Chapter 778: Pathetic

Chapter 778: Pathetic

“Pffft—”

A spray of dark red blood burst from Gareth’s mouth. His body went rigid as a sudden chill spread through his chest.

He looked down—and froze.

Five long, razor-sharp blades had pierced straight through his torso, jutting out from his chest like grotesque spikes. He’d been completely impaled.

Blood poured down in thick, steady streams.

Crack!

Laura gripped her claw-blades tight and yanked them outward in one brutal motion—ripping a still-beating, blood-soaked heart straight from Gareth’s chest.

His life drained away in an instant. His face turned ghostly pale, and he collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud.

Another human elite… gone.

Bloodveil narrowed his eyes at the scene, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. Damn it—Laura had snatched another kill right out from under him. He’d taken a beating in this fight, and in the end, didn’t even get a single head to show for it.

Total loss.

Now, only one human fighter remained—Howard.

He stared at Gareth’s lifeless body, and it felt like something inside him had been ripped apart.

Dead…

They were all dead…

The flames that had once burned across his body flickered out, vanishing completely. And with them, the last ember of hope in his heart was extinguished.

His face turned ashen, eyes hollow. He looked like a man who’d lost his soul.

Not far away, Ethan was walking toward him, step by step.

Surrounding Howard now were four of the Voidborn Undying—Ethan, Bloodveil, the Two-Headed Zombie King, and Laura. They had him boxed in, nowhere to run.

Howard’s eyes darted around, but it was hopeless. Even if he had wings, he couldn’t escape this. He was as good as dead.

Whatever fight he had left in him—it shattered.

Thud!

His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, overwhelmed by a crushing wave of regret.

I lost…

Ethan stood before him, calm and composed. He pulled out a fresh white shirt and began buttoning it up, one button at a time.

His expression was cold, detached. Handsome face, spotless white shirt—he looked untouched by the carnage around him.

Howard stared up at him, dazed. The aura of a powerful warrior was gone. He looked like a beaten dog.

The man he’d obsessed over—the Zombie King in the white shirt—was standing right in front of him. But now, all he felt was helplessness.

“Why?” Howard’s voice cracked. He couldn’t understand it. He hadn’t made any mistakes. He’d planned everything down to the last detail. There was no reason he should’ve lost…

And yet, somehow, he had.

Ethan finally spoke, voice calm and even: “If you’d brought two more Awakeners like Harren… and come a few months earlier… maybe—just maybe—you might’ve had a shot.”

Howard said nothing. He couldn’t argue. This Zombie King had become terrifyingly strong—and fast. Since the battle at the Skywall, it had only been a few days, but Ethan had evolved at a pace no one could’ve predicted.

That alone might’ve been the reason for their defeat.

“You still want to live?” Ethan asked, his voice quiet but cutting.

Howard’s eyes were lifeless, empty. He looked around—and saw nothing but death.

Serah lay face-down, impaled by ice spikes, her eyes still open in disbelief. Gareth’s body was sprawled in a pool of blood, his chest a gaping hole. Harren’s broken corpse lay in the rubble, unmoving.

In the distance, the massive Dreadnought-class Starcruiser was on the verge of being overrun. Most of it was already crawling with zombies. The screams of dying humans echoed through the air—raw, desperate, endless.

Panic had taken hold. Soldiers were abandoning their posts, fleeing in escape crafts, desperate to get away.

This battle… had been Howard’s call.

And now, his comrades—his friends—had all fallen before his eyes.

Maybe history really does repeat itself…

His path mirrored Harren’s far too closely. Even if he made it back to human civilization, he’d just become another Harren—another fallen hero, crushed by regret and grief.

“You… just kill me,” Howard said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. He didn’t have the strength—or the will—to endure this kind of pain anymore.

The entire Dreadnought-class Starcruiser was doomed. Half a million Awakeners had boarded it, and now nearly all of them were dead.

So many young lives, handpicked through brutal selection, had come here to fight. Many were still students from the academies—bright minds, gifted talents, the pride of their families, the hope of entire bloodlines.

And now, they were gone. Slaughtered under Howard’s command. No return. No redemption.

He couldn’t face their families. Couldn’t face himself.

“Mm,” Ethan responded with a soft grunt. If Howard had said he wanted to live, maybe—just maybe—Ethan would’ve let him go. Let him crawl back to try and cure his zombified son. Maybe even let him regroup, bring the other Dreadnought-class Starcruiser back for a second round.

But looking at him now—eyes dead, spirit broken—he was done. No fight left in him. Just a shell.

Pathetic, Ethan thought. Not even half the man Harren was.

Without another word, Ethan raised his hand. A katana shimmered into existence, gleaming with cold steel. In one smooth motion, he brought it down.

Howard didn’t flinch. He just stared, wide-eyed, as the blade came closer and closer, the reflection of its edge growing in his pupils.

Shhhk—

His head flew clean off.

The body crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

“Raaaarghhh!”

Behind Ethan, the horde of zombies let out a thunderous roar, wild with excitement. The final blow had been struck. Victory was theirs.

The remaining human forces were quickly wiped out. Only a handful of lucky Awakeners managed to scramble into escape crafts and flee into the sky.

The brutal battle had finally come to an end.

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a blood-red glow across the battlefield. The entire area was a wasteland of destruction—scorched earth, shattered metal, and the stench of death.

Bodies were piled high, layer upon layer—human and zombie alike.

Rivers of blood snaked through the dirt like veins across the land, glistening under the dying light. The sunset painted everything in a tragic, crimson hue.

Despite the overwhelming victory, Ethan’s zombie horde had taken heavy losses. Human firepower wasn’t just for show—especially with the Guard Mechs in play.

For most of the horde, the only way to take down those walking tanks was to outlast them—to drain their energy reserves until they shut down.

Amid the carnage, a jagged boulder jutted from the ground. Atop it stood Elegy, her silhouette framed by the wind-swept dusk. Her long hair danced in the breeze.

Now that the battle was over, the symphony of slaughter had softened into something else—something haunting. A requiem for the dead.

She strummed her guitar, the notes echoing across the desolate field, ethereal and mournful.

“Life… it cuts like a song of sorrow,

Burning bright—then fading hollow.

We drink the light, we choke on the night…”

Her voice was soft, melodic, almost ghostly. It drifted over the battlefield like a lullaby for the fallen.

But beneath the music, the guttural snarls of the undead still echoed.

The zombie horde had begun their grim work—scouring the battlefield, feasting on the dead. They tore into flesh with savage hunger. The sounds of ripping, chewing, and crunching filled the air. Everywhere you looked, it was a grotesque feast of the damned.

“It’s over…” Bloodveil muttered, scanning the battlefield. Even he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of awe. Another Dreadnought-class Starcruiser had fallen on Necroterra. This was history in the making—an epic moment.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel a little bitter. He hadn’t managed to snag a single high-tier crystal core. Not one. His eyes drifted toward the wreckage of the massive ship. Maybe he could salvage some tech weapons or gear—anything of value.

His eyes flicked toward Ethan. “Hey, I held off a bunch of human elites during the fight. Made a huge contribution. You could say I was key to the win…”

“Huh?” Ethan turned to him, raising an eyebrow with mock surprise. “You’re still alive?”

“Uh…” Bloodveil froze. The tone, the look—it was off. Way off. That wasn’t praise. That was shade.

Whatever speech he’d prepared to brag about his role… he swallowed it back down.

…

Here’s a redemption code for everyone: