Apocalypse Baby

"If you do not wish to miss your chance, keep running."

And with that, he vanished.

No warning. No portal. No glyphs of transition. Not even the soft shimmer of residual magic. One heartbeat, he was there—standing like some divine sentinel carved from law and light—and the next, he was simply gone. Dissolved. Erased. As if the realm itself had reclaimed him.

No fanfare.

No flare of dramatics.

Just his final words, still ringing in the air like the echo of a bell struck in a silent cathedral:

"Keep running."

And then—nothing.

Silence.

The kind of silence that feels intentional. Like the world itself was waiting.

Eight figures remained behind, each rooted in place on the trembling span of the obsidian bridge. Below them, a chasm roared with winds too deep to see. Before them, the Divine Gate stood open—no longer pulsing with threat but radiating invitation. Its golden light spilled forward in waves, casting long shadows behind them, warping their features into strange, stretched things.

The gate was awake now.

Awake and watching.

Broken chains littered the black stone floor—shattered remnants of some celestial lock—still crackling with the lingering residue of divine power. Smoke curled from their fractured links, as though reality itself had been scorched.

Alex stood near the edge of the group, his pulse steady but mind turning sharp. His eyes narrowed as he murmured aloud, "What did he mean by keep running?"

The question wasn't for anyone in particular. More thought than inquiry. But in the silence, it struck like a challenge.

Predictably, Kaalen responded first.

"Oh, brilliant," the elf snapped, voice sharp and echoing. He flung his arms wide in mock celebration. "That's it? 'Keep running?' That's the grand guidance we get?"

He paced forward, shoulders tight, rage bleeding from every step. "We've climbed through blood, flame, and memory to reach this point. And now, at the threshold of the most dangerous realm ever documented, this is what they give us? A disappearing act and a vague command?"

He gestured toward the gate—its swirling light, its beckoning pull.

"No map. No structure. No damn overview. Just spectacle and silence!"

He looked around at the others, clearly fishing for support. "If they want us to march into something designed to kill, the least they could do is offer a warning."

A low scoff cut through his rant.

Korrum, the towering warborn juggernaut of stone and steel, leaned heavily on his greataxe. The weapon made a dull thud as it touched the ground.

"You done crying?" His voice was deep and dismissive, like mountains grinding together. "If you're scared, princeling, then take your token. Use it. Beg your realm to pull you out and go home."

Kaalen's face twisted. "You think being silent makes you profound?"

"No," Korrum replied, calm as ice. "I think complaining about a lack of hand-holding in a survival trial is pathetic."

He straightened, muscles shifting under granite skin. "The proctor gave us everything. This isn't a lecture hall. This is the trial. You adapt, or you die."

For a moment, it looked like Kaalen might push back. But the words never came.

Alex let the bickering fade from his awareness. His focus had already shifted elsewhere.

He turned slightly, eyes finding Adam.

Adam stood apart from the others, a few steps away, arms folded, face turned toward the open gate. There was no emotion on his face. No sarcasm. No fear. Just a hard, frozen stillness. The look of someone who knew exactly what they were walking into.

Alex stepped closer. His voice was low.

"Adam… what's in there? The Divine Realm. What are we really stepping into?"

For a moment, Adam didn't answer. His gaze stayed forward, locked on the threshold where the realm's golden winds churned and twisted like living things.

Then, quietly, he spoke.

"Monsters," he said.

One word. Cold. Final.

But he kept going.

"Abominations. The kind that makes no sense even after you've killed them. The deeper you go, the worse it gets. You'll see things that weren't meant to exist—things that shouldn't exist."

Alex remained silent. Listening.

Adam's voice dropped further, almost mechanical now. "Some of them won't just kill you. They'll take your skin. Wear your memories. Use your voice to call out for help while they tear the others apart."

A gust of unnatural wind swept through the bridge, carrying something intangible. Not scent. Not sound. A pressure. A presence.

Adam didn't even flinch.

"Others trap you in dreams. Perfect illusions. You won't know you're caught. You'll think you made it out. That you're safe. Then the moment you relax…" He snapped his fingers. "Gone."

Alex exhaled slowly. "So we don't fight?"

Adam's head turned slightly. "Not unless you're certain you'll win."

Alex met his eyes. "And what are we chasing exactly? What's worth all this? The proctor wasn't exactly detailed."

Adam replied simply.

"Power."

"Artifacts. Constructs. Weapons left behind by fallen gods. Items that rewrite your class foundation. Mythical beasts that bond to your soul."

He paused, then added, "That realm holds what's left of those who tried and failed. But also the tools they left behind."

Alex felt his chest tighten. He thought of everything they'd endured to reach this point—the blood, the betrayals, the brutal fights. And now, here they were. Standing on the edge of something bigger than all of them.

"And the deity mantle?" he asked.

Adam's gaze hardened. "I'd advise you to give up on that?"

Alex narrowed his eyes.

"Survival is hard enough, and you don't exactly acquire the mantle by searching. The best course is to find treasures."

Adam looked back toward the gate. "Most who enter never come close. But if your luck's insane and your greed doesn't get you killed, you might find something strong enough to challenge a god."

Alex raised a brow.

Challenge a god?

That was possible?

"What happens if you win against a deity…?"

Adam's voice dropped again.

"Then you take their power. Their name. Their mantle, and become a god of whatever they were. But none of it matters now," Adam said, turning his head slightly.

"If you don't survive what lies ahead, whatever ambition you have now is pointless."

Then it happened.

The moment Adam's warning left his lips, the world responded.

It started small—just a ripple in the air, like the pressure shift before a storm breaks. You wouldn't even notice it if you weren't already on edge. But then it pressed behind their eyes, curled tight at the base of the skull like a headache that knew what was coming.

And then the sound came.

Not thunder. Not anything natural.

It was a roar—but deeper. Older. A noise that didn't belong in any sane world. It vibrated through the stone beneath their feet and the marrow in their bones, as if the land itself remembered something it had tried to forget.

Alex's breath caught. The sky behind them had gone dark—not from the setting sun, but because something enormous was moving.

Heads turned. Instinct. Reflex.

And there it was.

A storm—black as grief, sharp with lightning—rolling across the sky like a tidal wave. Fast. Too fast. It wasn't drifting. It wasn't even following weather patterns. It was chasing.

Hunting.

Alex's eyes widened. He saw the shape of it and his body tensed before his brain could catch up. This wasn't just cloud and wind—it had intent. Purpose.

Lightning slashed through its gut, revealing a nightmare in motion.

A mouth.

At the center of the storm, the clouds split open into a massive, jagged void. No lips. No eyes. Just a gaping wound in the sky, screaming with wind and pressure. It didn't even need teeth. The sheer force of it promised annihilation.

A shriek followed—not from a creature, but from the storm itself. As if the sky was being peeled apart.

Vayren stumbled back, eyes wide. The monk grabbed his token like it was a lifeline. The Anima flickered like a signal glitching in fear. Even Korrum froze, the ever-steady giant suddenly unsure of his next move.

Everyone flinched.

Everyone except Alex.

He didn't freeze out of bravery—he froze because his brain couldn't make sense of it. A storm with a mouth? A living cloud? Was it magic? A weapon? A spirit?

But then, like a falling coin finally landing, the memory hit.

Keep running.

That was the proctor's last command.

And suddenly, it all made sense.

Adam didn't say a word. He just moved—turned on his heel and ran. No hesitation. No backward glance.

That was enough.

The spell broke. Kaalen swore and bolted. Vayren tucked his flower and sprinted after. Korrum's heavy boots slammed into the stone, each stride full of thunder. The Anima blurred forward in flashes of spectral light. Even the monk shed his calm exterior and launched into motion.

Alex followed. His body reacted before he gave it permission. Not because he understood everything, but because everyone was running—and whatever that thing was, it was closing fast.

Behind them, the storm howled louder. The wind screamed, hot and unnatural, dragging the scent of ozone and finality.

"Adam!" Alex shouted, pulling alongside him, legs pumping. "What is that?!"

"Cleansing Storm!" Adam shouted back, never taking his eyes off the light ahead. "If it catches you, you're not just dead—you're erased. Like you never existed."

Alex felt the chill of those words sink into his bones.

He threw a glance back and saw the storm was drawing closer.

It wasn't chaotic. It wasn't random. It moved with eerie focus—like a predator that had already chosen its prey and was savoring the moment before the strike.

It wasn't just a storm.

It was a punishment.

"Can we outrun it?!"

"No. No matter what you do...