"Be free..."
Ethan's blade sliced cleanly through the woman's neck, and her headless body collapsed to the ground.
Another terrified soul, liberated.
After killing Margaret and the four remaining survivors, Ethan collected their bodies and stepped into the dimly lit street ahead.
Lying on the ground was Edward's corpse, mangled and torn apart, his blood pooling into a dark, sticky puddle. Under the silver glow of the moonlight, the blood shimred with a faint crimson hue.
A few stray cats had gathered around. Their tongues flicked out as they lapped at the blood, smacking their lips as if drinking milk. Others gnawed on Edward's flesh, their jaws stained red with blood.
"Enjoying your al?" Ethan's voice broke the silence as he approached, his figure moving steadily closer.
The cats froze, their ears flattening as they turned to face him. Their fur bristled, backs arched, and low growls rumbled from their throats. They looked ready to defend their feast but hesitated, as if sensing sothing far more dangerous than hunger.
Ethan found their defiance "adorable." Without hesitation, he unleashed his Domain of the Dead. The mont the cats were enveloped by its power, their growls ceased abruptly.
A sickening crackling sound filled the air as their bones shattered all at once. In an instant, the cats dropped lifeless to the ground.
With a casual wave of his hand, Ethan collected Edward's corpse, along with the dead cats. at was at, after all, no matter how small.
...
anwhile, in the basent of a clothing store, a group of survivors sat in tense silence, exchanging uneasy glances. Blaze and his companion had left earlier, and the absence of their captors sparked a flicker of hope.
"Where are those two psychos?" soone whispered.
"No idea. They went out a while ago," another replied.
"If they're gone... does that an we can escape?"
The group fell silent, the possibility hanging in the air like a fragile thread. For those who had suffered under the Black Hand Legion—enslaved, tortured, and abused—escape was the only way to reclaim even a shred of dignity. Staying ant a fate worse than death.
"This might be our only chance," a young man with a dirt-streaked face said, breaking the silence. "We can't just sit here waiting to die. We should leave. Now."
Several others nodded in agreent, their eyes lighting up with determination. But not everyone shared their optimism.
"Leave? And go where?" an older man countered, his voice steady but laced with fear. "The streets are crawling with zombies. We'd be walking straight into our graves. I say we barricade the door and stay put. Wait until morning, then figure out our next move."
"He's right. It's too dangerous out there," soone else chid in.
"Yeah, better to stay here and see what happens."
"Rushing out now would be suicide."
The group splintered into two camps—those who wanted to stay in the relative safety of the basent and those who were desperate to take their chances outside.
"Fine," the young man said, standing up decisively. "Anyone who wants to leave, co with . The rest of you can stay here and wait for whatever happens next."
Four or five people, both n and won, stood up to join him.
"We're with you," one of them said.
"Good," the young man replied, nodding. He walked toward a corner of the basent where a pile of potatoes they had dug up earlier was stored.
The older man frowned, his expression darkening. "Hey, what are you doing?"
"Taking so food," the young man said matter-of-factly. "We'll need it if we're going to survive out there."
"No way!" the older man snapped, stepping forward. "If you want to leave, fine. But the food stays here."
"Why not? We all dug those potatoes up together. How about we split them evenly?" the young man argued.
"Absolutely not!" the older man barked. Food was too precious to give up, especially now. "If you leave, you leave empty-handed."
The young man's face twisted with anger, but he didn't back down. "I'm taking so, whether you like it or not. What are you gonna do about it?"
"Stop right there!" the older man shouted, lunging at him.
The two n collided, grappling and shouting as they wrestled for control. Their scuffle quickly escalated, drawing the attention of the others. Chaos erupted as people rushed toward the pile of potatoes. So, driven by hunger, grabbed raw potatoes and began gnawing on them. Others fought to snatch the food away, fists flying and voices raised in anger.
The basent descended into utter pandemonium.
"Heh heh heh, a bunch of food fighting amongst themselves."
A sinister, chilling laugh echoed from the basent doorway.
"Who's there?"
The survivors froze, their brawl forgotten as they turned toward the sound.
Standing in the doorway was a woman—or what was left of one. Her dry, stringy hair hung in clumps, obscuring one eye, while the other eye glead with a pinprick pupil that seed to pierce through the dim light. Her face was ashen, her expression unnervingly blank, but it was her body that truly horrified them.
Her limbs were thin and frail, but her abdon was grotesquely swollen, bulging as though sothing inside was ready to burst free. Beneath the stretched, translucent skin of her belly, the faint outline of a baby could be seen shifting unnaturally.
The survivors gasped in unison, their fear palpable.
"Z-Zombie King! It's a Zombie King!"
"What do we do?"
"We need to get out of here—now!"
But the Pregnant Zombie King was already moving toward them, her steps slow but deliberate, her face twisted into an expression of manic glee. She radiated death, like a reaper closing in on her prey.
The survivors huddled together, trembling like lambs awaiting slaughter.
The young man who had argued earlier suddenly had an idea. In a desperate bid to save himself, he shoved the older man forward with both hands.
"Hey! You little bastard!" the older man scread, his voice cracking with terror. He stumbled forward, his heart pounding as he turned to curse the young man. But before he could say another word, a sharp, icy pain pierced his chest.
He looked down in horror to see the Zombie King's clawed hand buried deep in his torso. Blood poured from the wound, and when he looked up, her grotesque face was inches from his own.
With a sickening squelch, she ripped his heart out, her fingers dripping with blood as it oozed between them.
"Heh heh heh heh heh~~~"
The survivors stared in frozen terror, their teeth chattering as they watched the grueso scene unfold.
"Run!" soone finally scread, breaking the spell.
Panic erupted.
The group scattered, each person scrambling for the exit in a blind frenzy.
But the Pregnant Zombie King was faster. Her claws lashed out, slicing through flesh with ease. Blood sprayed across the walls as screams filled the air. One by one, survivors fell, their bodies crumpling to the ground in lifeless heaps.
She moved through them like a predator in a chicken coop, savoring the chaos and carnage. Anyone who crossed her path t a swift, brutal end. The basent had beco a slaughterhouse.
Amid the chaos, she grabbed a young woman by the throat, her bony fingers tightening like a vice. The girl thrashed and scread, tears streaming down her face.
"Please! No! Let go!" she sobbed, her voice breaking into a desperate wail.
The Zombie King ignored her pleas. Instead, she began forcing the girl toward her grotesquely swollen belly.
"No! No! Please!" the girl shrieked, her voice rising to a hysterical pitch.
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The bulging stomach began to shift, and the outline of tiny hands pressed against the skin from the inside. With a wet, tearing sound, the belly split open, revealing a pair of bloodied infant hands that reached out and grabbed the girl's hair.
The girl scread in agony as the monstrous baby pulled her head toward the gaping wound.
"Ahhh—!"
Her cries were cut short as her upper body was dragged into the Zombie King's abdon. The sound of bones snapping and flesh tearing filled the air, followed by the sickening crunch of chewing.
The survivors who remained could only watch in horror, their legs frozen in place.
"Heh heh, eat up, my little one..." the Pregnant Zombie King cooed, her lips curling into a grotesque smile.
But in the brief mont she was distracted, a handful of survivors managed to slip past her and escape through the doorway. They stumbled into the night, their breaths ragged, their faces pale with terror.
Back in the basent, the Zombie King's stomach began to heal itself, the torn flesh knitting back together as though nothing had happened. Her belly was now even larger, grotesquely round and taut, as if the feast had only made her hunger grow.
She turned slowly, her gaze locking onto the fleeing survivors.
With deliberate steps, she began to follow, her movents unhurried but relentless.
The hunt was far from over...
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