Apocalypse Ascension

"Just us two now."

Those words barely left Justin's lips before the fifth hound moved. It didn't charge, it vanished. One second it was standing there—the next, it was behind him.

If the mutated Aiden was more of a strength type—this hound was definitely a speed type. Behind him, a single sound filled the entire depot.

CRACK.

Like the sound of bones shattering under heavy pressure.

Justin spun just in time to see a red blur rushing toward him, claws burning molten red, carving the ground beneath it. A searing swipe ripped through the air—he dove to the side, shoulder slamming into a rusty bus door as the hound's claws sliced through concrete like wet paper. The entire depot shook with the force.

CLANG.

Sparks scattered everywhere as steel shredded, a twisted bus frame collapsed behind him.

[Warning! Justin, the hound has entered an enraged state and its danger level is now very high!]

"Well, no fucking shit!"

Justin shouted back, hurriedly rolling onto his knees.

The hound was already moving—faster now, Its muscles twitched irregularly beneath scorching flesh. Steam hissed off its limbs and its eyes weren't glowing anymore, they were burning—flickering like burning ember.

Justin's breath was ragged, eyes scanning frantically. His instincts screamed, he knew he couldn't fight this thing head on like he did the rest—it was too fast, too heavy, too aware.

But he knew what he could do… he could make it overextend.

A loose oil can caught his eye in the wreckage—it was dented, half full, and leaking a bit. But still—in this situation? It was perfect. He grabbed it and flung it up high—right above them, the hound didn't react—not even a blink.

'Good, you predictable fucking mutt.'

Justin bolted, diving behind a collapsed steel beam. Justin's entire body shouted at him, limbs trembling with strain—but his mind? It was on fire. He heard the beast's claws screeching as it paced, every movement measured.

Then…

A sudden inhale, the sharp, terrible hiss of heat building.

Justin's eyes widened with shock.

'Fuck… it's going to breathe fire—'

Not a bite, nor a slash—a breath.

[Justin! There are 1.7 seconds till ignition and the current cover is insufficient, move!]

Justin shoved the panic down, the flames were aimed dead at him.

'No time—'

He darted out from cover just as the hound's maw flared open—heat warping the air in front of it. Flames surged forward like a furnace being unleashed, Justin leapt toward the same tipped crate he'd been on earlier—his foot hitting the edge.

Up.

Then down.

Twist mid-air.

His foot connected with the still airborne oil can, sending it crashing down.

BOOM—

The timing was flawless, Justin landed first—the oil can landed a fraction after. Right beneath the hound's head, the flame met the can and the depot erupted.

A violent fireball detonated outward, shaking the ground. Steel groaned, glass exploded, and the nearest bus turned into a scorched relic of what it used to be. Two downed hounds caught in the blast were vaporized in the flames.

The hound was sent flying back, howling in agony—its head engulfed in fire, black smoke trailing behind as it slammed into a pillar. The steel bent from the impact. Still—the beast wasn't dead; It rose again, blind, burning, but still breathing.

"You just don't die, huh…"

Justin whispered, spitting blood onto the burnt pavement. The hound stumbled, molten burns coating half its face. One of its eyes were gone, but it's claws were still red hot, and it's growl was low and wild.

"As a Blaze Hound I bet you never expected fire to bring you to this state."

Taunting the beast, Justin threw up the universal disrespect sign—the middle finger.

As if it understood, It came again but Justin didn't move this time, he waited—let it come close, too close. Then as the claw lashed out, he ducked under to slide across the flaming oil—coming up behind it.

CRACK.

He drove the metal rod he'd carried deep into the back of the hound's knee. It screamed, but Justin wasn't done—he had only just begun.

Using every ounce of strength, he grabbed the rod's end, braced a foot against its side—and twisted hard. The limb gave out, the hound collapsed sideways; slamming face first into a patch of fire. Its eyes lifted toward Justin, burning with hatred—then dimmed. One final twitch, then nothing.

Justin stumbled back, his lungs on fire, blood dripping from a gash on his cheek. Smoke filled the wrecked depot, and finally…

Silence.

[D rank Otherworldly Invader: Blaze Hound killed, 60 ascension energy obtained. Justin you've reached the evolution threshold, once you adapt to the current physical increase evolution to D- rank is possible. Evolution will begin when the words "Commence Evolution" are spoken.]

[Before starting evolution I recommend you're in a secure area!]

Justin didn't react, his shoulders didn't rise, no relief, just exhaustion. It wasn't like he wasn't pleased with the news, he was—but even with the wash of energy he'd just received, the only thing that could help the mental fatigue he'd been feeling after having his senses heightened by Pack Hunter: was rest.

So he just turned, walking toward the scorched depot entrance with a little limp and a head held high after a crushing victory.

***

Tanya stood frozen, metal rod loose in her grip. Cody's jaw hung open, the two teens behind her said nothing—not by choice, their dropped jaws simply didn't allow it.

Behind them, a few of those in the shelter peeked around the barricade. Smoke drifted behind Justin like a war-drenched cloak.

"…Holy shit,"

Tanya finally said, her voice full of disbelief.

"The guy I taught how to play cards—Morrow—just saved the shelter."

Justin chuckled—then breathed out slowly, wiping blood off his lip with the back of his hand.

"Hey, didn't I tell you."

Justin spoke, his voice rasped.

"I move better surrounded."

She blinked, still processing what she'd just witnessed.

"…You want a medal or a nap?"

He walked right past her, the little limp slowing his pace.

"I want both," He muttered.

"Mostly the nap."

Behind them, the depot burned—orange embers crackling in the wind, smoke painting the sky above Avalon City a deeper shade of red.

***

The first to return wasn't Justin.

It was a wiry man with a busted lip, limping as fast as he could down the corridor that led back to the shelter cafeteria.

"Move!"

He shouted at a couple of kids blocking the hall. His eyes were wide, sweat pouring down his face—not from fear, but urgency.

He burst through the cafeteria doors, panting.

"They did it," he gasped out.

"The depot group—they handled the hounds. It's over!"

A stunned silence followed, then cheers. Loud, rising, desperate cheers. For a brief second, relief washed through the shelter like a long-awaited sunrise.

And then—

CLANG.

DeMarco stood up from a folding chair near the center of the room, tapping a metal spoon against a can of food. The noise cut through the joy like a sword, The crowd fell silent.

"Glad to hear it," DeMarco said, smiling.

"But don't forget—it was still a slaughter out there. We lost good people, let's not celebrate just yet."

People murmured, nodding, their joy tempered.

DeMarco's voice hardened a bit.

"And let's also remember—we still don't know what else is out there. Just 'cause the hounds are gone doesn't mean we're safe. If anything, now's the time to be smart—to be organized, it's what Tanya would want us to do in her abscense right?"

He turned, looking directly at the stockpile of food in the corner of the room. Cans, ration packs, bottles—all of it stacked up behind some folded chairs and tape.

He pointed.

"First thing's first—we protect the food. If anything happens, that's what everyone'll need. Get some tables, reinforce the barricade. Two people watching it at all times, we'll rotate."

No one objected, his words were like law to them.

He stepped toward it, casually placing his hand on the closest stack.

"Until the others get back, I'll handle distribution. Keep things fair, keep us calm."

Someone in the back quickly muttered,

"Guess that makes him in charge…"

DeMarco didn't respond. He just gave a slow, solemn nod.

The man who'd returned from the depot—his goon he'd sent to follow in secret—stood near him now, subtly watching the crowd.

DeMarco smiled, but his eyes never fully joined in.

He sat back down, resting his arms on the table like it was a throne. Then, very softly, almost too soft to hear, he said:

"Can't let good supplies go to waste, not after all that effort…"

Outside, the smoke from the depot still drifted into the air. And somewhere not far away, Justin was walking back toward a shelter that already had a new ruler waiting.