Apocalypse: King of Zombies-Chapter 298: Kill them all

The obese Butcher let out a guttural scream, his face contorted in agony. Staggering back a couple of steps, he lost his balance and crashed onto the ground with a heavy thud.

With only A-rank strength, he was no match for Ethan.

That single slash had already left him gravely wounded.

But the surrounding zombie underlings, hearing Butcher's anguished howl, immediately abandoned their pursuit of the fleeing humans. Their instinct to protect their leader kicked in, and they turned as one, swarming toward Ethan.

In the blink of an eye, he was surrounded—an impenetrable wall of undead closing in from all sides.

Yet Ethan remained still, standing his ground, watching them approach with an eerie calm.

Then, from behind him, countless vines shot forward like arrows, slicing through the air with deadly precision. They impaled the oncoming zombies in an instant, skewering them like grotesque kebabs.

A moment later, Laura flickered into view, her movements a blur. In the span of a heartbeat, her bone claws slashed through the air, sending zombie heads flying.

"ROAR—"

A deafening bellow shook the battlefield.

And then, thousands of elite undead warriors arrived. They were killing machines, bred for slaughter.

Among them, some of the stronger zombies had reached B+ rank in physical prowess. They tore through enemy zombies with brutal efficiency—tackling them to the ground, smashing skulls with a single punch, or twisting heads clean off with a sharp jerk. Their speed was terrifying, their attacks ruthless. Against ordinary elite fighters, they were one-man armies.

"So strong…" Butcher, still slumped on the ground, his body wracked with pain, stared in horror. The last shred of hope in his heart crumbled.

Where the hell did these zombies come from?

He realized, with a sinking feeling, that just these undead alone could wipe out the five thousand elite troops he had brought with him.

His zombie underlings were slaughtered in no time.

The thousand-plus elite warriors surrounding Ethan stood tall, their posture rigid, their presence exuding a chilling menace. They formed an impenetrable wall around him, allowing no enemy to get close.

Ethan, still gripping his tachi, stepped forward, closing the distance between himself and the fallen Butcher. The zombie king's bloated hands clutched at his own spilling intestines, thick corpse oil oozing from the wound.

"Disgusting…"

"W-Wait… don't kill me!" Butcher stammered, desperation creeping into his voice. "I'm the Zombie King from San Diego! If you kill me, our boss won't let you off!"

"Oh?" Ethan raised an eyebrow, nodding slightly as if just now realizing something. "San Diego, huh? Good to know. Not that it changes anything—I wasn't planning on letting your boss off either."

With that, he swung his blade in a clean, effortless arc—like a golfer taking a perfect shot.

Butcher's eyes widened in sheer terror. In his final moments, as death loomed over him, he finally understood—he had completely underestimated the Zombie King of Los Angeles.

A sickening schlick echoed through the air.

Butcher's massive head split open, his bloated body toppling backward.

Nearby, the speed-type female Awakener—who had the chance to escape while Ethan was focused on Butcher—was still clinging to Butcher's thick leg. But she was barely alive now, her breath shallow, her body trembling.

As she watched Butcher die, a strange sense of peace washed over her. Her final wish had been fulfilled.

Lifting her bloodstained face, she turned her gaze to Ethan. The message in her eyes was clear—she wanted an end. A swift, merciful death.

"You fought well…" Ethan murmured, granting her request.

His blade flashed.

Her head rolled.

Then, Ethan's gaze shifted toward San Bernardino.

The fleeing humans had mostly retreated into the city.

Among them—Elias and his last remaining teammate.

That S+ crystal core was his. No matter what.

"Kill them all."

At his command, the thousand-plus elite warriors surged forward once more, their bloodlust ignited. They tore across the battlefield like a pack of ravenous wolves, sprinting toward San Bernardino with terrifying speed.

Some were as fast as hunting cheetahs.

The slower humans didn't stand a chance.

Those who lagged behind were immediately caught—tackled to the ground, their throats torn out in a single, savage bite.

Inside the city, the survivors scrambled to fortify their defenses with whatever they had left.

They took cover behind makeshift barricades, blocking key streets with overturned cars, sandbags, and barbed wire, desperately trying to slow the zombies' advance.

Some retreated into high-rise buildings, destroying staircases, sealing elevator shafts, and setting up rope ladders to prevent the undead from climbing up.

They had no choice but to fight back.

From rooftops and behind cover, they unleashed their elemental powers.

Fireballs, ice spears, and lightning bolts rained down like a violent storm, lighting up the battlefield in a chaotic blaze of destruction.

But—

These elite undead were simply too powerful.

Some ice spears struck their skulls with a dull thud, but the zombies barely reacted—just tilting their heads back slightly before snapping forward again, resuming their relentless pursuit of the fleeing humans.

Others were engulfed in flames, their bodies set ablaze. But their regeneration was monstrous—charred flesh peeled away, only to heal almost instantly.

Some didn't even bother putting out the fire. They just kept running, their burning bodies streaking through the battlefield like vengeful specters. They leaped onto buildings in a few swift bounds, tackling survivors to the ground and tearing into them with savage bites.

Some fights ended with both zombie and human plummeting from rooftops.

But in the end, the ones who got back up… were almost always the zombies.

These elite undead were like demons from the depths of hell, dragging humans down with them, one after another.

Elias watched in horror, his heart pounding.

He had survived the apocalypse for this long, seen his fair share of horrors. But this—this was something else entirely.

"What the hell are these zombies?" one of the Genesis Biotech Awakeners beside him muttered, his voice trembling.

Elias exhaled sharply. "That… you'd have to ask Mr. Nathan from L.A. Oh wait—" He let out a dry chuckle. "Might as well go back and ask Sophia instead."

...

On the other side of the battlefield, the two Zombie Hordes were still locked in combat.

Nightmare's brow was furrowed, his expression dark with frustration.

"That idiot Butcher! He ran off too far and got himself killed!"

"He underestimated the Zombie King of L.A.," Scissorhands said, analyzing Butcher's fatal mistake.

But now, with Butcher dead, Ethan had taken his elite undead, along with Laura and the other Zombie Kings, and stormed into the city to massacre the remaining humans.

Nightmare had mixed feelings about that.

"I considered you my rival," he muttered under his breath. "And you don't even care about me?"

His eyes narrowed.

"Fine. Then I'll make you pay for underestimating me!" he snarled, preparing to launch a full-scale assault. He would wipe out every last one of Ethan's zombies outside the city.

But just then—

From the distant forest, the sound of a guitar still echoed through the air.

The melody suddenly shifted—becoming more intense, more electrifying.

It was as if the battle had entered its climax.

Then—

The ground shook.

Trees toppled.

Something massive was coming.

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And then they appeared.

Towering bioweapon monstrosities, each standing around 15 feet tall, emerged from the forest.

Their forms were grotesque, twisted beyond recognition.

But their silhouettes—the differences in their builds—hinted at what they once were.

Some had broad, muscular frames. Others had slender, feminine shapes.

A cruel reminder that they had once been human.

Their faces were monstrous, their eyes filled with pure, unfiltered rage.

There were ten of them.

They stood in a line, forming a wall of destruction, and then—

They charged.

Like an unstoppable force, they plowed through Nightmare's forces, leaving nothing but mangled corpses in their wake.

Blood. Flesh. Bone.

Some of them even wielded elemental abilities, unleashing devastating attacks.

In just three minutes, they had already slaughtered hundreds of Nightmare's zombies.

"What the fuck are those?!" Nightmare's eyes widened, his pupils contracting.

Ethan's trump cards just kept coming—one after another.

Scissorhands was just as shaken. He could tell—even in close combat, he wouldn't stand a chance against these things.

"Boss… these monsters are insanely strong."

Nightmare's mind raced.

Victory was slipping further and further away.

Even with Butcher's ten-thousand-strong Zombie Horde, it still wasn't enough.

Right now, it looked like they had a chance.

But what if this was a trap?

What if Ethan was baiting them in, just like he did with Butcher?

Once they stepped too far in—they'd be dead before they even realized it.

This battlefield was a meat grinder.

And anyone who went in too deep… wasn't coming back out.

"…We should retreat," Nightmare finally said, his voice low.

"Oh." Scissorhands nodded, but then hesitated. "Wait—weren't you just saying we should teach them a lesson for underestimating you?"

"…"

Nightmare stared at him.

This fucking guy.

"…Say one more word, and I'll teach you a lesson."

...