In the end, Grizz gave in.
He picked up the bone from the ground and slunk out the door, tail practically between his legs.
"HAHAHAHAHA!"
The Vampire Race burst into raucous laughter behind him, clearly enjoying the show.
"These purebred zombies are hilarious."
"Just like dogs, aren’t they?"
"Even if you gave him a dozen guts, he still wouldn’t dare step out of line!"
"Pathetic."
Grizz had barely reached the doorway when the jeers and mocking voices from the vampires hit him like a slap to the back of the head.
He glanced down at the bone in his hand, and a wave of fury surged up from deep inside him.
But he swallowed it.
Patience.
Grizz commanded tens of thousands of zombies—he wasn’t afraid of the Malrick family. What he feared was the force behind them: the Crimson Count.
That monster could wipe him off the face of the earth with a flick of his finger.
Outside, the wind howled through the ruined city, sharp and cold, carrying flurries of snow that stung like needles. The world felt bleak, lifeless.
"When the hell is this gonna end?"
"Grizz!"
A voice called out from nearby. A hulking figure stomped through the snow, flanked by a squad of elite zombies. He looked almost identical to Grizz—sa massive fra, sa twisted features.
His na was Boar. Grizz’s twin brother.
"Did you get the at?" Boar rasped, his voice rough like gravel.
Grizz held up the bone. "This is it."
Boar squinted. "That’s a damn bone."
His eyes flared with rage. "Those bloodsuckers think we’re dogs now?!"
"Yeah, well... better than nothing," Grizz muttered, resigned. He opened his jaws and sank his teeth into the bone.
It cracked like a biscuit under his bite, splintering with a loud crunch as he chewed.
"Well... at least it’s got so crunch."
"Pfft!" Boar couldn’t help but laugh, his anger fading a little. His brother’s stubborn optimism was contagious. He took the bone and bit into it too.
Sure, bones had so energy in them—but they were nothing compared to real at.
The two brothers gnawed on the bone in the middle of the snowstorm, looking like sothing out of a tragedy.
"Eat up. We’ve still got patrol duty after this," Grizz said.
Boar didn’t answer. He just stared at his brother, deadpan. Patrol duty? After being tossed a bone like a mutt?
Even a capitalist would cry at this level of exploitation...
But what could they do? They gathered their elite squad and trudged toward the city outskirts.
The sky was darkening fast. What had already been a gloomy day was now sinking into full-on night.
Grizz and Boar moved like beaten dogs, dragging their feet through the snow, shadows of their forr selves. Puppets on strings.
The wind scread through the ruins, mixing with the distant howls of other zombies. Hunger was in the air—thick, desperate.
"So hungry..." Boar growled under his breath.
A bone wasn’t enough. Not even close.
Grizz’s glowing eyes scanned the horizon. Up ahead, a patch of forest lood, black and silent under the falling snow.
"Think we should go look for so hibernating squirrels or sothing?"
"Hell yeah. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky and find a big ol’ hunk of fresh at," Boar said, eyes lighting up with hope.
Grizz gave a bitter smile. With the mountains buried in snow, the odds of finding anything fresh were slim to none.
Still, he didn’t have the heart to crush his brother’s little fantasy.
But just as they were about to move, sothing caught their eye.
A splash of red in the snow.
"Grizz, look!" Boar pointed, eyes wide.
Grizz turned—and froze.
There, lying in the snow like a gift from the gods, was a massive slab of beef ribs. Thick, marbled at, glistening with blood and fat. Perfectly fresh. Perfectly untouched.
"What the..."
"No way..."
Grizz’s mouth watered instantly. Tears welled up in his eyes and dribbled down his chin like a tiny waterfall.
"Grizz! Let’s dig in!" Boar was already halfway there, practically drooling.
No zombie could resist that kind of temptation.
They bolted toward the at, sprinting like soldiers charging into battle, snow flying behind them.
But then—sothing weird happened.
Just as they were about to reach it, the beef ribs... moved.
Like it had legs.
It slid across the snow, fast, putting distance between itself and the ravenous zombies.
"Huh???"
"What the hell’s going on?"
The zombies looked at each other, confused and unsure. None of them had a clue what they’d just witnessed.
Grizz’s brow furrowed deeply. As ridiculous as it sounded—even to a zombie—he could’ve sworn they’d just chased a slab of beef ribs that could run.
"After it!"
He barked the order without hesitation, breaking into a sprint again. He had to find out what the hell was going on.
Grizz and Boar tore through the snow, chasing the mysterious at deeper into the wilderness. They were now well beyond the Vampire Race’s surveillance range—no more psychic signals, no more oversight. Out here, they were on their own.
Finally, the runaway beef ribs ca to a stop.
Boar picked up speed, closing the distance fast. When he was about thirty feet away, he launched himself forward like a predator pouncing on prey.
Thud!
He hit the snow hard, sliding several feet and carving a deep trench in the white powder. His claws slamd down on the at.
"Gotcha!"
Boar’s face lit up with triumph—until he realized sothing was off.
The beef ribs shimred, then began to dissolve into tiny glowing particles, drifting into the night like fireflies.
"What the...?"
Boar blinked, stunned. He looked down at his claws, then back at the vanishing illusion.
It wasn’t real.
Just a psychic projection—an illusion made of pure ntal energy.
Still sprawled in the snow, Boar felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold.
Then—crunch, crunch, crunch—footsteps.
A pair of boots appeared in the snow just ahead of him, walking slowly, deliberately. The sound was crisp, each step echoing in the stillness.
The figure stopped right in front of Boar.
Boar looked up, eyes narrowing.
Black slacks. White dress shirt. A long white fur coat draped over broad shoulders. And above it all, a strikingly handso face, calm and cold, staring down at him with unreadable eyes.
"You..."
Boar scrambled back, startled, then kicked off the ground and sprang to his feet.
Grizz arrived a second later, rushing to his brother’s side. His glowing eyes locked onto the stranger, instantly sensing sothing was off.
The man stood there in stark contrast to the night—white clothes against the black sky. The wind that had been howling monts ago now seed to avoid him, swirling around his body without touching him. Even the snowflakes curved away, as if unwilling to land on him.
The whole scene was surreal—eerie and majestic all at once.
"Who the hell are you?" Grizz asked, voice low and cautious.
"I’m the Zombie King of Los Angeles," the man replied coolly. "Na’s Ethan."
Grizz’s eyes narrowed, the glow in them intensifying.
The Zombie King of L.A.—the very enemy they’d been warned about.
The Vampire Race had made it clear: take him out, and they’d be rewarded with mountains of fresh, living flesh.
"Raaaghhh—!"
The zombie horde let out a guttural roar, signaling the presence of an intruder. Their eyes flared with bloodlust, bodies tensing, ready to pounce.
But Ethan didn’t flinch.
Without a word, he casually tossed sothing to the ground.
A fresh chunk of at—thick, red, and dripping with blood.
"Huh?"
Every zombie’s gaze snapped to it.
The growls died instantly.
...
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