Apocalypse: King of Zombies - Chapter 414

Chapter 414: Biological weapons
Jenny frowned. “Didn’t you say the shelter was supposed to be safe?”

“I… I don’t know what’s going on either!” Chris threw up his hands, looking completely clueless.

“Let’s go. We need to check it out,” Mia said, her voice low and serious.

The group picked up the pace. The snarls of the undead grew louder with every step, and soon, the ground was littered with corpses.

Some were decapitated zombies, others were mangled human remains—torn apart, covered in bite marks, their bodies barely recognizable. The sight was enough to make anyone’s stomach turn.

At the outer perimeter of the shelter, a group of human Awakeners were locked in battle with a horde of zombies. Leading the charge was Robert, flanked by Griffin—the guy who’d had his balls kicked in—and Chloe, the one everyone called “the construction worker.”

Lately, for reasons no one could quite figure out, the shelter had been under constant attack. Even S-Class Zombie Kings had started showing up.

The first time it happened, they were caught completely off guard. The losses were brutal. An S-Class Zombie King was a walking massacre—unstoppable, merciless, a one-man apocalypse.

After that, people wised up. They shut down all outside activity and holed up inside the shelter. It was the only way to hold the line.

But the zombies didn’t stop. They kept coming, like it was some kind of all-you-can-eat buffet. Hungry? Just swing by the shelter and grab a bite. The audacity was unreal.

Now, a massive zombie hound stood atop a boulder, its body the size of a small bull. It threw its head back and let out a piercing howl that echoed across the battlefield.

In response, a pack of Rabies Zombies surged forward, charging the human defenses. Smaller zombie hounds darted in behind them, fast and vicious.

The monsters were feral, relentless.

It was obvious—they were under the command of Hellhound, one of the Four War Generals of San Diego.

“Damn, these things are savage…” Robert muttered, gripping his Lightning Blade. The word “Justice” was etched into the blade’s surface. He swung it in wide arcs, slicing through zombie hounds like butter, heads flying, black blood spraying.

Behind him, Chloe and the others summoned waves of icy energy. Frost gathered in the air, forming thick walls of ice to block the oncoming beasts.

“Those damn Zombie Kings from San Diego… What, are we just dog food to them now?” someone shouted.

“Hang in there, sis! Mia and the others will be back soon!” Caleb called out. His wood-based powers flared to life, sending out thick, snake-like roots that wrapped around incoming zombies and crushed them like twigs.

In the chaos, Griffin was swinging his machete—pink-handled, of course—doing his best to hold the line. Ever since his balls got obliterated, he’d been… different.

His beard had fallen out, his voice had gone high and nasally, and he’d picked up a bit of a diva vibe. “Ugh, where is Brandon? No clue when he’s coming back…”

“Princess, maybe focus on not dying first?” Caleb shot back.

“Ugh, don’t call me Princess!” Griffin snapped, clearly hating the nickname.

Everyone around him shuddered at the tone of his voice.

Still, they were holding the line, thanks to their numbers and tight coordination. But even so, casualties were piling up.

Some people got tackled by zombie hounds, dragged screaming across the battlefield, then torn apart by the swarm.

Others were bitten by Rabies Zombies. It didn’t take long—eyes turned blood-red, fangs sprouted, fur started growing on their faces. Then they turned on their own teammates.

The infection spread fast. Too fast.

“Watch it! Don’t let those rabid freaks bite you!” Robert shouted.

With Mia gone, he was the strongest fighter on the field—Santa Clarita Shelter’s Awakener #001. The guy was a beast at night, but during the day… well, let’s just say he wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders.

Still, he kept swinging, eyes scanning the battlefield. An S-Class Zombie King could strike at any moment, and if it did, it’d be from the shadows.

So far, no sign of one. Just an endless wave of undead.

Griffin’s pink-handled machete slashed again and again until he finally hacked a particularly nasty elite zombie into a pile of gore. He was panting hard, chest heaving.

He’d only awakened his Neurocore so far—hadn’t reached the crystal core stage yet—so his strength was about on par with the elite zombies. Killing one took everything he had.

“Ugh—I’m done. I need to fall back and catch my breath.”

“Yeah, be careful,” Caleb said, nodding.

They were using a rotation strategy—dividing the Awakeners into three groups. When one group got tired, they’d rotate out and let the next group take over. Kind of like a relentless tag-team assault.

It was the only way to outlast the zombie horde.

But just as Griffin turned to retreat, a zombie hound burst out of the swarm behind him. Its limbs were long and wiry, built for speed. It sprinted forward, then launched itself into the air—fangs bared, eyes locked on the back of Griffin’s neck.

“Huh?!” Griffin’s heart skipped a beat. He heard the rush of air behind his ear—something fast, something deadly. Instinct kicked in. No time to think. He spun around and threw his pink-handled machete up just in time.

CLANG!

The zombie hound’s jaws clamped down on the blade with a sickening crunch of teeth on metal.

The impact was brutal. Griffin staggered backward, barely keeping his footing—until his boot slipped on a slick, blood-soaked corpse. His balance gave out completely.

Thud!

He hit the ground hard, flat on his back.

“Ahhh—shit!” Griffin screamed, panic rising in his throat.

The zombie hound didn’t miss a beat. It landed right on top of him, snarling, its glowing red eyes locked onto his face. With a violent shake of its head, it flung the machete out of Griffin’s hands, sending it spinning into the dirt.

Now weaponless, Griffin stared up at the beast, its drooling maw inches from his face. It was practically salivating at the sight of fresh meat.

“Shit, shit, shit—” he muttered, throwing his hands up in desperation. One hand clamped around the hound’s neck, the other braced against its forehead, trying to keep those snapping jaws at bay.

He looked like a terrified girl fending off a drunk creep in a dark alley—desperate, flailing, and completely outmatched.

But the zombie hound was relentless. It pushed forward, inch by inch, its breath hot and rancid. The two of them were locked in a brutal stalemate.

Then came the drool.

Thick, yellowish strands of saliva oozed from the beast’s fangs, reeking of rot and infection. The strings stretched longer and longer, swaying with every movement—until one strand finally broke loose.

And it was falling.

Right toward Griffin’s mouth.

His eyes went wide. “No, no, no—!”

He held his breath, but it was too late. He felt it—cold, slimy, and disgusting—land right on his upper lip.

“BLEAUGH!” Griffin gagged violently, his stomach lurching. He nearly vomited right then and there.

The worst part? That drool wasn’t just gross—it was lethal. Zombie hound saliva was loaded with rabies-like viral agents. One drop in your system, and you were done. Mutation was almost guaranteed.

“Oh great, now they’re using biological weapons?!” Griffin gasped, his face turning a shade of greenish-blue. He was already exhausted from the fight, and now this?

His arms were shaking. He couldn’t hold the beast back much longer.

The hound’s jaws crept closer, its fangs glistening with infectious slime, just inches from his skin.

“This is it… I’m dead…” Griffin thought, despair washing over him.

And then, out of nowhere—Brandon’s face flashed through his mind. That stupidly handsome, annoyingly heroic face.

Wait… was he seriously thinking about Brandon right now?

Oh God. Was he in love with him?

Before he could process that emotional crisis, his arms gave out. He collapsed under the weight of the beast.

The zombie hound lunged.

But just as its jaws were about to close around his throat—its head froze mid-motion.

Then—

BOOM!

Its skull exploded like a watermelon under a sledgehammer, spraying blood and brain matter into the air in a fine red mist.

The body went limp and collapsed on top of Griffin, twitching once before going still.

…