Entering Apocalypse in Easy-Mode-Chapter 580: Finally Used It

Far away from the Ruin, inside a room so white it felt unreal, the World Master’s smile finally gone.

He sat forward on the pristine sofa with elbows resting on his knees. His eyes locked onto the massive floating monitor before him.

The screen showed Clyde ascending the tower without hesitation, blood and green mist trailing behind him like a path he already conquered.

For the first time since this game began, irritation crept into the World Master’s expression.

The poison should have killed him.

That fog was not mere toxin. It was a Demonic power given form, a substance refined to rot flesh, soul, and magic power at the same time. 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

Even legendary weapons cracked under prolonged exposure. Watching Clyde walk through it with steady and controlled steps felt unacceptable.

His fingers tightened against the armrest.

"That should have killed you," he thought. "Or at least made you kneel."

But Clyde did neither of those. It was as if he adapted and calculated. He saw a crack on his weapon without hesitation and still came out on top.

The spear cracking should have given him panic. Instead, it looked like Clyde treated it as a warning, not a real threat.

The World Master leaned back slowly, exhaling through his nose.

Calm. That was the problem.

There was no desperation in Clyde’s movements, or fear in his eyes. His every strike carried certainty as if he already knew the outcome.

As if this tower, this world, and even the one observing him were just obstacles on a path he had already understood.

But then, the feeling of interest stirred beneath the irritation.

"No normal human grows like this," the World Master muttered.

He was level 125 now. That number echoed in his mind. Not impressive by itself, but the speed, the efficiency, and the way that kid acted.

The World Master’s lips slowly curved upward again, the irritation melting into a thin, predatory smile.

"Maybe I really can use you," he thought.

The thought pleased him.

A product like this needed pressure. Real pressure. Monsters were blunt instruments. Poison was crude. To refine something truly valuable one had to strike at the mind as well, not just the body.

His fingers flicked through invisible controls, data cascading across the air in front of him. Names surfaced, highlighted in soft red.

Jack Kessler.

Mina Johnson.

They have connections. Anchors. Weak points.

The World Master’s smile widened, his eyes glinting with anticipation.

"Let’s see how calm you remain when the cost is no longer just your life," he whispered, voice barely audible in the silent white room.

The monitor showed Clyde stepping onto the seventh floor.

—

On the seventh floor, Clyde met resistance that looked heavier than the last.

The creature waiting for him was shaped like a man only in the loosest sense. Its body was larger, denser, muscles swollen to grotesque proportions.

In its hands it carried a massive club made of squirming flesh, veins pulsing along its length. Greenish smoke coiled around the weapon constantly, spilling from it.

The steps that the monster took left faint scorch marks on the floor, flesh and stone alike sizzling under the toxin.

Clyde’s eyes flicked down to his spear. The shaft was already cracked in multiple places, fractures spreading like veins. He sighed helplessly.

This spear was finished. If not after this fight, then during the fight it will be destroyed. He was certain of that.

But there was no time to hesitate.

Both of them charged.

The clash sent a shock through his arms. The club slammed against his spear, and the greenish smoke flared violently.

Clyde felt the weapon vibrate, felt another crack form beneath his grip. He twisted, slipped past the follow-up swing, and stabbed for the monster’s torso.

The smoke washed over him in thick waves.

His head started to feel dizzy.

For the first time since entering the tower, Clyde felt something slip. The pressure behind his eyes grew heavier and his breath came a little bit slower now.

He realized then that the toxin was layering itself, eating through his resistance little by little. [Toxic Resistance] was holding, but it was no longer absolute.

This was bad.

He tightened his grip and forced himself forward anyway.

Speed became his answer. He stayed inside the monster’s reach, denying it room to swing.

He stabbed again and again, ignoring the burning in his lungs and the growing dizziness.

The spear cracked loudly with the final thrust, but it pierced deep enough.

The monster collapsed, its club dissolving into smoke and rotten flesh.

Clyde staggered, and steadied himself, and didn’t look back.

He climbed to the eighth floor.

—

The eighth floor welcomed him with the same thing. The same kind of monster stood at its center. But this one looks bulkier than the ones below.

Its flesh swollen and breathing greenish smoke leaking from its body in slow, toxic waves.

It turned the moment Clyde stepped onto the floor, recognizing him instantly.

Clyde lowered his gaze to his hands.

The spear was gone. Broken and left behind on the seventh floor, its fragments already being swallowed by the tower’s living flesh.

He flexed his fingers, feeling the lingering numbness in his arms and the dull pressure behind his eyes.

He charged anyway.

Clyde closed the distance fast and drove a fist into the creature’s torso. The impact landed, but not cleanly. The flesh absorbed part of the blow and rippled outward instead of breaking.

He followed with a kick, then another strike, weaving around the monster’s clumsy swings.

It was not enough.

The poison clung to him immediately. Without reach or leverage, he was forced to stay too close. His breath started to burn. His movements slowed so the monster grazed his shoulder, toxic smoke crawling over his skin.

Clyde clicked his tongue and pulled back.

This was inefficient.

He shook his head, sharp and decisive, and reached inward to his Inventory.

He needed the Demonic sword answered.

A weight settled into his hands as he drew it out. The sword was still wrapped in the jacket since he had taken it from the Lunar Beast’s nest.

Clyde paused for a second, then stripped the fabric away.

The blade was exposed. Pale bone formed its length, smooth yet jagged in places, black veins pulsing beneath the surface.

A slow and deliberate crimson glow ran along its edge. The air around him immediately felt heavier and colder, carrying a presence that was unmistakably hostile.

Clyde stared at it briefly. Then he stepped forward.

The monster roared and charged.

Clyde met immediately. The Demonic blade cut through flesh with ease, crimson light flaring as green smoke split apart.

The poison recoiled from the sword, overwhelmed by older and far more malicious power.

With a single clean strike, the monster fell apart.

Clyde let out a long breath, adjusted his grip, and turned toward the path forming upward.

The ninth floor awaited.

—