King Of The Apocalypse Novels & Stories

"The open exposure caused a systemic mutation inversion! She is turning into a baseline worker!" "Thorne!" Garrison’s voice boomed through the storm. He was back on his feet, his jaw bleeding where he had struck the train carriage. He didn’t look at Cynthia. He sprinted past her writhing form, his eyes fixed entirely on the doctor who had engineered the apocalypse. Thorne turned to run into the dark tunnel, but his polished leather shoes slipped on the wet metal ties of the track. He stumbled, a medium-sized silver box flying out of his hand and sliding across the bridge mesh until it caught on the safety rail right over the canyon.

But then, a terrifying change tore through him. His skin drained of all human color, turning a deathly, pale white. Thick, black veins spiderwebbed violently up his neck, crawling across his jawline and pressing against his temples. When he raised his head, his eyes were completely void—pitch-black, swallowing the moonlight and reflecting nothing but pure, ancient hunger. He did not look human anymore. He was an Apex Elite Zombie, towering and terrifying, radiating a suffocating aura of raw, monster power that pressed down against our chests like a physical weight.

"Zora Vane." I spun around. Standing on the catwalk behind me were the twelve Apostles. They hadn't followed me into the water; they had simply materialized through the "Void-Rift" I had left in my wake. Their white-gold gowns were glowing with that same, parasitic blue. And in the center of them stood Dante. He didn't look like my husband anymore. He looked like the King of the Hive. "You cannot hide in the mud, First-Born," the Apostles said in unison. "The world is becoming the Spire. The mud is being deleted."

The void creatures charged. The King roared back instantly. “FIGHT!” Chaos exploded again. The Lunar Order unleashed waves of moonsteel arrows through the battlefield while shadow creatures collided with void monsters in brutal waves of destruction. The fortress ruins collapsed farther apart. Mountains burned in the distance. Reality itself trembled. And still, the abyss kept rising. Lira grabbed Kael quickly as another violent tremor nearly knocked him down. “You need to rest.” He gave her a tired look. “Bit difficult during the apocalypse.”

Ronan muttered. “Don’t get too comfortable,” Ara cut in, voice heavy. They all stopped and looked at her. Ara stood at the edge of the trees, eyes fixed on the red numbers still ticking in her vision. “We didn’t stop Ramsdale Hawkins,” she said quietly. “He has the authorization. Based on my last timeline… the apocalypse begins in exactly seven days.”

She sat before the microphone as evening settled over the compound, Marcus and Priya and Daisy gathered close, Julian patched in from wherever he was currently operating, and took a slow breath before finally speaking. "My name is Sera Ashford," she began, her voice steadier than she felt. "Some of you know me as the Apocalypse Queen. I want to start by telling you that title was never something I chose, and it's never been entirely true. I'm not a queen. I'm not a legend. I'm someone who was scared enough of what was coming that I spent months preparing before anyone else understood there was anything to prepare for, and I've spent every day since trying to live up to choices I'm not always

Handwriting from twelve years ago — the strokes heavier than they were now, the flourishes drawn wide and loose, like someone who wasn't afraid of wasting paper. I turned to page twelve. A layout diagram of the bunker. Seven bunks, one incubation unit, the storeroom at the end of the hallway, the concrete-sealed door nearly two feet thick. In the bottom right corner of the diagram, a note in my own handwriting: "The apocalypse has to feel real. Push the heat up, make the water filthy — let the audience practically smell it. Rotate the insiders every season, keep one genuinely unwitting participant — protects the ratings." After "genuinely unwitting," there was a note in parentheses. Just one

“What are you talking about?” Clara’s lips curled into a strange smile. “Why bother? The world is ending soon anyway.” They had been reborn too? I was shocked, but I quickly masked it with a cold smile. “Nonsense! Anyway, I sincerely wish you two the best. I hope you and Ethan stay together forever.” Because when the apocalypse hits, it will be so much easier to destroy you both together. “Hey! What’s going on here?” A booming, authoritative voice rang out from the front entrance of the restaurant. A tall, broad-shouldered young man in a dark suede jacket walked in, flanked by two imposing security guards from the shopping center.

For the first time, something flickered across his hard face. "Not for a long time. And you — who are you? Something about you draws." I peeled off one gauntlet, and the ribbon on my palm glowed gold. "My name is Aurora Bennett. I have a fortress half built on the mountain behind me. I could use someone who knows how to hold a ridge for forty minutes." His amber eyes dropped to the glowing ribbon, then to the refugees looking up at us with raw hope. "Last of the royals," he said, almost to himself. "They said you were dead."

All of it, kept running, like a tap. "That is how I know your name," he says. "Justin Vanguard." The name lands next to a rumor the pack house passed around in my last life. The Warlord of the North. The exiled Alpha King who refused to burn a refugee camp and was chased out of his own territory in chains. Nobody could say where he went. He watches my face. "You know it." "I know the story." "Well, most of it is a lie." "Which part?" "The part where I am a king." He says it flat. No smile.