Apocalypse Baby

Freya had no time to dodge.

Her heart pounded as the massive hammer came crashing down toward her.

WHOOSH!

SLICE!

A circular blade-like object suddenly whizzed through the air, slicing clean through the undead's thick, rotting neck.

SHNK!

The head separated from its body, flipping once before crashing to the ground.

THUD!

The giant's lifeless corpse toppled over, the hammer slamming into the dirt with a heavy clang.

Freya's breath hitched.

She immediately whipped her head around, searching for the source of the attack.

Then—she saw it.

The spinning blade boomeranged back, arcing through the air before landing perfectly in the hand of its thrower.

It was one of Alex's clones.

But as Freya's eyes locked onto the weapon, she realized something.

That wasn't a blade at all.

It was… a hat.

The same hat he always wore.

The clone casually flipped it in his hand, then placed it back onto his head as if nothing had happened.

The sharp gleam that once flashed across its surface was now completely gone.

As if it had never been a weapon at all.

Behind Alex, more undead shrieked and charged, their decayed limbs clawing forward with terrifying speed.

But...

SNAP!

Alex snapped his fingers.

BOOM!

The ground erupted behind him, sending chunks of dirt and shattered bones flying through the air. The blast tore through the undead, silencing their roars in an instant.

Ezekiel, watching from a distance, clicked his teeth.

"Tch. Showoff."

Unfazed, he jogged up to Freya, raising a casual hand.

"Yo... Here to help."

But Freya barely noticed him.

Her gaze was locked onto Alex—or rather, his clone.

Her expression was frozen in stunned disbelief.

It looked exactly like the real Alex.

Same stance.Same sharp eyes.Same confident smirk.

If she hadn't seen him use [Multiplicity] to create five clones, she would've sworn this was the real one.

What a powerful skill!

She muttered inwardly, but then—

A deep, guttural groan echoed behind them.

Freya, Ezekiel, and the clone snapped their heads around—

Huff. Huff.

Dorion stood there, breathing heavily, his grip tightening around the cracked skull of an undead. His entire body was covered in wounds, fresh cuts and bruises marking his skin like battle scars.

He looked like hell.

Fatigue weighed down on him, his body sluggish from both exhaustion and the crippling debuff of his own skill. It had left him weaker than usual, and because of that, the swarm of undead he had fought had managed to land multiple brutal hits.

Despite this, he was still walking towards them.

Still alive.

Freya's eyes widened the moment she saw him.

She had been expecting to see the old man—not this teenager in front of her.

Her brows furrowed.

"You're alive?"

Dorion scowled at her tone.

"What? You want me to die or something?"

Freya blinked slowly, studying him.

Something about this exchange felt... familiar.

Her lips curved into a smirk.

"Is that a serious question? Of course, I do."

Dorion's eye twitched.

His fingers curled into a fist.

"You bitch..."

Dorion cursed under his breath, stepping toward Freya with clear frustration.

But before he could get close.

CAW! CAW!

A piercing cry echoed from above.

Freya's eyes shot up.

From the darkened sky, a swarm of undead Blight Birds came diving toward them, their decayed wings beating rapidly, their hollow eyes glowing with eerie malice.

WHOOSH!

WHOOSH!

A sudden blast of black flames roared through the air, consuming the birds mid-flight. BOOM!

BOOM!

One by one, their burning bodies crashed down around them, reduced to nothing but scorched husks.

Alex lowered his hand, smoke rising from his fingertips—he had fired off his Black Flames just in time.

One of the charred corpses plummeted straight toward them—but before it could make an impact, Ezekiel swung his shield, knocking the burning remains aside with a single powerful strike.

He turned, eyes locking on Dorion.

His expression darkened.

"You... you really won against the old man?"

Dorion grinned smugly, placing a bloodied hand on his hip.

"Of course I did," he said with pride. "I pushed my blade right through his chest."

Silence.

Alex's brow furrowed deeply at those words.

The old man lost?

His fists clenched as he studied Dorion more carefully.

Something didn't add up.

No matter how he looked at it, Onigi was definitely stronger—he was sure the Ronin would win. But now…

His sharp gaze swept over Dorion's battered body.

The wounds, the blood, the exhaustion—it was obvious.

It was a close battle.

And yet... Dorion was standing here.

Something wasn't right.

Dorion noticed Alex's stare and gave a casual wave.

Alex clicked his teeth in annoyance.

Onigi had the advantage.

And yet, Dorion still won.

Alex knew exactly why.

The Blood Monarch.

That was Dorion's backing.

Alex had almost forgotten—but now, as he studied Dorion carefully, the realization weighed on him like a warning.

Dorion wasn't just some reckless fighter.

He was linked to something far more dangerous. Onigi was unaware of this danger which was why he had lost.

Alex's jaw tightened.

It sucked to lose someone with potential for this maniac.

ROOOOAR!

A monstrous cry tore through the battlefield.

Alex's gaze snapped to the distance.

More undead poured forward, their hollow eyes glowing, their decayed bodies moving with unnatural speed.

Another wave had broken through the defensive line.

His chest rose and fell as he let out a heavy sigh.

This wasn't ending.

Unless the original Alex could defeat the Grim Lord, this battle would go on forever.

He turned toward Freya and Ezekiel.

Both of them were worn out, their armor dented, their bodies battered from endless fighting.

They wouldn't last much longer.

Alex's grip tightened around the accessories in his hand.

He could ensure their survival… or at the very least, increase their chances.

Without a word, he pulled out a couple of stat-boosting rings and handed them over.

Freya's tired eyes flickered with surprise.

She glanced down at the rings, then at their descriptions.

Her expression hardened.

Without hesitation, she slid them onto her fingers.

She didn't need to be told twice.

Even if the boost was small, in a battle like this—every bit of power mattered.

Alex then lifted a thin pendant toward Freya's neck.

It was another accessory with a special effect.

For some reason, Freya assumed he was about to put it on her.

Her heart skipped.

Her face flushed a deep red as she instinctively turned her back to him, tilting her head slightly to the side.

A soft blush crept up her neck.

Alex blinked.

Then, in a low, deadpan voice, he asked:

"Freya... what are you doing?"

Dorion, watching from the side, sighed and shook his head.

"This fool."

Freya froze.

Her breath hitched as realization slammed into her like a brick wall.

Oh.

He wasn't putting it on her.

He was just handing it over.

Her entire body stiffened.

She whipped around so fast it was almost comical, snatching the pendant from his hand with stiff, jerky movements.

Her cheeks were so hot she swore they might burst into flames.

Meanwhile, the undead were getting closer.

Alex, unfazed, tossed a few rings toward Ezekiel, who caught them mid-air.

Ezekiel stared at the ring in his hands.

His brows furrowed.

His fingers curled tightly around them as a conflicted look crossed his face.

"Why help me…?" he muttered, voice low. "I tried to kill you."

Alex didn't answer.

He simply turned away.

They had no time for this conversation.

There were bigger threats. Explore stories on My Virtual Library Empire

Still, as he turned back toward the approaching undead, he noticed something.

Dorion was staring at him.

Expectant.

As if waiting for something.

"Brother? What about me?"

Dorion's voice carried a mix of expectation and entitlement.

Alex had so generously handed over accessories to Freya and Ezekiel—surely, he had something for him too?

But instead of reaching into his inventory, Alex frowned.

His gaze darkened.

The audacity of this clown.

Maybe he thought they were actually siblings.

Alex's voice was cold. Unforgiving as he responded:

"You... you can die for all I care."

Dorion's mouth dropped open.

The savagery of that response left him speechless.

He opened his mouth to protest, but...

Grrr. Grrr.

Low, guttural growls echoed through the battlefield.

The undead were closing in.

Dorion snapped his head toward them.

A twisted, ugly smile pulled at his lips.

He wasn't grinning because he was confident.

He was grinning because he was nervous.

Because deep down, he was scared for his life.

His body still hadn't fully recovered.

The backlash from using [12 Immortal Body] was weighing him down like chains, making every movement sluggish.

Right now… he couldn't fight at full strength.

Dorion hated to admit it, but there was no way he could survive this alone.

Like it or not, he had to rely on the others—especially Alex.

It sucked. Really sucked.

But for now? He'd play along.

At least until he found a way out of this mess.

And get revenge for this insult.

Ezekiel slipped the rings onto his fingers and exhaled heavily.

The stat boost wasn't much—just a small increase.

But even that little bit made a difference.

It gave him just enough confidence to stand a little taller and grip his weapon a little tighter.

Meanwhile, out of the three, Freya felt something different.

It wasn't just confidence. It was reassurance.

And that was because she was standing behind Alex.

Strange.

Even though this was just a clone, he still exuded the same unshakable presence.

That same quiet confidence.

It was like the battlefield didn't faze him. Like he'd already figured out how this fight would end.

Then, Alex gripped his sword firmly.

His voice was calm but carried the weight of command.

"Get ready."

*

Meanwhile…

The original Alex stood motionless.

His sharp gaze was fixed on the Grim Lord, who had its massive chain blade buried in the ground.

At first glance, it looked stuck.

But then—

CRACK!

Veins of lava-red energy spread across the battlefield like fractures in the earth itself.

Something was coming.

From the cracks, shapes began to rise.

But these weren't just any undead.

They were… different.

Alex's eyes narrowed.

Two figures emerged first, clad in armor.

Their armor was worn, and cracked, but familiar.

Too familiar.

Then he saw their faces.

Recognition hit him like a sledgehammer.

A slow chuckle escaped Alex's lips.

"Seriously?"

The undead were players.

Players he had fought before.

Players he had killed.

One by one, they crawled out of the nightmare itself.

Each one wearing the face of someone he had slain.

Kato. Kyiv.

And the most recent—Ella.