There was blood.
Blood smeared on the walls, pooling on the floor, and even splattered across the ceilings. It was a macabre tapestry painted by Simon as he marched relentlessly through the halls of the main building.
His crimson sword pulsed with energy, glinting in the dim, flickering lights as it carved through the air and flesh alike. Each step he took left a trail of carnage in his wake.
Simon wasn't just killing. He was climbing.
The ranking system embedded within him recorded every slash, every death, rewarding him with rankings that soared higher with each kill.
He could practically feel the power coursing through his veins, his place among the ranks of the Apocalypse shifting rapidly. He had triggered a Kill Streak, and the rush of it made his movements sharper, his focus deadlier.
