Apocalypse: becoming the hidden Ruler

The car rolled to a stop. Gabriel peeked outside, eyes widening. "Holy shit."

They were at Baird Street District's Central Square. Right in the middle stood a massive, battle-scarred stone platform, riddled with cracks and deep grooves—scars from countless life-or-death duels.

Surrounding the square were hotels, banks, and commercial buildings, their steps converted into makeshift spectator seats. The whole area was packed. There had to be at least a thousand people gathered.

Most sat in small groups, clearly divided into gang factions, drinking, smoking, and waiting for blood. Gabriel whistled. "Didn't think this many people gave a shit."

Axel wasn't surprised. Sin City loved its executions. And in their eyes, that's what this was.

Outsiders who challenged the status quo? They got chewed up and spit out. The people here loved watching it happen.

.....

At the very front of the crowd, in the VIP section, three men sat together—the leaders of the three dominant gangs in Baird Street.

In the center sat Zachary, the boss of Black Powder. Beside him, a disheveled middle-aged man with his hair tied back was casually trimming his nails, completely unfazed by the event unfolding before them.

Zachary glanced over. "Harrison, at least pretend to give a shit."

Harrison shrugged. "I'm used to this."

And he was. He had fought too many of these battles to feel anything about them. Killing first-level awakeners? He'd lost count. Fighting second-level ones? He'd even pulled that off a couple times.

What he wanted—what he needed—was a way to break into Level 2. And after watching Axel's fight footage, he already felt bored.

The guy needed a gun to win. Sure, his burst speed was fast, but it was obvious—he had to use his awakening skill to pull it off. Harrison sighed. Another waste of time.

Harrison, long time no see. A broad-shouldered, towering man seated next to Zachary greeted him with an easy smile.

Harrison barely glanced up from his nails. "Mr. Grayson." The greeting was polite—nothing more. Harrison went right back to trimming.

Grayson just chuckled, completely unbothered. Grayson—boss of the Wolfclaw Legion—was one of the most powerful men in Baird Street.

Zachary, however, didn't look amused. He snorted, watching the interaction in silence. It wasn't exactly a secret that Grayson wanted Harrison on his side.

He'd made offers before—big ones. More money. More power. More freedom. But Harrison had never taken the bait. He wasn't interested in shifting loyalties. His only focus was fighting and getting stronger. But, that made Grayson admire him even more.

Zachary cut in. "Grayson, I thought you'd be trying to recruit the new guy."

Grayson twirled the ring on his finger, voice casual. "I was thinking about it. But then you called Harrison back."

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He smiled faintly. "And I'm not interested in recruiting a guy who's already as good as dead."

Despite the rivalry between their gangs, Grayson clearly expected Harrison to win. Zachary smirked and turned to the third man at the table. "What about you, Declan?"

A rough-looking man with a thick beard, Declan led the third major gang in the district. He chuckled. "What, you want me to bet against you? Come on, Zachary."

He spread his hands, grinning. "Real talent's hard to come by." The words were total bullshit—but Zachary and Grayson were already used to it.

Axel stepped out of the car and took a deep breath, his nerves settled. Back in the past, when he'd killed people, it had always been calculated—plans, strategies, resources he could leverage.

This was different. A direct, open fight. At first, it felt unnatural—being the center of attention. But as the tension built, something inside him shifted. Excitement. Then—

"You?!" A familiar voice rang out from behind him. Axel turned. Standing nearby, arms folded, was Esme—a candidate from his batch.

Beside her, Wesley and the others stood watching, looking far too comfortable.

Esme's lips curled into a smirk. "Well, well. We heard there was a big fight tonight, figured we'd check it out. Didn't expect to see you."

She laughed, eyes gleaming with amusement. "This is hilarious. Since when are first-level awakeners worth all this hype?"

Axel ignored her and turned back. But Esme wasn't done.

"Was a stupid idea?" she continued, her tone mocking. "Look at us—we're doing great."

After arriving in the city, Esme's team had been targeted immediately. But they were strong enough to kill a local gang leader. Since then, things had been quiet.

Elijah still warned them to stay sharp, but Jade? She thought they were untouchable now.

"Alright, enough," Elijah cut in, waving a dismissive hand. He barely spared Axel a glance before turning away.

Esme, though? She grinned. "Fine, fine. No point wasting words on the dead." She laughed as she walked off.

"Why the hell are they talking like that? We're all—" Gabriel started angrily but stopped himself, glanced at Axel. But Axel didn't even flinch. His dark eyes were steady—calm, unreadable. That eerie calm washed over Gabriel too. He clenched his fists but said nothing more.

Then, a third-level awakener from Wolfclaw Legion stepped forward and spoke: "Both parties have agreed—anything goes. No restrictions. Life or death."

The crowd fell silent. Harrison stepped onto the platform. No cheers. No applause. Just a cold, heavy silence—the weight of fear.

Harrison was still only a first-level awakener, but that's what made him so terrifying. Unlike high-level masters who rarely got their hands dirty, Harrison killed with his own two hands.

Many in this crowd had seen him do it. And they knew exactly how many people had died at his feet.

Axel walked onto the platform, moving with measured steps. Harrison's dull expression flickered for the first time—a hint of surprise in his eyes.

He hadn't expected him to be this young. Then Harrison gave a lazy gesture. "Let's get this over with." Like this was just another day, another kill.

Axel's voice was just as flat. "Alright." The Wolfclaw awakener stepped back.

BOOM! The gong rang.

Harrison exploded forward. Axel barely saw it—just a blur, a streak of motion too fast to follow. No hesitation. No elaborate setup. Just raw speed. Harrison's dagger flashed straight for Axel's throat.

"Holy shit—he's fast!" Wesley—watching from the sidelines—sucked in a sharp breath. His teammates were just as stunned.

A first-level awakener? Even back when they were at this level, they hadn't been anywhere near this fast. Hell, it was hard to even track his movements with the naked eye!

Up in the stands, the three gang leaders weren't surprised. This was just basic Harrison.

The dagger cut through the air like a razor, glinting under the lights. Harrison's expression didn't change. He was less than a meter away from Axel now. He could already smell the blood in the air. Then—

CLANG.

His forearm jerked. The dagger stopped dead. Harrison's face twitched in surprise. Axel had blocked it.

For the first time, a hint of doubt flashed through Harrison's eyes. Axel, on the other hand, felt cold sweat run down his back. "Huh?"

It happened in a blink. Axel's grip locked onto Harrison's wrist. A normal opponent would've struggled. Panicked. But Harrison?

His fingers relaxed—the dagger slipped free. It dropped toward his left hand. Axel's eyes narrowed, ready for the switch. But just as the blade was about to land in his palm—