Lord Shadow-Chapter 1565 A Cabin In the Mountain

1565 A Cabin In the Mountain

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She's a Killer Queen

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Within the dimly lit confines of the bar, the ambiance is steeped in nostalgia, as melodies from the era preceding the Fall filled the air.

The establishment is a microcosm of life's various facets, drawing an eclectic mix of patrons.

At the bar counter, individuals nursed their drinks, each glass a vessel for their preferred elixirs of choice.

The clinking of ice cubes resonated through the room, punctuating the air with a subtle rhythm.

Tensions eased with every sip; the world's worries momentarily set aside.

Around wooden tables scattered throughout the space, people engaged in animated conversations.

Friends reconnected, exchanging stories and laughter, their voices rising and falling in animated cadence.

Acquaintances struck up new connections, the hum of chatter a testament to the human desire for connection.

Amidst the lively tapestry of interactions, there were those who preferred the solace of a quiet corner.

These individuals sought refuge in the hushed embrace of shadows, watching the world go by in contemplative solitude.

And then, there was the lone figure occupying a chair near the barstools.

"What a mess," he grumbled, his voice carrying the weight of someone who had seen their fair share of chaos.

His deep sigh seemed to echo

This imposing man stood tall at six feet three, and he has muscular

His very presence exuded an aura of strength and tenacity.

His unruly black hair framed his face, its untamed nature almost mirroring the wildness of his spirit.

It cascaded down, giving him an almost rebellious appearance.

A scruffy beard, flecked with touches of white, adorned his chin, adding an air of ruggedness to his demeanour.

The intensity in his piercing eyes is unmistakable, a window into his unyielding determination.

When those eyes narrowed in anger, those who knew him well could sense the storm brewing beneath his gruff exterior.

Dressed in a simple ensemble of a black tank top and jeans, his attire reflected his no-nonsense personality.

A chain bracelet adorned his wrist, a subtle token of personal significance.

This man is a regular in this bar.

But even though he is regular no one knows him that much. And no one really cares.

In this bar, familiarity is a fleeting concept.

People came and went like whispers in the wind, their stories hidden beneath layers of the past.

The man, a regular among strangers, embodied this sense of anonymity.

Nobody here truly knew him, nor did they particularly care to.

Each patron carried their own stories, and in this place, today's acquaintance could become tomorrow's distant memory.

It is a world where faces and names blurred into a kaleidoscope of fleeting encounters, where stories whispered in hushed conversations were as ephemeral as the next glass raised in toast.

This man sighed again

He looks at the television that is on top of the bar.

There is another name for it but this man like to call it television. It is the term of the Old World.

Most people refer to the world before the Fall as the Old World.

The Fall had irrevocably altered the lives of those who had witnessed it first-hand.

Nearly a decade had passed, marked by the ebb and flow of triumphs and failures.

The survivors of those tumultuous years had developed a unique resilience, a gritty determination, and a stark outlook on life.

For the generation born after the Fall, life, while still far from easy, the life experience is a bit different

This new world that they brought into at least offered a semblance of protection and structure.

They had something to fall back on, someone to rely upon.

It was a different story for the First Generation, those who had borne the full brunt of the apocalypse.

They had experienced the unravelling of the old world and the chaotic birth of the new, carving their existence from the raw, unforgiving landscape of a world forever transformed.

When the Fall first descended upon them, it was an apocalyptic shockwave that left everyone reeling.

Those initial days were nothing short of madness.

The dead had risen in ghastly, zombified forms, and colossal monstrosities roamed the skies, the oceans, and even the depths of the earth itself.

It was a surreal nightmare, and nobody had a playbook for dealing with it.

Complete and utter destruction gave way to unparalleled chaos.

The orderly lives they had known were shredded in an instant.

They stood by helplessly as the very foundations of civilization crumbled around them, power structures disintegrated, and billions of lives were extinguished like candle flames in the path of a ferocious gale.

The new generation, those who came into this world after the Fall, may not lead lives as cushy as those before the disaster, but they do enjoy a semblance of civilization.

In the present day, when colossal monsters rear their heads, local armed forces mobilize to confront and defeat these behemoths.

The scourge of zombified humans has been all but eradicated; society now possesses a deeper understanding of what befalls those unfortunate souls, and they have developed coping mechanisms for many of the world's challenges.

While these titanic beasts and monstrous threats still pose considerable danger, it's a far cry from the utter helplessness they experienced in those grim days following the Fall.

"A different time, a different world' the man said. He sighed as he said these words.

Words that carry a weight of nostalgia.

"Old Lou"

The man nodded.

Despite his name, his visage did not betray his age.

He had recently reached the Disk Formation level, a transformation that revitalized him both inside and out.

Once an elderly figure teetering on the brink of death, he now boasted a muscular physique and the same rugged handsomeness he had possessed in his youth.

Lou is the man that sat on the chair in front of the bar.

"I miss sport" he suddenly said.

John the bartender laughed

"I would like that too. But with the war always going on every few years, no one had the chance to organize anything. What's your sport?" John the Bartender asked

"Football"

"A fellow football fan" Lou chuckles

Then, he shifted his gaze to the television, still blaring news about the Republic, and couldn't help but shake his head.

He sighed, placing a few energy stones on the bar before rising from his seat.

"Turning in for tonight?"

Lou just nod. On the stage, there is a young man that is coming up that is about to play the piano.

Lou knows the kid.

Its Salvatore kid, Billy. The piano man, he thought to himself

He looks around and thought to himself

"It is a pretty good crowd for tonight" But he has no intention to listen to the piano man tonight.

Lou made his way to the entrance, donning his hat and slipping into his coat.

As he stepped out of the bar, he was greeted by a wintry landscape.

Woosh!

The wind howled, pushing the falling snow into swirling patterns. Everything around him is blanketed in pristine white.

12:24

He couldn't help but sigh and mutter, "This damn weather," as he braced himself against the chill.

in pristine white.

He couldn't help but sigh and mutter, "This damn weather," as he braced himself against the chill.

Lou trudged through the snow, each step leaving a deep imprint on the white landscape.

Above him, the snow continued to fall from the grey skies.

Every now and then, a brilliant flash of purple lightning would cut through the heavens, followed by the deep rumble of thunder that reverberated through the land.

The territory he found himself in was nothing short of peculiar.

Here, the weather is in a perpetual state of snowfall, no matter the season.

And as the day waned into evening, the skies would often unleash their fury, painting the heavens with streaks of vivid purple lightning, their brilliance contrasting starkly against the bleakness of the landscape.

Despite the unusual weather, the people who lived in this land had grown accustomed to its idiosyncrasies, forging a way of life amid the constant snowfall and sporadic storms that defined their world.

Before settling in this remote land, Lou had done his fair share of research.

Survival in the post-Fall world demanded knowledge, and he was keen to uncover the secrets and peculiarities of the places he ventured into.

His new haunt, the bar, was no exception.

The owner of the establishment is a figure known simply as Eriksen.

Despite the youthful visage he displayed to him, Eriksen is rumoured to be around ninety years old, implying that he had lived as an old man through the tumultuous years of the Fall.

The mysteries behind his transformation from elderly to youthful were a topic of speculation, but Lou didn't dwell on it too much. 𝙗𝒆𝒅𝒏𝙤𝒗𝒆𝙡．𝙤𝒓𝙜

What he did know was that Eriksen had achieved the realm of a Disk Formation leveler, which explained not only his youthful appearance but also his confidence in running a bar in a place where the weather was as unpredictable as the world itself.

This remote establishment is a refuge from the chaos outside, and Lou is content to be a part of the community that had taken root here.

Lou sighed.

And then as he takes his step, he seems to be teleporting. Each time he takes a step, miles of distance is traversed.

And not before long he arrives at his home. It is a cabin built on top of a snowy mountain. He is the only one around here and there is no other people in the fifty-kilometer radius.

He opens the door and quickly shut the door before the snow outside that is raging could come inside

The moment he enters, the entire cabin lit up.

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