Hey, people. This is one of two Carnage one-shots I published in a fanzine several months ago that I am now releasing into the wild, so to speak. Most of you probably already know that from what I said in the last Author's Note to A Winter at Freddy's, but if you're here by accident, welcome!

I am a big fan of Marvel Zombies, but I could not tell you why. I learned about it as a kid, and it has scared the Hell out of me ever since – I have nightmares to this day about my favorite characters in popular culture destroying the world (and places beyond) by eating everyone. But, like many, what scares me also fascinates me, and I mostly write stories for horror franchises, so I guess that tracks. Therefore, it was a no-brainer to write a Marvel Zombies story starring Carnage, the lesser of two evils, since at least he doesn't eat people. This isn't in the main MZ continuity (though I don't think anyone really cares), so I was able to slip in a reference or two to the big Marvel series I plan on one day writing. That was cool.

Finally, this is the first MZ story to be posted on FanFiction since 2015, so maybe this'll breathe some life back into the property. Probably not, but I can hope.

It began with a flash in the sky and a ripple through the clouds, which brought a hunger strong enough to destroy the world.

It ended the way any great heroic story did, with the good guy standing against his evil foe. Briefly occurred to Cletus that he acted out this story many times before with the person opposite him. Only now, Carnage played the protagonist. A shocking twist of fate, but his opponent was no longer a man. He was a monster.

"How the tables have turned, Spidey!" he shouted, launching a salvo of red spikes at the Wall-Crawler. All easily dodged from a block away; necrosis hadn't dulled his old foe's agility much. That was OK. For now, his goal was to wound spirit instead of flesh by being obnoxious. "Even I was never enough of a monster to eat my relatives! Just killed 'em!"

The friendly neighborhood cannibal was already deranged from hunger, and the taunt pushed him into full bloodlust. Screamed and leapt forward, arms outstretched and teeth bared.

"Fuck you! You don't get to say that!" Cletus sprang out of the way the instant before teeth met his chest, affixing himself to one of the city's many crumbling facades. Close call! Most heroes would've died of fright before they even got bitten. Not him. Well, he normally felt terrified of death, to be fair, but this was the perfect way to go out if that's what needed to happen. Him against the gods, throwing himself into Valhalla.

What mattered for now was that his jabs worked. That must have made the accusation true, much to his amusement. It had long been rumored among Cletus' flock that Spider-Man's first meal after turning was his aunt and wife. Now he knew for sure. And they threw the zombie off like nothing else. Took a page from Spidey, actually; he always used to keep his enemies off-balance with constant quips and jeers. Seemed he could dish it out but not take it. "Come and shut me up, then," he teased, flipping him off with both hands. Peter (hey, there was no need for secret identities when you'd eaten everyone who cared) looked at him. Couldn't see his eyes behind the torn mask, but the smile of broken fangs gave Cletus a good enough peek at madness.

"If we're talking about food and kinship, man, I can't wait to dig into you. Symbiote flesh tastes just like chicken. You know how I know that?" Couldn't say he did. Oh, he'd tasted symbiote meat before; curiosity got the best of him once, and Red hesitantly obliged. Tasted more like slug than chicken to him, yet he supposed his palate couldn't be as refined as a zombie's.

"Enlighten me!"

"Because I ate your son, Cletus! I ate Toxin, and he was fucking delicious. Wonder if it runs in your family, too." Oh, that's what happened to the little brat. He and Red wondered, for they hadn't seen Mulligan since Mole Man's last stand in Central Park maybe a month back. Good to have some closure. Eh, maybe they'd be upset if he called more often. Peter grinned evilly back at him (an expression he was far from perfecting), actually expecting this news to throw him off.

"That supposed to make me sad? Red's people do the same to their naughty children back on planet Mingmar," he said back, making the deranged grin falter. "I owe you a favor, Spider-Man, because that's just what I call good parenting." The streets of New York were usually quiet nowadays, but stillness hung heavier in the air than ever with Peter stunned into silence.

"You're heartless," he replied after a moment, still incredulous that he didn't care about the death of a relative. Wondered if the other zombies mocked him for this weakness.

"Oh, I very much have a heart. Can't say the same for you." Must have long since atrophied in his chest, considering the many wounds on his body pumped no blood. Cletus' expertise on the circulatory system put doctors to shame. Also had a brain, because his plan worked as intended. Spider-Man was too damn fast and nimble to nail in a fair fight. Only way to hit him was with a distraction. And he was very distracted now.

A perfect knife nailed the flesh-eater through the forehead and embedded into the brick of the building across the street, dripping moldy cruor. His hands flew to his head before he fell to the side, purple tongue sloughing out of his mouth. Cletus smirked before blasting him a few more times to be safe, and there was no doubt about it. His oldest enemy was finally beaten. Would have brought him and Red more joy if anyone else saw it. Nothing had the same theatricality anymore.

"Said I owed you a favor. Consider that fulfilled," he said, dropping onto broken asphalt while the dust settled. Shriek had been right all those years ago; sometimes, running headlong into the slaughter wasn't the best way to go about things. If he did, he would have been eaten long ago. Not turned, though. One of the first things they'd learned about this extradimensional disease was that carriers instinctively infected super-people instead of eating them, regardless of how much food it cost them in the long run. However, symbiotes were immune to this infection, so they were good only to eat. And without them, their hosts were usually normal people, so down the gullet they went! Toxin and dear ol' Daddy went out that way.

Could have just let himself get bit and escaped before going feral; the undead also found the taste of their own repulsive, so they'd leave him alone. He didn't entertain the idea for more than a moment. Whether he attacked with claws or teeth would've been a minor distinction to a bystander whose intestines he ripped out, but Cletus cared immensely.

These zombies were enslaved to a hunger strong enough to kill the world. Slaves. Cletus acknowledged no gods and no masters. He killed because he wanted to, not because any cracking whip compelled him to violence. Spider-Man was clearly in agony over what he did, regardless of how much he tried to convince himself otherwise. Even most of his villainous compatriots lacked the stomach to commit genocide via cannibalism. They were no longer themselves – a fate even worse than death.

Cletus shook his head, wondering when he became such a solipsistic softie. End of the world really did make him lose his edge. Threw a glance back at Spider-Man's body. Then again, maybe some parts of me have gotten sharper.

A distant roar sounded in the distance, and that was his cue to skedaddle. Stuck around too long already; his goal was to end one or two superfreaks when they split from the rest of the pack, so mission accomplished! With the screams and shouts, the other zombies would descend in minutes. Red, I think it's time we make like Bonnie and Clyde and get out of here. His other couldn't agree more, so he melted down into viscous liquid, worming through cracks in concrete and deep into the ground.

Crazy what the world became over the past… three months? Something like that. Most life on the planet died within the first week, so it got a little fuzzy. Now, he and his wards were some of the last people left. Regular humans, anyway. More beings survived – ones that couldn't be infected or eaten. The main holdouts were robots; thought he saw Lady Darkhawk fly overhead the other day. Aaron Stack enjoyed the demise of the organics that used to bother him by founding a machine enclave out west. Rumor had it that Vision holed up in some obscure Avengers bunker in Los Angeles with his wife, the Scarlet Witch, and the duo was so formidable that even the super-zombies gave up on trying to get one of the last scraps of meat on Earth.

In general, fleshies left the metal men alone because they couldn't be eaten, and robots didn't attack the zombies unless they had a death wish. But other than that, yeah, pretty much everyone was fucking dead.

A few minutes later, Cletus arrived at his destination: a bank vault buried several dozen feet down. Sealed the entrance with tons and tons of rubble, leaving only the airholes he had for his charges within. No consequence to him, and none of them wanted to leave, anyway.

Real impressive piece of engineering, but that shouldn't have been a surprise. New York's bank vaults were the most reinforced in the entire world due to the sheer number of superfreaks who used to try to break into them on a weekly basis. They would again if they knew these people were here, for their priorities had… changed. Still, that wasn't liable to happen. The walls and ceiling were so thick that not even those with very acute senses couldn't smell or hear them from the surface. They were also coated in vibranium or some other magic metal that blocked brainwaves, so psychics constantly scanning for the living would not detect them.

All in all, it might've been the safest place left on the planet, despite being mere blocks from the largest cluster of zombies on the continent. No place like home, which was why they'd all returned to their old stomping grounds once they ate everyone.

"Cletus! You're back!" one of his charges said as he reformed, growing eyes and ears again. His flock gathered around, but not too closely. More to make sure he hadn't returned with anyone or anything. He looked around at them, about 50 people or so. Good mix of men and women, nearly all between 20 and 40. When he rescued the dregs of humanity, he rescued selectively, for he could only fit so many. Had to save the best for his purposes: breeders. Looked around at them all in the light of one or two shoddy bulbs. Eyes tired, clothes threadbare, and all very smelly. No showers down here. But all still alive and healthy enough from a decade of freeze-dried food where money used to be. Yet none of them complained; not being in Hulk's belly was miraculous.

"Good to see y'all," he said, walking through. The sea parted as he strode toward his futon to get some shuteye. The last fight took a lot out of him! All in all, though… he was happy. Something he rarely used to say. Still, his thoughts drifted to the future.

After all this was over in several years (it'd take a long time to thin out the herd), he'd free his captives from their prison, and they'd be free to spread and breed and repopulate the Earth. New Adams and Eves coming out from their little Eden to a world free of sin. For a little while, at least. Red could keep him alive through much, and immortality wasn't impossible for her kind! He'd remain long enough to see his children grow old and die, their own spawn creating a thriving civilization! He imagined it now, and he knew he'd be proud as a father could be.

Forget these stupid zombies; they knew nothing of terror. They just wanted to consume until nothing was left. Locusts. And what about when they ran out of food? Then this world would be a hellish prison, trapped with themselves and their hunger until they rotted away.

He had to be different. Couldn't just slaughter the last few people on Earth. Well, he kind of wanted to, but the undead sated his bloodlust well enough. One kill was as good as another… maybe better when old enemies like Spider-Man were involved. Only when his children reached their apex would Carnage return, draped in a cloak of red, to once again be the true reaper. And this time, there wouldn't be any goody-two-shoes superheroes to stop him. Nothing but blood and guts to his heart's content. Made Red shiver all over him just thinking about it. Not yet, girl. We got a ways to go.

Everyone knew that, of course. He was a world-famous mass murderer. A few magnanimous deeds didn't mold him into a saint. Between bouts of gratefulness, the terror in their eyes was palpable. Some cried when he got too close. Poor things. But at the end of the world, when the former heroes munched on the meat of the last few people they swore to protect, Carnage was the hero by default. Even he possessed enough wisdom to realize how sad that was.

He sat upon his little cot, no fancier than the others', for he was no king. Just a man who was very, very good at what he did. The only distinction his mattress bore was a hardened puddle of ichor where Red's biomass soaked into the fabric. He liked that, though. As the others dispersed, one remained behind: a little boy, no older than five. Damn, what's his name? Ricky? Robbie? He was the youngest one here – didn't mean to bring a rugrat into his apocalypse bunker, but his mother carried him in her arms when he swung in to save her from a particularly ravenous Captain America right before New York completely collapsed, and he didn't notice, and, well, he wasn't going to let a small child become dessert.

The others could make whatever they wanted of that. Anyway, he plodded up to Cletus, clutching a scrap of paper in both hands. His mother finally saw this and gasped, terror writ on her face. She may not have feared death herself, but that for her child? Well, she was a better parent than him; he didn't care that Red's kid got eaten. Tried to pull the tyke away, but he put out a hand to stop her. Could have easily turned it into an axe, yet rationality again stayed his hand. Nobody said cohabitating with normies would be easy! Harder than murder, in his opinion.

"It's all right. I want to hear what he has to say. 'Let the little children come to me' and so on and so forth." Pretty sure that was the right context, but he never paid much attention in church, except for when the apocalypse was being discussed. That excited him. May well have been here. If anybody was gonna see Satan tear ass out of Hell, it'd be him. He leaned down, looking the kid in the face. "What've ya got there?"

"You're my favorite superhero, Mr. Carnage," he said without a hint of fear. Ah, the innocence of childhood! He was the only one here without knowledge of his "unsavory" deeds. The adults sure weren't going to tell him their savior wished he could have caused as much death and chaos as the amateurs running the streets above. "Spider-Man used to be my favorite before he got sick." Oh? Cletus wanted to regale his captive audience with the battle later… but maybe he'd wait on it. Not that he was being nice or anything. Just didn't want to kill the mood. Ralphie handed him the paper, and Cletus unfolded it to reveal a crayon drawing of good ol' Carnage swinging through the city, a happy sun and blue sky completing the ensemble.

It sucked, but nobody ever praised Cletus for his art skills, either, so whatever. The thought counted. The kid's intention stirred something within that… he didn't know what to think of it. Pride, maybe? He'd never received a gift freely given. Everything he wanted in life, he took.

"That's mighty kind of you, uh, kid. This'll get a special spot on my wall." Fastened it to the concrete above his bed with a bit of symbiote tape. Then he looked at the child again, his mother still staring in fear. Red retracted from his head, revealing the face of Cletus Kasady while his other sprouted from his shoulder. "But please, call me Cletus. And this is Red. Say hi, honey." His wife obliged him by lightly hissing in Rufus' direction or whatever the Hell his name was. He'd pick it up one day. "I'm so honored to have a fan."

With that, he let the kid go, off to whatever he did all day in the first place with no playmates. That left Cletus with plenty of his own questions.

Namely, who would get put out of their misery tomorrow? Spidey's checked off the list now, and he was a big one. That made him want to aim a little smaller, though maybe packing three or four kills in to balance things out. He'd sleep on it. Laying back, his eyes drifted to the artwork, depicting a world long gone. Honestly, though, he sort of liked this one better. Carnage could kill to his heart's content, and the new generation loved him for it – a generation whose bones would be his crown once this was all over. And I'll save Ricky here for last.

He called that a new beginning with a happy ending.