Apocalypse Baby

Unaware of the tension that had just ripped through the VIP Combatant Zone, Alex emerged in the center of the arena, light warping around his body as the teleportation beam faded.

His boots hit the stone floor with a solid thud, and he immediately felt it.

Pressure.

Cold.

Like the air itself had teeth.

Across from him, Sylen stood motionless.

His pale silver eyes locked onto Alex with the intensity of a noose tightening around a throat.

The aura bleeding off him was so thick, it made the very stone beneath their feet seem darker.

Sylen was oozing battle intent—so much so that the air itself crackled.

Alex grinned at Sylen's intense gaze.

He didn't mind the pressure. He welcomed it.

He pressed his hands together—fingers tight—and a faint glow traced along his skin with a soft hum as he used [Abyssflare], sneakily sending an explosive disk toward Sylen.

Then he activated [Godeyes], and a whisper of golden light flickered in his pupils.

He was ready.

The proctor appeared between the two warriors like a referee about to unleash chaos in a cage match. His booming voice shattered the tension, echoing across the stadium.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" the man bellowed, voice charged with theatrical flair. "We're down to the wire! Two semi-finalists! On this side—we have Alex, the cold-eyed human who flattened the mighty Tharnok with overwhelming force!"

A cheer erupted from the crowd.

"And on the other—Sylen, the ghost of the shadows, who used ruthless intellect and terrifying shadow knights to outsmart Brakka!"

Another cheer followed—more hesitant. Not many enjoyed watching Sylen win the way he did.

The proctor pressed on.

"This is power versus tactics. Explosion versus Shadow. Ice versus Death. So sit tight, buckle in, and pray your barriers hold!"

He raised a hand.

"So, without further ado... FIGHTERS, BEGIN!"

The proctor vanished, and the crowd exploded—hungry for another legendary battle.

The two combatants stood still.

Neither moved.

Not a breath. Not a twitch.

Then—

BOOOOOOM!!!

The arena shook on the snap.

An eruption of hellish, black-tinged flames detonated around Sylen in a dome of chaos.

"WOOOOAH!"

Screams rang out from the stands as the ground cracked beneath the force, a towering inferno swallowing Sylen whole.

Smoke curled upward like grasping hands, twisting into the sky with an eerie violet hue.

Alex lowered his hands and watched.

That was Abyssflare Mark—a skill born from merging Exploding Touch with Black Flame.

The fire wouldn't die out unless Alex willed it.

And it would consume its prey whole.

But Sylen wasn't easy prey.

Despite the hit landing, Alex didn't celebrate.

Because through the flames, something moved.

His eyes flashed gold.

The world sharpened.

The fire didn't blind him. It became transparent, like a heatmap peeling back the veil.

And there he was.

Alive.

Standing in the heart of the inferno like a phantom.

Black armor of shadow clung to his form, sculpted from his deathly aura.

Around him, three shadowy knights knelt—each guarding a different angle with curved blades and cloaks of void. Their edges shimmered like obsidian smoke, absorbing most of the heat. The corrosive fire barely chewed through their defense.

But even so—

The flame was eating them alive.

Fleshless hands trembled. Shadows peeled away in layers. One knight had already lost half its face to the firestorm.

Alex moved.

Light exploded beneath his boots as he shot forward.

No hesitation.

A streak of blue and black—blade drawn, aura blazing.

He ripped through the smoke like a missile, eyes locked on Sylen at the center of the chaos.

And through the fire, Sylen lifted his gaze.

His cold, silver eyes caught movement.

Alex, charging straight at him—blazing speed and lethal intent.

Sylen's body tensed. Shadows curled tighter around his limbs, ready to counter.

But he never got the chance.

[Dominus.]

The moment Alex whispered it, a wave of invisible force slammed through the air.

Sylen froze mid-motion.

Eyes wide.

The shadows halted, locked in place like statues carved from the void.

Time hadn't stopped.

Just him.

A suppression ability.

Alex closed the distance in a flash.

His blade gleamed, catching light from the dying flames, as he raised it high, aiming for Sylen's neck.

No hesitation. No warning.

Just pure execution.

WOOMMMMM!!!

The fight was over.

Or it should have been.

But then—BOOM!

A deep, primal hum echoed from beneath the arena floor.

The ground beneath Sylen exploded outward, and from the blackened stone, a titanic shadow erupted.

It wasn't a figure.

It was a presence.

A massive, eldritch silhouette—barely humanoid—its form composed of writhing darkness, limbs twisted at impossible angles. It towered over the arena like a god made of nightmare ink.

The moment it rose—

Sylen vanished into it.

Swallowed whole by the shadow as if he were its core.

And then—

CRACK!

A dozen shadowy arms burst out from behind the looming figure, snapping into existence like they'd always been there, waiting in silence.

One held a jagged black sword.

It slashed horizontally without warning.

And what came next was not a normal attack.

It was dimensional.

WHOOOOOOM!!!

A curved wave of destruction ripped through the air toward Alex, as if space itself had been torn open.

The ground split beneath it, a gaping crater yawning in the wake of the slash.

The sound—deafening.

Like reality screaming.

The cut didn't stop at the arena.

It kept going.

Sliced through the platform's edge.

And slammed into the protective barrier—the audience's last defense.

KRA-KOOOOOM!!!

The entire dome vibrated violently, glowing red as it absorbed the impact.

People screamed.

Some stumbled.

Others dropped to their knees.

Everyone felt it.

A chill crawling up their spines.

The air turned thin. Breathless.

Like death itself had swept through.

Then… silence.

The slash fizzled out.

The barrier held.

Barely.

Behind it, the crowd slowly exhaled. Many collapsed to the ground, their legs too weak to stand.

And one—

An old Anima, half-man, half-furred beast, froze.

His eyes rolled back.

He toppled over.

Dead.

Not injured.

No burns.

Just pure, suffocating terror.

His heart had simply stopped.

In the center of the arena, the one meant to receive that blow still stood.

Unharmed.

Alex exhaled slowly, his hand twitching as the golden glow faded from his pupils.

He'd seen it seconds earlier.

If he hadn't dodged…

He would've been vaporized.

Erased.

Sent back to the tutorial.

He flexed his fingers.

The chill still clung to his bones.

The ghost of death had brushed past him.

He looked up.

And there was Sylen—floating inside a halo of darkness, suspended above the cracked earth.

Multiple arms flared behind him, twisting, flexing.

Their shapes divine.

Iconic.

Like the Buddha's cosmic silhouette from ancient scripture.

But these weren't holy.

Each radiated the aura of death.

A curious grin tugged at the corner of Alex's lips.

Then he said, lightly:

"This isn't going to be as easy as I thought."