Apocalypse Baby

Freya slashed through the last undead, its body crumbling into dust.

She let out a heavy exhale, wiping sweat from her forehead.

The battlefield was finally clear.

But then—

She noticed something.

Alex had stopped moving.

His body was rigid.

His eyes were locked on something in the distance.

He didn't blink.

Didn't speak.

Didn't even breathe.

Freya frowned, confused.

She stepped forward, her boots crunching against broken bones.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice steady but laced with concern.

Alex didn't answer.

Didn't even acknowledge her.

He just stood there.

Frozen.

Then, she saw it—

A subtle tremor in his hands.

Alex wasn't just standing still.

He was shaken.

His fists clenched as the weight of a single truth crashed down on him.

One of them had died.

Alex's mind raced.

There was an opponent strong enough to take on four of his clones at once.

And worse—

It wasn't even the Grim Lord.

That meant there was more than one high-level threat in this battle.

He Had to Move—Now

His heart pounded.

He snapped out of it, scanning his surroundings.

Freya and the others—they were safe.

Which meant—

He could go.

Without another word, Alex bolted.

His body became a blur as he sprinted toward his clones.

Toward the monster that had just killed one of him.

Freya's eyes widened as Alex suddenly took off.

"Wait!" she yelled, her voice sharp and urgent.

But he was already gone.

A blur of motion, disappearing into the battlefield.

Freya squinted, eyes straining through the lingering dust and flickering embers.

Up ahead, she saw them—

Alex's clones.

Locked in battle with a dark figure.

She couldn't tell exactly what it was, but she could feel it.
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A powerful presence.

Something dangerous.

Her fingers twitched, the urge to help nagging at her.

But then doubt crept in.

Would she even make a difference?

Would she only slow them down?

She exhaled sharply.

She hated this feeling—being a burden.

Just standing here, useless.

Their presence was already a strain on the battlefield, and she didn't want to make it worse.

But still—

It sucked to be helpless.

To just watch instead of fight.

Freya shook off the frustration and turned her attention elsewhere.

Her gaze landed on Dorion.

He lay sprawled on the ground, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

His body was scorched, his skin charred in some places.

Not just exhausted—he looked drained.

Like something was sapping his energy.

The undead alone couldn't have done this.

This was something worse.

Onigi.

That thing must have done a number on him.

Freya's jaw tightened.

If she couldn't fight on the front lines, then she needed to help somewhere else.

She turned, scanning the battlefield—

And her eyes landed on Ezekiel.

He was close by.

Ezekiel sat on the ground, his back leaning against his massive greatsword, the blade half-buried in the dirt beside him.

His eyes swept across the battlefield.

Up ahead—Alex's clones were locked in a fierce clash with Varkos, the Fallen Archfiend.

Further away—The original Alex was locked in combat with the Grim Lord.

And as if that wasn't enough—

Dozens. More. Undead.

Marching in from the horizon, their soulless eyes locked onto them.

Ezekiel let out a long sigh, his voice tinged with both awe and unease.

"That man... doesn't he ever run out of stamina?"

He shook his head, watching as Alex continued to fight, his movements still sharp, still precise, still deadly.

"He's doing so much, yet he doesn't even look tired. Seriously... he's a real monster."

Freya's expression darkened at those words.

She turned toward Ezekiel, her tone sharp, carrying an unmistakable edge.

"Yeah... a monster."

Her gaze flickered back to Alex, still fighting, still standing.

"One that saved our lives."

Alex's strength was terrifying—no doubt about that.

But he wasn't some mindless killer.

Every time he struck first, it was because someone had forced his hand.

He never killed without reason.

He always gave a warning.

One that was either ignored—or refused.

Ezekiel scoffed.

"Saved lives, yes..."

His grip on his sword tightened.

"But then took them."

"Take them?..."

Freya's voice rose, sharp and incredulous.

She knew exactly what Ezekiel was getting at—the survivors Alex had killed in the third round.

But their deaths?

That was on them.

"He didn't take anything," she shot back, eyes narrowing.

"They threw it all away."

Ezekiel's gaze darkened.

"He could have ignored it. They couldn't harm him. Yet he still killed desperate people."

Freya's jaw clenched.

"You could have stayed," she countered, her voice laced with frustration.

"You could have convinced them not to attack. They saw you as a leader. Yet you ran the moment you got hit."

She took a step forward, eyes burning.

"You're at fault too."

Ezekiel flinched but quickly regained his composure.

"He turned the nightmare on its head," he argued, his voice steady.

"But he never thought about the consequences for everyone else. That forced the nightmare to take drastic action, pushing people into desperation."

Freya's fists clenched at her sides.

This guy—

He was dodging responsibility while pointing fingers at someone else.

What a coward.

"How would his inaction have made things any better? Right here, right now, in this moment?"

Ezekiel responded slowly:

"You don't realize it, but the Nightmare wants as few players as possible to survive. And though it didn't get rid of them directly...Alex helped it."

Ezekiel's eyes darkened as he spoke in a low, almost conspiratorial tone.

"Now that I think about it… maybe Alex is something the Nightmare spawned. A creature designed to make us dependent on him—before he kills us all."

Freya's head snapped toward him, disbelief flashing across her face.

"Okay, that's wild."

Her voice dripped with frustration.

"You must have lost your mind. How dare you say that when he literally gave you rings to boost your survival?"

Ezekiel let out a slow sigh, his expression unreadable.

"I am grateful," he admitted, but his tone carried an unsettling edge.

"But I also can't ignore my animosity toward him."

Freya's anger flared.

"Isn't your animosity misplaced? He's been nothing but generous, and that's what pisses you off?"

Ezekiel scoffed.

"Generous?"

He said the word like it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard.

"That's what you call him?"

His jaw tightened, voice low and sharp.

"He selfishly plowed his way through the maze, provoked the Undead Guide and the Nightmare itself. He killed people who just wanted to survive. And now? Now we're stuck here, fighting endless waves of monsters with no way out."

His eyes narrowed, bitterness dripping from his words.

"But hey—seems like we're all having fun, right? And you call that bastard generous?"

Freya didn't hesitate.

Her voice was sharp, her words like daggers.

"Oh, and what exactly did you do while all of this was happening, oh selfless one?"

She clapped back, her arms crossing as she stared Ezekiel down.

"From Trial One, you prioritized your own survival above everything else. In Trial Two, I don't even know how you got enough Nightmare Points to proceed, but let's be honest—there's no way you made it through without killing another player. And then, in Trial Three, you used the maze Alex created—the very one you keep complaining about."

Ezekiel's eyes narrowed.

"There was no other option," he shot back. "He nuked the entire maze and then just stared at it in awe—like it was some masterpiece. Remember?"

Freya scoffed, ignoring the remark.

"And yet, after he got you and a dozen others out, what did you do? You rallied the survivors and tried to kill him. But when you took a single punch and realized you couldn't win? You ran. Left the rest to die. Yeah… real selfless indeed."

Ezekiel exhaled slowly, turning to face her fully.

His voice was calm, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"Killing Alex would've meant escaping the Nightmare," he said, his words deliberate.

Then, tilting his head slightly, he added:

"Tell me, Freya—you never considered it? Not even for a second?"

Freya's response...