Apocalypse Hunter

**Chapter 7: Exiled**

The sudden eruption of conflict left everyone in the bar stunned.

Some watched with delight, others with amazement or disdain, while a few remained indifferent. Their faces reflected a spectrum of emotions, as if they were enjoying a spectacular movie.

Arthur gritted his teeth, his trembling hand gripping the katana, its cold steel glinting. Yet the blade remained suspended, refusing to strike Marshall’s wrinkled throat.

“What am I afraid of?” Arthur’s racing heart questioned.

“Kill him!” Susan urged, her grip tightening on the solid rod she held, ready to react to any change in the situation.

“Thud!” Arthur shifted the katana, thrusting the hilt into Marshall’s meticulously shaved chin. Ignoring the dozens of green laser sights trained on his back, he struck with such force that Marshall’s jaw turned a sickly shade of purple. The man groaned and slumped to the floor, unconscious, his aluminum high stool clattering noisily to the ground.

The armored soldiers, clad in black soft armor, exchanged nervous glances as they moved to surround Marshall. Yet they hesitated, unwilling to fire as long as Susan maintained her grip on their superior.

A sudden black whirlwind surged through the crowd, its imperceptible speed slicing through the soldiers and hurtling toward Arthur, who was moving closer to Susan.

“Arthur!” Susan shouted, tightening her grip on Marshall’s throat. Beneath her jade-like fingers, his Adam’s apple bobbed like gelatin, struggling to draw breath.

Arthur barely had time to lock his golden eye on the incoming figure before a massive force slammed into him. His vision blacked out as he was lifted, spun violently in the air, and then thrown with crushing force.

“Crash!” Arthur’s back exploded with pain as he collided with a steel pole used by the dancers. The impact bent the pole into a twisted, uneven arc.

His waist felt as if it had snapped. Collapsed on the floor, his eyelids drooped like lead weights. The blurred figures crowding around him were indistinct, while the shrieks of topless dancers echoed incoherently in his ears.

A shadow loomed over him—a man wearing a grotesque pumpkin mask. The cold face behind the mask remained hidden.

“Who are you?” Susan demanded, her tone sharp as she eyed the hideous mask with suspicion.

The masked man answered with silence.

The booming DJ music continued, but the scene had grown cold and tense. No one had the heart to dance anymore; all eyes were fixed on the unfolding drama.

Marshall, still slumped in Susan’s arms, groaned as he regained consciousness. Realizing the situation, his scorpion-like eyes glared at Arthur, who was struggling on the ground. Marshall’s lips curled into a sneer of contempt.

“Stop struggling. There’s no escape. Hand over all fifty thousand of your savings, and I’ll guarantee safe passage for you and the lady choking me,” Marshall said with a tone more akin to extortion than negotiation.

“Shut your filthy mouth!” Susan snapped, her fingers digging deeper into his throat. Her knee drove upward into Marshall’s vulnerable lower back, causing him to gasp and convulse, his eyes rolling back.

“Has no one ever taught you manners, young lady?” the pumpkin-masked man said coldly, clearly angered by Susan’s actions.

With a sudden movement, the masked man grabbed Arthur, lifting him effortlessly. His fingers locked around Arthur’s throat like a vice, squeezing until cold sweat poured down Arthur’s face. Struggling to speak was impossible; his arms flailed helplessly.

“Let him go, or I’ll—” Susan’s voice trembled as her golden curls clung to her damp forehead. She was visibly tense, worried for Arthur’s safety.

“Pathetic. Hiding behind a woman’s protection,” the masked man sneered, his voice dripping with mockery as he leaned closer to Arthur’s ear.

Arthur’s face contorted in pain. No matter how much he struggled, the masked man’s grip was unyielding.

“Try drawing your revolver and see if it’s faster than my Desert Eagle,” Arthur hissed through gritted teeth.

The pumpkin-masked man chuckled disdainfully. “Do I look like a cowboy? Don’t insult my intelligence with your primitive logic.”

Susan maintained her hold on Marshall, while the masked man continued to restrain Arthur. Around them, a circle of armored soldiers stood with laser guns drawn, their sights locked on the two.

The standoff dragged on. The commotion eventually reached the higher-ups of S187 Base, but none appeared in person. Instead, an additional hundred soldiers were dispatched to encircle the bar.

What had started as a personal dispute between subordinates and their superior escalated into a full-blown standoff, casting Arthur as a rogue hunter challenging the base’s authority.

For three hours, the tense standoff held.

Arthur broke the silence with a wry smile. “S187 is a joke. I took out the leader of C12 Base and cleared out a horde of mad corpses, yet I haven’t earned a single coin. Instead, I’m expected to pay with my life. What a farce.”

His black hair cascaded over his face like a waterfall, obscuring his left eye. The golden glow of his right eye intensified, the four segments of his pupil colliding in rapid succession. His vision was filled with red circles and geometric patterns that shifted and locked onto targets.

Every armored soldier in his line of sight was marked—except for the detestable man behind him.

Susan’s heart pounded as she noticed Arthur’s subtle transformation. She silently prayed for the situation to de-escalate.

“What are you planning? Don’t even think about it. You’ll regret it,” the masked man growled, tightening his grip and forcing Arthur’s head against his chest.

In that instant, Arthur’s golden eye flared with a blinding light, as intense as a magnesium flash but magnified hundreds of times.

The bystanders, unable to shield themselves in time, were temporarily blinded, some crying out in pain. The pumpkin-masked man, having directly faced Arthur’s eye, was hit hardest.

Fifteen seconds of blindness was all Arthur needed.

Seizing the opportunity, he twisted out of the masked man’s grasp and delivered a brutal elbow to his throat. The man collapsed, clutching his neck and gasping for air as a wheezing, rasping sound escaped his throat.

“I don’t need your mercy, and you’ll never get a single coin from me, you bastard!” Arthur spat, his voice filled with venom. He followed his words with a punch to Marshall’s face, breaking his nose.

The surrounding soldiers, protected by helmets designed to withstand light and radiation, were unaffected by the flare. Seeing their commander beaten, they quickly closed in on Arthur and Susan.

Marshall’s face was a bloody mess, his broken nose and bleeding eyes painting him as a grotesque figure from a distance.