Apocalypse: becoming the hidden Ruler[English]

Victor’s voice lowered, more to himself than to anyone else. “And yet, they’ve all forgotten… that the one in the north could awaken at any moment.”

He fell silent once more.

And then, without fanfare, Victor entered a meditative state. In the far reaches of the valley, four swirling tides of murderous aura and blood-red mist slowly converged and flowed into his body—quietly, steadily.

.......

“Clarissa…”

“The Kensington family…”

As Axel stepped back onto the cliffs above Infinite Cold Cave, it felt like he was returning from a dream—or perhaps stepping into another world entirely.

He still hadn’t wrapped his head around everything he’d just experienced: meeting Victor—the long-vanished powerhouse shrouded in mystery—and learning the buried truths.

“Victor’s right,” Axel muttered to himself. “With the strength I have now… even if I found the truth, I wouldn’t be able to change a damn thing.”

But his eyes burned with renewed focus. The Heavenly Spirit Fruit in his possession was a game-changer.

He paused, took a deep breath, and focused his mind.

“Hold your breath. Focus. Compress the Force…” Every moment, he was drawing in the Force of the Abyss, molding and compacting it inside him.

Then he glanced down and let out a low chuckle. “Almost forgot about you two.”

Lying nearby were the life crystals of Zoey and Camden. Except for Millers and the late Torren, no one had ever known about their conflict. And with Torren gone and Millers’ memory wiped… Axel wasn’t worried about anyone finding out who was responsible.

He pocketed both crystals without hesitation.

Following Victor’s instructions, Axel moved slowly through the distorted terrain, breath held and mind centered. This time, he didn’t lose his way.

No beasts. Just silence.

An hour passed before a dense forest loomed into view. It was tangled with dark green vines, eerie in its stillness. Not even birdsong pierced the silence—but Axel’s sharp eyes quickly picked up clusters of blood-winged bats hanging from the vines like oversized fruit.

Each bat was over three meters long, folded neatly in their wings, unmoving.

“Guess I can save the Breath-holding Pill.”

With a quiet smirk, Axel shifted form.

A moment later, a slightly larger-than-average blood-winged bat flapped its wings and glided straight into the heart of Cloudvine Forest, blending in perfectly with the others.

Far deeper inside the forest, nestled in the canopy, Easton sat cross-legged on a thick branch, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Finally… found it.”

Just ahead, entwined between two ordinary vines, was a shimmering silver-white tendril—only about 18 centimeters long, but unmistakable.

The Saint Sea Twig.

Easton had been frustrated for days. No sign of Axel, and it had taken him far too long just to locate the damned forest, the Saint Sea Twig before him.

“Still not fully ripe… needs more Force.”

But there was no rush.

The forest was calm. The blood-winged bats were passive and docile. Easton had masked his presence well; the bats hadn’t attacked him when they’d spotted him.

Slowly, he raised a hand and began channeling his Force into the silver vine.

.....

Ten minutes passed.

A rustle. A shift in the air.

Easton’s eyes snapped open.

Just above him, hanging from the vines, was a blood-winged bat—eyes wide, watching him with something that looked like curiosity.

Easton narrowed his eyes.

“Tch…” He clenched his fist, dissipating the condensed Force instantly. He could kill the bat in a heartbeat. But he knew damn well that doing so would trigger a bloodbath. The entire bat colony would come down on him like a swarm of razors.

No matter how strong he was, that wasn’t a fight worth picking.

“Little guy… stay the hell away from me.”

Easton spoke with a forced smile, his voice light but tense. It was clearly a warning, though he didn’t dare sound too aggressive—he didn’t want to provoke the damn thing.

To his relief, the blood-winged bat didn’t attack. It simply squatted a short distance away, still staring at him with wide, curious eyes.

Easton exhaled slowly and turned his attention back to the glowing vine.

He closed his eyes, resuming the steady flow of Force into the Saint Sea Twig, unaware that the bat beside him had quietly shifted—inch by inch—closer.

The ripening process was more demanding than expected. The twig greedily drained his reserves, and when Easton finally opened his eyes again, his bag of raw stones and energy pills was nearly empty.

“Goddamn… this thing’s a Force sponge.”

Still, he had brought enough. Easton allowed himself a faint smirk.

Just days earlier, the murderous aura in the Abyss had spiked, and the Force had grown chaotic—unabsorbable. That made it all the more crucial to have brought a personal stash of supplies.

“Finally,” he muttered. “… Then, I’ve got to deal with Axel.”

“Second Uncle’s orders. The kid’s nobody important—but I still have to kill him.”

As he spoke, the silver-white vine in front of him shimmered gently.

His breath hitched slightly. The Saint Sea Twig was nearly ripe. He let go of the Force channel and slowed his breathing. No sudden moves. Harvesting it prematurely might set something off. First, he had to recover a bit of energy—just in case.

Then it happened.

A flicker.

A blur.

Before Easton could even blink, the Saint Sea Twig vanished—plucked right off the vine by a certain very familiar blood-winged bat.

“You—!” Easton’s heart leapt into his throat, his Force surged instinctively.

“Fucking hell!” he roared. “You little beast—DIE!”

Axel, still in bat form, had barely made it more than a dozen feet before he felt it.

Something sharp pierced through his consciousness—like a white-hot needle stabbing into the core of his brain. His wings spasmed, his entire body seized.

“A mental attack?” he thought through the pain.

Easton was Awakened by the Spirit, a subclass of the supernatural branch that specialized in psychic damage. Axel hadn’t fought one before—but now he was getting the full experience.

No wonder the bastard was so confident.

Gritting his teeth, Axel did the only thing he could: he faked it. Hard.

He let out an agonized screech, rolled midair, and crashed to the ground like a stone. His body tumbled through dead vines and fallen branches, thrashing and flopping dramatically.

Easton grinned at first. “Gotcha, you damn—”

Then he froze. Something felt off.

His Thought-Breaking Blade—a direct psychic strike—was meant to overload the target’s mind, causing paralysis or death. If this thing had died, it should’ve dropped like a rock. But it was rolling. And wailing. And being way too theatrical.

Easton narrowed his eyes.…The hell was this? That was a full-on soccer dive.

Before he could think further, the forest began to stir.

One by one, blood-red eyes blinked open in the darkness. A wave of tension rippled through the air.

Whoosh.

Wings spread. Dozens. Then hundreds.

The sleeping blood-winged bats had awakened—and they were not in a good mood.

Easton’s jaw tightened. “Shit…”

All at once, the canopy exploded into chaos. The sky darkened as the swarm took flight, their wings slicing the air, their screeches echoing through the trees.

“You little fucker! You did this on purpose!”

But it was too late.

The bats were everywhere—snapping, biting, clawing. The air turned crimson with a storm of wings and fury.

“No! No no no—FUCK!”