Apocalypse Baby

"You arrogant piece of shit."

Malik yelled as he charged toward Alex—but then, before he could reach him, a figure dropped from above and landed squarely in his path.

"Enough."

The voice was sharp. Final.

And the moment the word left his mouth, a deathly aura exploded outward, blanketing the entire room like a suffocating fog.

It was like a switch flipped.

Both Malik and Alex froze mid-motion.

They hadn't sensed him coming. They hadn't prepared for the pressure.

But now, caught in it, their bodies locked up—reflexes thrown off by the crushing weight of his presence.

For a moment.

Then both adjusted. Just like that.

As if reminded of who they were.

The air hung heavy between them. Not from heat. Not from frost.

But from tension.

Malik's sword scraped the floor behind him as he stood, leaving a long, thin groove in the polished stone.

Alex stood directly across—his arms relaxed, feet planted firm. Cold mist still curled around his boots, mixing with the lingering steam from their elemental clash. The floor beneath him was cracked, spiderwebbed by ice and scorched heat colliding.

And right in the middle of them was Sylen.

His cloak fluttered slightly, like it was caught in some phantom wind. His eyes, pale silver and emotionless, flicked from one to the other.

Malik's fingers twitched—just a little.

Sylen didn't even look at him this time.

"If you two don't stop this right now," he said quietly, each word landing with razor precision, "then this becomes a three-way fight."

A ripple rolled off his body like an invisible wave, and suddenly, dark shadows began crawling out from beneath his feet. Tendrils of smoke-like energy curled around his boots, writhing like serpents made of void.

The light in the room seemed to dim.

His aura didn't just radiate strength.

It screamed warning.

He stepped forward slowly.

And the shadows thickened—solidified. Like storm clouds ready to burst.

"I have no intention," he added, his voice lower now, almost a whisper, "of getting caught in a crossfire between two arrogant idiots."

Alex's expression didn't change.

Sylen's threat might've shaken others, but it meant nothing to him.

His logic was simple: anyone who wanted smoke with him would get nuked.

No calculation needed.

Malik's snarl twisted wider. His jaw clenched. Muscles tight.

But even he didn't move.

Off to the side, silent as stone, stood Vess—the giant tree combatant.

She said nothing.

Not a word.

Not a breath.

Unlike the others, she wasn't going to leap into a pointless fight. Not today.

She stood rigid, her long vine-covered limbs wrapped tightly around her bark-plated torso. Trying to shrink. Trying to disappear from the moment.

Which was pretty much impossible, given she was fifteen feet tall.

No one spoke.

The room was still.

Three figures, locked in a triangle of hostility—like a lit match waiting for the wrong spark.

Then, finally, Malik exhaled hard.

His shoulders dropped slightly. Just slightly.

And a smirk tugged at the edge of his lips.

"Looks like we're going to postpone this," he said with a forced calm, stepping back. "Until you two are done with your little warm-up."

The moment the words left his mouth—

FLASH!

A golden beam of light shot down from the ceiling and enveloped Sylen.

And just like that—

He vanished.

Not attacked.

Transported.

It was time. His match with Alex was next on the arena floor.

Malik slowly turned to face Alex now.

Fully.

His smirk disappeared.

The glow in his eyes intensified, flickering like coals stoked too long.

His voice came out low, guttural.

His jaw was tight, his face twisted with something between disgust and disappointment.

"Forget I ever offered you a place in the demon race," he said. "That offer's dead. Buried."

He pointed a finger straight at Alex, one glowing with molten heat, flickering with restrained fire.

"If we meet again in the arena... you're dead."

Alex blinked.

Raised a brow.

Then corrected, calmly:

"When we meet."

Malik snarled. "Arrogant! You underestimate the elf."

Alex tilted his head, unfazed.

"Really? You, of all people, preaching about arrogance? Sheeesh... Grugrim must've done a number on you."

Malik bit his lip, insulted by the statement.

Then—

FWOOSH!

A wave of blue energy surged around Alex.

And in an instant, he vanished—teleported to the arena for his battle with Sylen.

Silence dropped like a curtain.

Only two figures remained in the VIP Combatant Zone.

Vess... and Malik.

The towering tree-woman didn't move. Didn't even breathe.

Her glowing green eyes shifted slowly, nervously toward the demon prince still radiating heat like a smoldering furnace.

Then—very carefully—she began to tuck her long vine-limbs behind her back. Tried to make herself look small.

As if that was possible.

It was like trying to hide a mountain behind a bush.

Malik turned his head.

Looked at her.

And then...

He smiled.

A gentle, polite smile.

Vess shuddered.

That was not the smile of a kind man.

It was the smile of a killer.

And she was proven right when Malik's hand ignited—not with normal flame, but with a molten glow, thick and slow like lava barely held in place by flesh.

The air around his fingers shimmered.

Vess swallowed. Loudly.

She was his next target.

Her voice trembled, deep and uneasy. "W-Why? What did I do? I didn't say anything!"

Malik rolled his neck, the vertebrae cracking audibly.

Then, without looking at her—

FWOOOM!

The fire along his arm flared up even brighter.

He flexed his fingers. Heat rippled the space between them.

"Why?" he echoed. "Because you're in the wrong place... at the wrong time. And that's enough reason for me to make you a punching bag."

That was the only explanation.

Vess didn't wait.

Her glowing green vines snapped out with a whipcrack, swirling in every direction.

A defensive barrier formed—dense, interwoven, bristling with sharp thorns.

She wasn't going down easy.

If Malik wanted a punching bag, he was going to have to fight for it.

Malik's face didn't change.

Cold.

Empty.

He took a step forward.

Then another.

And then—

He struck.