Born in apocalypse

A group of guards were diligently walking the premises while talking about the recent events happening in the prison.

Rumors circulate about 'Section B' being haunted, where those who dare to venture never live to see another day.

So, why have they come here, if you may ask?

Because they had lost a bet. Simple as that.

Amidst their walking, one guard becomes aware of an unusual sensation underfoot. Sensing that he has unwittingly stepped into a pool of liquid, he halts his stride, signaling his friend to stop as well.

Expecting water, he looks down to inspect the source, only to be confronted with a chilling realization.

Instead of the colorless liquid he had expected, The fluid he found under his foot was deep red.

To his horror, the substance surrounding his legs is not water, as anticipated, but an unnerving pool of blood. The sight sends a shockwave of alarm through his being, instantly evoking a surge of unease and dread. The once mundane and routine walk has abruptly transformed into a situation of grim intrigue and potential danger.

"What the fuck is this? Why is there so much blood on the floor?" he thought aloud.

The guard's heart pounds in his chest as he tries to comprehend the implications of this gruesome discovery. Questions race through his mind: How did blood end up on the prison floor? Is someone injured or worse? Could there be a threat lurking nearby?

He raises his gaze from the grisly sight, scanning his surroundings with heightened vigilance. The silence of the prison corridor now feels oppressive, amplifying the weight of the situation.

The other guards, sensing their colleague's distress, instinctively converge around him, their eyes widening with concern and curiosity as they too bear witness to the macabre scene.

They started following the blood trail...

While following the blood trail, the guard can't help but feel a surge of empathy and compassion for the person or group who suffered such a severe injury. His heart goes out to them, and he silently prays that the individuals who suffered this are not his fellow guards but rather prisoners.

Yes, it was cruel to think this, but if he has to choose between his fellow guards and prisoners, he will choose guards, without any second thought.

However, deep down, a sense of realism weighs heavily on him.

The sight of such a significant pool of blood suggests a grave injury, one that is typically associated with potential—not potential, but certain death. While he desperately wishes for a positive outcome, he understands the harsh reality that it may not be possible to survive such a devastating loss of blood.

The guard's thoughts momentarily wander to the potential circumstances surrounding the incident. Was it a result of violence within the prison, or an accident that took a tragic turn? Questions continue to haunt his mind...

As he was in the middle of his thoughts, they arrived at the location, and the sight was ten times worse than what he could have ever imagined..

As the guard's gaze remains fixed on the horrifying pool of blood and a mixture of dead bodies, a wave of nausea rises within him. The sheer brutality and macabre nature of the scene threaten to overpower his senses. A profound feeling of disgust creeps up, and he senses an imminent urge to vomit.

His stomach churns, and he can feel a cold sweat forming on his forehead. The sight before him is jarring, testing the limits of his emotional fortitude. The guard's body tenses as he battles the instinctive reflex of retching, his face contorting with discomfort.

Desperately trying to regain control, he takes deep breaths in an attempt to steady himself. He closes his eyes for a moment, focusing on his breathing, trying to block out the gruesome imagery.

"Blugrrr"

Not everyone has the same iron stomach as his, and they started puking at the scene of what was in front of them.

"... Wha.. What has happened... here?" one of them asked.

"I don't know, but at least there aren't any guards among them," he said after looking at their uniform, which was that of prisoners.

He was indeed right, as this was the aftermath of Dhruv's first slaughter, where he had killed all the Dekion men.

"Let's fall back. And report what we have seen here," he said with a solemn expression.

"Bu.. but what about the bet?" one of them said.

"Are you fucking out of your mind? If you care so much about Bet, then remain here, but we are going back," he said, and everyone nodded.

"No, no, don't leave me behind. I was just joking."

Everyone looked at him with a furious gazes after hearing the word 'joking', as nobody was in the mood for jokes after seeing everything.

"Sorry," he said, reading the mood.

~~~

On the other side, Dhruv has killed yet another fourteen guards, earning him one level's worth of exp and 1400 CC, which he invests all in agility.

After exchanging his empty gun for a loaded one, he once again disappeared into the embrace of darkness.

After walking for half an hour, he finally met another person, and the sight of him made his blood boil. This man is probably the third most hated person on his list.

He is Charlie, his so-called best friend, who used him, manipulated him, and cursed him when his value went away.

After thinking for some time, he started following him from the dark.

Charlie finally reached his cramped, dimly lit cell. Collapsing onto the lumpy mattress, he sought solace in the familiarity of his solitude. As he began to settle, a faint sound crept into his ears, causing him to stiffen. Slowly, he turned his head, his heart pounding in his chest, to identify the source of the disturbance.

"Who are you?" he managed to utter, his voice barely more than a whisper, as his eyes fell upon the shadowy but familiar figure standing in front of him, beside the door.

"How quickly you've forgotten me, Charlie," came the retort, laced with sarcasm. Dhruv's voice dripped with a mixture of disdain and concealed disgust. He struggled to maintain a composed expression, masking his true feelings.

"What are you doing here in my cell, you bastard?" Charlie's said with both anger and unease.

He felt uneasy because he could see blood stains on his clothes and angry because he had suffered at the hands of Dekion due to Charlie's mistakes.

"Hey, hey, now you're resorting to cursing, are you?" Dhruv responded, a smug smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I thought we were friends, weren't we?" Dhruv said with a sarcastic tone, "At least until a month ago."

"I am not your friend anymore, so don't come into my cell. And why have you locked the door?" Charlie's voice rose, frustration dripping from his words. His mind raced, sensing danger, and he rose from the bed. He propelled himself toward the cell's entrance, seeking escape.

"Why are you in such a hurry?" Dhruv's voice taunted, his tone eerily calm. "I've come to catch up with you."

"You bastard, if you don't get out of my cell this instant, I will call the guard," Charlie threatened, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and defiance.

"If you insist," Dhruv sneered, stepping further into the room. "But before you make that call, I suppose I can start our little get-together."

"What get-together?" Charlie's voice wavered, confusion etched across his face, his mind struggled to comprehend Dhruv's words.

Suddenly, as if materializing from thin air, an arrow struck Charlie's shoulder, lodging itself with a sickening thud into the cell wall. The force of the impact caused him to stagger backward, pain contorting his features.

"Ughhh! What are you? How are you doing this?" Charlie's voice trembled with fear, his eyes wide with terror. "Please spare me, whoever you are. I didn't do anything wrong."

Charlie's eyes widened as he looked at the unexpected turn of events. The arrow protruding from his left shoulder seemed to defy all reason, leaving him paralyzed with shock and disbelief.

He couldn't comprehend how Dhruv, or whatever this entity was, could conjure arrows seemingly out of thin air. Panic surged through his veins, and Charlie's mind raced, desperately seeking a means of escape. He began to plead, hoping to buy time, praying that passing guards would hear his cries and come to his rescue.

But his pleas fell on deaf ears.

Ten seconds later, a new arrow pierced his right shoulder, causing a guttural growl of pain to escape his lips. Agony wracked his body, and his vision blurred with tears.

"What have I done to you? Please spare me," he begged, his voice trembling with desperation. "I will do anything you ask; just spare me."

Dhruv remained silent, his eyes fixed on Charlie as if absorbed in some otherworldly task. Time stretched on, each passing second fraught with dread.

Another ten seconds passed, and a new arrow found its mark, this time burying itself in Charlie's left leg. The searing pain intensified, causing him to writhe in agony, his cries echoing off the cell's cold, unforgiving walls.

"Ughhhhhhhhh, you bastard!" He roared, his voice choked with anguish. "Please... plea... se... spa...re... m...e."

But his words came out in fragmented gasps, his strength waning with each passing moment. The ten-second interval felt like an eternity, tormenting him with the dread of what would come next.

A new arrow tore into his right leg, stealing away what little resolve he had left. Darkness closed in around him, his voice reduced to a feeble whisper.

"Pl...eas...e... s...pare..." he managed to utter, his words barely audible.

And then, after another excruciating ten seconds, a final arrow pierced Charlie's head, snuffing out his life. Silence descended upon the cell, broken only by the echoes of his final breath.