That same night, John had to sneak back in the university campus. He wanted nothing to do with that place, but he couldn't leave those people to die, not when there are so many women to be stolen and powers to gain.
The misunderstanding between Marco and Maria had been resolved, yet the seed of doubt had firmly taken root in Marco's mind. His jealousy had been stoked, making the next phase of John's manipulative ploy all the more promising.
Borrowing Maria's car, John drove through the moonlit streets. The ruins around him, as devastated as they had appeared in daylight, took on an eerie quality under the veil of night. These streets, once teeming with life and dreams, were now nothing more than the last remnants of the apocalypse.
The rhythmic hum of the car's engine provided an anaesthetic backdrop to John's turbulent thoughts. As he drove through the moonlit streets, his mind took a sharp detour back to the haunting memories of his childhood.
In those early days, his life had been a relentless hell, his parents locked in ceaseless arguments. Neglected and starving, John often spent days with an empty stomach, always in that familiar hospital just a stone's throw away, a witness to his suffering.
Back then, he had been a frail child, lacking energy, but he always managed to wear a smile. Those memories now played against the backdrop of ruined buildings, once thriving, now reduced to crumbling remnants. How swiftly had it all fallen apart?
Hours.
The same question always haunted him. Why did he use to smile so much? He didn't know. His cheerful attitude decayed with time; blow after blow, betrayal after betrayal, worn-out by a far too cruel reality. He couldn't help but see himself mirrored in this apocalyptic world, both once complex mechanisms, now in ruins.
But then why? Despite all the death and decay around him, why did he feel alive? The answer would have to wait, danger was ahead.
John slammed the brakes as a massive armoured monster emerged to block the road, the tires screeching to a halt just in time.
The hulking beast before him looked crafted in the depths of hell itself. Black metal plates covered its body in jagged spikes and edges, each dent telling a story of vicious battle. Within the helm, only darkness was visible - no face, only void.
John stared silently before throwing the car into reverse. But too late - a brutal spiked chain lashed out, looping around his rear bumper. He was trapped.
Keeping calm, John stepped out and circled around, moving out of the beast's line of sight. He had bested fierce creatures before, but this metallic behemoth was something else entirely.
With only his knife, brute force wasn't an option. He would have to outmanoeuvre it - let it lumber close, then exploit any openings with perfect timing.
John tightened his grip, waiting for his moment as the creature strained against the chained car. This would be no easy fight. He may not emerge unscathed. But he would emerge victorious. Failure was not an option.
As the armoured titan closed in, John silently prepared to battle for his life alone. The ruins around him seemed to hold their breath, watching the confrontation unfold. John welcomed the challenge. He would survive, as he always had - by any means necessary.
The beast charged, massive spiked fists pounding the cracked pavement. John rolled aside just in time, shards of asphalt spraying. It snarled and whipped its chain, but John ducked low, feeling it slice the air above his head.
Seeing his chance, he darted in, leaping over a trashed convertible and slammed his knife down on an arm joint. Sparks rained, but the blade barely dented the thick armour. A backhand blow flung John away, pain exploding through his side.
Ignoring the throbbing, John regained his feet and circled warily. The few attacks that landed only glanced off hardened metal. But the joints...he had to target the joints.
As it lunged again, John waited until the last second before sliding between its legs, slashing at a knee joint. The knife found purchase, cutting rotten flesh and drawing eldritch blood. The beast buckled with an enraged roar.
It spun, lashing out in frenzy. John tried to evade. He leaped backwards. Crashed through a display window and landed inside a clothing store. A spike raked his shoulder, tearing cloth and flesh. He hissed in pain but kept moving. Another opening would come.
The beast thrashed the store, chains and fists hammering relentlessly. John staggered back, clutching his side, his silhouette blending amongst the store's mannequins. Gritting his teeth, he willed himself to continue.
As the beast darted its gaze frantically, the world stilled and John's Quiet Steps Skill activated, turning into a ghostly whisper against the shop's slick, hard floor. As the beast's rage subsided, it stood deathly still, as if sensing everything around it. John's hairs stood on ends. He thought the beast was far more intelligent than he gave it credit for.
John held his breath, willing even his heartbeat silent as the beast's head swung back and forth. It knew he was here, hidden by Quiet Steps somewhere amidst the ravaged store. John's mind raced, trying to predict its next move while seeking his own opening.
The hulking creature turned toward the smashed window. For a moment John thought it might flee. But then it lowered its shoulder, braced its legs, and charged.
The beast crashed through the brick wall in an explosion of dust and debris, barreling out into the darkened streets once more. It clearly aimed to deprive John of any environment he could use.
John followed swiftly, ignoring the screaming pain of his injuries. The beast intended to battle him in the open. He would oblige, and end this.
As he emerged, the creature spun, its chain whipping furiously, forcing John back. It pressed its attack, berserker fury overriding any cunning. John deflected and avoided the strikes, seeking that final opportunity.
His opening came as it overextended a lumbering punch. John slipped inside its reach, blade finding the wrist joint. Armor and flesh split. The beast staggered back with a bellow.
It was wounded but not defeated. Raising its arms, the helm opened with a hiss of steam. Two baleful red eyes glared down at John.