Apocalypse Hunter

**Chapter 8: The Final Act**

The situation spiraled further out of control as Arthur’s brutal elbow strike crushed the pumpkin-masked man’s throat cartilage. Gasping for air, the masked man writhed on the ground, his hands clutching his neck as though letting go would cause his head to fall off. His vision remained a pitch-black void.

Arthur rubbed his muscular waist, his golden right eye dimming slightly but still radiating a chilling murderous intent. He planted his katana into the ground and tore off his tattered camouflage jacket, discarding it with a grand gesture.

“Susan, let’s go!” Arthur commanded, striding powerfully toward the bar’s exit.

Susan, dragging a bloodied and battered Marshall, followed closely. Her hunter’s instincts kept her back guarded against the soldiers’ laser sights as she edged toward the door. Her fingers gripped Marshall’s throat, keeping him hostage as she retreated step by step.

As Susan cleared the bar, the thundering DJ music exploded back to life, wild and electrifying.

The soldiers outside dared not move, not even to ready their weapons. One wrong move could mean accidentally killing Marshall, a man notorious for his ruthlessness and vindictiveness. Threatening his life was a gamble no soldier wanted to take.

“If you want your dear minister to die in the desert, just follow me,” Arthur sneered, his black hair rippling like a shadow demon’s mane in the night wind.

The soldiers stood frozen, exchanging uncertain glances. The lure of glory and accomplishment tempted them, but fear held them in place as they watched the madman and his captives disappear into the pitch-black night.

A few daring soldiers began to tail them discreetly, but as they reached the base’s gate, a tiny stone whizzed through the air, smashing one soldier’s skull with terrifying precision and force. His brain matter splattered, and the others retreated in fear.

Hidden in the shadows of the S187 Base’s main building, a figure chuckled softly before melting back into the darkness.

“Imagine this, Minister Marshall,” Arthur began, sitting atop a weathered, acid-rain-pitted rock. He lovingly caressed his katana as though it were a treasured lover. His voice, soft yet suffused with bloodlust, filled the air. “You and I, having a heart-to-heart in this godforsaken wasteland. How romantic.”

Marshall, though bruised and bloodied, hadn’t learned his lesson. “If you hadn’t dirtied my new suit, this wouldn’t have happened. Isn’t that right, Arthur? You’re always so arrogant, thinking you’re above everyone else. I despise that about you.”

Susan’s thin lips pursed in annoyance, her icy blue eyes radiating a lethal intent colder than the desert wind. Her arms, taut with muscle, flexed as her grip tightened. It was clear Marshall’s words had struck a nerve.

“Even if I didn’t provoke you today, you’d have come after me eventually. You’re like a serpent—never satisfied. How long have you been scheming to get my green card, hmm? Only a fool wouldn’t see through your plans,” Arthur said evenly, his attention fixed on his blade. The shadows hid his expression.

“Oh!” Marshall feigned shock, though his tone was dismissive. “Everyone knows I love money, but robbing a lowly hunter? That’s beneath me.”

“You’ve siphoned off countless hunters’ hard-earned rewards, all while pretending to be a gentleman. And let’s not forget your bribes,” Susan interjected, her tone sharp as a blade. She drew her solid black rod, ready to strike.

Arthur smirked, his golden eye glinting like a predator’s in the dark. Marshall, sensing the danger, felt his slicked-back hair bristle as every cell in his body screamed to flee.

But it was too late. As he turned, Susan’s iron rod smashed into his face with a sickening “clang.” The sound of metal meeting bone echoed in the desolate night.

“I don’t understand why you wouldn’t let me finish him off with one blow,” Susan complained, sliding her rod back into its sheath.

“His men will be here soon. No need to make things messier than they already are,” Arthur replied, sheathing his katana as he leapt off the rock and vanished into the night.

Susan hesitated, then followed. After a few steps, she turned back, an impish grin on her face. With deliberate force, she delivered a heavy kick to Marshall’s groin before rushing to catch up with Arthur.

As dawn approached, the desert became a haven for mutated creatures. Their rustling movements and audacious behavior marked them as the true rulers of the night.

One grotesque creature, its head covered in layered growths, scuttled on six legs past a broken wall. Its bulbous red nose sniffed the air, searching for the scent of rotting flesh. Frustrated by its failure, it let out a furious roar before shaking its oversized ears and moving on.

Behind the wall, Arthur crouched, his thin clothing offering no protection against the biting cold. Yet he did not shiver. His golden eye glowed faintly, radiating a wolf-like vigilance.

Watching the creature leave, Arthur’s tension eased slightly. He glanced at the sleeping girl beside him, his fingers brushing her crystalline skin gently.

Drawing on his energy, he created a force field that sealed their scent within a three-meter radius, shielding them from detection.

Arthur marveled at his body’s unique abilities—his rapid healing, his ability to generate force fields. Unlike others, these traits hadn’t come from enhancement points; they had been with him since birth. Whether they were blessings or curses, he couldn’t say.

He also possessed one other gift: the golden eye, a natural targeting and scanning device that had safeguarded him his entire life.

As the strange creature disappeared into the night, Arthur closed his eyes to rest, pondering where to head next when dawn broke.