Apocalypse Of All Races Novels & Stories

On the ninety-first day of the apocalypse, her husband shoved her out of the lift and told her she was too fat to save. Her best friend stepped on her fingers. Tamsin Orrey died begging. Then she woke up thirty days before the end of the world, with a system in her head, a divorce to file, and twenty million dollars everyone wanted. This time, she will not carry anyone. She will train. She will hoard. She will bond the dead and make them hers. And when the people who left her come crawling to her walls, she'll tell them exactly how much room there is.

Compared with Leah’s struggle to survive the apocalypse, Jean seemed to have faced an even more hopeless fight. Life in an age of war was hard. Yet Jean kept helping people who had lost their homes. Leah admired her for it. With the space, Jean could probably have lived well if she looked after only herself. In a world at war or on the brink of apocalypse, people were unpredictable. Perhaps keeping to oneself was the safest choice. Leah gathered her thoughts and continued. “You said the second owner lived in the same timeline as me. Does that mean the first owner didn’t?”

Three years into the apocalypse, my girlfriend, a captain of the Spark Sanctuary, kept me stuck living in the outer quarantine belt for 1,095 days. Every time I dragged my battered body to her with an entry pass in hand, she would put on a conflicted expression. "Shane, you're my boyfriend, so I have to avoid showing favoritism. These spots need to go to the families of fallen soldiers. Just wait a little longer. You don't have special abilities, so you're just regular muscle inside." I bought her excuses completely, turning right back around to risk my life fighting through swarms of infected. It wasn't until the day I accumulated my ninth entry pass, crawling back to find her while bur

She died with a knife in her back and her husband's lies in her ears. This time, she'll make sure everyone pays. Dr. Elena Vasquez survived seven days after civilization collapsed, starvation, infection, the screaming of a world tearing itself apart. What killed her wasn't the apocalypse. Marcus left her for another woman when the chaos began, taking the supplies she bled for and the weapons she scavenged. As she lay dying, he confessed the truth: their five-year marriage had never been real. She was never his love. She was his caretaker. His provider. His convenient, disposable tool. "You were just useful." Those were the last words she ever heard. Then Elena opens her eyes,

She had escaped the immediate problem, but the incident had confirmed something she already suspected: people were beginning to notice. Six days before the apocalypse, most people still believed the heat was temporary. They complained about uncomfortable weather, power fluctuations, and higher grocery prices, but they had no idea what was coming. Charity knew. She knew that when the power failed for days at a time, when clean water became difficult to find, and when supermarkets were emptied within hours, the people who had prepared in advance would suddenly become targets. She needed to be more careful from now on. When she finally arrived home, the delivery trucks were already waiting outs

No official language followed. I spoke into the quiet that remained. “The collapse is widening. Your formal board is still catching up. The second group is still out there calculating from every site I have already emptied. This ground stays dark only until it doesn’t. The moment either pressure appears on approach, we leave under the same terms. My pace. My load. No discussion while the exit is still clean.” “Agreed,” Rylan said. “Dark status only. Trigger conditions unchanged. We move the moment any of them appear.”

The words bore no meaning. “What is human?” I demanded. “A race that dwelleth beyond the veil,” the oracle saith. “Their years are few and their flesh tender. They possess neither scale, shifting form, nor immortal fire. They are born, they breed, and they perish as grass under the sun. Until the sky altered, they dwelt hidden from the elder races. Now the veil grows thin, and one of their blood hath been brought unto you.” I searched seven centuries of memory and found no race bearing such a name.

That insufferable know-it-all had brought a tsunami of truth, lie, deceit, betrayal, and torment of the past, messing up my mental state. For a moment, I regretted agreeing on a detailed conversation, but deep down, it felt right to do so. The layers after layers of fog were getting cleared by every revelation. I found myself standing in a clear light. Being able to see everything clearly for once was a nice change. Prince Edith broke my trance with the details of curse, I heard him saying. “Almost every race was harmed by King Maddox’s bloodlust, no one was spared from his hunger for power.

He looked at the carnage around him, his face a blank slate of shock. And that’s when it hit me. The final, fragile illusion of society, of order, of help, shattered into a million pieces. This wasn’t a riot. This wasn’t a temporary crisis. The men in biohazard suits, the chained gurneys, the bloody cough, the biting… the gunshot executing the infected. This was the end. The world wasn’t going crazy. The world was gone. This island, this hospital, this room—this was the new world. Shit. This is the apocalypse.

The world is turning into a graveyard, and the graves are emptying faster than the living can bury their dead. A bite is a death sentence. The infected tear through families, schools, hospitals, entire cities. People barricade themselves inside their homes while their loved ones claw at the doors, begging to be let in with mouths full of blood. Those who escape spend their days scavenging through abandoned shops and their nights listening to the dead gather outside. Nina Calloway has watched the world become a slaughterhouse. She has seen people trampled over a bottle of water, strangers dragged from hiding places, and desperate survivors trade human lives for a few more hours of safet