The world is ruined, for its beauty was taken.
The world is broken, for its hope and joy are missing.
The world is dull, for its colors were stolen.
Ten years ago, the world changed—suddenly, violently—in a way none of us ever expected.
Massive structures erupted from beneath the earth, rising through the cracks left behind by a chain of earthquakes. Each one struck with a magnitude above nine, reducing entire cities to rubble. Skyscrapers crumbled, roads split, and every man-made creation fell like dominoes.
When the calamity finally settled, we thought it was over. We believed some ancient structure had simply surfaced—something science would soon explain.
We were wrong.
We had depended on science too much.
Not long after, similar pyramidal structures began appearing in other parts of the world. Before we could even begin to question their purpose, they opened—and from their hollow depths, monsters poured out.
They came without warning, without reason, spreading havoc wherever they roamed.
We were helpless. Hunted. Preyed upon.
Gruesome. Grotesque. Gore.
That's all I could say as I watched people—people I knew—get eaten alive.
The hunt lasted three straight months. Three months of screams, blood, and despair.
Then, one day, it happened. A human killed one of them.
Then another.
And another.
That moment changed everything.
The Hunters were born—humans chosen by unseen forces, equipped with a fraction of divinity from the gods who supported them.
These gods called themselves benefactors. They revealed themselves in our darkest hour, when all hope was gone.
Some of them were familiar, plucked from the mythologies of old. Names once whispered in stories and prayers, now standing among us in truth.
With their power, we began to fight.
We began to survive.
And slowly, humanity rose once more.
[-The Final Draft-]
Volume XV - Apocalypse
-LdrQll
[October 12, 2034 — London, England]
The crowd's voices roared like static from a broken TV, buzzing and biting at my ears. I stood still in the heart of it all—surrounded by hunters clad in armor, their weapons slung across their backs or clenched tight in their hands. Blades, axes, rifles—each tool of war gleamed under the ashen sky. The wind, sharp and dry, cut through the camp like a whisper of death. The air felt thick, weighted with the scent of steel, sweat, and something darker—anticipation, maybe. Or fear.
We were gathered at Canary Wharf, a once-bustling district now smothered in silence and ash. This camp is our final breath before the plunge. Ahead of us loomed the beasts' nest, a labyrinthine sprawl of twisted stone and pulsing growth, carved into the very marrow of the district. It reeked of decay and birth—home to the grotesque creatures that had claimed this place as their own.
They bred in there—spawned things that should not exist. And we were here to cut them down, to take back what they had stolen. Our homes. Our future.
"Ivan!"
The call snapped me from my thoughts. I turned, and there he was—Elliot Lee, with that same familiar grin stretched across his face. His armor bore the crest of the guild leading this raid, polished and battle-worn.
"Oh... hey," I muttered, a weak smile tugging at my lips as he reached me. Amid the gloom, his presence was a rare flicker of light.
We made our way through the throng, blending into the tide of steel and leather, until we found a quiet spot—a chunk of ruined concrete, long since toppled and now half-swallowed by creeping vines. We sat in silence for a moment, the noise of the camp dimmed beneath the low groan of wind brushing past shattered buildings.
"They said we'll be hunting a Category II beast today. A mother-type. Codename..." Elliot trailed off, squinting as if the name were just out of reach. "Ah, right—Scarletskin."
He grinned, as if saying it aloud made it more real. Scarletskin. The name didn't tell me much, other than the obvious. Something red. Something monstrous. Beyond that, the image refused to form in my mind. Not that it mattered.
I wasn't here because I cared.
Truth is, none of this really involves me—not in the way it does the others. Not long during this raid, I'll be shoved to the backlines again. Forgotten. Left behind.
To them, I'm just a burden. Dead weight.
I have no abilities. No skills. No fireballs conjured from the palm of my hand. While they boast about blessings from the gods—divine sponsors who grant them strength—I have nothing. No name in the sky watching over me. No glow. No crest.
But I'm still here. Still breathing. Still waiting.
Waiting for someone—anyone—to see me.
For some god above to look down and say, You.
I wonder when will that day will come.
I''m not a picky mortal.
"Do you still have the sword I gave you?" Elliot asked, his voice softer this time, laced with a hint of concern. He looked at me, eyes scanning as if to make sure I hadn't lost it—or myself—somewhere along the way.
I gave a small nod. "Yeah. Still have it. Thanks again. If you hadn't given it to me, I probably would've wasted what little money I had on a junk blade."
I scratched the back of my head and let out a sheepish chuckle.
Elliot laughed too—genuine, light. Just like always.
He hadn't changed. Not back then, not now. Even when the world was still whole, still sane, he was the one always helping me. Always pulling me forward when I had no strength left to walk. And now, in this broken world crawling with monsters and divine-blooded warriors, he's still the same.
The only one I can trust. The only one who stayed.
In a world overflowing with people who wield unnatural powers—who burn, freeze, and crush mountains with divine gifts—he remain the same.
Some time later, the raid began.
All of us marched toward the beasts' lair, a silent column of armor, nerves, and steel. The closer we got, the heavier the air became, thick with tension and the distant stench of rot.
I pulled my vest tighter around me. It was a battered bulletproof vest I scavenged from the corpse of a fallen soldier, stained and cracked but still intact. My knee guards were old baseball gear—my own, from a time that now felt like a dream. It wasn't much, but it was all I had.
As we walked, I felt the familiar sting of eyes on my back.
"Why is he here?" a voice said, laced with mockery.
I glanced to the side and saw Reed, leaning lazily on Elliot's shoulder like he owned him. His expression twisted into a smug grin the moment our eyes met.
"Leave him alone," Elliot said, his tone quiet but sharp.
Reed snorted. "He can't even kill an offspring."
The words hit harder than they should have. Not because they weren't true—but because they were.
I can't kill any beast. Not even the lesser ones.
I'm just here to deliver scratches—wounds so insignificant the creatures barely flinch. They don't see me as a threat. Honestly, I don't blame them.
I'm not here to be a hero. I'm here because I need the reward money. Just enough to get by. Just enough to survive another day. Life was already hard on me before the world fell apart. And now? It's as if the collapse just made it official.
If I am in a story, I've already figured out my role. I'm definitely not the main character. Probably not even a supporting one.
Just a background name. A stray line in someone else's plot.
As we stepped into the Labyrinth, the world behind us disappeared into silence.
Darkness swallowed everything. The narrow path ahead twisted like the throat of some ancient beast. The walls were slick and pulsing, crusted over with dried red ichor—blood, probably. Old. Stale. It flaked off in places like scabs peeling from wounded stone.
A few hunters lifted glowing orbs in their palms, their light pushing back the shadows in gentle waves. Arcane energy hummed faintly in the air. Magic—something as natural to them as breathing, yet something I could never touch.
I walked behind them, my boots crunching softly against dried fragments of bone and shell. I couldn't help but feel it again—that hollow weight in my chest. Envy.
They had strength. Gifts. Flames in their palms, wind at their backs, blessings from gods I've never met.
I had... nothing.
And because of that, they mocked me. Laughed when they thought I couldn't hear. Scoffed when I fumbled with my sword or froze at the sight of a beast.
But I kept walking anyway. Not because I was brave.
But because I had nowhere else to go.
We followed the winding path deeper into the darkness, the air growing heavier with every step.
Eventually, we reached the heart of the lair.
As the glowing orb floated farther ahead, its light cut through the blackness—revealing a scene that turned my stomach. The ground was littered with broken shells, jagged and hollow—hatched eggs, scattered across every corner like discarded husks. From beneath them oozed a thick pool of red ichor, glistening under the pale glow.
The stench was unbearable. Like rotting meat soaked in iron.
The orb continued its slow ascent, drifting upward to reached the ceiling. Then, with a pulse, it expanded—casting a full glow over the chamber.
And what it revealed was worse than I imagined.
Two thick tentacles slithered out from the shadows, dragging behind it with a sickening, wet hiss. Then came the eyes—a dozen of them—glowing a deep, furious red. As the light touched its form, the creature fully emerged, its glossy crimson skin glinting like wet meat. It opened its maw, revealing rows of jagged, slime-coated teeth that twitched as if eager to bite.
A bony spine jutted from its back, each ridge sharp and uneven, radiating a pressure so thick it made the air feel heavier. The aura it exuded wasn't just oppressive—it was wrong. Like it didn't belong to this world.
Some of the hunters instinctively stepped back.
We had seen this thing before, outside its lair. We knew what we were walking into. But even so, seeing it again in this confined, bloodstained chamber sent cold shivers clawing up our spines.
Then, the light finally reached the top of the chamber—illuminating the creature's head.
A wide, thorned crown sat atop its skull, bone and sinew woven together in a twisted mimicry of royalty. Just looking at it made my knees tremble.
Ten meters tall.
That was the nightmare we were about to fight—a beast that dragged our deepest fears to the surface with every breath it took.
"Everybody! Get ready!" someone shouted.
Weapons rose. Magic sparked to life. And my hands, trembling around the hilt of my borrowed sword, held on anyway.
"Mages!!" the captain bellowed, his voice cutting through the fear like a blade.
At once, the spellcasters stepped forward, robes trailing behind them, eyes glowing with arcane focus. They raised their staves in unison, and began to chant—low, melodic words that echoed off the blood-slick walls like a haunting choir. The air around them shimmered with heat.
Above us, massive orbs of flame began to form—each one swirling and pulsing like miniature suns, casting flickering shadows across our armor and the lair's crimson walls.
With a synchronized swing of their staves, the mages hurled the fireballs forward.
They soared through the chamber in blinding arcs of light—and then came down.
The impact was deafening.
Flames erupted across the beast's body, bursts of fire slamming into its limbs and torso. The explosions roared through the chamber, shaking the ground beneath us and sending chunks of molten stone raining from the ceiling.
The creature let out a guttural, earsplitting shriek as it staggered back, its red flesh scorched and steaming—but not yet broken.
Smoke curled around its body.
Of course it was maddened.
Before we could even react, the beast let out a monstrous roar—and charged.
One of its tentacles lashed forward at a speed we couldn't even register. It surged through the air like a whip, claw-like flesh curling around a nearby hunter. The man barely had time to scream before he was crushed in the creature's grip, his bones snapping audibly.
Then—flung.
His body was thrown against the far wall like a ragdoll, vanishing into the darkness with a sickening crack.
Although panic followed,
The formation still assembled. Hunters scattered to either side, the planned strategy taking over. I moved aswell—following Elliot as fast as I could, sword drawn, knuckles white around the grip. My breath was ragged, my heart pounding like it was trying to escape my chest.
"Noww!!!!!!!" the captain roared, raising his sword to the ceiling.
And with that, battle cries erupted.
The hunters rushed forward, their screams rising all at once—a war cry born more of fear than courage. But even then, the beast's guttural bellow drowned us all out.
It wasn't just a sound.
It was a presence.
And it was furious.
I stayed behind Elliot.
I wasn't stupid enough to charge forward—not when the beast was still at full strength. Charging in now would've been suicide. So I kept my distance, my feet planted just behind him, sword held tight and close to my chest.
Around us, the hunters moved in like a tide of gold.
Their blades shimmered with divine light—blessed steel pulsing with the glow of their gods. Swords, spears, and axes radiated a soft brilliance, but none shone brighter than Elliot and the captain.
Elliot stood tall, his weapon blazing like a sun in human hands. Even in the chaos, he looked composed—focused. Dangerous.
I had known for a long time now: Elliot Lee wasn't like the rest of the hunters.
He was one of the special ones.
In every battle I'd seen him fight, he carved through beasts like a force of nature, power flowing from him like it had a will of its own. Standing behind him now, I could feel it—the weight of his presence, the gravity he carried.
Watching him, I forced myself to steady my breath. I kept my eyes locked on the beast, its massive frame still recovering from the fireball barrage. I wasn't strong. I wasn't special. But I could move when they did. I could follow the lead.
And maybe—just maybe—I could survive this too.
Or so—that's what I thought.
I looked to Elliot—blood and tears streaked down his face, pooling together in a mess that blurred his expression. My heart thundered as I saw the beast shift its gaze... directly at me. Its dozens of red eyes locked onto my form like a predator that had finally picked its prey.
"No... please... please don't leave me here..." I whispered, backing away, voice shaking.
But the others were already running—fleeing toward the lair's exit like a crumbling tide. Abandoning the dead, abandoning me.
I looked around.
Corpses littered the ground—some torn in half, others missing limbs, heads. Blood pooled in craters where men had once stood. The lair reeked of death and fire.
I forced myself to stand—legs weak, lungs burning. I tried to run.
But a hand grabbed me from behind.
It yanked me down hard.
"Make yourself useful, too," a voice snapped—a voice I knew far too well.
Reed.
He barreled past me, shoving me aside as if I were no more than dead weight. My back struck the concrete wall with a crack, and before I could rise, something seized my ankle. I looked down—my leg was wedged in a jagged fissure, submerged in a sluggish pool of red ichor.
It clung to me in heavy strands, warm and viscous, reeking of iron and rot. Every time I tried to pull free, it sucked tighter, as though the crack itself wanted to drag me under.
Boots splashed through the blood in front of me. Behind Reed came Elliot, staggering, his armor battered into warped plates, every seam caked in blackened gore. The man I remembered—steady hands, sure eyes—was gone. His face was chalk-white, lips trembling, eyes blown wide with a fear that mirrored the one eating me alive.
I lunged, catching his arm. My voice broke into a plea. "Help me..."
He didn't even flinch. Didn't even look at my trapped leg. His eyes stayed fixed somewhere beyond me, glassy and unseeing.
The captain was dead.
I saw it again—the beast's tentacle whipping around his throat, tightening until cartilage snapped and his head tore free in a wet, explosive pop. The spray had been warm on my face. The beast then began to feast upon the captain's body, making it more gruesome for me to see.
The fight was over before it began. The other hunters had already turned, boots slapping through the ichor as they fled for the lair's exit.
"Ivan... this time... save me the way I saved you," Elliot said, each word sliding into my skull like a hooked blade.
Then he stepped back, knocking my hand away with a sharp swat. His face hardened, voice cutting colder than the lair's air.
"Let's face it—you're nothing but dead weight."
I want to say something, to shout the words that wants to come out from my mouth.
I need to live.
I need to live too.
I'm a human too!
But when Elliot looked at me again—there was nothing in his eyes.
No warmth.
Only cold resignation.
And then, through the roar of the beast and the screams in my ears, I heard his voice—clear, sharp, final.
"...I'm done saving you." The last words he says as he left me.
I became the bait.
A sacrifice. A time-saver for them to escape.
I reached out my hand toward the shrinking figure of Elliot, fingers trembling, desperate to grasp even a thread of him. But he didn't look back. He ran—vanishing into the dark corridor leading out of the lair, swallowed by shadows.
He's gone.
And I knew it then.
I'm going to die.
There was no heroic charge coming. No last-minute rescue. Just the cold, absolute truth settling in my chest like a blade—this was the end.
And yet... I couldn't bring myself to hate him.
Elliot had saved me more times than I could count. He had stood between me and death, again and again. But the way he said those final words, it wasn't just exhaustion. It was something that had been building. Held back. Swallowed down for years.
He'd been waiting to say it.
And that's when it struck me.
All these years I've survived... it wasn't because I was strong, clearly I am not. It wasn't because I fought well or endured with courage. I survived because I slowed everyone else down. Because someone else had to carry me. Because I was a weight others bore.
A burden.
And now, finally, they let go.
I stood alone in the beast's lair, blood soaking my boots, the air thick with rot and screams long faded.
Even before the world ended, before monsters and magic tore it apart, I was already fading. People passed me by like I was furniture in the room—present, but never seen. I spoke, but my words rarely echoed. I smiled, but no one ever smiled back.
When everyone ignores your existence, you start to wonder—
Would dying really be worse than living as a ghost?
I've lived this way for years.
Alone.
Haunted by silence that never stopped pressing down on me.
And now, in this final hour of mine—when everything should be burning with fear or terror or something—I feel only emptiness.
The only person I ever leaned on... the only one who saw me...
He let go.
And in that moment, I wasn't angry.
I understood.
Maybe I was always meant to be left behind. Maybe this is just the final confirmation of what I've feared all along—that I wasn't meant for this world. That I was never written into its pages as a fighter, or a hero, or even a person worth remembering.
So I ask myself now, as the beast towers above me and the blood pools beneath my feet—
Do I still need to fight for this life?
A life where no one calls your name.
Where no one notices if you're gone.
Where even your final breath might go unheard.
I looked up and closed my eyes.
Droplets of warm blood splattered against my face. I braced myself for pain, for death. But then... a scent brushed on my nose.
Familiar. Subtle, but unmistakable.
A scent that tugged at some forgotten corner of my memory.
It wasn't the stench of rot or burning flesh. It was... different.
Medicinal. Musty. Metallic. Pungent, like a chemical substance.
And underneath it all, woven faintly into the air—was something I couldn't deny.
Ink.
My eyes snapped open.
The beast loomed above me, still as a statue, its massive body heaving with breath. All of its eyes, dozens of them, focused solely on me, unblinking. Unmoving.
Thick black fluid dripped from its jaws and from the wounds of its body, falling in slow, deliberate droplets. It splashed against my skin, warm and viscous.
I raised a trembling hand and touched it.
Not blood.
Not ichor.
But ink.
Ink.
And before I could even react—
The beast's maw yawned wide and came down over me.
No time to scream. No last breath. Just the wet, brutal crunch of teeth slamming shut, the splintering of my bones echoing inside its throat. My spine bowed under the force, joints tearing, muscle ripping from the bone in sharp, searing bursts.
Its tongue was a slab of slime and heat, dragging me deeper as flesh closed in around me. Each swallow was a vice, crushing the air from my lungs, wringing me like wet cloth. I could hear myself breaking—every snap, every tear—until my own body sounded foreign.
My vision swam, blood flooding my mouth in hot, metallic waves. I dangled half-limp in its jaws, my arms useless, my head tipped back toward the cavern's ceiling. I could still see the stone above, but it felt a lifetime away—like I'd already been swallowed by something worse than the beast.
Pain didn't just burn—it screamed through me, a thousand needles raking my nerves raw. Every nerve, every vein, every trembling breath was a countdown to the inevitable.
Then the darkness rushed in.
Not the kind you close your eyes to. This was thick, suffocating, absolute. It sank into me, pressed against my skull, hollowed me out from the inside. The light didn't just fade—it was erased.
And somewhere in that crushing void, I knew.
This wasn't falling unconscious.
This was the page ending. The last word written.
And then...
Nothing.
No air. No thought. No name.
Just silence.