I Woke Up 120 Years After The Apocalypse-Chapter 40: Melting

Beneath the cloud of dust, Akram and Yashyn pushed themselves back up, taking advantage of the brief respite they had gained, concealed within the smoke.

"Fuck, Akram, that’s one of your toys, isn’t it?!"

"Yeah... Shit... I don’t know how they got their hands on them, I never sold any! That means there’s—"

"A traitor, yeah. And there’s only one way to find out for sure."

Both men then stepped out, deliberately revealing their survival to their attackers.

In front of them stood a group of around ten people, men and women alike. Akram narrowed his eyes, trying to identify where they came from.

"...Rushers?"

A man stepped forward from the group. It was Koard, hunched with rage, gripping his two daggers, ready to fight.

Akram didn’t immediately recognize the bandit Warlord because of the metal mask covering his face. Koard, on the other hand, felt his fury boil the moment he laid eyes on the leader of Vulkania.

"BASTARD! YOU’RE GONNA PAY FOR THIS!! I’M GONNA SLAUGHTER YOU!"

Yashyn and Akram exchanged a confused glance.

"Uh... who are you?" they said in unison.

Koard fell silent for a moment, then exploded in rage, his voice echoing through the canyon.

"I AM KOARD! Warlord of the Sand Bandits! You took my arm, and my face... I’m here to burn you alive, you sons of bitches!!"

Akram and Yashyn finally realized who stood before them, letting out a short exclamation of surprise.

They immediately took fighting stances, Yashyn stepping forward first.

"Akram, I’ll hold them off. Go get the gel."

Akram dismissed the order with a simple shake of his head.

"No way. They’re heavily armed, and they probably have more than just my chestnuts. We do this together. And I want Koard for myself."

Yashyn tilted his head slightly, puzzled.

"Why him specifically? You’re leaving the whole group to me alone."

"Because I’ve got a score to settle. And cut it out, you’ll wipe them out in no time."

Yashyn shrugged, clearly thinking suit yourself.

Koard turned toward his men, growling.

"Arm your crossbows and gun down the guy with the mask! I’ll take care of the other little bitch..."

He lunged at Akram at the same terrifying speed as during their first fight. Akram wasn’t surprised. In his eyes, Koard wasn’t even as fast as Zofyan.

Koard slashed with his daggers from multiple angles, screaming with every strike. Despite his feral appearance, his attacks weren’t random at all—they were calculated.

Akram blocked them without much difficulty, to Koard’s complete disbelief.

How is this possible?! He could barely react before... How can he stop me so easily now?! Koard thought, utterly shaken by his helplessness.

Akram seized that moment of psychological imbalance and drove his blade straight into Koard’s prosthetic arm, shattering it.

Bolts and metal fragments burst into the air, along with a few fingers. Akram followed up immediately, smashing Koard with a powerful punch from his metal fist straight into the iron mask.

Koard was sent flying into a rock face, his spine slamming hard against the stone. A deep, visceral groan tore itself from his chest.

Meanwhile, Yashyn skillfully dodged the explosive bolts fired at him, or sliced them mid-air. He quickly closed the distance, forcing the Rushers into disarray and dragging them into close combat.

They stood no chance against the bounty hunter’s speed. Two heads fell within a single second.

One Rusher took advantage of the chaos, slipping behind Yashyn and hurling a chestnut straight at his back. Yashyn barely had time to react before the mini-bomb detonated at close range.

Koard staggered back to his feet, hands shaking, barely able to stand. His metallic prosthetic hung loose, half torn away.

"Son of a bitch... How did you do it?! How are you still standing?! HOW ARE YOU STILL ALIVE?!" 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

Akram raised an eyebrow. His opponent was completely losing it. He pressed the advantage.

"Well, I was going easy on you last time. You were annoying me."

Of course, he was lying. He had nearly died back then. But the speed of his progress and his current abilities made the lie believable in Koard’s eyes.

Koard completely snapped, his ego utterly crushed.

He charged Akram again, even faster than before, but this time without form or control—pure chaos.

Akram was caught off guard and slammed to the ground. Koard screamed like a wild animal, trying to drive his blades into Akram’s throat while Akram barely deflected them.

One blade grazed the Vulkan’s neck. He felt death rushing closer than he ever expected.

Finally, Akram’s prosthetic hand caught on Koard’s mask, and in a desperate instinct to survive, he activated the combustion mechanism.

A column of fire erupted straight onto the mask, melting the metal before his eyes.

Koard screamed in agony, a howl so violent it nearly burst Akram’s eardrums. The bandit leader staggered back, his face half-melted, fused with steel, before collapsing unconscious to the ground.

Shaken, Akram slowly stood up, breathing heavily, a hand pressed against his chest.

Despite everything he had seen and endured up until now, the horror unfolding before his eyes shook him to his core, far more violently than any battlefield or scars he ever had—especially because he knew, deep down, that this nightmare was of his own making, born directly from his choices and his hands.

Shit, shit, shit, he thought, on the verge of a panic attack.

He then turned his gaze toward Yashyn, expecting to see him victorious as always, hoping the sight would erase the horror he had just lived through.

That hope was crushed almost instantly.

"...Yashyn? "

Yashyn lay motionless on the ground, his body unnaturally still, his poncho reduced to charred tatters, his clothes burned through, and a portion of his back blackened and scorched by the fire blast.

Akram’s eyes widened. He sprang to his feet and rushed toward his companion.

The remaining Rushers reacted instantly, stepping in to block Akram’s path as they raised their weapons and unleashed a barrage of fire in his direction.

Akram barely dodged and dove behind a rock, taking cover under enemy fire.

Akram was living through the very first trench-style battle in the history of the new world.