Apocalypse Baby

The remaining three members of the tank's group broke into a panic as Luther's betrayal became clear.

One of them, a young woman with a wand, stepped back, her hands trembling. Gathering her courage, she raised the wand to cast a spell. But before the words left her lips, a massive figure barreled toward her.

*CRACK!

Jagger, a towering brute wielding a war hammer, slammed the weapon into her ribs with devastating force.

The impact sent her flying like a ragdoll, tumbling across the ground. Her body collided with a tree, the sickening thud of bone meeting wood echoing through the clearing.

She didn't move.

"Yo, Jagger!" Soren, a lanky man holding twin daggers, called out, irritation in his voice. "Why'd you kill her so fast? We could've had some fun first."

"Sorry, Soren," Jagger said with a shrug, his tone completely devoid of remorse. "Accident."

Soren rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, as the carnage continued.

The last two survivors tried to regroup, but chaos was already tearing them apart. One of them, a determined swordsman, faced off against Edgar, Luther's skilled blade-wielder.

The clash of swords rang out as the two fought, the survivor managing to keep Edgar on the defensive. His strikes were quick and precise, forcing Edgar to retreat step by step. It looked like he might actually have the upper hand—

*TWANG!*

An arrow zipped through the air and struck the swordsman in the thigh.

"Argh!" he groaned, the pain shooting through his leg. He faltered, his balance breaking just enough for Edgar to exploit the opening.

*SLASH!*

Edgar's blade tore across his chest, and the man stumbled back, clutching the wound. His breathing was labored, his vision blurring as he glared at Luther.

"You piece of shit!" he spat, fury burning in his eyes. "You were the one who proposed the truce!"

Luther's expression didn't change. If anything, he seemed amused.

The swordsman's defiant shout was cut short as Soren appeared behind him. With a quick, brutal motion, Soren drove his dagger straight through the man's skull.

*THUNK!*

The swordsman hit the ground with a dull thud, lifeless.

Soren smirked, crouching next to the corpse. "It's your fault for believing in that truce crap," he muttered dismissively. He stood and turned toward the last survivor, his grin widening.

The lone remaining member of the group shrieked, his eyes darting between the corpses of his teammates. His heart raced as panic set in. Unlike the others, he wasn't a fighter—he was a healer, someone who could mend wounds but couldn't inflict harm.

He dropped his weaponless hands, trembling, and raised them high in surrender as Edgar stepped closer, his sword still dripping with fresh blood.

"Wait! Please, don't kill me!" the healer begged, his voice cracking. "I can help you! You need me. You don't have a healer, do you? I can—"

Before he could finish, Luther stepped forward, his spear already glowing with lethal energy.

*BOOM!*

A searing blast of light shot from the weapon, striking the healer dead center. The man staggered back, a gaping hole burned into his chest. His expression froze in disbelief as he collapsed, his body hitting the ground lifelessly.

Luther lowered his spear, his face cold and impassive.

From the bushes, Alex frowned as he silently observed the carnage.

'Player killers.'

He'd suspected something like this would happen eventually, but not this quickly. Humans were opportunistic. Killing other players was far easier—and sometimes more rewarding—than risking their lives against monsters.

"It was smart to hide Kiev," Soren said, glancing at the archer perched in the trees. His tone was casual, as if they hadn't just murdered an entire group. "He caught them totally off guard."

The archer, Kiev, leapt down from the trees, landing gracefully near the group. He approached Luther with purpose, his bow slung across his back, and his expression serious.

"Sir," Kiev began, his voice steady, "I found a group camping downstream."

Luther barely looked up as he rummaged through the belongings of the dead tank, searching for anything valuable. "Really? How many are there?" he asked absentmindedly.

"About twelve," Kiev replied. "But they look exhausted."

"Twelve?" Soren raised an eyebrow, leaning on his dagger. "That's a big group. Could be risky."

Kiev shook his head, his tone firm. "Most of them aren't fighters. Looks like they're just a bunch of random players who decided to stick together after arriving at the tower."

"Even so, twelve's still a lot," Soren countered, his hesitation evident. "If a few of them know how to fight, they could turn the tables on us."

Kiev scowled, his voice sharpening. "Don't be a coward. You know how much we gain from this. The rewards are worth it."

Luther finally stood, holding a shiny silver ring he'd scavenged from the tank's body. He turned to the others, his cold eyes gleaming.

"Kiev's right," Jagger said. "Thanks to our contract with the Blood Monarch, the more humans we kill, the faster we gain EXP and awaken new skills."

From his hiding spot, Alex's jaw tightened as he listened.

'Blood Monarch?'

It sounded like the name of a demon, sinister and foreboding.

But Alex was sure it wasn't just some random entity—it had to be one of the gods Apollo had warned him about.

'I thought they wouldn't be able to act so soon?'

He clenched his fists, frustration simmering beneath the surface. Things were moving too quickly. Far faster than he'd anticipated.

'Seriously, you damned rabbit. Were all your words just lies?'

Alex's thoughts were interrupted by the ongoing discussion among the group of killers.

"We can't let this chance slip by," Kiev pressed, his voice urgent.

"He's right," Soren agreed, though a flicker of doubt still lingered in his tone. "It's risky, but the payoff is worth it."

All eyes turned to Luther. He was the one who always made the final call. His decisions carried weight, and the rest of them knew better than to act without his say-so.

"What do you want to do, Luther?" Kiev asked, his tone steady but expectant.

The group fell silent, waiting.

Luther paused, tilting his head as if savoring the moment. Then, a slow, menacing grin spread across his face. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, his eyes glinting with cruel delight.

"Isn't it obvious?" Luther's voice was low but brimming with malice. "We go there and get some blood on our hands."

Jagger's booming laughter shattered the stillness. "I was hoping you'd say that!" he bellowed, gripping his hammer tightly, the anticipation of violence lighting up his face.

Kiev wasn't finished. He smirked and added casually, "Also, there's a familiar face among them."

Luther's eyes narrowed with curiosity, his tone shifting. "Who?"

Kiev's smirk widened. "Your ex, Nancy."

Luther froze. The name seemed to hit him like a shockwave.

Hidden in the bushes, Alex also froze. His brain caught up a second later, and he choked on his own spit. A cough threatened to erupt, but he slapped a hand over his mouth just in time.

Unfortunately, even the muffled sound didn't escape Edgar's sharp ears.

"You mean Nancy is there?" Luther repeated, his voice laced with sudden eagerness. The earlier cruelty was gone, replaced with a twisted excitement. "You should've led with that! Let's go. Immediately."

Luther's eagerness was palpable, his grin widening as he thought of seeing her again. His men noticed his excitement, exchanging amused glances.

Meanwhile, Edgar's focus had shifted. He was moving toward the bushes where Alex was hiding. His gaze was sharp, and his footsteps were deliberate.

Kiev noticed and asked, "What are you doing?"

Edgar didn't reply, his hand drifting toward the hilt of his sword.

Alex felt a surge of tension as Edgar closed the distance.

Escaping them would be easy, but how could he leave now?

At first, Alex thought they were just targeting another random group of players. But when he heard Nancy's name, everything clicked. Their next target was Jonah and the others.

His fists clenched tightly, his nails biting into his palms.

'Should I just stand here and let it happen?'

As Alex wrestled with his decision, Luther was already preparing to move. He turned to the group, his voice sharp. "Alright, let's head to our next victims—"

But he stopped mid-sentence, noticing Edgar wasn't paying attention.

"Edgar, what's the holdup? I said we're leaving."

Edgar didn't turn around. His eyes were locked on the bushes. "Someone's hiding over there."

The entire group froze, their thoughts in sync: 'Who?'

Weapons were drawn in an instant. Kiev pulled back his bowstring, an arrow already nocked. His eyes scanned the area, suspecting that one of their earlier victims had somehow survived.

Edgar crept closer, his steps deliberate. His hand hovered over the hilt of his sword, ready for a fight. As he neared the bushes, he could make out the faint silhouette of a figure crouched low.

"Whoever's there, come out. There's no point in hiding," Edgar demanded, his voice calm but commanding.

There was no response.

Alex didn't flinch as Edgar drew nearer. He wasn't worried about being discovered. If it came to a fight, he was confident he could take them.

What gnawed at him was the choice he had to make.

Should he wipe out this group now and save Jonah and the others?

Or should he let them go and avoid unnecessary conflict, even if it meant leaving his colleagues to their fate?