Apocalypse Baby-Chapter 63: A Demon: Double Digits

Luther didn’t care who or what Alex claimed to be.

The only thing on his mind was ending the monster standing before him.

With a shout of pure fury, he spun his spear, aiming a flurry of strikes at Alex.

The weapon moved like a blur, slicing through the air with deadly precision.

Each strike was powerful, sending gusts of wind rippling through the clearing.

But Alex avoided them all effortlessly.

He weaved and sidestepped with an almost lazy grace, his long coat flaring with every motion. Luther’s strikes came fast and hard, but Alex never lost his cool.

Luther’s movements were sharp and confident. Even Alex had to admit the raw power behind each attack was impressive for someone so inexperienced.

This kid was still a newbie, but his strength was undeniable.

But…

"Disgusting," Alex muttered under his breath, his tone dripping with disdain.

Luther didn’t hear him, too consumed by his anger to notice. But Alex’s eyes narrowed as he watched the young man fight. He could see it—the source of Luther’s strength.

It wasn’t earned through effort or dedication. No, it was something far darker.

This power came from bloodshed, from sacrifices to the gods Luther and his kind served without remorse.

Strength is gained by killing others in cold blood, all for some divine reward.

To them, Alex might seem like a demon, a monster in human form.

But they were the real monsters—mindless killers who acted without a shred of guilt.

The thought made his stomach churn.

"Pathetic," Alex whispered, his movements still calm as Luther continued his assault. The strikes were growing sloppier now, desperation leaking into each swing.

If they could commit such atrocities without guilt, then they weren’t just misguided—they were truly evil. People like them had no reason to exist.

For Alex, the torturing wasn’t just cruelty. It was a message. A point he needed to make.

What they called strength wasn’t real.

It was a hollow facade, built on a foundation of fear and cowardice.

Pathetic.

He hated it with every fiber of his being.

Alex wanted people like Luther to understand the truth: they were weak.

And he wanted them to feel that weakness, to drown in despair, moments before he ended their lives.

Luther, seething with rage, unleashed a barrage of energy beams.

Bright streaks of light cut through the air, heading straight for Alex.

But Alex didn’t even flinch.

With fluid, almost lazy movements, he sidestepped and ducked, dodging every beam as though it was nothing.

A grin stretched across his face, mocking Luther’s efforts.

Luther roared in frustration and leaped into the air, his spear glowing with power.

With all his might, he brought the weapon down in a thunderous slam.

The energy released on impact sent shockwaves rippling through the area, causing the ground to crack and splinter beneath Alex.

Dust and debris filled the air, the force of the attack making it impossible to see.

For a moment, Luther’s chest heaved with effort, thinking he’d finally landed a hit. But as the dust began to clear, his stomach sank.

Alex stood there, completely unharmed, a smug grin plastered across his face.

"You’re not even trying," Alex taunted, his tone dripping with mockery.

Luther’s heart raced. His breathing was ragged, his muscles burning with exhaustion.

He was running out of stamina.

Every attack, every move—nothing worked. Stay connected via novelbuddy

No matter what he did, he couldn’t touch his opponent. It was like fighting a ghost, a phantom that danced around his every strike.

Despair started to creep in.

"Why are you dodging like a coward?" Luther spat, gripping his spear tightly. His voice cracked with frustration.

"Fight me!"

"Are you sure about that?"

Alex grinned his tone a dangerous mix of humor and seriousness.

His piercing gaze locked onto Luther like a predator sizing up its prey.

"It’ll end in an instant."

Luther clenched his teeth, tension rippling through his body.

Deep down, he knew the demon was right.

Alex’s confidence wasn’t arrogance—it was the truth. Yet Luther’s pride wouldn’t allow him to admit defeat so easily.

It felt like Alex was toying with him, dodging instead of attacking, intentionally dragging this out to taunt him.

Each evasion was a calculated insult, pushing Luther closer to his breaking point.

"If that’s the case," Luther growled, his voice trembling with fury, "then try to end me if you can!"

Alex raised an eyebrow, his grin widening.

Luther stopped in place, his breathing deep and ragged.

Veins bulged across his skin like writhing snakes, his muscles swelling unnaturally.

A crimson aura ignited around his body, pulsating with raw energy.

Alex tilted his head, watching with faint curiosity.

He could feel the surge in power and realized Luther had activated some kind of enhancement skill—most likely Berserk.

But Alex’s expression didn’t falter. Not even for a second.

This wouldn’t save him.

Luther roared, the sound primal and filled with rage.

The ground beneath him cracked as he charged forward, his spear spinning like a cyclone.

Each strike came faster and harder than the last, the sheer force generating gusts of wind that tore through the clearing.

The tempo of Luther’s attacks escalated, each move more aggressive, more desperate to overwhelm Alex.

For a moment, it seemed to work.

One strike came dangerously close, grazing Alex’s head and slicing off a lock of his hair.

Luther froze for half a second, elation flickering in his eyes. He’d drawn first blood—or so he thought.

"I’m getting close," he muttered under his breath, tightening his grip on his weapon.

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But in the blink of an eye, Luther’s confidence was shattered.

He lunged forward, driving his spear with all his might, but Alex’s movement defied logic.

It was as though he had phased through the attack, his body seeming to blur for an instant.

Before Luther could process what had happened, a sharp, searing impact struck the side of his face.

The world spun.

The force of the blow hurled him through the air, his body crashing to the ground with a thud. Blood dripped from his nose, and his vision blurred as he struggled to understand what had just happened.

"A slap?" he muttered, barely coherent.

His trembling hand brushed his cheek, where an unmistakable handprint throbbed against his skin. The humiliation sank in deeper than the pain.

"So much damage... from a mere slap," Luther whispered, disbelief and rage boiling within him.

Alex sauntered forward, calm and composed, his expression almost bored.

His casual approach felt like an insult, as if Luther wasn’t even worth the effort.

Fueled by anger and desperation, Luther steadied his spear, its energy crackling as he raised it to strike.

But Alex moved faster.

Another slap landed, its impact rattling through Luther’s skull and sending him staggering.

His spear released an errant energy beam that soared harmlessly into the distance.

Before Luther could recover, a third slap hit him, and then a fourth.

Each blow chipped away at his pride, leaving him disoriented and gasping for air.

By the time the assault paused, Luther was barely able to stay on his feet, his body swaying like a battered reed in the wind.

His pride was in tatters, his strength draining fast, and Alex hadn’t even drawn a weapon.

Despite the surge of power coursing through his body, Luther realized with a sinking feeling that nothing had changed.

Every attempt to land a blow had failed.

He racked his brain, trying to make sense of it as to how Alex could be so much stronger

Is he even human?

His mind raced through possibilities. Was Alex truly a player like him, or something entirely different? No matter how he spun it, none of it made sense.

Fueled by frustration, Luther roared and charged, his spear crackling with energy. He thrust it forward, determined to pierce Alex’s smug composure.

But Alex moved with an effortless precision.

The spear didn’t hit its mark—it stopped dead in its tracks. Alex had caught it with one hand, holding it steady as if it were a mere toy.

Luther’s eyes widened in disbelief, but before he could react, Alex yanked the spear forward, dragging Luther with it.

Then came the blow.

A single, devastating punch to the gut.

The force was overwhelming, and Luther’s breath was stolen from him in an instant. He staggered back, collapsing to his knees as he clutched his stomach, gasping for air.

His vision blurred, but he could make out Alex crouching down to meet him at eye level.

Desperation surged through Luther.

He refused to go down like this. With trembling hands, he pulled a knife from his belt, aiming to make one last move.

But Alex saw it coming.

Before Luther could swing, Alex’s hand darted out and snapped one of his fingers with a sickening crack.

Luther howled in agony, the knife slipping from his grasp and clattering to the ground. He writhed in pain, clutching his injured hand.

"How disappointing," Alex muttered, his voice dripping with disdain.

He stood, brushing off his coat like he was swatting away an insect.

"But... oh well, I guess it’s to be expected. Your level is still in the single digit."

The words froze Luther in place.

Single digits?

His mind reeled.

Alex had said it with such casual superiority as if it were a fact beneath notice.

But then a question clawed its way to the forefront of Luther’s mind, sending a shiver down his spine.

If this demon’s level wasn’t in the single digits... then just how high was it?