Adam and Chavah were running when they came across a woman. She was tall and thickly built, yet undeniably feminine.
She looked at Yves, then reached out and stroked the baby's cheek. "That's a cute baby," she murmured, almost wistfully. But there was something off about her expression—an undercurrent of sadness.
Adam and Chavah exchanged uneasy glances, their attention flicking back toward the path behind them. Their pursuers were close.
Adam turned once more, scanning for movement in the shadows. A sudden chill prickled his spine. He felt the bloodlust before he saw it. Instinct kicked in. He grabbed Chavah and leaped back, shielding her with his body.
"Who are you?" Adam demanded. His arms were still around Chavah, who clutched Yves tightly. Oddly, the baby hadn't cried once during the entire ordeal.
The woman's expression hardened. "I am Pictoria."
"Stay back," Adam warned.
Pictoria took a step forward. Then, with terrifying speed, she swung her long leg toward Adam's head. He barely had time to raise his arms to block. The impact rattled his bones.
"You guys make a cute family," she said, almost casually, before shifting into a fighting stance. "But I have a job to do."
Elsewhere, battle had already begun.
Paps and the others fought against the Four Apocalypses.
Spam and Scorn clashed with the one they called Disease—a sickly, pale figure whose very presence made their skin crawl.
Paps faced off against War, a scarred, battle-worn soldier whose muscles rippled with every movement.
Naté and Emac fought Death. Adam had named him that because he was the most terrifying of them all. He showed no emotion. Not even pain.
Raith battled the last one, the smallest of the four. Spam had dubbed him Creep. He was always smiling. Always watching. And that was what made him the most unsettling of them all.
Disease looked pale and sickly, but he was far stronger than expected. A normal human would have shattered bones from taking their punches, but he withstood every hit.
Then, he pulled out a pistol and fired at Scorn and Spam. His shots missed—he was too slow to keep up with them. His bullets ran out.
As he fumbled to reload, Spam lunged, yanking the gun from his hands and dismantling it in seconds.
Disease staggered back, panic flashing across his face. "Stay away from me," he muttered, then turned to flee—only to crash into Scorn.
He barely had time to register the pain before looking down. He was bleeding.
Spam's blade struck from behind.
Disease stumbled forward, gasping. He tried to run, but his legs buckled beneath him. He fell.
Spam and Scorn walked toward him, slow and deliberate. He begged. They didn't stop. They stabbed him again. And again.
War grew reckless once he realized he was no match for Paps.
Snarling in frustration, he pulled a grenade from his belt and yanked the pin.
Before he could throw it, Paps grabbed his wrist, locking them both in a struggle. They twisted and turned in a deadly dance, each trying to control the grenade.
Then—
The grenade slipped from War's grip.
An explosion ripped through the air.
When the dust cleared, War was gone. Pieces of him lay scattered around Paps.
Naté and Emac faced Death.
Mostly, it was Naté doing the fighting. Emac couldn't move—frozen in place by some unseen force.
Death was terrifyingly calm, his movements precise and effortless. No matter how hard Naté fought, it wasn't enough.
Fortunately, Naté was Bekanna. His kind were resilient—his wounds healed almost instantly. But even he knew he wouldn't last forever.
Spam stepped in.
With Spam and Scorn joining the fight, Death didn't stand a chance. They tore through him with brutal efficiency.
Raith tried to impale Creep with vines, growing them from scattered seeds.
Somehow, every strike missed.
Frustrated, Raith charged in for hand-to-hand combat. That's when he noticed it—an invisible barrier surrounding Creep, deflecting every attack.
The others joined in, thinking their numbers would overwhelm him. It only made things worse. Their attacks collided with each other more than they did with Creep.
Then, Emac did something unexpected.
He split-bonded with him.
The moment their connection formed, the grin disappeared from Creep's face. His expression went blank.
Without a word, he turned and walked away.
Spam watched him go, gripping his blade. "I don't think it's wise to let him leave," he muttered.
No one disagreed. But no one moved to stop him either.
When they returned to Adam, he was on the ground, cradling Chavah in his arms. His scream tore through the air—raw, agonized. Then, suddenly, silence.
A breath.
Then Adam stood up.
As he turned to walk away, they noticed something strange. A copy of him still lay on the ground, motionless.
No one spoke. They only watched.
Then—a sonic boom shattered the quiet.
Their heads snapped up.
Sern.
"I guess we made too much noise," Raith muttered, just before Sern shot down like a missile, seizing him midair.
Before anyone could react, Sern drove Raith's head into the earth, plowing through the ground like a living weapon. Then, in a blur, he yanked him back up and dragged him through countless trees, splintering them apart. It happened in the blink of an eye.
When the dust settled, the entire area was exposed—the towering canopy that once covered them was gone, ripped away in the chaos. Sunlight poured in.
Spam, Scorn, Naté, and Emac sprinted to Raith's aid.
Adam didn't move.
He remained where he was, still holding the lifeless body of his wife.