Apocalypse respawn

The masked man raised an arm and drew the commander's decapitated body towards him, then vanished with his two goblins, leaving behind a floating class token that disintegrated as it fell.

The nobleman watched the scene in surprise, then barked a few words to his subordinates and closed his eyes. He leaned both hands on his mage staff, which also served as a sheath for his blade, and a series of runes enveloped him. After a few moments, he disappeared.

Meanwhile, the war raged on, with the noble's men continuing to massacre.

But the most significant threat had passed. A member of the commander's guards, with a walkie-talkie, hurried towards Rargnes, grabbed him on his back, and asked, "Which way?"

"Huh?"

"Which way do we go? The direction your voices tell you!"

Rargnes blinked, surprised. His head hurt. "What are you saying?"

"Stop pretending!" shouted the running commander's guard. "Use your damn power and tell me their thoughts! We can survive! We just need to reach an area where I can speak, and we'll be fine!"

Hope returned to Rargnes's heart.

"Left," he said decisively.

"Are you sure?"

There were many people around. Rargnes had said it randomly. In any case, all directions were filled with soldiers.

"Yes, there are no traps that way."

A group of men surrounded the former commander's guard, now a higher-ranking officer, charging forward with him. They pierced through the swarm of enemy attacks, spells attempting to kill them.

One member of the group fell, then another. The guard carrying Rargnes was cut and slashed, but they managed to shake off their assailants.

The guard released Rargnes, who gently fell to the ground. He exhaled dust, their surroundings unfamiliar. Another group was nearby. The guard tried to communicate in vain, cursed, and ordered the last of his men to move on.

Then, with a burst of magic, he shook the cave exit under the disbelieving eyes of the other guards.

"What are you doing?"

"I have a plan! We just need to build a magic array and restore the connections!"

"What's that?" Rargnes weakly asked, on another man's shoulder while the group advanced deep into the cave with torches.

No one answered him. Pairs of eyes looked at the commander. First for an answer, then observing his condition. He had been the commander's favorite, a trusted man, a longtime friend known before the apocalypse who managed the military base.

Now, he had become a commander. A wounded commander, weak, ready to die at any moment. There were still a few soldiers left at the base, and... there was also the energy brought by murder.

The new commander panted, sitting, leaning against a stone. He softly cursed at how strong the nobleman was! The wound ran along his torso and cleanly sliced a portion of his upper body – the side effects of a sword strike meant for the former commander. It seemed like a sword strike. It shouldn't have been profound, but the pain was evident from the sweat and blood running down his abdomen.

The commander turned to the people watching him, horror evident in his eyes, reddening his face as he barked, "What are you looking at? Stand guard!"

"He's afraid we'll kill him for his energy and magic," Rargnes understood. "A well-placed bullet, and who knows?"

Rargnes patted his knife, which gleamed in his eyes. The knife shone slightly in the confined cave where they were huddled, illuminated by a single blue lamp. The air was tense, the commander's breaths growing more erratic, his gaze constantly shifting among the severe faces of the half-lit soldiers.

But what was this story of class? This story of getting out alive? Several times, they asked him if he heard voices, and he said there was no danger. The previous commander had committed suicide. Surely, he had had a power. He had hesitated before taking it. And they knew he had a power, but they thought it was for hearing voices.

At the same time, he did hear them, but – maybe they had misunderstood the use of memories with the demon inside him? A strange mix that would have saved him?

Rargnes strained his hearing, listening to footsteps on gravel behind him and the commander's breaths. He tapped the wall, listening for a hollow spot. Everything seemed solid. The commander groaned. Rargnes turned to his right. He, too, was leaning against a stone, dying. He watched the commander, losing blood, muttering something half-delirious.

A guard sat beside him, his face uncertain. Unfortunately, the energy taken by killing someone was not fully convertible. They couldn't even get more than a third of the victim's energy reserve, even with the ring he had stolen and years and bracelets of energy. But it was a threat.

One of the guards snapped a knife and barked at them to turn around. The commander was still delirious. He needed men to watch over him and get even more energy. The soldiers' faces showed resignation, and not all turned away: the nobleman had been able to hunt throughout the country and was now impossible to surpass. This made the commander the biggest energy reserve for retreating to the nobles' lands.

'But it's going to become a wasteland...' The wastelands were born on the 19th and 16th years before this one. He knew the world had rebuilt itself after three years in his first life. According to the creation of the wastelands, the same thing had possibly happened 16 years later.

Maybe he wouldn't die after this event. But this maybe was as frightening as the thought of nothingness after his death. And still.

Men bustled around him. All former guards or their strongest men. He was by far the weakest.

Rargnes imagined living on the noble's lands, like Roaes. He would lose his memory, for sure, but wouldn't he become another companion of the noble? You couldn't get energy by killing another person on the noble's lands.

'No, if we follow the rule of the first life, now that two years have passed, I would have less than a year of life left.'

The gazes lingered. What if someone took the initiative? Then, they would lose everything. Less than 20% of untreated energy - it would take at least months to absorb. If the killer was killed within that time period, only the energy that had been absorbed would be obtained. This law made cooperation possible.

The commander muttered something. The guard made sure there was a meter between him and the other soldiers, leaned in, nodded, then pulled out his walkie-talkie, tuned it to a frequency, and, still eyeing the soldiers from the corner of his eye, spoke:

"Plan K. I repeat, Plan K. The commander is dead, the new commander wounded."

He lowered the walkie-talkie and addressed the others. "The situation will be resolved in a few tens of seconds."

Their soldiers showed a lack of confidence in their eyes. A few tens of seconds? What difference could it make?

"What's he going to do?"

The guard shook his head.

"You don't know?"

"Wait less than a minute, and you'll find out."

The commander scribbled something. One of his rings cracked, infusing him with green energy. He raised his head, pale, and softly breathed a few words, half-conscious:

"I never told anyone... but the commander was a fan of Jiez. You know him? Jiez..."

The commander continued describing Jiez until the minute passed.

Suddenly, Rargnes felt enveloped by magic. This scene seemed familiar. A white veil enveloped him. It was...

Rargnes opened his eyes in the bar before the apocalypse. A flood of memories rushed back to him, smashing his skull. He craved a drink.

"Waiter," he said suddenly. "Your biggest beer."