By Manuel Loureiro
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An act of terrorism unleashed an unspeakable organic weapon...and hell in the world. yet because the lots felled by way of a hideous virus rose from the useless to prey at the residing, a small band of survivors defied loss of life and its ghastly spawn—determined to outrun the world’s finish and by some means commence again.
But past the undead-besieged beaches of Europe lies whatever in the direction of damnation than salvation. Rescued from yes demise at sea, a tender Spanish legal professional, the gorgeous girl he loves, and his brash, battle-hardened most sensible friend—who have weathered the worst of the unnatural disaster—think they’re escaping to freedom yet are introduced right into a stronghold of hate. In a usa ravaged through a zombie plague and overrun by way of the undead, in basic terms Gulfport, Mississippi, bargains sanctuary...for a value: subservience to a fascist dictator and his brutal enforcers. yet their reign of terror will quickly be challenged—by rebels hungry for vengeance and invaders bent on conquest.
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Additional resources for Apocalypse Z: The Wrath of the Just (Apocalypse Z, Book 3)
6 The caliginous tentacles of the Omnibeast carried their unconscious master into his meditation chamber, then gently set him down and guided him into the black lotus position. While one of the tendrils removed the umbilical cord which had been serving as a lifeline and respirator from his mouth and replaced it with the mouthpiece of his pipe, two other tentacles simultaneously pulled down the skeletal levers that released flesh from above and Hell from below, activating the Bloodbong. As the bodies started to fall and the flames began to rise, the myriad tentacles withdrew in a dark mass through the irising doorway, looking for a moment like the blossom of the black lotuses their master emulated, then shrinking away into the inner darknesses of the Omnibeast.
For an instant, it was like Dark Orgasm, all emptiness and nothingness, voids and silences, and then an instant later he was deposited, dripping with liquid drugs, inside a dank hallway made entirely of prism. Behind him was a black pit, at whose bottom the crystal waters of the psychedelic moat rose and fell in small waves. The Necrodelic had escaped into the sewers of Phantasmagorika, somewhere beneath the crimson Grystiawan ground and the surface of the psychedelic moat. Exhausted, Chariah laid down in a shallow, spreading pool of crystal hallucinogens, their chemicals still pumping through his arteries and veins, their visions still replaying over and over in his head.
His bed was soaked through like a thousand bandages. The Amputator had been painted red. And everywhere around him were body parts and organs. The Darkprism lay like another severed head in the corner, another ripped-out heart, another dismembered genital. Slowly it began to glow black from beneath its coat of blood, creating a dark shade of crimson never before witnessed in the universe. The Darkprism pulsed, the Darkprism spasmed, and with a flash of scarlet-tinged sable, the Necrodelic emerged from its tenebrous depths.