The Reborn Young Master's Guide to Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse BL-Chapter 16: Step Sixteen: When the Horde Blocks All Paths, Don’t Lose Hope

Chapter 16: Step Sixteen: When the Horde Blocks All Paths, Don’t Lose Hope

Because the enemy won’t just surround you, they’ll trap you in the deadliest web.

[A few moments before...]

After leaving the gala, Holland disclosed the location of a hidden military base where the survivors can regroup.

As the survivors neared the underpass that would lead them into the City where the base was located, they were suddenly ambushed by hundreds of rank 0 zombies, and a handful of rank 1 zombies, leading to an intense three day battle.

Despite being weaker in broad daylight, the immense number of zombies still had everyone fighting, but most were able to rest during the day.

The group of seventy tried many times to move forward, yet the zombie tide blocked them, even blocking the rear, so they were stuck in the middle.

As a result of the intense battle, some began to awaken as ability users.

By day three, there were eight ability users at rank 0, and only two: James and Kyle, both in the middle orange stage of rank 1.

Then there was Asher, who held rank 2 orange in lightning and rank 1 red stage in both darkness and space.

But Asher wasn’t using his space ability yet.

He was holding back, knowing its toll on his body.

Near sunset, the once red sky turned black with purple moonlight illuminating the battle field.

Fueled by the purple moonlight and black rain, under the cover of darkness, the zombies clawed and snarled at their perimeter, fueled by the sudden chaotic energy.

Asher was in the thick of the fight, protecting the area around the car Caspian was in, eyes sharp and fierce beneath rain-slicked hair.

Caspian lay unconscious inside the overturned military car, breathing shallow and vulnerable.

Asher had been protecting that car for three days now before two random zombies escaped the perimeter and rushed towards the car, seemingly aware that there was someone inside.

They barely got within an inch of the car before Asher sent a bolt of lightning towards them, instantly causing their body to explode.

Asher barely controlled the trajectory of the lighting due to being in a rush, that it caused the military car to overturn.

Asher didn’t have enough time to flip the car back over due to a sudden killing intent being released!

His garnet red eyes narrowed as he surveyed the area, looking for the sudden threat.

His hands crackled with raw lightning, arcs of electric fury searing through the nearest zombies.

Darkness coiled in his shadow, ready to snap at any moment.

And his space, waiting for his command.

But even his storm of powers was pushed to the edge after three days of pure nonstop bloodshed.

"This isn’t right," Asher muttered, narrowly dodging a swipe from a rank 1 zombie.

A sudden sharp pain flared through his side; he’d pushed himself too hard.

He didn’t rest in these three days, and it was taking a toll on his body.

Asher stumbled, struggling to stay on his feet.

His gaze flicked to the massive figure looming over the battlefield: an ten foot tall monstrosity with molten skin stretched taut over grotesque muscles.

Eyes like black voids bored into the crowd.

This wasn’t any ordinary zombie.

This was a Zombie General, two classes below the Zombie Emperors and one class below the Zombie Kings.

It was a rank 2 Zombie General, at the red stage, meaning it was at the borderline of becoming a rank 3.

Zombie Generals, Kings and the Emperors were on a whole different class system.

They had different abilities but what was different between them and regular zombies was that they can wield weapons and have intelligence while commanding lower ranking zombies.

By the time it reached the fifth year of the apocalypse, Asher was aware of nearly ten Generals, six Kings, and two Emperors: divided between two rival factions which ruled the undead legions before his rebirth.

The Zombie General is the brute of the undead ranks, towering at nearly ten feet tall and radiating brute-force destruction.

Its body is a grotesque blend of melted flesh and overgrown muscle, like it was forcibly stitched together from the strongest, most corrupted corpses.

Sharp bones jut out of its elbows and shoulders, and parts of its torso sizzled, steaming with internal heat or rot.

The General’s face was twisted beyond recognition.

It had no lips, cracked teeth, and glowing black eyes buried in deep sockets.

The Generals of the two rival fractions thundered forward like siege weapons, smashing through buildings and bodies alike with massive cleavers made of bone and molten metal.

The air warps around them from sheer heat, their skin leaking black mist or smoke as they move like living engines of wrath.

In contrast, the Zombie Kings are creatures of discipline and precision.

Though still monstrous, its form has slimmed and refined: around seven feet tall, armored in cracked volcanic skin laced with gold glowing lines of power.

Its face is sharper, almost human-like, some even possess hair and bone crowns fused into their skulls, mimicking royalty.

Their eyes gleam gold with intelligence, and their movements are calm, strategic, deliberate.

They walk like commanders of an undead army, not berserkers.

Their weapons are forged from their own corrupted energy: flaming sabers, screaming daggers, or whips of writhing shadow.

When one enters a battlefield, the air turns heavy with fear, and weaker minds falter under the pressure of their presence.

They speak, they plan, and they kill with precision, not rage.

At the top, hidden from most eyes, reigns the Zombie Emperors, beings so transcendent it is barely recognizable as undead.

They are tall, elegant, almost human in build and beauty, dressed in ancient robes or corrupted royal armor.

Their skin is flawless at a glance, but when seen closely, it seems carved from lightless marble or woven from shadows.

Their eyes burn with violet that pierces into your mind.

They speak softly, move without sound, and appear where they were not a moment ago.

Their weapons are not physical but conceptual: blades of grief, chains of memory, spears of time itself.

Their aura warps reality, slowing time, bending space, making sound echo strangely.

To stand before a Zombie Emperor is to feel as though death itself has taken form, not to destroy, but to remind the world it cannot escape the rot beneath all things.

This Zombie General that appeared before Asher was a class that shouldn’t exist until a year later, especially not on day three of the apocalypse.

Asher’s breath hitched.

"This... isn’t supposed to exist yet," he growled through clenched teeth, fingers crackling with raw lightning.

Asher’s mind raced.

Generals didn’t appear until after thousands of deaths—until the infection had ravaged the world for a year.

This one was born too soon, a horrifying evolution fueled by something darker.

Asher’s eyes darted toward the shadows beyond the chaos.

He knew the signs all too well.

Somewhere deeper in the darkness, something far deadlier lurked: the Zombie King, commander of this living nightmare.

And even farther beyond, hidden from sight, was the true puppet master: the Zombie Emperor.

Watching silently from a safe distance, his mental reach stretching across the battlefield, able to see everything within his terrifying radius.

There was a saying from Asher’s past life.

It was not a proverb or warning, but a death sentence whispered among survivors like a secret prayer:

If you see a General, run.

Because that means a King has already given the order.

And where a King walks...

The Emperor is already watching.

No one knew what the Emperor truly was.

They only knew that he never moved without purpose, and never moved alone.

The Kings were his mouths.

The Generals, his hands.

And when the Emperor stirred, entire cities disappeared before sunrise.

He can’t be far.

Asher’s gut twisted.

Killing the general would buy them time, but it would also call the Emperor’s attention.

The risk was high, but Cas’s safety demanded it.

It let out a guttural roar, and dozens of lesser zombies, mostly Rank 0, with two other Rank 1, fell into line behind it, obeying its every command like a dark god of plague.

The General charged, a horrifying beast of rotting muscle and bone, swinging a massive spike that smashed the ground with earth-shattering force.

Asher barely dodged, his body aching already from the tense battle that lasted three days.

Asher’s heart pounded, hands glowing with a fierce white hue.

Lightning (Rank 2, orange stage) surged through his veins, raw and destructive.

Darkness (Rank 1, red stage) whispered at the edges of his control, unpredictable yet fluid.

Space (Rank 1, red stage) flickered faintly within him, a time-warping power he feared to use recklessly.

He glanced around.

Seventy-plus survivors fought desperately to hold the perimeter with guns and make-shift weapons, including the ten ability users who moved like specters among the crowd, but even their combined might wasn’t enough.

The Zombie General lunged with terrifying speed, the air rippling with its vile power.

Asher swung lightning and darkness, but the creature adapted swiftly.

Bio-armor formed over its skin, dulling the electric strikes.

The monster’s regeneration outpaced Asher’s damage.

Each blow seemed to awaken it more.

’The General is a rank 2 red stage regenerative type user.’ Asher thought in unease.

His strength was draining, and he didn’t get the chance to rest.

This was obviously a game of stamina and strength.

Lightning flared, dark tendrils of shadow coiling around his limbs, his dark power, unstable but potent.

He avoided using space abilities here; the risk of backlash was too great.

But the General was relentless.

It vanished into the shadows, evading his darkness attacks.