Cultivator in a Zombie Apocalypse

The air was thick with dust, the spiritual energy a mere whisper of its former self. Ren Zexian, a cultivator who had seen ten millennia pass, trudged through the barren landscape of Eld Dein, the world he loved now dying beneath his feet. Beside him, the few remaining survivors, their faces etched with despair, pulled scarves tighter against the swirling debris. An ancient tree, a sentinel of their realm, withered before their eyes, its branches crumbling to dust.

"Senior," Lu Ting's voice was a frail plea. "Is it truly the end?"

Ren Zexian's gaze held a sadness deeper than the dying world itself. He said nothing, for what words could deny the truth? The spiritual energy, the very lifeblood of their realm, was gone. And without it, all would become dust.

Far away, on a world unknown to Ren Zexian, Nathaniel Tobias Matthison, a young man who found solace among his plants, stirred from a feverish sleep. The taps in his small cottage were silent, the electricity long gone. Oblivious to the crumbling world beyond his hedge, Nathan worried only for his beloved garden, now parched and growing strangely. He picked up an empty water bottle, wishing he could fill it, and watched in quiet amazement as it began to miraculously fill with crystal-clear water.