little relieved. Good thing he hadn't brought his crew with him—this place would've cooked them alive. Even if they survived, they'd be walking around as charred, blackened zombies.

Screw it.

Ethan stopped walking and waved his hand, summoning a sleek, silver aircraft from his storage.

The streamlined body gleamed under the triple suns, polished and deadly.

Click—shhhk.

The hatch slid open with a hiss, and Ethan stepped inside.

He set the autopilot, then dropped into a plush seat with a sigh.

"Fly wherever the hell you want," he muttered, kicking back.

He pulled out a bottle of "juice"—which, knowing Ethan, probably wasn't juice at all—and started sipping, letting the ship do the work. At least in here, he didn't have to deal with the heat.

The engines roared to life, blue flames shooting from the rear thrusters as the craft lifted off, slicing through the air like a comet.

Ethan wandered over to the window, drink in hand, and stared out.

Yep. Still the same.

Below him stretched the same endless red-brown wasteland. No rivers, no forests, no mountains. Just more of the same, as far as the eye could see.

Then something caught his attention.

"Wait a second…"

Back on Earth, when you flew high enough, you could see the planet's curvature. The horizon would bend, just slightly, giving away Earth's spherical shape.

But here?

Flat.

Completely flat.

Even from this altitude, the land looked no different than it did on the ground.

Which meant one of two things: either this planet was massive—hundreds or even thousands of times larger than Earth—or…

It wasn't a sphere at all.

"What the hell kind of place is this…" Ethan muttered, sinking back into his seat, deep in thought.

He had a feeling he wasn't getting out of here anytime soon.

Hours passed. Then a full day.

He'd already swapped out seven crystal cores to keep the ship powered, and still—nothing. No change in scenery. No signs of civilization. Just more of the same.

He started to wonder if he was flying in the wrong direction.

Or maybe… maybe this planet didn't have a direction. Maybe his Earth-based logic was screwing with his perception.

Then, suddenly, the ship's AI chimed in with a mechanical voice:

"Alert. Moving objects detected on the surface."

Ethan shot up from his seat and leaned over the console.

The screen displayed a magnified view of the ground below. Several green boxes had locked onto fast-moving targets.oid figures.

They were sprinting across the terrain with terrifying speed, moving like predators in pursuit. Their movements were sharp, aggressive—feral.

And their bodies…

Jet black. Skin stretched tight over bone, like they'd been burned down to the muscle.

…