Apocalypse Baby-Chapter 332: After the Storm

The Proctor stood beside Alex, his eyes scanning the stunned crowd.

Thousands of spectators sat frozen—some slack-jawed, others wide-eyed, a few whispering frantically to anyone who would listen.

He opened his mouth, and immediately, his voice rang out across the stratum like rolling thunder.

"I understand your fear," he began, his voice firm. "What you witnessed was the awakening of something... beyond the ordinary."

He paused, letting the words settle like dust after an earthquake.

"The Doom Beast was not part of the intended trial. It was the result of interference—corruption beyond the expectations of both mortals and immortals alike."

A ripple of unease spread through the stands.

He continued, undeterred.

"But it has been dealt with. Thanks to one participant's… decisive action."

The Proctor turned his head slightly toward Alex, who stood silently beside him.

"There is no remaining threat. No continuing danger. The stratum remains secure. And now… the conclusion of the tournament."

He raised his hand.

"By the authority of the Trial Council and divine judgment, I declare Alex Knight the victor of this stratum."

A brief flare of golden light ignited around Alex's feet—a mark of completion, burned into the very air.

But the reaction from the crowd was muted. The sound of shifting bodies. Low murmurs. Gasps. A few hesitant claps and half-hearted cheers.

The crowd didn't know how to react. A Doom Beast appearing mid-trial had shaken their sense of safety. Celebration didn't come easy in the shadow of something that ancient and apocalyptic.

The Proctor nodded, unsurprised by the response, then turned to face Alex again.

He raised one hand, and a small dark box appeared between them—sleek, rectangular, and forged from black crystal that pulsed with sealed power. Intricate etchings danced across its surface, swirling with golden light that resembled flowing script.

"This," the Proctor said solemnly, "is your reward for victory."

He extended it forward.

Alex took the box in one hand, testing its weight. Lighter than expected—yet it vibrated faintly against his palm, as if it carried a presence of its own.

The Proctor's voice dropped lower.

"This is a Second-Tier Essence Root. Rare. Dangerous. Not something typically granted during this phase of the Legacy Trials."

Alex raised an eyebrow.

He had received a reward earlier, for defeating the Doom Beast—but that had been a Seventh-Tier root which was of a higher rank.

The Proctor went on, tone instructive but grave:

"Essence Roots are the purest crystallizations of Emi—condensed energy drawn from leyline anomalies and soul trees growing in the fractures between realms. They range from Twelfth to First Tier. The lower the number, the more condensed the energy. A single First-Tier root could empower a realm novice beyond recognition. A Second-Tier root? It's more than a boost."

He paused, letting the weight of his words carry.

"It's a transformation material. Extremely rare. Highly valuable. Use it wisely."

Alex listened in silence. Then, without a word, he slid the box into his inventory.

The essence root would be useful. No doubt. His goal hadn't changed: rise as quickly as possible—by any means necessary.

Now he had the means.

The Proctor studied him for a long moment before speaking again.

"The matches continue," he said, stepping back. "But your role in this segment is complete. You'll be returned to your resting chamber. From there, you may observe the remaining strata as their champions compete."

Alex gave a short nod.

"Good."

He was ready to leave. But just as the portal began to shimmer behind him, the Proctor lifted a hand.

His voice softened—barely above a whisper.

"One more thing."

Alex turned slightly, eyes narrowing.

The Proctor studied him for a moment, then said, quietly:

"The Deities will come for you."

Alex froze.

The air around him stilled as well. It wasn't clear if the words were a warning—or a threat.

The Proctor continued, voice calm, but edged like glass.

"They've seen what you did. The essence you wield. The sword you carry. You've drawn attention—not just from demons."

A pause.

"They'll offer blessings. Power. Immortality. Anything to bring you to their side. But…"—his tone darkened—"…not all gifts are worth receiving. Some are traps, disguised as ascension. Some come with chains you won't notice until they've already closed around your throat."

His eyes locked with Alex's.

"Be careful. This is the part where mortals stop being players... and start being prey. Not just to monsters—but to gods."

Alex held his gaze.

"Understood."

No lecture was needed. He had always been wary of the player-deity relationship—its politics, its bargains. But this? This was truth. And he appreciated truth.

The portal swallowed him.

Light warped.

Sound collapsed into silence.

And then, Alex stood once more in the resting chamber—silent as a graveyard.

The room that had once thrummed with tension, sweat, and the quiet aura of rival fighters… was now still.

Clean. Dimly lit. Empty.

He exhaled slowly, stepping forward. His boots echoed faintly on the polished floor—the only sound in the room.

No eyes watching.

No presence waiting.

He stood there for a long second—processing it all.

He had won.

Even now, his heart didn't race. There was no adrenaline left. Just a steady pulse. A low thrum of residual Emi clinging to his skin like static.

A faint smile tugged at his lips.

He turned toward the far corner and gave a small nod.

"Deactivate stealth."

A ripple shimmered through the air.

His clone appeared, still seated cross-legged in the corner where he had left it before the match. It glowed faintly, drenched in ambient Emi, like a sponge soaking up dew. Its outline pulsed with slow, deliberate breath.

Progress.

Alex observed it for a few seconds. The clone's core was more stable now. The soul-thread connection between them denser, tighter. Stronger.

Good.

Once he dismissed it, the clone's experience would merge with him—along with the energy it had absorbed during the battle.

Turning away, Alex looked to the viewing screen.

Without fanfare, the feed came into focus revealing the final match still unfolding in another stratum.

He hadn't had the chance to see th

e other champions, had been too focused on survival.

But now… now he had the time.

And he wanted to know: how strong were the ones he would face next?

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