Apocalypse Baby

The presence of a Doom activates the sword.

That final line glowed on the status screen like a divine warning.

Alex Knight's breath caught.

His eyes, sharp despite exhaustion, lifted from the floating notification to the thing writhing in the smoke-filled crater before him—the twisted husk that had once been Malik. No… this wasn't Malik anymore. This was something else entirely.

What remained of the man's body convulsed violently, bones cracking, skin splitting. Smoke didn't just rise from his corpse—it pulsed through it. Veins of shadow curled and wove across muscle and bone like a spiderweb made of nightmares, binding every inch of flesh in a lattice of black corruption.

He was no longer mutating.

He was becoming.

Alex felt it then—the sword in his hand.

The Doom Slayer.

It vibrated—not from fear, but anticipation. As if it had waited for this moment. For *this* enemy.

He tightened his grip, knuckles whitening. The blade wasn't just reacting—it was awakening. There was something ancient, something wrong standing in front of him, and the sword knew it. Deep down, so did Alex.

*Is this... a Doom Beast?* The whisper was barely a breath, but the words hung in the air like a funeral toll.

A chill ran down Alex's spine, colder than anything he had felt during the battle. The silence shattered a heartbeat later.

The corpse jerked.

Veins surged. Black tendrils burst outward like snakes, coiling around the figure's torso, limbs, and neck. Flesh stretched unnaturally, cracking apart as something harder—something darker—formed underneath. A second skin. No, not skin.

Armor. Carved from obsidian and malice.

The noise was wet. Sickening. Bones snapping, muscle tearing, the sick grind of something forcing its way into the world.

Then, like a marionette yanked upright by a cruel god, the body *rose*.

Smoke coiled like a storm around the crater's rim. For a breathless second, time stopped.

And then it stepped forward.

A figure stood in the middle of the ruin, draped in smoke and shadow, the remnants of Malik's form still vaguely recognizable—but stripped of all humanity. His jaw hung grotesquely, the lower half unhinged and cracked. His eyes, once proud and fierce, now glowed an unnatural green—cold, empty, ravenous.

Alex didn't move.

Couldn't.

He stared into those soulless eyes and felt the weight of it. The pressure. The absolute suffocating *presence* of the thing in front of him.

It was like staring into the abyss—and realizing the abyss was hungry.

His body screamed for action, but every instinct warned him that a wrong move meant death. Real, permanent death.

And worse, his mana reserves were dangerously low.

The battle had drained him. Using his Domain had pushed his core to the limit. There wasn't enough left to fire off another high-level ability, let alone unleash his strongest techniques. Every step, every breath had to be calculated now.

This wasn't just some final boss moment. This was a war crime made flesh.

He recalled Grugrim's warnings. Ancient legends whispered in broken tongues.

Doom Beasts.

Not monsters. Not demons. Not even corrupted gods.

*Calamities.*

They were the result of cosmic errors, voids where reality had failed to balance itself. Beings that devoured entire realms—not because they needed to—but because they were made to. They didn't spawn from dungeons or crawl up from Hell. They manifested when the scales tipped too far.

And now, one stood before him.

Alex slowly lifted his hand. A faint glimmer of energy flickered between his fingers.

\\[Explosion Disks]—dozens of them, planted earlier into Malik's body like landmines waiting for detonation. If this thing made a single move toward him, he'd trigger every last one.

Then—*ding.*

A notification cut through the tension like a blade.

**\\[Doom Slayer: Activation Complete]**

— *Bond Confirmed*

— *Doom Presence Detected*

— *Stat Amplification Initiated: +500 to All Attributes*

— *Passive Unlocked: Corruption Immunity*

A pulse thundered through his body.

It started at the base of his spine, then surged outward, igniting every fiber of muscle and magic within him. His limbs felt lighter. His breath came sharper. His vision crystalized. His battered frame, moments ago on the edge of collapse, now thrummed with something alien and divine.

Power.

Not borrowed. Not stolen.

*Earned.*

His strength doubled. Speed multiplied. Energy reserves replenished like a floodgate opened.

He wasn't just stronger.

He was ready.

Alex looked at the sword.

The Doom Slayer no longer glowed golden. Black veins now ran through the blade like dark lightning. The ancient runes etched across its surface weren't just awake—they were *screaming* with power, flaring white-hot.

His heart pounded as realization settled like a stone in his gut.

The sword had activated because the creature in front of him *was* a Doom Beast.

And the Doom Slayer had found its purpose.

The creature twitched again. A subtle, jagged movement—like the cracking of a sculpture just before it collapses.

Alex lifted the blade, posture shifting, center of gravity lowering. He was ready to strike. The surge of newfound power flooded his veins, lending him a calm, dangerous confidence.

Then came the voice—desperate, ragged, booming from high above.

"ALEX KNIGHT!"

His gaze flicked up.

The Proctor.

Suspended in a viewing platform far above the battle zone, his voice cracked like thunder, filled with a kind of dread Alex hadn't heard before.

"GET AWAY FROM IT! NOW!"

Alex turned his head slightly, just enough to acknowledge the command. But that single second of hesitation—

That was all it needed.

The Doom Beast moved.

Not with a roar. Not with a threat. It *exploded* forward.

One moment it stood still.

The next—it was on him.

A blur of obsidian skin, burning green light, and writhing tendrils. The air cracked as its claws tore through it. The black smoke surrounding it billowed outward, swallowing light and space. The force of its charge shattered stone beneath its feet, ripping a path straight through the battlefield.

Tendrils lashed out like whips, carving furrows in the ground. Clawed hands slashed through the air, aiming to tear Alex in two.

Alex froze then...