Apocalypse Baby

The screen flickered once—then again—before stabilizing with a low hum, a new battlefield bleeding into view.

Only one match remained.

The final fight of the Legacy Trial's last stratum.

Two competitors. One victor.

At the far end of the field stood a giant who defied all conventional scale. Nearly four meters tall, he looked less like a man and more like a siege weapon—muscle cords so thick they stretched his skin taut, the sheer bulk of his frame straining with tension. His body glistened under the arena's strange lighting, oiled and reflective, like steel-forged sinew polished for war. Each breath hissed from his mouth like a steam vent, violent and rhythmic, his chest rising and falling in hydraulic pulses. His arms—grotesquely oversized—weren't limbs so much as clubs of living flesh, crafted for destruction.

Neptune.

A Vorakan Juggernaut.

His kind wasn't trained—they were forged. Born into conquest, raised in slaughter, sculpted for dominance. Vorakans didn't climb the ranks. They crushed them.

And standing opposite him—

A human.

Slim. Average height. No gleaming armor. No crackling aura. Just a plain, dark grey robe, fluttering lightly in the unsettled air. Two swords were strapped to his back in an X-pattern, both sheathed and unremarkable.

Alex leaned forward in his seat, every muscle in his body tightening. His eyes narrowed, brain rifling through memories like files.

The face was different.

The clothes were plain.

But the stillness…

"Adam…" he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else.

He hadn't seen him since the early rounds. Yet here he was—unharmed, unreadable, standing in the final match of the final stratum.

Alex wasn't surprised it was him. If any human had the poise to make it this far, it was Adam. That stillness wasn't passive—it was purposeful. Calculated indifference. And that was more terrifying than any flex of raw power.

But what made Alex's pulse spike wasn't Adam.

It was who he was facing.

A Vorakan.

Alex's jaw tightened.

The same race as Tharnok.

The same breed of brutality that had nearly pulped his bones in the first match. He could still remember the force of those blows, the blind hatred in every swing.

And now, here stood Neptune—larger. Meaner. Worse.

And somehow, he had made it to the end, too.

The proctor raised a hand, then dropped it sharply to signal the start of the match.

Neptune didn't hesitate.

With a roar that rattled the obsidian spires, he launched forward, the stone beneath his feet detonating from sheer force. Each step fractured the ground, and within seconds, he was airborne—one massive fist cocked back like a cannonball aimed straight for Adam's skull.

He struck.

BOOM!

The air buckled.

A thunderclap rolled across the field. Shards of black stone exploded outward, pelting the viewing stands like shrapnel. A visible arc of compressed air followed the path of the blow, splitting the atmosphere with a violent hiss.

But Adam wasn't there.

Two quiet steps. Not flashy. Not elegant. Just precise.

The punch missed his head by less than a hair's breadth.

Neptune snarled and spun, his other arm igniting with a sickly orange light. He swung wide, his fist arcing for Adam's midsection like a collapsing building.

Again, Adam moved.

A lean. A pivot. Just enough. Only enough.

The blow passed through air.

Neptune spat, frothing with fury. "You think you're better than me, vermin?! Your kind should still be in chains, weak, fragile, soft-boned."

Adam didn't blink. Didn't react. His hand rested on his hilt, gaze fixed, not on Neptune's face, but on his center of mass. Calm. Measuring.

Like a tactician.

Like a butcher.

Neptune roared again, charging with both arms raised. A cross-strike, heavy enough to pulverize stone. His feet slammed into the ground with bone-jarring force. The central platform cracked. Shockwaves rolled outward like ripples from a meteor strike.

Adam didn't retreat.

Didn't need to.

Another shift, minimal, exact, almost lazy.

To the crowd, it looked like Neptune was fighting a ghost.

Alex watched, mouth slightly open.

There was an art to the way Adam moved, but it wasn't beautiful.

It was clinical.

Surgical.

Like someone dissecting a frog that didn't yet know it was dead.

That's what chilled Alex the most.

The calm.

Neptune was real, his power undeniable. But Adam?

Adam didn't even look interested.

"FIGHT BACK!" Neptune screamed, spit flying.

Adam didn't flinch. Didn't smirk. Just stood there.

Waiting.

.

.

.

Until he didn't.

The shift came without warning.

No light. No fanfare. No system flare-up.

Just… *intent*.

A flicker. So fast most spectators missed it.

Alex *felt* it before he saw it.

A break in the air. A tremor in the *now*.

Neptune stood, chest heaving, face twisted with rage.

Then...

A line.

Thin. Red. Clean.

It traced itself diagonally across his chest like silk unraveling in reverse.

For a heartbeat, silence reigned.

Then the sound.

SCHLICK!

Clean.

Sharp.

Final.

Neptune's torso slid apart.

From shoulder to hip, his body fell in two clean halves.

There was no explosion.

No grand finale.

Just… death. Delivered like punctuation.

The upper half tilted slowly, almost gracefully—gravity catching up to the truth. The bottom followed, folding to the floor with a dull thump.

Silence.

Then—

Chaos.

Screams. Gasps. Confusion.

The final match was over.

Just like that.

Whispers scattered like wind across the stands.

"What the hell?"

"That was too fast."

"He didn't even do anything what was that?!"

It hadn't been a fight.

It had been a demonstration.

As if someone had thrown a tiger into a cage match with house cats and called it a contest.

Alex felt his pulse spike, thudding like a drumbeat.

That strike, it wasn't just fast.

It was beyond technique. Beyond comprehension.

He hadn't even seen it.

He looked back at Adam. The blades were already sheathed. No glow. No stance. No sign of exertion.

He stood exactly as he had before the strike, calm, centered, untouched.

As if he hadn't just sliced a juggernaut in half like trimming fat from meat.

Alex exhaled sharply, a grin pulling at his lips.

Not from amusement.

But awe.

That wasn't just mastery of the sword.

It was mastery of control.

Of patience.

Of lethality.

He swallowed hard.

What churned in his chest wasn't fear. Wasn't even envy.

It was recognition.

Adam was beyond him.

Far beyond.