Apocalypse Baby-Chapter 153: Bad Choice [1]

Alex sighed the moment he heard it.

His head tilted downward, shoulders slumping slightly.

Called it.

The beast lord always had a trick up its sleeve, something twisted, something designed to mess with him. He’d seen this kind of setup before—been through it. And if the people around him made the wrong choice, he wouldn’t hesitate.

When he finally lifted his gaze, his eyes scanned the room—and immediately, he saw it.

Hostile stares.

The players, the very ones who had fought alongside him, were now eyeing him like a prize, calculating, hesitating, their minds already spinning with possibilities.

Alex sighed again, this time more tired than annoyed, his voice a quiet mutter:

"Seriously? I have to do this again?"

Ezekiel’s reaction was immediate. He clicked his tongue, his jaw clenching as he processed the condition. His disbelief turned into irritation before he finally spoke:

"This has to be a joke, right?"

But the undead vendor was unfazed, its eerie green eyes gleaming with amusement.

"It isn’t," it said, completely serious. Then, it repeated itself, word for word—just to drive the point home:

"As long as Player 666 is dead, every single one of you gets an Exit Key."

Exit Key?

Alex’s eyes narrowed as he turned toward Freya.

Out of everyone here, she was the one he was most curious about. Her choice mattered the most to him.

But first, there was something more pressing.

"Freya, what the hell is an Exit Key?"

She frowned, confusion flickering across her face.

"You didn’t get the notification?"

Alex shook his head.

Freya’s expression tightened. Then, she nodded in understanding.

Figures.

Since the condition to get the Exit Key was to kill Alex, why would the system even bother showing it to him?

Taking a deep breath, she explained:

"The Exit Key can be used on the door to the next trial. But instead of moving forward, it lets us escape the Nightmare entirely."

Alex’s eyes widened. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a grin.

Ah. Now it made sense.

No wonder the others were staring at him like that.

Conflicted. Hesitant. Tempted.

Some had even gulped, their hands twitching at their sides, weighing their choices.

He couldn’t blame them.

But if anyone made the wrong choice…

He wouldn’t forgive them.

Ezekiel felt a cold shiver run down his spine.

Kill Alex to get a way out?

Was that even possible?

His mind raced, recalling everything he had seen so far.

Alex was a monster.

He had wiped out a Titan Undead with a single devastating attack. His explosion ability alone was enough to turn the battlefield into ash.

There was no way any of them stood a chance.

But then, a dangerous thought crept in.

Alex was weakened now.

Ezekiel’s hands clenched into fists.

Wait… Are you actually considering it?

He felt his chest tighten. His own reaction startled him.

If he wasn’t thinking about it, then why was he worried about how powerful Alex was?

A sense of unease settled in his gut.

Slowly, he turned to face Alex.

Their eyes met.

Alex didn’t look angry. Didn’t look scared.

Instead, he just grinned.

Completely unfazed.

His expression was unreadable, but one thing was clear—he knew exactly what was going through Ezekiel’s head.

And that alone sent a chill down Ezekiel’s spine.

But did that even matter?

Ezekiel’s jaw tightened.

Alex wasn’t normal. That much was obvious. Maybe this was the price for breaking the rules—for causing chaos in the maze.

But was that really an excuse?

Now you’re just looking for a reason.

Still, he needed to confirm.

Ezekiel took a step forward, his voice steady but laced with doubt.

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"If I may ask… why do we have to kill him? Did he do something wrong?"

Does it matter? Ezekiel thought to himself.

The undead vendor tilted its head slightly, its glowing green eyes locked onto him.

Then, it spoke.

"Does it matter?"

Ezekiel’s breath hitched.

That was the exact thought that had just crossed his mind.

The undead grinned wider, its voice like a whispering taunt.

"Your freedom lies in killing that man over there. It’s either you do it… or you don’t. It’s as simple as that."

Ezekiel’s hands curled into fists.

It wasn’t simple.

Not at all.

But the undead was right about one thing—he was stalling.

Deep down, he was dragging this out to avoid making a choice.

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And looking around at the others, he could see the same hesitation reflected in their eyes.

None of them wanted to be the first to decide.

Because once someone did…

Everything would spiral out of control.

A player crept closer to Ezekiel, voice low, barely above a whisper.

"He’s right. We should do it."

Ezekiel’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing.

It was the man Ezekiel had gestured to check out the exit, named Kieran.

Kieran swallowed, then added, staring at Alex nervously:

"Especially now that he seems exhausted."

Ezekiel turned his gaze toward Alex, who was sitting on the ground, still and silent.

It was the perfect opportunity.

Ezekiel had witnessed Alex fight firsthand. The explosive power, the raw strength, the abilities far beyond what any of them could handle.

But now?

Alex looked drained, his body slumped, his breaths slow. The sheer effort it must have taken to blow the maze to oblivion had clearly left him burnt out.

If they waited and he recovered…

They wouldn’t stand a chance.

So why not strike now?

The air grew thick, the tension spreading like wildfire.

Freya felt it.

She felt the weight of the moment crushing down on her as every set of eyes in the room slowly turned to Alex, gazes filled with hostility, greed, and fear.

She could tell what they were thinking, and she hated it.

She had heard Alex mutter his complaint earlier, that annoyed sigh, the way he had muttered, "Seriously? I have to do this again?"

And that pissed her off.

That he even had to make this choice in the first place.

The players murmured among themselves, their hushed voices buzzing like an uneasy swarm.

All eyes kept flicking toward Ezekiel, waiting. Watching.

He stood at the center of it all, his stance unreadable.

Was he for this? Against it?

Freya’s stomach twisted.

Her image of him—the leader who wanted everyone to survive—had cracked. Shattered.

She had no idea what the tank was thinking anymore.

Back in the first trial, he had made it clear that every action he took was about his own survival—which, at the time, was justifiable.

But now?

Now, she wanted to see just how far he’d go.

Would he stay true to that mindset?

Would he cross that line if it meant saving himself?

Her gaze locked onto Ezekiel’s.

Silence.

And in that brief exchange—the flicker in his eyes, the way his fingers twitched—Freya understood.

He had made his choice.

Ezekiel sighed and reached for his sword.

The quiet scrape of metal filled the air.

Around him, others followed suit—hands hovering over their weapons, hesitating, but ready.

Freya’s jaw clenched.

Her fists tightened.

Rage burned inside her.

She gritted her teeth, barely holding back the fury threatening to explode.

They were really going to do this?