Apocalypse: becoming the hidden Ruler[English]

“Fairy tales don’t belong to people like me,” she muttered, staring down at her pale, slender hands. A bitter smile tugged at her lips. “My hands are already soaked in blood.”

Maybe somewhere, in another life, there was a pure and gentle girl who lived next door. But that wasn’t her.

Without another thought, Annabelle tore open the pouch. Her fangs pierced the seal, and thick, warm blood poured down her throat. The taste was metallic, heavy—and intoxicating.

A surge of power rushed through her veins. Her body, already nourished by the Life Crystals, flared to life with raw energy. Hunger and strength fused, burning in her chest.

“Brother…” she whispered, clutching the empty pouch. “I won’t be your burden anymore. Not ever again.”

She sealed the pouch, cleaned the traces, and slipped away like a shadow. High above, shrouded in the clouds, the man in the bronze mask watched her every motion. A faint smile curved beneath his mask.

“In that,” he murmured, “she truly takes after her brother.”

Axel hadn’t planned to wake early. After days of chaos, he’d expected to sleep until noon. But sharp knocks rattled the door before dawn.

He opened it, still groggy—and froze. Vince and Rosaline stood there, faces grim. Charles hovered behind them, equally tense.

“What’s going on?” Axel asked, brow furrowed.

Vince’s voice was low. “Vernon’s dead.”

Axel blinked, thinking he’d misheard. “What?”

“Dead,” Charles said flatly. “The police came by this morning. Preston’s people are already investigating. It’s… messy.”

Axel’s eyes narrowed. “How?”

Charles sighed. “He was stabbed through the heart. But that’s not the strangest part. Before he died—he turned.”

“Turned?”

Rosaline nodded. “He became infected. Lost control and… devoured Fletcher.”

Axel’s pupils contracted. That was impossible. Vernon was a Level Five Awakener. He wasn’t even close to his bottleneck, and he knew better than anyone how dangerous it was to force evolution.

Vince said quietly. “Preston’s calling it suspicious as hell. Irving’s already on-site. He wants us there too.”

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s go. I want to see it for myself.”

......

The police transport cut through the frozen streets, its sirens low and muffled by the falling snow.

The cabin site was cordoned off with yellow tape, guards posted in every direction. The once-solid ice was now splattered with streaks of black-purple blood that gleamed under the floodlights.

Vernon’s body lay half-naked in the snow, his dark scales glinting faintly. A gaping wound marred his chest. The blood had burned through the ice, leaving a crater beneath him.

“He died here,” Preston said, standing nearby with arms crossed. His expression was unreadable.

The group ducked under the tape. Axel glanced around—the air reeked of death and something fouler, like corruption.

Irving stood near the body, his eyes black as ink as he reached out with his Spirit Sense. Preston, Walter, and Skye were there as well, watching in silence.

When Skye noticed Axel, he gave a smile. “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Poor bastard didn’t even make it out of the city.”

As the head of the Enforcement Bureau, Skye had no choice but to step in whenever the infected were involved.

Axel said nothing. He crouched beside the bodies, the faint shimmer of Life Crystals catching his eye. Quietly, he reached down, slipping two of them—Vernon’s and Fletcher’s—into his pocket. Another profit.

.....

Vernon’s Life Crystal was slightly larger than Jeremiah’s—no surprise, given his noble lineage. Even as a low-grade Level Five Awakener, the man’s raw vitality outclassed most of his peers.

No wonder Jeremiah couldn’t take me down with a single strike, Axel thought, turning the crystal in his hand. He couldn’t help feeling a flicker of gratitude that the Level Five he’d faced back in Northern Spiritual Town had been a washed-up weakling. Otherwise, even he had Psychic Defense ability, he might’ve been shredded from the inside out by a real opponent.

Fletcher’s Life Crystal, on the other hand, was smaller—a modest glow, Level Three at best. Axel pocketed it, planning to give it to his sister later. It would make good nourishment for her.

He was about to probe the crystals’ memories when voices rose nearby.

“What the hell—how could this happen?”

Preston’s brows drew together as he looked toward Irving, who stood pale and sweating.

“No good,” Irving muttered, wiping his forehead. “Their spirits are gone—either dispersed or pulled out with Soul Stones.”

Axel’s head snapped up. Soul Stones. He’d heard that term before, but only vaguely.

“They’ve been dead less than twelve hours,” Charles said, his tone tight. “There’s no way their spirits just faded on their own.”

Catching Axel’s puzzled look, Charles stepped closer and explained quietly, “Essence Stones and Soul Stones work like raw stones. The first feeds on flesh and blood to strengthen the body, the second feeds on spirit to enhance the mind. They’re rare as hell—and expensive. Over five million credits apiece.”

“Five million…” No wonder Vernon had used them as bargaining chips for the Rock Spinal Cord.

Charles continued, voice low. “Essence Stones can also double as weapons. One that’s absorbed a Level Five’s blood can explode with the power of a full-force Level Five strike. Soul Stones can attack directly at the soul—instantaneous, lethal. Training tools or weapons, depending on who’s desperate enough to use them.”

Axel nodded, thoughtful. Useful, but still not worth what the Rock Spinal Cord offered.

“Thank you, Mr. Irving.” Preston gave Irving a curt nod.

Irving managed a tired smile, adjusting his hat. “You’re welcome. Didn’t do much good anyway.”

With the discussion fading, Axel finally focused on the information flickering inside the Life Crystal.

> Vernon Brighthelm — Level 5 (Low Grade) Awakener.

> Lineage: Collateral branch of the Brighthelm family.

> Date of Death: March 13, 2061.

> Last emotion before death: Deep hatred and rage. Singular intent — avenge his son’s murder.

Axel stared at the crystal, lost for a moment in thought.

Vince came up beside him, studying his expression. “Something wrong?”

Axel shook his head. “No. Just… thinking.” Vince gave him a knowing look and walked off without pressing further.

A few minutes later, the on-site coroner called out, voice tense. “Mr. Preston, I’ve found something new.”

Preston strode over. “What is it?”

The coroner, a grizzled man in his fifties, was bent over Vernon’s scaled body. “Vernon died from a catastrophic heart wound, yes—but there’s something else. A puncture mark. Needle-thin, on the wrist.”

He pointed toward the corpse’s thick, scaly arm.

Skye, who’d been pacing nearby, leaned in. “Where? I don’t see a damn thing.”

The coroner sighed. “My awakened talent is enhanced vision.”

“Right, right,” Skye muttered, scratching his head. “Lucky bastard.”

Just then, one of Skye’s subordinates hurried over. “Sir, we just received an order. We’re not to move the infected body.”

“What?” Skye’s tone jumped half an octave. “We’re the Enforcement Bureau. This is our job. If we don’t move it, who the hell will?”

“Uh… they didn’t specify,” the officer stammered, clearly uncomfortable.

Before Skye could explode, Preston stepped in smoothly. “Let it go, Skye. You can keep a blood sample, but the body goes to the Brighthelm family.”

Skye blinked, then laughed dryly. “Ah. Right. Family business. Got it, sir.”

Watching the exchange, Axel turned away and rejoined the Obsidian team.

“Nothing left for us here,” Vince said quietly. “Let’s move. There’s something else I need to run by you later.”

Axel nodded, then turned back to offer a polite farewell. “Mr. Skye, Mr. Preston—we’ll be leaving now. See you again in Dune. And please, give my regards to Marcus and Hudson.”

Someone from the Brighthelm family would be coming soon to claim Vernon’s body. Even though Axel had nothing to do with the man’s death, it was best to avoid any unnecessary encounters.

As the Obsidian team departed, Irving tipped his hat in a courteous farewell before following them out.

“Try to look on the bright side,” Preston said, patting Skye on the shoulder. “Some things are better left for the Brighthelms to handle.”

Skye let out a small laugh. “No problem, sir. Honestly, I’d rather not have that mess dumped in my lap anyway. It’s a damn hot potato.”