Apocalypse: becoming the hidden Ruler[English]

But he shoved it down. For now, the priority was something else—something glowing green and pulsing with power. His eyes landed on it: the life crystal left behind by the dark-skinned man Crowe had obliterated.

It was darker than the last one he saw—an eerie shade of green that shimmered faintly in the dim light. Cold to the touch, but alive in a way that made his skin crawl.

Not large, but potent.

Axel could feel it. This wasn’t something he could absorb now—not yet. He tucked it carefully away. He’d wait. Until he hit the peak of Level 2. Then… maybe.

.....

All the trucks had rolled out. Declan, Grayson, and the rest had been directed to wait at a separate location. It would take just over two hours to reach the edge of the city from Crowe’s compound.

Axel sat behind the wheel of his truck, the engine’s low growl rumbling through his bones.

He followed the assigned route, tires crunching over old asphalt and dead grass. The city shrank behind him as he approached the outer zones.

His mind was racing. Everything had happened too fast. Crowe had left no space to refuse. But now that Axel had time to think, the more holes he saw in the plan.

If Crowe really wanted to protect the goods, wouldn’t it make more sense to split them up and move quietly? But instead… they’d sent out a goddamn convoy.

One big, obvious caravan of heavy trucks rolling out in full view.

Axel took a long breath, exhaling through clenched teeth. If this run was really about picking up materials, Crowe’s real people would’ve gone first—quietly, under cover, long before this circus act started.

These trucks weren’t meant to succeed. They were bait. He was bait.

He just had to hope there were enough suckers like him out here to keep the predators busy—and that whoever came for the shipment didn’t choose his truck.

After all, anyone bold enough to rob Crowe wasn’t the kind of enemy he wanted to meet.

Axel eased up on the accelerator, letting the truck slow down just a little. The roads were empty, but his thoughts were racing. What did I miss…?

The city faded behind him. Now it was just wasteland stretching in all directions, painted silver under the pale snow and moonlight. This time of year, the grasslands turned harsh and quiet. The kind of silence that made you feel like the world had stopped spinning.

Axel checked the data Crowe had provided. It was detailed—too detailed. He pulled over, brushing aside the dead grass and digging into the frozen soil. Sure enough, beneath it was a hidden container, sealed tight like a water tank. A pungent, fishy scent leaked from the cracks.

He hauled it onto the truck, secured it, and turned the vehicle around to head back.

That’s when the explosion hit. A roar echoed across the plains.

A column of red flame shot into the sky, painting the horizon with fire. Axel watched it rise like a demonic flower blooming in the distance, a mushroom cloud pulsing with violent energy.

His blood ran cold. That’s what I missed.

Crowe wasn’t just baiting the enemy. He was laying a trap. This wasn’t just a transport mission—it was a counterattack.

Crowe had staged this entire production: a high-profile caravan, a promise of reward. And the moment someone took the bait?

Boom.

Now it all made sense. The real trucks had left quietly. The rest of them… they were the net. The real question now was—where were Crowe’s hidden forces?

While Axel was still piecing everything together, another wave of violent explosions rocked the distant grasslands. These weren’t the signature bursts of energy from awakened clashes. No—this sounded like full-on military-grade weaponry. Like a goddamn war zone had opened up across the plains.

Blinding flashes lit the night sky. The roar of shockwaves followed, rolling over the earth like thunder. Axel squinted into the distance, gripping the wheel as a burst of flame illuminated the silhouette of a truck—hurtling through the air before it exploded midair in a shower of scrap and fire.

His breath caught in his throat. Cold sweat broke out across his back.

Crowe hadn’t underestimated the enemy—and clearly, they weren’t fucking amateurs either.

Axel’s grip tightened. Every hair on his body stood on end. A chill clawed up his spine, and a wave of pure instinct surged through him.

Danger.

No time to think. No time to reason. He slammed his foot into the door and kicked it open with a brutal clang.

“Recharge!”

“Heal!”

Before the strike even hit, he cast both blessings. Light flickered over his body as he launched himself from the truck like a bullet.

BOOM!

The second his feet left the floor, the ground under the truck exploded in a blast of heat and metal. A fireball surged upward, and the shockwave punched him in the back like a sledgehammer.

He hit the dirt, skidding and rolling, pain flaring across his limbs.

”—Command: Clear.”

Another bang. The blast had blown out its windows. But what really made Axel’s blood run cold… was what came after.

With a loud metallic clang, something burst through the compartment wall. A dull, silver-gray hunk of iron crashed to the ground, denting the earth like a meteor.

“Well, well,” a voice said, casual and cocky. “The guy braked. This one’s got a little wiser than the other cannon fodders.”

Two masked figures pulled up beside the wreckage in a sleek, armored vehicle. Their suits were high-tech, tactical, and slick with dust and frost.

Axel didn’t dare look. He rolled one last time into a low depression in the ground, limbs limp, pretending to be unconscious from the blast. Keep your breathing shallow… don’t move… don’t even think too hard.

“Command: Clear,” repeated the machine in a flat, synthetic voice.

The silver mass twisted and clicked, gears grinding as it unfolded. What emerged was a towering, two-meter-tall humanoid combat robot—sleek, angular, and armed to the teeth. A red beam scanned the two intruders.

“Shit,” one of them muttered. “Type 3 combat model. Crowe’s design. Be careful. We’re not dealing with junk tech.”

Axel barely moved a muscle. He couldn’t afford to leak even a thread of psychic energy. These two were monsters. If they sensed him faking it, he’d be dead before he could blink.

That damn thing was in my truck the whole time... and I didn’t even know.

Axel used the tiniest sliver of his mental power to peek through the tall grass. The Type 3 was already engaging. It moved with terrifying speed and precision, spitting fire from the thick barrel mounted on its arm.

The robot was relentless—a walking war machine. Whenever one of the masked men got close, the bot’s armor unfolded, revealing hidden turrets that lit up the night sky like hell’s own fireworks.

Round after round poured out in a full 360-degree barrage. A rain of explosive pellets carved glowing arcs across the battlefield. What should have been a quiet stretch of wasteland now looked like New Year’s Eve.

The two masked men ducked, weaved, and dodged expertly, but they couldn’t get close. “Fuck this,” one of them growled. “Call in fire support.”

He spoke into a sleek, black watch. A lazy voice came through in response, teasing.

“Ohhh, now you want my help? Can’t handle one little death bot?”

“Just shut up and do it.”

“Alright, alright. I’m coming. Don’t cry about it later.”

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