Apocalypse Baby-Chapter 304: A Threat Falls

Sylen's eyes jumped from one enemy to the next—his gaze torn between the phantom closing in from the front and the monster still dragging itself toward him from behind. Alex was approaching with speed, cold precision in every step. Varkos was slower, wounded, limping with every thunderous stomp, yet no less terrifying.

Two threats.

One dying man.

And only seconds to choose.

Panic stirred in Sylen's chest like a blade twisting through soft flesh. He felt it blooming beneath his ribs, fast and hot. His heartbeat surged, beating against his sternum like it was trying to escape the prison of his body. The battlefield blurred for a moment, his vision dipping into tunnel focus. Adrenaline spiked.

What do I do?

He was being flanked. Pressured from both ends. If he let himself be caught between the two, there'd be no space to fight—only space to die. He couldn't hold them both. Not now. Not like this.

Alex was fast. Fast enough to close the gap in a blink. But Varkos was closer. Closer, and still bleeding.

A decision had to be made.

Now.

Sylen spun toward the Archfiend, cloak snapping behind him like a storm-wracked banner. His hand tightened around the hilt of his blade until his knuckles turned white. Black energy snarled across the steel, death magic igniting along its edge, pulsing with what little mana he still possessed.

He chose.

Varkos first.

Wound the beast. Kill it. Remove the problem before Alex arrived. Then deal with the living.

He didn't have the power to survive both.

So he gambled everything on one.

The Archfiend's approach was relentless. The great beast dragged his broken frame forward, black lightning crackling from torn flesh and sundered armor. Every step he took cracked the floor beneath him, void energy bleeding into the stone. The hole in his chest still smoked, pulsing with corrupted magic.

But he came anyway.

He always did.

A guttural growl tore from Varkos' throat as he charged, his body lurching with violent intent.

Sylen moved to meet him.

Their blades collided with a sound like the sky splitting open.

CRAAANG!

The ground erupted beneath their feet as shockwaves exploded outward, sending loose debris and shredded earth in every direction. Power rippled from the point of impact—raw, unstable, hungry.

Varkos staggered, momentarily driven back by the sheer force.

He recovered instantly and retaliated, sweeping his clawed hand forward in a vicious arc, unleashing a whip of lightning that screamed through the air.

Sylen moved on instinct.

He ducked. Then leapt.

His body twisted mid-air, blade arcing downward in a calculated strike aimed at the Archfiend's exposed shoulder.

CLANG!

Sparks exploded as the sword struck. Varkos raised his arm to intercept the blow, but it wasn't enough. The limb gave under the pressure—flesh tearing, bone snapping like dry wood. A hiss of void ichor sprayed into the air.

Varkos' defenses were faltering.

He wasn't the beast he'd been minutes ago.

Sylen landed, rolled, and launched forward again. Reckless now. Desperate. But this was the final stretch. There was no need to conserve, no reason to hold back.

This was the kill.

Each lunge brought pain, sharp and immediate, but Sylen embraced it. It honed his focus. Made him sharper. Made every slash count.

Varkos lashed out with a wild horizontal swing—one that could've torn Sylen in half—

But Noctherion reacted.

Shadow-wrought armor shimmered into view, phasing between dimensions, catching the blow with ghostly limbs. The summoned guardian struck back with spectral fury, slicing into Varkos' side with razor-edged precision.

CLANG!

CLANG!

CLANG!

Each hit landed like a thunderclap, tearing through the Archfiend's defenses. Gashes bloomed across his chest, leaking dark smoke and streaks of ruined power. Varkos howled—a broken sound that had more rage than voice.

Still, he didn't fall.

Not yet.

He spun with a wide hook, aiming to knock Sylen off his feet. But the warrior ducked low, slid beneath the swing, and drove his elbow up into the Archfiend's side with brutal force. Bones cracked beneath the blow.

Sylen didn't stop.

He pivoted on one foot and brought his blade around in a vicious backhanded slash, sending a ribbon of black energy spiraling into the expanding wound.

The hole in Varkos' chest tore wider.

He stumbled.

His leg faltered.

One knee hit the ground.

It was happening.

Sylen didn't hesitate.

Couldn't afford to.

With Alex bearing down behind him, with time slipping away second by second, he charged—sword raised high.

CLANG!

SLASH!

BOOM!

He rained down blows with feral rhythm, his body screaming with each movement, but his will holding him upright. Every strike carved deeper. Every motion echoed with finality.

Noctherion mirrored him, shadow strikes slashing through the Archfiend's defenses. They were in perfect sync—a dance of death and darkness.

Varkos' healing slowed.

His energy sputtered.

Every time he lifted a hand to fight back, he paid for it.

And then—

One final gasp of resistance.

Varkos reached forward, clawed fingers crackling with unstable lightning. His palm lit up, energy pooling to unleash one last burst.

But Sylen didn't flinch.

He planted both feet, gritted his teeth, and drove his blade forward with both hands.

The sword pulsed black, humming with concentrated death energy.

And it sank deep.

THUNK.

Right through the center of the Archfiend's torso.

Straight through the core.

Varkos froze.

Eyes wide.

Mouth open.

Lightning sparked once—then fizzled.

The sword was embedded to the hilt.

Sylen leaned in close, breath ragged, blood streaking his lips.

Voice low.

Ruthless.

"Die already."

He triggered the surge.

The death energy in the blade erupted, coursing through the Archfiend's body like a virus. Corrupted veins of cursed mana split across Varkos' skin, branching like cracks in a dam moments from bursting.

The fiend convulsed.

Limbs locking.

Chest seizing.

Then—from the blade—black tendrils of energy spread outward, crawling across Varkos' form, consuming muscle, armor, spirit.

He screamed.

A high, shrill cry that rang with defiance until the end.

Then—

Varkos turned to ash.

His body broke apart in a spiral of violet smoke and shadowed flame, unraveling molecule by molecule until there was nothing left but dust in the wind.

Gone.

Finally gone.

The weight that had haunted the battlefield lifted, like some invisible boulder finally rolled off the chest of the world.

Sylen stumbled back.

He nearly fell.

His arms dangled at his sides, blade still gripped weakly in one hand, dripping with residual energy. His face was soaked with sweat, dirt, and blood. His breath came in ragged gasps.

But he stood.

He had won.

He had slain the Archfiend.

His eyes flicked toward the swirling remains, chest rising and falling like crashing waves.

But there was no time to celebrate.

His head snapped around.

Because behind him…

Alex remained.