Beneath the heavy, oppressive gray skies of Yokohama, a singular, dilapidated building stood alone amidst the urban decay. Shattered windows and peeling concrete walls hinted at a time long past—a time before Hell opened its gates and the world became a nightmare. Zombies shuffled aimlessly around the building's perimeter, their decaying limbs dragging across the cracked asphalt, while eerie groans echoed through the desolate streets.

In the distance, through the haze of smoke and ash, the Berserkers moved like silent predators, cutting through the undead with lethal precision. Their Maidens flowed beside them—ethereal and graceful, their long, flowing robes flickering like flames in the wind, their eyes glowing with a divine light that cut through the gloom. Each Maiden was a masterpiece of beauty, as if sculpted by the gods themselves, with hair that shimmered silver or gold, and skin that seemed to glow softly, untouched by the filth of the world. They guided their Berserkers with a gentle touch, their hands often resting delicately on their warriors' shoulders, whispering words of power into their ears. Together, they were unstoppable—slicing through zombies like they were nothing more than paper.

One Berserker, a young man with wild eyes and a massive battle axe made of light, swung his weapon with a fierce grin as his Maiden whispered commands, her voice like silk in the chaos. He followed her every word with fervor, cleaving through the grotesque forms of the undead.

"Having a Maiden is the best!" the Berserker shouted between breaths, his voice filled with glee as his axe cleaved clean through a zombie's skull. "You feel this? This power! It's like having a goddess right beside you, guiding your every move!"

Another Berserker, a more seasoned warrior, grunted as he stabbed a zombie through the eye, his own Maiden standing serenely beside him. "Yeah, yeah, calm down. Don't get cocky. You'll get yourself killed."

But the young Berserker was unfazed, laughing as he finished off another shambling corpse. "Man, I didn't think it'd be this good! They said it was incredible, but this? I'm unstoppable!"

From a window in the abandoned building, Ryzen watched the scene unfold, his red eyes narrowing in a mixture of bitterness and envy. His steel pipe rested lazily against his shoulder as he leaned against the cracked frame of the window, his white hair tied back in a messy, half-assed ponytail. His face, a canvas of scars, twisted into a mocking sneer as he watched the Berserkers revel in their power.

"'Having a Maiden is the best,'" Ryzen muttered, mocking the young Berserker's excited tone. "Bastards… rubbing it in my face." He scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. "How dare they run it in my face.."

Outside, beyond the chaos of the Berserkers, normal survivors scurried like rats through the ruined streets. They moved in desperate groups, scavenging for anything they could find—canned food, clean water, anything that could keep them alive for another day. A pair of them struggled with a particularly stubborn undead, hacking at its neck with makeshift weapons—an old kitchen knife and a rusted crowbar. They didn't have the luxury of divine Maidens or enchanted weapons. For them, survival was brutal, messy, and uncertain. If they weren't Berserkers, the rage of them dying is at 60%.

Back at the old, empty building, an elderly woman stood at the door, her posture calm, almost regal. She wore a long, elegant coat, the kind you'd expect to see in a past life, before the world fell apart. Her hair was neatly pinned up, and her face, though lined with age, held a strange serenity, as if the horrors of the apocalypse didn't faze her in the slightest. She seemed utterly out of place amidst the decay and rot.

Her eyes lingered on the sign crudely painted in blood on the door: 

"Ryzen's Non-Berserker Zombie Killing Service Since the Shitty Maidens Won't Give Me a Beautiful Maiden." Beside the words, a bloody middle finger was drawn, a grotesque mockery of the world's current state.

The woman smiled softly and knocked. No answer. She knocked again, harder this time. Still no response. Her knocking grew faster, more insistent, and with each knock, her smile widened. It was as if the act of knocking itself filled her with some perverse joy. Finally, the door swung open.

Standing there was Ryzen, his red eyes half-lidded, his posture slumped in defeat. His voice was barely more than a whisper, his gaze cast downward toward the ground. "Did you hear them…?" he asked, his voice filled with bitterness. "Them mocking me…? They're all demons…"

The old woman's smile remained sweet and unwavering. "I have a contract. 500 paper clips worth."

Ryzen's eyes lit up, his entire demeanor changing in an instant. "500 clips?!" He bolted upright, suddenly full of energy. "Come on in!" He dashed inside, frantically trying to clean up the small, cluttered room. He knocked over a stack of old magazines, nearly tripped over an empty can of beans, and half-heartedly kicked some broken glass into a corner. "Just… just give me a sec!"

'500 clips?! This is my biggest contract! I could get a new weapon or armor from those wandering merchants! I'm totally back in business.'

The old woman stepped inside, her calm, gentle smile never faltering. Ryzen, now dressed in a tattered suit and wearing broken glasses in a desperate attempt to look professional, sat behind a rickety desk. He leaned forward dramatically, hands clasped together, his expression overly serious. "Let's talk details."

The old woman sat down across from him, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "I need to get to the sanctuary. It's not too far from here. My daughter's wedding is tomorrow," she said, as if it were the most normal request in the world.

Ryzen's mind raced with confusion.

'A wedding? In the middle of the apocalypse?'

He imagined the most brutal scenarios—zombies crashing the ceremony, blood splattering across white wedding dresses, the bride and groom torn apart by the undead. He shook his head, trying to focus.

"I won't pry into your business," he said, his voice strained with curiosity he was trying to suppress. "But… can I see the clips?"

The old woman smiled and reached into her purse, slowly pulling out the paper clips one by one. Each time she looked away, Ryzen fidgeted impatiently, tapping his fingers, rolling his eyes, barely containing his frustration. But when she looked back at him, he flashed an exaggerated smile, pretending to be calm.

Finally, when the last paper clip was laid down, Ryzen couldn't hold it in any longer. "THANK GOD," he blurted out, his voice louder than he intended.

The old woman chuckled softly.

"So… why didn't you go to a normal Berserker?" Ryzen asked, trying to make small talk while he mentally calculated how many supplies he could buy with 500 clips. Maybe a new weapon. Maybe even some decent armor to replace his beaten-up jacket. But mostly, he just wanted to keep the conversation friendly—maybe she'd refer him to some of her friends.

The woman's smile grew warmer. "The Berserkers are too busy. They're out hunting Monarchs, killing zombies, trying to reopen the gates of Hell. They don't have time for an old lady like me." She tilted her head slightly, her eyes locking onto his. "But you… you might."

Ryzen's heart raced. He leaned forward, his face inches from hers, his eyes wild with excitement. "I do!"

A flash of memory hit him—one he hated to think about. He saw himself as a child, walking through the streets alone when the apocalypse first began. He was weak, starving, hugging himself under makeshift cardboard tents or hiding under cars to avoid the undead. He remembered the time he had to kill a zombie dog just to eat, nearly dying in the process. It was a world that had never shown him mercy, and he had never wanted anyone's pity. 

Shaking the memory away, Ryzen straightened up, trying to regain his composure. "We'll take the route down Minato Mirai Boulevard," he said confidently. "It's usually crawling with low-level zombies, but nothing we can't handle."

In a flash, he threw on his makeshift gear—patched-up armor held together with duct tape and scraps of metal. He grabbed his steel pipe, the metal stained with the blood of countless zombies. He swung it over his shoulder, grinning like a madman.

"Let's do this, grandma."

"Alright, young man. Lead the way."

The streets of Yokohama were a graveyard of broken buildings and abandoned cars, the grey skies above casting a dull, lifeless pallor over the city. Ryzen walked with the old woman, his steel pipe resting on his shoulder, eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of movement. The dull moans of zombies echoed in the distance, but nothing seemed to faze the old woman beside him, her serene smile ever-present as if she were on a casual stroll rather than a dangerous journey through the apocalypse.

Above them, perched on the rooftop of a crumbling building, a figure watched with idle curiosity—a girl, but not entirely human. She was a zombie, but a beautiful one, her once-beautiful features marred by the faint traces of death. Her eyes glowed faintly as she sat on the edge of the roof, her legs swinging back and forth in rhythm to the muffled, tinny music leaking from the old, broken headphones she wore. The sound was distorted, crackling with static, but she bobbed her head to the beat, humming along as if the quality didn't matter.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

She has long, silver-white hair that flows loosely past her shoulders, covering part of her face. Her eyes are strikingly red, giving her an intense and unsettling appearance. She wears a dark, fitted dress with spaghetti straps, cinched at the waist with a belt. The dress is slightly torn near the bottom, revealing a bit of her leg. There's a large bloodstain on her chest, near her collarbone, as well as blood smeared on her hands and legs. A black choker adorns her neck, and her outer layer consists of a black jacket, which hangs loosely off her shoulders. Her face shows a small wound or scar on her cheek, adding to her battle-worn and grim look. The overall scene around her suggests a chaotic or post-apocalyptic environment.

Suddenly, the music cut out. The phone in her hand flickered and died.

She stared at the dead screen, her brow furrowing in irritation. "Awww, what the hell?!" she muttered, shaking the phone as if it would magically turn back on. "I know you got some fight left in you! Shitty thing!" With a growl of frustration, she stood up and, with a flick of her wrist, launched the phone off the rooftop. It sailed through the air before clattering down into the wreckage below. "Ughhh. Screw it. I didn't want it anyway. Pfft."

Her gaze shifted down to the street below, where Ryzen was busy clearing out low-level zombies with his steel pipe. He wasn't particularly skilled, but his movements were efficient, practiced—like someone who had fought for survival more times than he could count. He swung his pipe with a grunt, cracking a zombie's skull open in a messy, brutal fashion, though not without a touch of drama.

Ryzen kept glancing back at the old woman, eyes wide with exaggerated concern. "You okay back there, grandma?" he called out, wiping sweat from his brow. "That one almost had me, but no worries, I've got this under control!"

The old woman merely smiled, calm as ever. "Oh, I'm fine, dear. You're doing wonderfully."

After every kill, Ryzen would pause, sometimes even spinning his pipe around like it was some kind of sword, striking a pose in front of the woman. "So, how would you rate that one? I'm thinking… at least a 9 out of 10, right? Maybe even a perfect score?"

The old woman chuckled softly. "Oh, definitely a 10. So impressive."

Ryzen grinned, pleased with himself, though his eyes kept darting around nervously. "Yeah, yeah, I thought so. I'm just trying to keep you safe, you know? It's dangerous out here. Hundreds of zombies, they're everywhere, just waiting to jump out. But don't worry, I'll protect you."

'If I keep up the good work, she'll refer me to some of her old friends, my business will be booming with clips then.'

In reality, there were only a handful of zombies shambling nearby, but Ryzen acted as if they were in the middle of a full-scale battle. Every step, every swing of his pipe was accompanied by a glance over his shoulder to make sure the old woman was watching.

Up on the rooftop, the zombie girl smirked, her lips curling into a malicious grin. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she watched Ryzen's over-the-top performance. "What an idiot," she muttered, amusement gleaming in her undead eyes.

Far above them, in the sky, a colossal form lumbered through the misty clouds. It was a massive, mythic turtle, its shell covered in ancient runes and carvings, moving lazily through the air like an ancient behemoth. Atop the creature's back, a wandering merchant caravan bustled with activity, small tents and wooden stalls built precariously on the turtle's shell. Merchants bartered and traded rare items—food, weapons, precious supplies—all while the turtle slowly drifted across the apocalyptic landscape. The merchants called out to anyone who might be near, their voices echoing faintly even from such great heights.

Further in the distance, past the ruined city and the wandering merchants, stood the Gates of Hell. The massive, blackened doors loomed over the horizon, towering above everything else in the landscape. They were ancient and covered in intricate carvings of demons and tortured souls, their edges glowing faintly with the fiery light of the underworld. The ground around the gates was scorched and cracked, as if Hell itself was leaking into the world.

Hundreds of Berserkers and their Maidens crowded near the gates, fighting off waves of zombies and mutated creatures that poured forth from the abyss. Their goal was clear: reopen the gates of Hell and end the apocalypse. The Maidens hovered near their warriors, their divine light cutting through the darkness, guiding the Berserkers as they fought. The air was thick with the sound of battle—the clash of weapons, the screams of the undead, and the distant, thunderous roar of Hell's gates.

Ryzen and the old woman continued their trek through the streets, weaving through the debris and the occasional zombie. Ryzen was still putting on a show, though his energy was beginning to wane. "I'd say that kill was… at least a 9.5, right? Maybe even a 10 if you factor in the footwork I just did there."

The old woman smiled, her eyes twinkling. "Oh yes, definitely a 10."

Finally, they arrived at the sanctuary—a small, unassuming chapel tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. Its stone walls were cracked and weathered, but it still stood tall amidst the ruins. The doors were slightly ajar, and a soft light glowed from within, casting long shadows across the courtyard.

Ryzen stopped, wiping his brow dramatically as he leaned on his pipe. "Well, here we are. Safe and sound. You're welcome, by the way."

The old woman chuckled softly, stepping toward the entrance. She paused, glancing back at Ryzen with that same gentle smile. "Thank you, dear. You've been quite the hero."

Ryzen puffed out his chest, grinning. "Yeah, well, just doing my job. Gotta keep the clients happy."

As the old woman entered the sanctuary, Ryzen stood outside, his thoughts drifting back to the clips sitting snugly in his pocket, and the fleeting hope that maybe, just maybe, this job would lead to something bigger.

From the rooftop, the zombie girl watched him, her grin widening as she whispered to herself, "I'll be keeping an eye on you, Ryzen."

The sanctuary in Yokohama was a mausoleum of forgotten faith, its air heavy with the stench of rot. Once a place of worship, it was now a decayed chapel, overgrown with roses—dark, thorny vines that strangled the pews and crept up the walls. The scent of roses mingled with the revolting odor of decaying flesh. The dim light barely illuminated the zombies that filled the rows of broken seats, dressed in tattered, bloodstained suits. They sat eerily still, heads cocked, hollow eyes staring forward at the altar.

At the altar, Ryzen stood, weak and bloody, his white hair tied in a messy ponytail, with red eyes gleaming beneath a face marred by scars. His chest rose and fell with labored breaths. Before him, towering in grotesque detail, stood his bride—a zombie canine humanoid, her body an abomination of twisted flesh. She was covered in patches of fur and exposed muscle, her snout snarling, half-rotten, with jagged teeth gleaming under the dim light. Her eyes glowed sickly yellow, and her claws twitched with an unnatural hunger.

'How..the hell…did this happen?!' Ryzen thought.

"Listen…I'm not into dogs…" Ryzen said to the dog humanoid zombie.

Overseeing the unholy ceremony was a black marble statue, towering and imposing. Roses sprouted unnaturally from its stone body, blooming from every crack. Its voice echoed through the sanctuary, speaking of marriage, chaos, and rebirth, but its cold, lifeless mouth never moved.

As Ryzen struggled to speak, the statue blinked out of existence—only to reappear in front of him, its hand extended, a finger hovering just millimeters from Ryzen's forehead. The statue continued its sermon, its unseen mouth whispering promises of eternal union, of Ryzen being reborn into the chaos of undeath.

"In chaos, you shall reunite with the darkness in which you were born from. But this time, with purpose. Become one with the god of darkness and hell itself."

Ryzen, sweating, thought, 'Is this it?! Is this where I end?! Because I was too obsessed with the clips?! Dammit man…that old lady, sitting in the chairs, she made it sound so believable. This is my own doing.'

The grotesque bride hunched closer, ready to claim Ryzen as her own, when suddenly—

BAM!

The sanctuary doors burst open with a deafening crash. Every zombie in the room turned, their heads snapping unnaturally toward the entrance.

There, standing in the doorway, was a beautiful zombie girl, her entrance dramatic as she swayed through the room with exaggerated flair. She raised a hand to her forehead in mock devastation, her tone dripping with over-the-top theatrics.

"Y-You! I can't believe you would cheat on me like this?!" she wailed, her voice echoing through the sanctuary.

Ryzen, barely able to process the situation, croaked out, "Who even are you?!"

The zombie girl ignored his confusion, continuing to strut forward with wild, exaggerated movements, her arms flailing in disbelief. "I can't believe you'd cheat on me with some fucking zombie dog! We have an entire child!"

Suddenly, the zombies sitting in the pews lurched forward, even the old woman, lashing toward her with terrifying speed.

But in the blink of an eye, the girl's demeanor shifted from comedic to deadly. With a swift, fluid motion, she slashed through the crowd, her hand moving like a blur. In an instant, she stood with her arm outstretched, holding bloody, pulsating zombie hearts in her palm. Behind her, the zombies exploded, their bodies bursting into showers of blood and gore, spraying the walls and her back.

She turned back to Ryzen, her voice still dripping with melodrama. "I can't believe you'd really do this to me!"

Ryzen, utterly bewildered, weakly muttered, "Hey, random person, can you help me?"

The zombie girl cocked her head, her expression softening slightly. "Mmmm... I guess I still love you. I'm your Maiden, after all. Your Zombie Maiden. Espen."

Ryzen's eyes widened in shock. This was it—he had always dreamed of becoming a Berserker, guided by a divine Maiden from the Paladins. But instead, he was saddled with a zombie Maiden?!

"Zombie Maiden?!" Ryzen exclaimed. 

'No way this is real…yeah I'm dreaming. There's no such thing as a Zombie Maiden, right? The Paladins wouldn't joke with me like that! Maybe it was that sign outside my business? It's definitely because of that! But man…she's actually good looking, but she's totally a zombie. But doesn't really look nasty like them, but anyone with eyes can see she resembles one. The eyes, the patches of rot on her skin…is this some sick joke? Zombie Maiden…'

Before he could process the revelation, the statue began to speak again, its mouth still unmoving, its voice echoing through the chamber.

Espen cracked her knuckles, grinning as she turned toward the massive figure. "Stay right there so I can kill you, Monarch."

Ryzen, panicking, whispered loudly, "Oh sure, just tell him to sit still!"

Espen shot him a sharp look, whispering back, "Shut it or I'll leave you here!"

The Monarch, his voice booming, warned, "If she moves a single step, he dies."

Espen smirked, calling his bluff. She took a step forward, her voice mocking. "Huhhh? You won't do anything."

KATHOOM!

The Monarch's hand slammed down on Ryzen's head, and with a sickening sound, half of Ryzen's body exploded in a spray of blood and flesh, his torso ripped apart in a gory display.

Espen didn't flinch, walking forward without hesitation. "So what? I can find another host. You all fucked up leaving me down there, Alectos."

But as she advanced, the statue blinked out of existence again, only to reappear as a still image, suspended in midair. Its hand extended downward in a silent gesture. Espen barely had time to react before the ground beneath her feet exploded, a fiery red crater of spiraling flames opening beneath them. She and Ryzen plummeted into the abyss, surrounded by ferocious, snarling zombies clawing at the walls.

The hole sealed shut with a deafening slam.

Seconds later, the ground split open again, and from the pit, Ryzen blasted out, transformed. He now wielded a red and black scythe, its blade shimmering with shadows. His left eye was consumed by a red horn, his other eye weeping blood. A black halo floated ominously above his head, and patches of rot crawled across his skin, yet his lips were curled into a maniacal grin.

The Monarch stared down at him, his voice cold and final. "You will lose."

Ryzen's laugh echoed through the sanctuary, his red eyes gleaming. "Not today."

'All this power I'm feeling..I no longer feel weak as hell…it feels dark, but it feels fucking good…' Ryzen thought.