Apocalypse: King of Zombies

"Just got back and already stealing Razorbacks…" Hank muttered under his breath. But really, if they didn't steal Razorbacks, there'd be no way to get fresh meat. So… yeah, not like they had much of a choice.

This Razorback—had to be stolen. No way around it.

With a few zombies leading the way, Ethan headed toward Solaris Citadel.

"Boss, this way! There's a shortcut—real quiet-like!"

"Oh, okay…" Ethan followed along, keeping pace.

Hank and his little crew of undead were sneaking around like shady alley rats, constantly glancing around, checking their bearings with exaggerated caution.

The terrain wasn't exactly friendly—uneven ground, jagged rock formations jutting up here and there, with patches of dry, yellowed grass swaying in the wind.

The sandy soil was littered with bones—some half-buried, others piled into heaps of skulls. The whole landscape screamed desolation and death.

It felt like the entire planet was slowly dying.

As they moved deeper, the wind began to carry distant howls—sharp, guttural cries from elite zombies, filled with rage and hunger.

It was like something inside them had been bottled up for too long, and now it was ready to explode. One spark, and the whole place would go up in flames.

"Damn, the zombies here are seriously pissed off…" Ethan muttered to himself.

Hank nodded. "Yeah, the environment's brutal. Every zombie's hanging on by a thread. When you're that close to death all the time, you evolve with a short fuse."

"Yeah… makes sense," Ethan agreed, nodding.

Zombie evolution was heavily influenced by the environment.

If Earth had been the end of the world for humans, then Originis was the end of the world for everything.

Most species were already extinct.

Right now, the zombie factions were at their peak. But nothing lasts forever. What rises must fall. Sooner or later, they'd go down with the planet too.

"Boss, up ahead—that's Solaris Citadel!" Hank pointed forward.

"Holy shit…" Ethan looked up, eyes widening. civilization had been completely wiped out. What stood before him now was a kingdom built entirely by the undead.

Massive structures rose from the ground like pyramids, made from stacked slabs of stone—each one towering over 300 feet tall.

At the center, one structure pierced the sky like a spear.

Surrounding the city was a high stone wall. The construction was rough, primitive even, with gaps and cracks everywhere—but it still looked imposing as hell.

This place was built for zombies, through and through.

Especially those walls and buildings—they'd hold up against a full-on Zombie Horde assault. Solid defense.

"Not bad at all…"

The sight sparked something in Ethan. Back on Earth, they'd always holed up in abandoned human cities. He'd never even considered building a city just for zombies.

Originis might be running out of resources, but the ideas here? Surprisingly advanced.

Ethan started thinking—what if he built a massive, fortress-like hive? Something that could house a million zombies, easy.

Inside Solaris Citadel, the howling grew louder.

Even outside the walls, hordes of zombies wandered aimlessly. Some stopped to sniff the air, others let out guttural roars. The whole place radiated tension and barely-contained violence.

"Damn, that's a lot of alien zombies…" Ethan scanned the area. Just from what he could see outside the walls, there had to be at least 80,000 of them.

Rough estimate? The whole hive probably held close to a million.

"Boss, this way—I know a secret path into the hive." Hank waved him over.

"Alright, lead the way." Ethan followed.

Hank crept toward a barren hill on the outskirts of the horde. At the base, a massive stone slab lay half-buried in the dirt.

He glanced around, making sure the coast was clear.

Then he crouched down, dug his fingers under the edge of the slab, and with a grunt of effort, lifted the thing—easily weighing dozens of tons—and slid it aside.

Rumble rumble rumble! The stone scraped against the ground, echoing through the still air.

Beneath it, a dark, gaping hole opened up. Cold air rushed out, carrying the scent of damp earth and decay.

"Boss, this is it. I used this tunnel every time I snuck in to steal Razorbacks," Hank explained.

"Alright, let's go," Ethan said.

Without hesitation, Hank and a few of his zombie underlings jumped into the hole.

This kind of job? Hank was a pro.

Ethan brought up the rear, his sharp eyes scanning every inch of the tunnel as they moved. He wasn't after the Razorbacks for their meat—this wasn't about hunger. It was about control.

If he could get his hands on those Razorbacks, he'd be holding the entire zombie hive by the throat. No meat meant no sustenance. And without sustenance, the zombies would grow ravenous, lose what little sanity they had left, and start turning on each other. Eventually, they'd devolve into Black-Skin Zombies—mindless, feral, and uncontrollably violent.

At that point, the hive would collapse from the inside out. No siege necessary.

So yeah—getting the Razorbacks was critical.

Ethan's plan was simple: steal every last one of them, then sit back and watch the chaos unfold. Hunger would drive them mad. Madness would spark bloodshed. And the whole place would tear itself apart.

Brutal? Absolutely. But efficient? Hell yes.

And Ethan couldn't wait to see it happen.

As they crept through the narrow tunnel, Ethan could feel the vibrations of zombies moving above them—heavy, shuffling footsteps echoing faintly through the earth.

Up ahead, Hank and his crew of undead were moving with exaggerated care, their steps feather-light, like they were walking on glass. No one wanted to make a sound.

So far, so good.

Before long, a faint light appeared ahead—sunlight filtering through the cracks in a stone wall.

Hank approached the wall and pressed one eye to a narrow gap between the stones, his glowing, feral gaze scanning the outside.

Right on cue, a patrol of elite zombies passed by. These weren't your average shamblers—they were evolved, alert, and dangerous.

"Shhh…" Hank hissed, motioning for his crew to stay silent.

They waited, crouched in the shadows, until the patrol moved on and the area fell quiet again. Then Hank grabbed hold of a loose stone in the wall and slowly pulled it inward. The rock scraped softly against the others, and after a moment, a hole big enough to crawl through opened up.

Sunlight poured in.

Hank dropped to his belly and wriggled through the gap like a rat slipping through a crack. His zombie lackeys followed, one after another, their awkward movements almost comical.

Ethan watched them with a smirk.

Now that's what I call professional, he thought.

Then, with a flicker of shadow, he vanished—phasing through the wall using his Domain of the Dead ability, reappearing silently on the other side.

Hank and the others were already crouched behind a massive boulder, peeking out with just the tops of their heads showing.

Ahead, the area was crawling with more elite zombies. These ones were smarter—more evolved. You could see it in their eyes, the way they moved. They weren't just wandering—they had purpose.

Each of them carried bundles of dry straw, which they were stuffing through a massive hole in a towering stone wall.

"Boss, that wall surrounds the pig farm," Hank whispered.

"Oh yeah…" Ethan had already caught the stench—rank animal musk mixed with the metallic tang of fresh blood.

From behind the wall came the unmistakable sound of beasts—low, guttural howls and the thud of heavy bodies shifting.

One of the zombies shoved a bundle of straw through the hole, and a moment later, something on the other side moved.

A massive eye—easily the size of a dinner plate—appeared in the opening, scanning the outside for a second before dropping down to devour the straw. Loud, wet chewing sounds followed.

Just from that eye alone, Ethan could tell—this thing was huge. At least six times the size of a regular pig back on Earth.

He let out a low whistle.

"Damn… that's one big pig."

...