BOOOOM!

The sky split with a deafening roar as Ethan's blood-red aura clashed violently with Harren's blinding white lightning. Crimson and white collided like two gods at war, the sound of their impact echoing across the battlefield like the end of the world.

For a moment, it was as if the entire world had been torn in two—half bathed in searing red, the other in electric white.

But Ethan's fist didn't stop.

It tore through the lightning like a blade through paper, shattering the storm into a thousand sparks. The thunder was crushed, the light broken. All that remained was the unstoppable force of his punch.

Harren's eyes widened in horror. Ethan was closing in fast, and the pressure—God, the pressure—was unbearable. It felt like a mountain was crashing down on him, like he was a bug pinned to the earth, helpless to move.

CRACK!

Ethan's fist slammed into him.

The impact was cataclysmic—far beyond the punch that had once shattered The Skywall. This was something else entirely. Something apocalyptic.

The crater beneath them exploded outward, doubling in size. Shards of stone were blasted into the air, only to be pulverized mid-flight by the shockwave. Dust and debris filled the sky, blotting out the sun.

The earth trembled violently. The entire battlefield shifted under the force of that one blow.

Massive fissures split the ground, stretching out in every direction like the veins of a dying planet. Jagged ravines opened up, some so deep you couldn't see the bottom. Boulders tumbled endlessly into the darkness below.

From that day forward, the place would be known as The One-Punch Rift.

A scar on the land, carved by a single strike.

In the years to come, Zombie Kings from across the continent would travel thousands of miles just to see it with their own eyes—to witness the aftermath of that legendary blow.

And still, the earth quaked.

The sheer magnitude of the attack had drawn every eye on the battlefield. Even the other Zombie Kings, hardened monsters who'd seen countless wars, stared in stunned silence.

Bloodveil's eyes were wide, his face pale.

"Holy shit… this guy's that strong?"

He'd always assumed that if it came down to it, he could go toe-to-toe with Ethan. Maybe not win, but at least hold his own.

Now? That illusion shattered.

He didn't even dare entertain the thought of crossing him anymore. Not after this.

In the distance, hidden in the thick canopy of a forest, four members of the Overlord Squad—Big Ears and his crew—peeked out from the leaves, their heads barely visible.

"Did you see that?! Boss just went full beast mode!"

"Yeah, yeah! Totally unstoppable! No wonder he's the one leading us!"

"That human guy was pretty tough though… held his own for a while."

"Still got wrecked though."

But the ones who were truly shaken—truly rattled to their core—were Howard and Gareth.

They stood frozen, eyes wide, jaws slack. A cold sweat ran down their backs.

They couldn't feel the lightning anymore.

The storm was gone.

"Did… did Harren just get taken out?" Gareth whispered, voice barely audible.

Howard didn't answer. He couldn't. The look on his face said it all.

This wasn't looking good.

The destructive energy finally began to settle. The dust slowly drifted down, revealing the aftermath.

The battlefield was unrecognizable—scarred, broken, devastated. Steam hissed from the cracks in the earth, rising in ghostly tendrils.

And there, standing atop a massive slab of stone, was Ethan.

His upper body was bare, muscles gleaming under the fading light, sculpted like a statue carved by the gods. The terrifying aura he'd unleashed was now gone, drawn back into him, leaving only silence and stillness.

But even without the blood-red glow, he looked untouchable.

Unshakable.

Unstoppable.

"Damn… that took more out of me than I thought," Ethan muttered under his breath.

The fight had been short, but Blood Rite burned through energy like wildfire. It wasn't something he could sustain for long.

He'd used up nearly half his power just to bring Harren down.

If he had to face two enemies of that caliber at once… things could get dicey.

"Cough… cough…"

A weak, ragged sound came from the rubble below.

A broken figure lay half-buried in the shattered stone, blood trickling from his mouth and nose.

Harren.

His body was wrecked, his consciousness fading. The youthful, battle-hardened form he'd taken on was gone. What remained was the frail, withered shell of an old man—his true self.

"Is this… the end?" he whispered, voice barely audible.

But there was no fear in his tone. No regret.

Only peace.

A faint smile touched his lips, as if he'd finally been released from a burden he'd carried too long.

Maybe… maybe he should've died thirty years ago.

The memories came flooding back—sharp, vivid, and merciless.

Harren couldn't stop them, no matter how hard he tried.

His wife. His children. His brothers-in-arms.

All of them had fallen, one by one, in pools of blood—sacrificing themselves to cover his retreat.

And the cruelest part?

That battle… had been one he started.

His voice trembled as he spoke, barely more than a whisper. "You know… what the worst kind of pain is?"

Ethan stood above him, calm and composed, like they were just two old friends catching up. "Losing a fight?"

Harren gave a bitter smile, blood staining his teeth. "No… it's when they all die… and I'm the one who's still alive."

Ethan tilted his head slightly, his tone dry. "Well, guess you won't have to suffer anymore."

He meant it. This fight—this ending—was a mercy.

Harren's vision blurred. His consciousness was slipping fast. But as he stared up at Ethan, standing tall atop that jagged stone, sunlight pouring down behind him like a halo, something strange happened.

For a split second, he saw someone else.

A shadow from the past.

A figure from thirty years ago—another Zombie King who had once stood alone against the tide, slaughtering elite human Awakeners like they were nothing. A king who had turned the tide of war with sheer, unmatched power.

He remembered the day that king stood against three Dreadnought-class Starcruisers… and sank one with his bare hands.

That name had been burned into the minds of every Awakener since.

Deathless Sovereign—Endless.

"You… you look just like him," Harren murmured.

Ethan's brow twitched. "Who?"

"The Overlord of Heartland… Endless."

And with that, Harren's eyes dimmed completely. The last flicker of life faded from his gaze. His head slumped to the side, and he was gone.

Just like that.

Thirty years too late.

The wind howled across the wasteland, whistling through the cracks and ruins. Aside from that, the world was silent.

Ethan stood motionless, hair swaying in the breeze, staring down at Harren's lifeless body.

"Endless, huh?"

He scoffed, voice low and dry. "Guess people really do start talking nonsense before they die…"

The strongest human—Harren—had fallen.

His long, painful life had finally come to an end.

Around the battlefield, the remaining Awakeners stood in stunned silence, grief etched into their faces. It felt like a boulder had been dropped on their chests—heavy, suffocating.

Harren was dead.

Howard and Gareth were frozen, their minds refusing to accept what they were seeing. The symbol of their resistance, their last hope… gone.

The battle was lost.

"Why…?" Gareth muttered, voice cracking.

Not far away, Bloodveil narrowed his eyes, watching the scene unfold. The outcome was clear now. Those two humans were nothing more than lambs waiting for the slaughter.

And if he killed them… maybe he'd get a shot at their crystal cores.

A wicked grin spread across his face.

Without warning, Bloodveil struck.

His body flared with crimson light as he activated Bloodtide Domain, a tidal wave of blood energy surging toward Howard and Gareth like a living storm.

"Time to die, humans!"

"Watch out!" Gareth shouted, reacting instantly. His vast mental energy surged outward, forming a thick psychic barrier to shield them both.

BOOM!

The two forces collided with a thunderous crash. The air trembled, space itself seemed to ripple, and the battlefield lit up with violent energy.

"Kehehehehe…"

A twisted laugh echoed through the chaos.

The Two-Headed Zombie King stepped forward, his grotesque faces grinning in unison. His power was soul-based—he could disrupt mental energy, devour it, twist it.

And Gareth was the perfect target.

A wave of black energy slithered toward him like a monstrous serpent, gnawing at the psychic shield, tearing it apart bit by bit.

Gareth's face turned ghostly pale. He'd already burned through most of his energy earlier—he couldn't hold out much longer.

"Howard!" he shouted. "Go! Take out that two-headed freak—now!"

"Got it!" Howard responded, flames igniting around his body as he launched forward, ready to strike.

But the moment he left Gareth's side—

SHHK!

A sickening sound tore through the air—metal slicing through flesh.

Howard froze.

He turned, eyes wide.

A razor-sharp claw had pierced straight through Gareth's back, jutting out from his chest, slick with blood.

"Gareth!!"

...

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