Apocalypse Baby

A thin, red cut formed where the blade had touched Dorion's skin.

But he didn't care.

Didn't flinch.

Didn't react.

Instead, he grinned—a slow, tired smirk—before his body finally collapsed onto the blood-soaked ground.

Every nerve in his body screamed in agony.

His wounds throbbed. His vision darkened. His limbs felt like lead.

But Dorion just lay there.

Still. Motionless.

If not for the faint rise and fall of his chest, he could've passed for a corpse.

Then...

Shff.

A slow, dragging footstep broke the silence.

Dorion's ears twitched.

He didn't have to look to know who it was.

Ezekiel.

Their relationship was a mess—a mix of rivalry and reluctant dependence.

They fought. Argued. Hated each other's decisions.

But in the end, in this hell, they only had each other.

Ezekiel stopped, looming over Dorion's beaten, unmoving body.

For a moment, he just stood there.

Then, in a dry, flat tone, he asked—

"You dead yet?"

Dorion didn't answer.

Didn't even move.

Ezekiel clicked his tongue and slowly raised his great sword, resting it over his shoulder.

"If you're gonna die anyway… maybe I should just finish you off."

His grip tightened on the hilt.

"Take all your stat points. They'd be real useful when I get out of here."

Dorion's eyes snapped open.

Ezekiel let out a tired sigh and shook his head.

"You look like shit," Dorion teased, his voice hoarse but laced with amusement.

Ezekiel shot him a deadpan look—one that practically screamed, "Seriously, kid?"

Because if anyone looked like absolute hell, it was Dorion.

His body was wrecked. Stab wounds riddled his torso. Blood clung to his clothes like second skin. He looked like a corpse that refused to stay dead.

Ezekiel exhaled and dropped down beside him, resting his arms on his knees.

For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.

Then, Ezekiel muttered, "That last fight was rough, huh?"

Dorion didn't answer.

Didn't nod. Didn't even grunt.

Ezekiel glanced at him, then continued, "So… who did you face?"

Dorion blinked, his expression unreadable. "What do you mean?"

Ezekiel exhaled sharply. "I mean, obviously, the nightmare pitted us against undead versions of the players we felt guilty about killing."

His voice was steady, but there was a weight behind his words.

"So, who did you face?"

Dorion's frown deepened. His brows knitted together.

Then, he scoffed.

"Guilt?" he repeated, as if the word itself was absurd. "That term is foreign to me."

His voice was cold. Unshaken.

"I don't regret killing anyone."

"Of course you don't."

Ezekiel's reply was almost automatic, but then his expression shifted. His brows furrowed slightly, his gaze distant, as if something wasn't adding up.

If Dorion hadn't faced the undead version of someone he felt guilty about killing… then what did the nightmare use to summon an undead for him?

A moment of silence stretched between them before Ezekiel voiced his thoughts.

"Maybe it wasn't guilt. Maybe it was a kill that made you feel a strong emotion?"

Dorion let out a low groan, rubbing his face. "What's the point of this?"

Ezekiel smirked slightly. "Just buying time until whatever decides to drag us back to the tutorial."

Dorion sighed, his exhaustion seeping into his voice.

Then, after a pause, he muttered, "Strong emotion, huh...? Could that be why I saw Onigi's daughter?"

Ezekiel's head tilted slightly.

His confusion was clear in the way his eyes narrowed just a fraction.

Onigi's daughter?

That… wasn't the answer he expected.

"His daughter?" Ezekiel narrowed his eyes, his voice edged with curiosity. "I would've thought you'd be pitted against the old man himself. After all, he's the one who gave you the most trouble. You were clearly frustrated that he kept chasing you."

Dorion's expression remained unreadable. "Maybe..."

His voice lacked its usual sharpness, his reply almost distant.

Ezekiel didn't let it go. "It's strange. If I were the nightmare, that's who I'd make you fight. Unless…Unless the man wasn't dead?"

Dorion's body went rigid.

His eyes widened just slightly, his breath hitching—barely noticeable, but Ezekiel caught it.

Then, as if reality had just slammed into him, Dorion pushed himself up, groaning through the pain.

"What… what did you just say?"

His voice was quieter this time, but there was a weight behind it.

Ezekiel met his gaze and repeated evenly, "Unless the man wasn't dead."

Then, noting Dorion's reaction, he added, his tone shifting ever so slightly:

"He is dead… right?"

Dorion shuddered, his breath hitching for just a moment before he muttered, "I never got a kill notification, though."

Ezekiel frowned. "Kill notification?" He repeated, confused.

Unlike Dorion, Ezekiel—crazy as it sounded—had never actually killed another player, so the concept of a kill notification was foreign to him.

Dorion's eyes widened in sudden realization.

Then, he gritted his teeth and cursed under his breath before exclaiming, "What, am I a fool?!" His voice was sharp, more self-directed than anything. "I reprimanded him for doing the same, yet I made the same damn mistake!"

Without warning, Dorion forced himself upright, his body protesting with every movement.

Ezekiel, still trying to piece together what was happening, quickly followed.

"What… what are you saying?" He asked, his voice edged with confusion.

Dorion's breathing was uneven, but his mind was racing now. "I was too busy fighting the undead in front of me, I forgot to check—"

"Check what?" Ezekiel pressed.

"FOOL!"

A sharp voice rang out behind them, freezing them in place.

A voice they knew.

A voice they never wanted to hear again.

Slowly, Ezekiel and Dorion turned—their movements stiff as if the very air around them had thickened.

And there he was.

The old man. Onigi.

He walked toward them with an unshaken, deliberate stride, his presence bone rattling and suffocating.

The metal of his katana scraped against the ground, leaving behind a jagged trail of ice that crackled and spread like a living thing.

Dorion's heart pounded in his chest.

He felt the weight of his own breath, heavy and uneven.

The taste of fear clung to his tongue, bitter and undeniable.

Then, in a voice like a final verdict, Onigi spoke.

"I told you… this ends with me taking your head."