Apocalypse Baby

Alex didn't respond.

Not to Malik's remark. Not to his smirk. Not to the barely concealed challenge in his voice.

He just stared.

Still.

Silent.

Motionless.

The space between them was taut—stretched like wire pulled between blades. No words passed. No gestures followed. Just breath, crackling air, and the unspoken promise of ruin waiting beneath the surface.

Malik didn't push.

His crimson gaze held firm, glowing faintly with residual firelight. His arms hung loose, relaxed, but the way his fingers curled—just slightly—betrayed the tension coiled in his core. His jaw remained fixed in that faint, ever-present smirk. The kind worn by predators who weren't hungry, just amused.

As much as Malik wanted to lunge at Alex and rip him apart the same way he'd dismantled Vess, he knew better.

This wasn't the place.

Both of them wanted it.

That inevitable collision—the fight that would finally burn one of them into dust. But this room… it wasn't built for that kind of war. Not for two creatures who didn't know how to hold back. Not for combatants who carried battle thirst in their veins.

So they stood.

Still as statues.

But no less dangerous.

And then—

The air shifted.

Around them, the broken zone began to repair itself.

Stone tiles twitched.

Arcane circuits lit up beneath the cracks in the floor, glowing like buried veins as shattered slabs of marble slowly knit themselves together, clicking back into place with ritual precision. Charred benches reformed plank by plank. Burnt greenery hissed softly as it regrew, fresh stalks pushing up through blackened earth, defying death through programmed magic.

It was the VIP Zone's foundational rule.

No destruction was permanent here. No death lasted long.

This place—despite the chaos it had just witnessed—was designed to reset.

To protect.

To prevent blood feuds from boiling over before the matches.

To preserve combat for the arena.

Alex's eyes drifted downward—toward a blackened patch of stone just a few feet away.

And there it was.

A shimmer.

Faint.

Like heat haze rising from pavement under a dead sun.

He recognized it instantly.

It was happening again.

Respawn.

Just like Brakka before her, Vess was returning.

The rules were absolute.

This chamber didn't allow death to linger. It didn't allow grudges to bleed out before the crowd. It simply… reset. A built-in safeguard to ensure every fighter arrived at the arena whole—no matter what happened behind the curtain.

That was why Malik hadn't attacked when Alex walked in—despite the fury, despite the tension radiating off him like a living inferno.

Because fighting here meant nothing.

Victory in the VIP Zone came without consequence.

And Malik?

Malik didn't want his battles with Alex to mean nothing.

The shimmer deepened.

A low pulse of energy echoed across the courtyard, making the floor tremble slightly.

Roots unfurled—first one, then many—sprouting from invisible seams in the ground, twisting and spiraling upward in a cocoon of pulsating green.

Then—

Branches snapped outward, vines curling like fingers. In the center, a shape began to form.

Vess.

The Tranagian returned slowly.

First as a skeleton of vines, then muscle layered in bark, then her body reknit itself—slender and pale, skin a luminous green threaded with faintly glowing veins. Her limbs flickered with life force, and her chest rose sharply as she gasped in her first breath post-death.

Her armor of natural growth sealed around her again, thorns blooming like instinct.

And then she opened her eyes.

Wide.

Confused.

Fragile.

She blinked once, processing her surroundings—and then she saw Malik.

Reflex took over.

She flinched.

And Malik, at the sight of her, scowled—like she was some pest that had wandered too close to his fire.

And then, without warning, he lifted his arm.

A simple motion.

No windup.

No buildup.

Just disdain.

Then—

**SLAP!**

The backhand struck her like a divine hammer.

Vess was launched backward, her body a blur of limbs and vines as she slammed into the stone wall with bone-jarring force. Cracks split the marble. Dust rained down from the ceiling. Her vines peeled off in smoking strips, curling in on themselves like burned paper.

Alex didn't blink.

Didn't even flinch.

He just watched.

There was no sympathy in him.

For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to care about the walking tree.

Malik turned away like he'd swatted an insect.

He rolled his shoulder, loosened the tension in his neck, then turned his back to her entirely—already done with whatever that was.

Then—

A soft light flickered at his feet.

Below, on the arena floor, the proctor's voice echoed as the next round was announced.

It was time.

Malik looked back at Alex, tilting his head. The usual smirk that never quite reached his eyes returned to his face.

And in a voice as casual as a lunch invitation, he said:

"Give me a few minutes. We'll settle this soon."

Then the teleportation light flared.

And Malik was gone.

Vanished in a ripple of energy and residual heat.

The room felt… brittle.

Like the atmosphere itself was still trying to piece itself back together after his presence left.

Alex exhaled.

The heat dropped.

The weight lifted.

But the scorched scent of carbon and sap still lingered—thick, sharp, clinging to his clothes.

Then—

A deep grunt.

He turned.

Vess was stirring.

She rose slowly, her hands gripping the cracked wall for balance. Her legs shook. Her body, despite the pain, was already healing—vines regrowing across her arms, patches of living bark sealing wounds with unnatural speed.

The regeneration was aided, of course, by the magic of the resting room.

But that wasn't what made Alex pause.

No.

It was her aura.

That same uneasy feeling he'd gotten before—when she arrived in the zone after her fight with the Anima combatant.

Only now…

It was worse.

Thicker.

More alien.

Like a needle threading itself through his skin—slow, deliberate, impossible to ignore.

It pressed against him.

Wrong.

Not in any way he could explain. But his instincts screamed regardless.

Alex's breath hitched.

He found himself stepping forward before he even made the decision.

One step.

Then another.

Not defensive.

Not curious.

Instinctive.

His body wanted to move.

Wanted to strike.

Wanted to kill.

Some primal part of him surged the longer he looked at her—his senses sharpening, heart pounding, fingers twitching at his sides.

And then—

A shimmer.

Teleportation light.

Her turn.

The arena called.

Vess blinked, locking eyes with him in a brief, confused glance.

Then vanished.

Gone in a blink.

Alex stood there.

Motionless.

Staring at the space she'd just occupied.

And then—quietly, to no one but himself—

"…What the hell?"

He lingered for a moment longer, still unnerved.

Whatever he felt—whatever she was—something didn't sit right.

He turned slowly, eyes shifting toward the viewing screen as the match loaded in.

Maybe he'd find an answer.

Maybe watching her next battle would reveal what was buried beneath her bark and vines.

Whatever Vess was… if it would give her an advantage, she was going to have to reveal it on the battlefield, in order to survive Malik.

Down below, the crowd roared.

The lights shifted.

And Malik—now on stage—looked different.

He wasn't grinning anymore.

There was no smirk now.

Only fire.

Only focus

.

The demon wasn't here to play.

Not with Vess.

Not with anyone.

When he said to Alex, "Give me a few minutes…"

He meant it.