Global Awakening: Apocalypse Ender's Chronicle

Alex had already seen a lot of Shelters so far. From Clan Shelters, Neutral Shelters, Wild Shelters, and all others.

However, the shelter in front of them felt too different from the others.

Soon, he found a leader and asked.

”Ahem... May I ask what land... or maybe continent where you’re all from?”

”I... I’m sorry.” The leader said as he looked behind.

The other Survivors then shrugged and shook their heads. Apparently, they knew what their shelter was called, but the name of the land or continent wasn’t something they were aware of.

”This is called Soft Bread Shelter?” Alex asked.

That was basically the dead end. If they had no idea, then they might as well leave it at that.

Alex approached and sighed. Soon, his staff tapped against the stone. He glanced at the survivors, then at his master.

”You didn’t even let me fight.”

Merlin’s gaze softened. ”You hate sound‑type enemies. I know your struggle. Forcing you against them would only break your focus. There will be battles enough for you, Alex. This one was mine.”

Alex sighed, relief mixed with frustration. ”I suppose... but I want to be strong enough to face them someday.”

”You will,” Merlin said firmly. ”In time.”

The shelter gates creaked open, and the defenders rushed forward to greet their saviors.

They offered food, water, and whatever supplies they could spare. Merlin accepted little, only asking for information about the surrounding lands.

Alex, meanwhile, listened to the survivors’ stories... how the Sirens had appeared suddenly, how their voices had driven men mad, how the Screamer shrieks had shattered defenses.

Night fell, and the shelter lit its lanterns.

Survivors gathered around fires, talking about the mage who had descended from the sky. Alex sat beside his master, staring into the flames.

”They look at you like you’re a legend.”

Merlin chuckled softly. ”Legends are only stories told by those who survive. I am no legend, Alex. I am simply prepared.”

Alex frowned. ”Prepared... but for what?”

Merlin’s eyes reflected the firelight, distant and thoughtful. ”For what comes next.”

The words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning. Alex wanted to ask more, but before he could, a ripple of mana brushed against Merlin’s senses. He turned his head and squinted his eyes..

From the horizon, another presence approached... strong, familiar. Merlin’s lips curved into a faint smile. ”It seems we have a visitor.”

Moments later, Shane arrived.

His boots struck the ground silently... Indeed, his aura was unmistakable.

Survivors gasped again, this time, because Shane arrived through flight as well!. Two figures now stood before them... the floating mage and the warrior lord.

Alex’s eyes widened. ”Master... that’s Shane.”

Merlin nodded, his gaze fixed on the newcomer. ”Yes. And it seems fate has decided our paths should cross tonight.”

***

Meanwhile, some time ago, within this Soft Bread Shelter, Mico’s hands were always dusted with flour. Day after day, he rose before dawn, kneading dough in the dim light of the shelter’s ovens.

He was the only baker in their community, and that meant the burden of feeding hundreds fell squarely on his shoulders. The smell of bread was the one comfort the residents clung to, a reminder of normalcy in a world that had long lost it.

His mornings began with grinding grain, mixing water, and shaping loaves.

By midday, the ovens roared, and the shelter filled with the scent of warm bread.

Everyone would line up eagerly, clutching wooden bowls, while guards carried baskets to the walls. Mico rarely rested... if he stopped, the shelter would go hungry.

But baking was only half his life.

Their shelter was constantly under threat from goblins. Every evening, the alarm would sound, and the defenders would rush to the barricades. Goblins attacked in packs, shrieking and clawing, testing the walls for weakness.

Mico had grown used to the rhythm: knead, bake, deliver, then brace for another raid. He wasn’t a fighter, but he knew the importance of bread. Without food, morale would crumble faster than any wall.

He remembered the old shelter before this one... how they had fought kobolds in the caves, minotaurs in the forests, and goblins in the hills. Each enemy had its own rhythm, its own danger. But they were enemies, the people understood. They could be fought with spears, arrows, and fire.

Then, one morning, everything changed.

”What is going on here?”

”Wait... The smell is rotten.”

”Where is this place?”

”I think we’ve been transported.”

”No way!”

”This isn’t true! This must be an illusion, be careful!”

Mico was also unaware of what was going on. He woke to silence... no goblin shrieks, no kobold drums. Instead, the air was heavy, foul, and strange.

When he stepped outside, he saw them... zombies.

”What Zombies?”

”Is this the Dark Elves’ creations?”

”A Necromancer Elf? Wait. Is that even possible?”

The others also noticed the situation.

Mico also felt nervous.

Still, he found himself shambling across the fields. There was no way he’d give up on this matter.

The defenders panicked. Arrows flew, spears jabbed, but the zombies kept coming. Unlike goblins, they did not retreat. Unlike kobolds, they did not fear fire. Unlike minotaurs, they did not tire. They simply pressed forward, endless and unyielding.

”Hold the line!” a captain shouted, voice cracking under the pressure. ”Aim for the head—don’t waste arrows on the chest!”

Another guard screamed, clutching his ears as a Screamer wailed. ”I can’t hear! They’re breaking us!”

”Stay together!” the leader barked. ”Shields up, don’t scatter! If you fall back, we all die!”

But panic spread quickly. ”We’re finished!” someone cried. ”They don’t stop!”

The barricade shook as survivors scrambled to obey, their voices overlapping in chaos. ”Reinforce the gate! Get the wounded inside!”

Still, the shrieks and the clacking noise of the zombies drowned out every order, leaving the defenders trembling as the tide pressed closer.

Mico tried to keep baking, but supplies dwindled.

Grain shipments never arrived.

Hunters who once brought meat and herbs never returned. The roads were overrun, the fields lost. He rationed what little flour remained, baking smaller loaves, stretching meals as far as he could. But hunger gnawed at the shelter.

Days turned into weeks, and despair set in.

The people already guessed that their land had been transported to another world... a world of zombies. The goblins, kobolds, and minotaurs were gone, replaced by an endless tide of the undead.

Mico’s hands shook as he kneaded dough one evening, listening to the screams outside the walls. He knew they couldn’t hold much longer. Bread wouldn’t save them this time.

Then, the sky lit up.

A figure descended from above, cloaked in light, staff glowing with pure mana. Merlin. He floated effortlessly, his presence commanding, his magic bending the air itself.

”Whoa~ That’s beautiful.”

Mico dropped the dough, rushing to the gates with the others. He watched in awe as Merlin raised his staff, conjuring barriers that absorbed the zombies’ shrieks. Screamer Zombies fell silent, their own cries turned against them. Siren Zombies, whose haunting songs had driven men mad, were obliterated by shards of light that rained down like meteors.

The battlefield transformed. Where despair had reigned, hope now surged. Survivors who had been moments from collapse stood tall again, their eyes fixed on the mage in the sky.

Mico fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face.

”Thiss..”

He had never seen such power, never imagined salvation could arrive so suddenly. Guns had failed, blades had broken, but Merlin’s magic was absolute.

When the last zombie fell, silence returned. Merlin descended slowly, his boots touching the ground with quiet grace.

He looked over the survivors, and nodded.. ”Stand. You fought bravely. I only finished what you began.”

But Mico could not stand. He bowed deeply, pressing his forehead to the earth. ”Thank you,” he whispered. ”You saved us.”

Others followed, kneeling in respect. For them, Merlin was no ordinary man ... he was a savior, a legend made real.

That night, as fires burned and bread was shared, Mico sat near the mage, still trembling. He offered Merlin a loaf, the last he had baked with their dwindling flour. Merlin accepted it with a nod, breaking it in half and handing a piece back to Mico.

”You’ve kept them alive with this,” Merlin said softly. ”Bread is as important as magic.”

Mico’s chest swelled with pride. For the first time in weeks, he felt his work mattered again.

The shelter survived that night, not because of walls or weapons, but because of a mage who had descended from the sky.

And Mico, the baker, knew he would never forget the sight of Merlin floating above the battlefield, turning despair into hope.

From then on, every loaf he baked carried a new meaning. He made one that was also a symbol of survival, of gratitude, of the day they were saved.

And when Shane arrived soon after, joining Merlin at the gates, Mico bowed again.

”I guess this shelter is safe now with those two powerful Survivors guiding us.” Mico muttered, unsure about the tension between Merlin and Shane.