"I haven't danced so happily in a long time."
Above the ruined city, Nelson moved through the surging tide of zombies, the bone spear in his hand sweeping in wide arcs.
Forged from the spine of a demon, it cut through the horde like a weapon of the underworld, each strike clearing a swathe of enemies.
carnage coiled around his body, and magma-like dark red patterns glowed along the spear, exuding a pressure that distorted the air around him.
An eight-meter-tall giant zombie charged forward, its massive frame shaking the ground with every step. It let out an earth-shaking roar, as if enraged by Nelson's slaughter.
Purplish-black blood seeped from its pale, lifeless eyes, and its grotesque mouth, filled with jagged, scythe-like teeth, still held scraps of flesh. Its arm, thick as reinforced steel, came crashing down toward Nelson's head with overwhelming force.
Nelson did not retreat. Instead, he stepped forward, his expression calm and almost amused. His left arm rose casually, his lips curling into a cold smile as he spoke,
"What are you barking about?"
The punch he threw seemed simple, yet His entire body vibrated as streaks of azure light flickered across him, and a brilliant white glow wrapped around his fist. The air howled under the pressure, yet when the two fists met, there was no dramatic explosion. The giant zombie split apart from the point of impact and was instantly reduced to a cloud of blood by the shockwave.
Nelson opened his mouth and inhaled deeply, drawing in the drifting mist. With a simple motion, he reached into it and pulled out a gray soul.
"Not bad," he said, clearly pleased. "After killing so many ants, I finally have something worth eating."
He swallowed the soul in one gulp, patted his stomach, and let out a satisfied breath, his tone almost relaxed as he added, "Excellent. The taste is truly excellent."
⸻———x——————
Dave stood inside the manor, staring grimly at the battlefield beyond, his grip tightening around the red chainsaw blade in his hands.
The ground for one hundred and fifty meters around the manor was packed with potato mines, each one buried beneath the soil with a glowing red signal. The zombies charging forward either ignored the warnings or simply could not perceive them, but Dave saw clearly what followed.
The moment one stepped close, the ground erupted violently, blasting bodies apart in bursts of fire and soil. Most were destroyed instantly, and those that survived were quickly torn apart by the relentless fire of the pea shooters.
At first glance, it looked like a clean harvest, rows of zombies falling one after another, but Dave's expression only grew darker. The tide of corpses never slowed.
In the far distance, beyond the edges of his vision, an endless stream of undead continued to advance, filling the horizon. By the time he realized something was wrong, it was already too late. Against such numbers, even the mobile manor would struggle to function.
Its mechanical legs and tracks could not push through the sea of bodies, and in the distance, strange mutated zombies leapt forty or fifty meters at a time, while massive ones piled themselves together into walls of flesh that blocked any path forward.
"Steve, get the corn cannon!," Dave snapped, his voice sharp with urgency. He paused only long enough to grab a bottle of nutrient fluid from a nearby servant and gulp it down.
He growled, before throwing a cherry bomb into the swarm. It exploded with a thunderous blast, instantly clearing a wide area, yet within seconds the surrounding zombies flooded in again, filling the gap as if nothing had happened.
A trace of desperation crept into Dave's chest. The zombies were endless, and at this rate, even if he fought until his ammunition and supplies were gone, it would make no difference.
At that moment, Steve rushed out with the servants, dragging a massive yellow Corn Cannon nearly a meter wide into position.
Dave's eyes lit up at the sight, and without hesitation he shouted, "Fire!"
The cannon roared, its recoil slamming deep into the ground as the projectile shot high into the sky. For several seconds, nothing happened, and then a blinding explosion erupted in the distance, like a miniature sun. A massive section of the horde vanished instantly, nearly thirty thousand zombies wiped out in a single strike.
Dave stared,, before letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The weapon's power reignited his confidence. As long as he could maintain this level of defense, supported by Tall-nuts, Wall-nuts, Spikeweed, and the Pea Shooters, he could hold the line.
⸻———X——————
Far away, on a high slope overlooking the battlefield, George Ellison sat upon a throne built into the head of a giant mechanical zombie. The upper half of the creature's skull had been removed and reshaped into a control console, while the rest of its massive body remained intact beneath him.
Though he still retained a human form, his appearance had changed drastically. His skull had swollen unnaturally, his hair was gone, and purplish veins pulsed beneath his skin.
Around him, green fel energy burned like living fire, spreading outward in tendrils that seeped into the machine beneath him.
Once, George had been a man of knowledge, holding six doctorates and pushing the limits of science. But long before the apocalypse reached its peak, he had begun hearing a voice, a constant whisper that echoed in his mind, urging him to accept something beyond humanity.
His research had stagnated, every path leading to a dead end, and in time, he came to a simple conclusion.
Humanity had limits, and he refused to be bound by them. When the world changed, he embraced the power offered to him, allowing the corruption to reshape him completely.
Now, knowledge flowed into him without effort. He understood what was happening to the world.
Its energy was rising, forcing all life within it to evolve in order to maintain balance. It was a desperate measure, something that should never happen naturally unless the world itself faced destruction.
The outbreak, the mutation of plants, the rise of monsters, it was all part of a brutal selection process. The strong would survive and become weapons, while the weak would be discarded.
Through his control over the zombie horde, George had already identified the anomaly, a single human named Dave who could command those evolved plants. Perhaps he was meant to be humanity's answer, a chosen individual shaped by the will of the world itself.
Yet George dismissed the thought almost immediately. Humans had limits, and no matter how special he was, that truth would not change.
At the same time, George was aware of another threat, one far more dangerous than the survivors. Through the scattered vision of the zombies, he had seen creatures that tore through cities without resistance, beings that no ordinary force could stop. Compared to them, even this endless horde was little more than cannon fodder.
With a faint smile, George made his decision. He would allow the two sides to clash, letting the strongest emerge. This instinct, this drive toward slaughter and selection, was not entirely his own, but something deeper, something tied to the power within him and the will of the world itself.
Raising a hand, he gave a simple command.
The earth trembled as seventy-two colossal figures rose from the ground, each one towering twenty meters tall. Their bodies resembled forged steel, in their hands, massive war hammers formed from burning fel energy.
They stood like still for a moment, before beginning their march toward the distant manor.
Elsewhere, Nelson stood amidst the ruins of yet another fallen city, his gaze sweeping over the battlefield as his forces continued their slaughter.
The army he had brought into this world had already been reduced from over a thousand to less than six hundred. The weakest had fallen first, the Scythe Demons, followed by the gargoyles, many of which had been torn apart by relentless waves of flying zombies.
What remained was still powerful, but the losses were starting to pile.
At the same time, Nelson could feel the change in the world around him. The suppression of this plane was growing stronger, dulling his strength, making his strikes feel heavier, as though the air itself resisted him.
This was not something he could ignore. If he slowed down, the advantage would shift.
His goal was simple. If enough life in this world was destroyed, its resistance would collapse, and once that happened, the plane would no longer be able to oppose him. It would be left exposed, ready to be claimed.
Compared to devils, who schemed and cultivated power over centuries, Nelson preferred a direct approach. He saw no value in patience that stretched across lifetimes. In the end, strength decided everything, and the higher one climbed, the more inevitable conflict became.
It was better to face that reality now than to be crushed by it later.
Still, he was not reckless. From what he had seen, this world had limits, and whatever champion it produced would not surpass him. And if things went wrong, he still had Bariel and Verus, tools that could buy him time when needed.
With that thought, Nelson pulled the bone spear from his back and leapt down from a broken lamppost. His body cut through the air, and as he moved, he hurled the spear forward. It shot across the ruined city like a falling star before crashing into the distance.
A moment later, the impact blossomed into a towering explosion, a cloud rising into the sky as another section of the city was wiped away.
"Kill them all,"
In the distance, another impact bloomed into a rising cloud.