Apocalypse Baby

The Doom Beast lunged.

And Alex barely saw it.

One moment, it stood still—silent and twitching, its body cloaked in a haze of burning green light, like a mirage corrupted by radiation. Its tendrils slithered lazily through the air, almost rhythmic, hypnotic. Then—

Nothing.

It was simply gone.

No charge. No roar. No tension to brace against.

Just raw, blistering motion.

Pure, unfiltered speed.

Even with the Doom Slayer's surge pulsing through his veins, enhancing every muscle, flooding his body with artificial adrenaline, Alex's eyes could hardly track the blur that was now death racing toward him.

His instincts screamed.

The world narrowed, time slowing as survival took the wheel.

Serrated claws, wreathed in dark smoke, curved like reaper's hooks, screamed toward his face—silent, but no less deafening. They weren't slashing. They were *driving forward*, intent on punching through bone and flesh and whatever lay beyond.

And then—just an inch before impact—

[Aegis Arcane] flared to life.

A dome of crystalline hexagons, layered and luminous, blinked into existence with a shriek of light. The claws met the barrier with the force of an avalanche. A thunderclap shattered the air. Brilliant light cracked like shattered glass. Pressure exploded outward in thick, rippling waves that distorted the ground and air alike.

Alex was hurled backward, his body flipping, weightless in the explosion of momentum.

He didn't land.

Something snatched him mid-flight.

A hand—steady, strong, gloved in reinforced steel—clamped onto his collar and yanked.

Wind screamed in his ears as the world turned into a blur of motion. His boots left the ground entirely, and the ruined crater fell away behind him as he was flung sideways, out of reach of the next strike.

Then—impact.

His boots skidded onto solid stone, ankles bending under the force, but he didn't fall.

The grip released.

And the Proctor stepped forward.

Tall, armored in gleaming silver, cloak whipping in the turbulence like a flag of war. A crescent-tipped staff hummed at his side, trailing wisps of blue energy. The silver circlet on his brow pulsed with radiant glyphs, each one throbbing in sync with the battlefield's tension.

A low, resonant hum echoed across the crater.

The Proctor moved.

So did the Beast.

The Doom Beast howled—a deep, echoing sound like metal being torn apart—and charged. Its speed rivaled the first lunge, body moving with unnatural fluidity, more like smoke than flesh.

They met in the crater's center.

The collision was a seismic event.

Stone cracked. Dust erupted. A shockwave shattered nearby walls.

Alex shielded his eyes as he stumbled back, breath stolen by the sheer force of it.

Then the real fight began.

The Proctor's staff became a silver blur. Each strike was precise, deliberate—backed by centuries of experience and crushing magic. His footwork was masterful, an elegant dance that turned the crater floor into a stage of disciplined destruction.

The Doom Beast was chaos incarnate.

It fought like madness made flesh—claws lashing, tendrils whipping, body contorting at inhuman angles. It had no technique, no rhythm. Only hunger and fury.

Alex watched, wide-eyed.

His heart thundered against his ribs.

Even with [Godeyes] pulsing in his vision—time dilating, world slowing to fractions—he was barely keeping up. Every exchange was a blur of momentum. A hurricane disguised as battle.

Black ichor sprayed from the Beast with each strike from the Proctor's staff. But it didn't flinch. It didn't stumble. If anything, the pain made it more alive.

More terrifying.

The thing thrived in pain—or didn't feel it at all.

Its screeches echoed through the broken walls like echoes of despair. Every drop of its blood that hit the stone sizzled, hissing like acid, eating into the ground.

Then came the blow that broke the stalemate.

The Proctor's staff spun high—then dropped like a hammer, slamming into the Beast's chest with a flash of searing white light.

A shockwave cracked the earth.

The Doom Beast flew backward, tumbling end over end, carving a ragged trench across the battlefield

Dust. Smoke. Silence.

The Proctor stood tall, steam rising off his armor.

He turned to Alex. The light behind his helm dimmed enough to reveal two piercing eyes—fierce, focused, and filled with grim purpose.

"Alex Knight!" he called, his voice a command that rippled across the crater. "You shouldn't be here."

Then, without waiting, he spun back toward the Beast.

Another charge. Another clash.

He spoke between strikes, voice tight with strain. "You're a potential candidate for something far more important than this fight!"

Alex barely heard him.

His focus was still on the Beast—on what it was, and why it was even here.

And so h asked. "How did it get here—?"

"It doesn't matter," the Proctor snapped, blocking a blow with a surge of magic. "This thing… is a Doom-Class entity. Although not at full power."

He knocked the Beast back again with a sweeping arc of light.

"It devours souls, Knight. If it kills you—there's no recovery. No respawn. No second chance. You won't return to the tutorial. You'll cease to exist. Forever."

Alex's stomach twisted.

The words hit like a blow to the chest.

He'd killed others.

But it had always been with the knowledge that death had always been temporary.

But now?

Now, it was *final.

Truly final.

And that made a deeper, colder chill creep into his bones.

The Doom Beast hissed again. Its tendrils snapped back into its form. The ichor that clung to its skin began to harden, solidifying into plates of bony armor. The air warped, heavy with oppressive energy, like heat waves rising off a dead desert.

The Proctor didn't waste a moment.

He planted the butt of his staff into the ground and traced a sharp symbol in the air. Lines of sizzling white light laced across the floor, forming a glyph that burned beneath Alex's boots.

A portal bloomed open behind him.

A swirling vortex of blue light tore reality apart. It cracked the air with a sound like breaking glass, spinning faster with every second.

"*Go," the Proctor barked, eyes still locked on the Beast. "Now!"

Alex stepped back. His foot hovered above the edge of the portal.

But he didn't move.

He looked at the Beast again—at what Malik had become. A nightmare. A monster. A living storm of rage and corruption.

Something in him… refused to turn away.

His instincts told him to run.Every logical thought begged him to move.

And yet—

He looked down.

The Doom Slayer was pulsing in his hand. Vibrating. Singing.

It wanted this.

Not just to fight… but to win.

Alex's heart thudded.

He didn't know what the Beast was. Not fully. But whatever it was—it had shaken even the Proctor into immediate action.

Still, he didn't run.

Curiosity gripped him.

And something deeper.

Resolve?

The Proctor turned, face steel. "What are you waiting for?! Go!."

Alex didn't answer.

He just stared.