Ex rank talent Awakening: 100% Dodge rate

"Everyone... run!" the vice guild master screamed, his voice breaking from panic as the true danger of the shadow slaves finally hit him like a sledgehammer.

"Log out! Everyone log out!" Amon yelled, desperation thick in his voice. In his mind, that was the only path left — the only flicker of hope to escape the impending slaughter.

"We can't… I've been trying to log out even before we engaged the shadow slaves in battle," a timid female guild member admitted shakily, her face pale and her lips trembling. She had wanted to grab her camera from the real world to capture the moment — a moment she now regretted chasing.

[Notice!]

[You cannot return to your world when faced with shadow slaves!]

That message — cold, emotionless, absolute — had appeared repeatedly, and while she'd brushed it off at first, the weight of its implications now settled in her chest like a stone.

"Run, goddamn it! If you don't want to die, then run!" the vice guild master shouted once again, this time frantically pulling a glowing teleportation scroll from his inventory — the last ace he had up his sleeve.

"Vice guild master! You can't leave us here! Give us a scroll too!" a guild member cried, his voice shrill with fear.

"I'm sorry! This is the only one I have!" the vice guild master shouted back, his eyes flashing with guilt — but only for a second. He clenched his jaw, gritted his teeth, and prepared to activate the scroll.

"You can't abandon us! We're a team! We fight together!" another shouted, horror and betrayal reflected in every syllable.

He heard the protests, saw the rage and betrayal in their eyes, but he didn't care. Deep down, the vice guild master had made his choice long ago. Relationships can be rebuilt. Reputations can be recovered. But a lost life… there's no second chance. He knew that better than anyone.

"Survive, all of you!" he shouted — one last pathetic rally cry — and activated the scroll.

[Unable to use the teleportation scroll!]

"Huh?" His hand froze midair. The scroll refused to activate. Cold sweat burst from every pore as his vision blurred from fear.

"W-why…? Why can't I use it?!"

The answer came not in words, but in the sudden whoosh of shadow cutting through air — and then silence.

His head fell from his shoulders, rolling across the ground as his body slumped.

"Vice...," someone whispered, their voice hollow, lost.

"They're not dead… right? They'll respawn like always… right?" a female guild member stuttered as she fell to her knees. Her voice cracked. Her body trembled. Denial was all she had left.

"We have to escape!" Amon shouted, snapping them back to reality. "Now is not the time to break down! Move!"

He spun on his heel. "Everyone scatter! Split in every direction — they can't catch all of us!" he cried, darting off without looking back. The others followed, not out of trust but out of sheer survival instinct.

Some were lucky. Some escaped the death that stalked them. Others… were not so fortunate, their screams vanishing in the dark as shadow swallowed them whole.

Amon, ever sharp and instinctive, was among the lucky few. Panting hard, he found a moment of stillness — and tried to return to the real world.

[You flee from shadow slaves, the Nemesis of this world!]

[As punishment for failing to eradicate them, you will be unable to return to your world for the next twenty-four hours!]

The notification hit him like a death sentence. He fell to his knees, trembling. "No… no no no… the system's never been this cruel..."

---

Elsewhere, within the Guild of Twilight...

"Odin, got any news?" Greg asked calmly, though tension simmered beneath the surface of his voice. The others were silent, waiting. Despite stepping back from guild leadership, Odin's network of information remained unparalleled across Apocalypse.

"Yes," Odin said, standing with arms folded. "Several groups have already encountered the shadow slaves."

"And?" Greg pressed.

"They're worse than we feared. Far worse."

Greg nodded grimly. "Let's gather the others. They all need to hear this."

Within the vast, crystalline conference room at the heart of the floating island, the leaders of Twilight gathered around a glowing round table, anticipation and unease crackling in the air.

Greg leaned back in his chair. "So, what have you discovered?"

Odin adjusted his cloak, his usually calm eyes now serious. "First — they can't be killed the usual way. Shadow slaves have no health bar. Any damage dealt simply vanishes like mist. From all I've gathered, there's only one method to kill them — destroy their core. But..."

"But?" Greg asked.

"Finding the core is a nightmare. It's located randomly within their bodies — sometimes in their palm, other times in their spine, even inside their neck. And it's tiny — ridiculously hard to target mid-battle."

The room was still.

"And that's not even the worst part," Odin continued. "If you use any technique, spell, skill — anything at all that doesn't kill them — they learn it. They mimic it. And they use it."

Silence descended like a blanket. Everyone understood instantly how devastating that ability was.

"They're like void-born mirrors," Thomas muttered. "And we handed them the reflection ourselves."

"And there's more," Odin added grimly. "The system has placed limitations to make retreat nearly impossible. You can't return to the real world. You can't use teleportation items. The only way to escape is to physically flee — and if you do, you're punished."

"The system…" Greg muttered, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the table. "This isn't about fair gameplay. The will of the world — or perhaps something higher — wants these things gone at all costs."

"Maybe because their existence empowers Rebecca," Lilith offered, folding her arms tightly. Her face was pale. "Or maybe… the universe still fears her, and anything connected to her must be erased."

Will looked up. "How's the battle faring across the world?"

Odin's voice darkened. "Poorly. Over a thousand confirmed player deaths in just two days — and that number keeps climbing. And worse? Those who fall to shadow slaves… become one."

A wave of shock washed across the room.

"Then it's decided," Greg declared, his tone sharp and resolute. "We intervene. We cut them down ourselves before they multiply further."

He turned to Odin. "You'll be our key, Odin. Your eyes — use them. You can spot their cores."

Odin blinked. "...Oh. Yeah, of course. You're right." A grin tugged at the corner of his lips. "Looks like I just became humanity's most wanted man."

"And the most valuable," Greg said with a small nod. "Get ready. Apocalypse just became a warzone."