Apocalypse: King of Zombies - Chapter 450

Chapter 450: Nothing to celebrate
That guy who called himself The Voidborn Undying was completely stuck in a spatial rift—couldn’t move forward, couldn’t back out. He looked exactly like someone caught mid-shit, straining with all his might, trembling all over, unable to push it out or pull it back in. It was awkward as hell.

Ethan stared at the twisted, agonized expression on his face and, surprisingly, felt a flicker of pity.

“Here, let me put you out of your misery.”

He said it softly, almost gently. But before the words had even fully left his mouth, the stone tablet in his hand flared with blinding light. In the next instant, Ethan shot into the air like a meteor crashing down from the heavens, hurtling straight toward the figure trapped midair.

The air itself screamed as it was torn apart, the force of his charge exploding outward like a volcanic eruption, like mountains crumbling into the sea.

And The Undying—still wedged in that spatial crack—had nowhere to run. He could only watch, wide-eyed, as the glowing slab of stone came flying straight at his face.

BAM!!!

The impact echoed like thunder, shaking the very sky.

The tablet smashed into his face with brutal precision. The recoil was so intense that half his skull caved in. His nose collapsed into a bloody mess, cheekbones shattered like glass, and several jagged fangs shot out of his mouth like bullets, embedding themselves in the distant wall with a sharp thunk-thunk-thunk.

Blood sprayed. Bone fragments flew. It was like someone had just shattered a statue of some ancient demon god.

For a moment, the world went still.

That raw, primal violence—simple, direct, timeless.

“RRAAAHHH—!”

The Undying let out a piercing, furious scream. But the spatial forces around him were already pulling him apart, his form flickering, fading—until he vanished completely.

“I swear… I’ll kill you with my own hands!”

His voice echoed in the air, full of rage and venom.

But to Ethan, it just sounded like the empty fury of someone who’d already lost.

At the same time, the massive ritual array collapsed entirely. Every glowing rune around them dimmed and died. The pillar of light that had pierced the sky vanished. Even the swirling clouds above stilled.

Only two Radiant Crystals dropped from the air, glinting as they fell.

Ethan reached out and caught them effortlessly.

With that, all the chaos finally settled. The apocalyptic city fell into silence, the night wind whispering through the ruins.

Ethan stood alone at the heart of San Diego’s corpse nest.

Behind him, the massive Zombie Horde stood still and silent, watching their king.

It was over. The great war had ended.

Not far away, rubble shifted and tumbled with a clatter. From the collapsed ruins, Nightbane sat up slowly. He was covered in blood and dust, looking like hell.

His mental energy had already been drained dry, and after taking a direct hit from that Voidborn freak, he was completely spent—no fight left in him.

Nightbane’s eyes swept across what used to be his domain. Now it was just wreckage and ruin.

“You win…”

He said it quietly, his voice calm—eerily calm. No bitterness, no regret. It was like, in that moment, he’d finally let go.

Ethan looked at him steadily. “You were strong. Probably the most dangerous enemy I’ve ever faced.”

Nightbane gave him a look—somewhere between disbelief and exasperation. He couldn’t tell if Ethan was being sincere or just messing with him.

“There was never any real grudge between us,” Nightbane said after a pause. “This fight… it was just the path we had to walk to reach the top. All of it—fate.”

Ethan tilted his head, thinking. “Huh. I never really cared about reaching the top.”

The two undead stood there, talking like old friends catching up after years apart.

Nightbane gave a bitter smile, then looked up at him.

“But… you’re already there.”

Silence fell again.

After defeating Nightbane, Ethan had become the strongest corpse lord—at least in America. There weren’t many left who could even hope to challenge him.

Nightbane, battered and broken, staggered to his feet.

The moment he’d put his faith in that ritual array… his fate had already been sealed.

“Oh, right—before he got wrecked, that old bastard calling himself The Voidborn Undying mentioned something else,” Nightbane said, his voice faint. “There are seven Radiant Crystals in total. One of them… might be somewhere off the coast of Australia.”

“Mm, got it,” Ethan replied casually, not expecting Nightbane to just hand over that kind of intel. But dying men don’t lie.

Truth was, Nightbane had come to respect Ethan—maybe it was that rare feeling of meeting a true equal, a worthy rival. And besides, this world… it was slipping away from him now. None of it would matter soon.

“One more thing—your stone tablet,” Nightbane added, his tone turning serious. “You’d better be careful with it.”

After all, the Ritual Array he’d carved had only used two Radiant Crystals, and that alone had summoned that terrifying creature who called himself The Voidborn Undying.

But Ethan’s tablet? It had several Radiant Crystals embedded in it, and the patterns etched into it were far more complex—twisted, even. If he ever managed to complete it… who knew what kind of nightmare it might unleash?

“Thanks,” Ethan said simply, and began walking toward him.

Nightbane didn’t flinch. His eyes stayed calm, a faint smile still on his lips. He took one last look at the world around him, knowing this was the end.

As Ethan passed by, he reached out with one hand and slipped his fingers into Nightbane’s skull.

“Goodbye…”

With a subtle twist, he extracted the crystal core—a gleaming SS-rank psychic-type core, pulsing with pure, concentrated energy. It hovered between his fingers, glowing faintly.

Nightbane’s body went limp. His head tilted back, and then he collapsed with a heavy thud.

The reign of a tyrant had come to an end.

“ROOOAAARRR—!!”

Behind Ethan, the entire Zombie Horde erupted in a deafening roar, their voices shaking the ruins around them. It was a cry of triumph, of bloodlust satisfied.

“We did it!” Bulldozer shouted, fists clenched, practically vibrating with excitement.

Big Ears held up a tooth the size of a Lego brick, grinning like a maniac.

“One general’s glory is built on a mountain of bones. My path to overlordship is paved with the corpses of my enemies. See this? This is my medal of honor.”

“Big Ears, isn’t that Chompers’ front tooth?” Shrimpy asked, squinting at it. “How’s that a medal?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Big Ears said, waving him off. He’d already decided—once they got back, he was gonna drill a hole through it, string it up, and wear it on his ear. Proof of his blood-soaked glory.

Nearby, Mist chimed in, “Let’s be real, I was the MVP of this fight. Me and the boss? We were unstoppable.”

“Yeah, you did good,” Big Ears nodded. “We’re the Overlord Squad, after all. Every one of us counts.”

…

The undead were celebrating, high on victory.

But just then, a group of humans dropped down from a nearby rooftop and walked straight up to Ethan. It was Mia and her crew.

“Congrats,” she said.

“Nothing to celebrate,” Ethan replied flatly. “I didn’t have much of a choice.”

Mia rolled her eyes. Seriously? He’d just won a war and he was still playing the humble card? She glanced at the stone tablet in his hand, her expression turning wary.

“You better be careful with that thing. If something freaky crawls out of it, don’t come crying to us. You’re the one who’ll have to deal with it.”

“Oh, then I guess I’ll just have to go all out,” Ethan said, completely unfazed.

“…Whatever,” Mia muttered. “We don’t have time to argue. We’re hauling drinks for Sean.”

“Go ahead,” Ethan said, not bothering to see them off.

But just then, from the middle of the ecstatic Zombie Horde, a strange sound broke through the cheers—a low, mournful wailing, like a ghost sobbing in the dark. It was raw, gut-wrenching, and completely out of place among the victorious roars.

“Huh?” Ethan’s eyes narrowed. He turned around immediately.

Bulldozer, PhD, and the other Zombie Kings instinctively stepped aside, parting the crowd to clear a path.

At the end of that path, Ethan saw a slender figure slumped in the corner, curled up against the wall. Her head was buried in her knees, shoulders shaking violently as she cried her heart out.

It was Laura.

The once-ferocious warrior, now broken and bloodied, missing an arm—reduced to a single, trembling silhouette in the aftermath of war.

…