Apocalypse Baby-Chapter 283: Now We’re Even.

Time slowed.

Grugrim surged forward, his twin axes cutting through the golden mist left behind by Malik's shattered barrier.

The lightning dragon roared behind him—its form twisting through the air like a living storm. Arcs of electricity trailed in Grugrim's wake, each step charged with raw power.

He swung with everything he had.

Malik's eyes snapped open in alarm.

He moved, jerking his head to the side.

It wasn't fast enough to dodge the hit completely, but it was just enough to save his life.

SLLKT!

The edge of Grugrim's axe slashed across Malik's cheek.A thin, clean cut.

Crimson bloomed.Bright, hot, and unmistakable against Malik's cold, flawless skin.

For a heartbeat, the arena froze.

Then, a unified gasp echoed across the stands, like the crowd had been holding its breath and just remembered how to breathe.

In the crowd, Alex clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white.

His breath caught.

"So close..." he whispered.

On the battlefield, Malik, who had just escaped death, staggered back, one hand rising slowly, like he couldn't quite believe what had just happened.

He touched his cheek, then pulled his fingers away.

Blood.His blood.

Impossible.

His hand trembled slightly as he stared at it.

He blinked once.

Then again.

A dwarf had cut him.

A flicker of something new crossed Malik's face.

His jaw tightened, and for the first time in the entire battle, his perfect mask cracked.

He didn't look arrogant anymore.

He looked angry.

Grugrim exhaled hard—a breath laced with crackling lightning.Sparks danced around him, buzzing like angry bees in a storm.

He had landed the hit. He had drawn blood.But part of him was disappointed.He thought he'd finished it—a clean decapitation.

But Malik's head was still on his shoulders.

Still, the look on Malik's face—that flash of disbelief, that twitch of rage—made it all worth it.

Grugrim grinned like a wolf, teeth bared, lips curled, voltage flashing in his eyes.

His voice was ragged, rough from power overload, but he forced the words out anyway:

"Well, I suppose you'll need to reword your little boast,"

Malik said nothing.

He just stood there.Seething.

Grugrim raised his chin, lightning hissing off his shoulders, and casually dragged a thumb across his nose.

"You did say I wouldn't lay a mark on you? "

Malik's fingers twitched—then curled slowly into a tight, trembling fist.

And then, the fire came back.

Not in his hands.In his eyes.

It was like staring into a volcano just seconds before it erupted.

He reached behind his back, and out of thin air, a sheath appeared—black leather laced with gold thread and infernal runes that glowed faintly in the rising heat.

Malik gripped the handle, then drew his weapon.

SHHHHING.

The sword was long and obsidian-black, its edge outlined with a pulse of molten red.The moment it cleared the sheath, the air itself rippled, and the temperature spiked like the sun had dropped into the arena.

Grugrim's grin faded.

He felt the change instantly and sighed:

"Oh no…"

Malik stepped forward, dragging the sword through the air like it weighed nothing.Each motion left a trail of sparks, falling like embers from a dying star—and he hadn't even struck yet.

"No more games," Malik said coldly.

Grugrim's grip tightened.

Was he playing games all this time?

He didn't just see the sword.He felt it.

That blade wasn't just enchanted—it was alive.

Hungry.

He reached into his inventory with a flick of thought and pulled out a small, round shield—compact, dwarven-forged, carved with ancient resistance runes that shimmered faintly.

His other hand clenched around one of his twin axes, lightning curling along the blade's edge.

Just in time.

Because Malik exploded into motion.

BOOOOOOM!!

Like a cannon, like a meteor crashing to earth—Malik's obsidian blade came down with the force of judgment itself, and Grugrim raised his shield—

BLAAM!

The clash rocked the arena, and a shockwave burst outward, rippling through the battlefield.The stone beneath them cracked, lines spider-webbing in every direction.

Grugrim's boots slid back, carving deep grooves into the ground as he was shoved by sheer force.His muscles screamed. The impact rattled him to the core, his bones vibrating from the hit.

But he held firm.

Barely.

Malik didn't pause.

He came in again—faster, a streak of fire and fury. His blade swung in precise, deadly arcs.

Each strike was faster than the last. Stronger. Cleaner.

And Grugrim was being pushed back.

Forced to block, deflect, or dodge, his shield ringing with every hit.

But Malik wasn't just attacking with brute power—he was insulting him with every blow.

"You thought that cut mattered?"

CLANG!

"You think one lucky swipe makes you special?"

BOOM!

"You're a stain on the battlefield."

CRASH!

The blade slammed again into the shield like a thunderclap, cracking the edge, sending sparks in all directions.

Grugrim gritted his teeth.He could feel the weight of every word.The pressure of every strike.

And now, even though lightning still crackled around him, his aura was flickering—like a flame caught in the wind, weakening.

This was bad for Grugrim as Malik wasn't stopping.

The demon moved like a master swordsman—each step graceful, each slash calculated.But there was cruelty in his rhythm. Predatory precision.

Fire danced off his blade, curling into tendrils that lashed at Grugrim's legs and back, or bursting in small explosions that scorched the ground with every missed swing.

Grugrim was being hunted.

His power surge was gone, spent.

Now, every block sent pain shooting through his arms.Even when he managed to defend, the impact bruised his bones.

His boots skidded across the stone floor.His shield groaned under the pressure, edges cracking.And his counterattacks—once sharp and fearless—were now short, rushed, desperate.

Malik laughed as he advanced, eyes glowing like twin suns.

"What happened to your dragon, dwarf?" he sneered."Did it crawl back into its cave?"

Grugrim didn't answer.He just spat blood, lips curling into a grimace.

CLANG!Another blow.The sound rang out like iron bells clashing in a thunderstorm.

Then—disaster.

Malik struck high, blade slicing through the air with blinding speed—But it was a feint.

At the last second, he twisted, redirecting the sword in a deadly low arc.

Grugrim raised his axe to block—

CRACK!

The dwarven steel shattered like glass, and Malik's sword tore across Grugrim's chest, cutting straight through armor, leather, and cloth like paper.

Blood sprayed into the air, a hot red arc that painted the ground behind him.

Grugrim grunted, teeth clenched against the pain. He jumped back, feet stumbling into a quick roll, shoulder hitting the floor.

Thud—thud—skrrrk!

He landed hard and clutched his side, gasping. Blood poured through his fingers—fast and heavy. The wound was deep.

But still, he stood, one knee first, then the other leg bracing under him. He raised his shield, arms shaking but steady.

His eyes found Malik, but Malik was already moving.

FWOOSH!

The demon surged forward like a vengeful god, his presence radiating fire and fury.

And Grugrim's eyes widened—he couldn't dodge in time.

SHING!

The air itself seemed to scream as Malik's sword came down.

BOOM!

Grugrim twisted his body at the last second, turning the strike into a...