Apocalypse Baby

A flash of golden light lit the center of the arena like a sunburst.

Vess materialized within it—her form unraveling from spiraling vines and radiant roots, landing on the stone platform in a low, defensive crouch. The impact was soft, but the air shifted with her arrival.

The moment she appeared, the stadium exploded with a thunderclap of approval—of awe.

A rolling wave of cheers, stomps, and roars swept across the coliseum in an instant, making the stone beneath her tremble with the weight of thousands of voices crying her name.

They had seen the Tranagian fight before.

The Woodborn Witch.The forest's rage given shape.The nightmare that had dismantled her Anima opponent like a spider patiently draining a fly.

She hadn't just won that match—she'd transformed the arena into her domain.Vines had grown through the cracks in the stone, branches had exploded from the walls, and roots had wrapped around her enemy like a coffin made of nature's wrath.

And now—she was back.

Facing someone different.

Not just another contestant.

But Malik Vorahn.

The demon everyone expected to win this selection… at least, until Alex rewrote the narrative with his devastating performance against the elf necromancer.

Now, the crowd didn't know who to cheer for.

Vess rose from her crouch slowly, like a creature waking from deep hibernation.Her limbs unfolded with deliberate grace—arms lined with bark-like tendrils, her back arching slightly as if stretching from centuries of slumber. Her pale green skin glowed faintly with bioluminescent veins, and golden sap dripped from the seams in her body, thick as honey, shimmering in the light.

Her eyes flicked to Malik across the arena.

He wasn't even looking at her.

His attention seemed elsewhere, like she wasn't worth noticing.

The tension surged.

Above the arena, the colossal viewing screens pulsed with replays from her last battle—vines exploding from her arms, magic shields shattering under pressure, her opponent slammed into the barrier wall with bone-crunching force.

Gambling networks roared to life.

Holographic odds twisted in real time.

[Malik vs. Vess]

At a glance, it looked obvious.

"Flame beats plant. It's science.""Malik's going to wipe the floor with her.""She doesn't stand a chance."

But then—Whispers of doubt.

"Didn't Malik struggle against Grugrim?""Yeah, that dwarf almost locked him down.""Only for a moment.""Still. Vess is smarter. She doesn't rush. Her regeneration's ridiculous."

The crowd began to split down ideological lines—fire versus strategy, brute force versus natural cunning.

Hope versus inevitability.

On the far side of the arena, Malik stood motionless.

Arms relaxed.Posture casual.

But inside?

A furnace of frustration burned.

He could hear them.

The doubts.The second-guessing.The whispers of weakness.

"Struggled.""Almost lost.""What if fire doesn't work?"

His jaw clenched.

He didn't crave their praise.But their doubt?

That stung.

He tilted his chin upward and looked toward a high platform in the coliseum where notable figures watched.

And there stood General Kael.The Demon King's Blade.Draped in black armor trimmed with scorched crimson, arms folded behind his back.

Watching.Judging.

Sent by Malik's father to observe his performance.

Kael didn't speak.Didn't flinch.Didn't move.

His presence alone was weight enough.

Malik inhaled through his nose. Steady. Controlled.

Kael was hearing the whispers too. And that made him uneasy.

This wasn't just about victory.

It was about redemption.About restoring pride.About proving that demons were superior.

Malik's fist tightened.

And in a low growl, barely audible beneath the arena's roar, he muttered, "I'll shut them all up."

He rolled his shoulders, a soft glow of embers shedding from his skin like ash from a forge.

His eyes finally shifted—to her.

Vess.

She was not his enemy.She was just his warm-up.

He was here for Alex.

The proctor's voice thundered through the air, theatrical and booming, slicing through the tension like a blade through silk.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!"

The crowd leaned forward in anticipation.

"Tonight's semifinals bring a battle of pressure—a body of eruption and entrenchment!"

He extended his arm toward Vess.

"On this side—the Verdant Rebirth! The Forest's Final Breath! The Woodborn Witch—VESS OF TRANAGIA!!"

A roar rose for her.

Louder than anyone expected.

Even Malik noticed it.

He didn't like that.

The proctor turned.

"And on the other—the Firestorm! The Crimson Sovereign! Born of war. Fueled by expectation. The one who doesn't need flair because his presence burns—MALIK VORAHN!!"

The coliseum trembled again with thunderous applause.

But the tension remained.

Vess's eyes remained locked on Malik.Her jaw clenched.She tried to stand steady, but her breath hitched, betraying the fear clawing at her from within.

Alex, watching from the viewing chamber, squinted at Vess's posture. Then he muttered under his breath:

"She's screwed."

Her posture was too rigid. Too resigned.Like someone who'd already accepted the outcome.

The proctor's voice returned for the final call:

"Remember—whoever wins here faces Alex Knight in the final. So fight with everything. Fight without regret."

He took a breath. Then his voice snapped like a command as he slashed his hand through the air.

"So, without further ado—let the second selection for the final of the tournament begin!"

The proctor vanished, leaving only Vess and Malik.

The battlefield was set.

Vess clicked her teeth, her muscles tensing.

She was frayed.Drained.

But she moved first.

She had to.

If Malik attacked first, it would be over in seconds.

She rooted her feet into the ground and twisted her arms outward in a circular motion.

And the arena answered.

WHOOSH!!

A tidal wave of roots and thorns exploded from her limbs—lashing forward in a massive arc like nature's wrath given form.Vines sharpened like razors, twisting mid-air, aiming to slam, bind, and skewer.

But Malik didn't move.Not even an inch.

His expression didn't change.

Just a quiet, almost bored murmur:

"You still haven't learned."

Then it began.

Then it descended—

Searing heat.

At first, it was invisible—like a shimmer in the air.

Then it thickened.

Orange mist bled from Malik's skin, curling around him like living smoke.It rolled out in waves—silent and suffocating—turning the space around him into a furnace without flame.

The vines reached it.

And then—

SHHHHHH—CRACK!!

They ignited mid-air.

The crowd gasped as the massive roots curled and blackened, devoured by heat before they could even touch Malik's skin.They shriveled into ash, raining down like cinders.

The ground beneath Malik darkened—stone sizzling, steam rising from the cracks.

And still—He hadn't made any motion.Hadn't raised a hand.

But that was enough.

Vess staggered back, fresh pain lancing through her body.

Each vine she grew was linked to her nervous system.

And when they burned—it hurt.

She pushed her feet into the ground again, forcing more vines out from the floor beneath her—but the moment they crossed into Malik's hellfield—

They curled, shriveled, and crumbled mid-bloom.

Ssssssshhhhh…

Her offense died before it reached him.

He wasn't even trying.

And still, she was losing.

Vess gritted her teeth, a cry of frustration escaping her throat.She was trembling now, her knees wobbling.

How ironic.

The tree who was meant to be immovable…Could barely stay standing.

Her strength was gone.Her will eroding.

She'd died more times than she could remember.

And now—again—there was no hope.

But still… she didn't fall.

She screamed, dragging up the last reserves of her magic.

More roots. More vines.More desperate hope.

But it was futile.

The flames didn't care.

They devoured everything.