Apocalypse Baby-Chapter 250: Alien Race

Alex reformed inside a vast, white chamber.

He didn't land with a thud or stumble in confusion—he just appeared, like reality had snapped its fingers and dropped him there.

Silence hit him first.

Thick. Absolute. No wind. No hum. Not even the sound of his own breathing echoed back at him.

He glanced around.

The ground beneath his feet gleamed like polished marble, smooth and cold-looking, but it didn't feel cold. Overhead, the ceiling stretched so high it blurred into nothing—just an endless haze.

No doors. No windows. No walls.

Just white. Endless, glowing white that pulsed softly—like he was standing inside a living, breathing thing.

It reminded him of Oracle's room.

Sterile. Unsettling.

Before he could take a single step, a familiar chime cut through the silence,a glowing blue message blinked into view in front of him.

Ding!

[Welcome to the Second Selection of the Legacy Trial]

Alex raised an eyebrow and flicked his fingers through the air, opening his system interface.

His first thought was that his system had finished upgrading.

But as he checked, he saw that it was still upgrading.

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[System Upgrade: 47% Complete]

So… not quite.

The upgrade still wasn't done.

But apparently, he could still receive notifications.

That's convenient.

If the system had stayed completely silent until the upgrade was finished, he'd be walking blind through whatever madness came next.

He could still use his skills.

Still fight. Still, make enemies bleed.

And that was the only thing that mattered.

Then...

Ding!

Another notification blinked into existence.

This one looked different.

The text shimmered gold, stylized like the start of some ancient prophecy.

[You have now entered the Tournament of Eight]

[Sixty-Four Challengers Participating]

[Each is the top surviving representative of their people]

[The Strongest of Eight Races]

[You are one of them]

Alex muttered under his breath with an excited grin.

"Okay… this definitely sounds like something epic,"

Suddenly, the space around him changed.

Eight shimmering holograms burst to life, one by one—flickering like stars caught in mid-spin. They hovered in the air, slowly rotating in a perfect circle around him.

Not just images.

They felt alive. Like ancient monuments built from magic and memory.

Each one radiated energy—history, pride, raw strength.

Living symbols of entire civilizations.

Alex turned to the first glowing figure that rotated into view, its form elegant, sharp, and deadly.

Elves - Elegant warriors, naturally attuned to Emi. Their race wielded magic like an extension of breath. Elves specialized in precision, speed, and long-range combat—lethal with a bow or blade.

Beneath the description, a glowing 3D figure came to life.

An androgynous warrior formed from light and magic—long silver hair trailing behind them like mist. A flowing cloak danced around their body, shifting with invisible wind. Behind them, a sword floated silently in midair—untouched, weightless.

Their eyes stayed closed.

Then—snap—they moved.

A blur of motion. The blade sliced forward, carving through the air in an arc so clean it didn't look real. Effortless. Beautiful. Lethal.

Alex stood there, jaw slightly dropped, unable to look away.

Whoever designed this had truly outdone themselves.

It felt like watching art come to life.

Then the realization hit him.

Elves were real?

The fantasy world he'd imagined as a kid was becoming something tangible.

The impossible was right in front of him.

And then, the next figure rotated into view.

Dwarves — Stout, heavyset warriors with more stubbornness than body fat. Dwarves were living tanks—slow, yes, but absurdly durable. They didn't dodge. They didn't bend. They took hits, smiled, and hit back harder. And their gear? Always custom-forged, always enchanted, always deadly.

The 3D figure beneath the description was a stocky brute.

Bare-chested, his torso built like a forge wall.

His beard was thick, braided with metal rings. Even without armor, the guy looked unbreakable.

But then the armor came—chunky shoulder plates, glowing faintly from inside, as if still hot from the forge.

Blackened steel, trimmed with glowing runes that pulsed like a heartbeat.

His armor didn't gleam—it smoldered.

Charred edges, runic markings glowing faintly, like it had just been pulled out of a volcano.

He lifted a massive Warhammer with one hand—like it weighed nothing. Cracked his neck. Then stomped once, the holographic ground shuddering beneath his feet.

Alex blinked. "Cool."

He wasn't sure if Dwarves believed in subtlety.

But they definitely believed in force.

The next race to materialize was a unique one.

Animas - Hybrid creatures, part human, part animal. Each Anima bore traits of their beast-blood—jaguar speed, wolf instincts, and hawk vision. Fast. Fierce. Ferally intelligent. Their fighting style was wild and unpredictable.

The hologram below then shifted into focus, revealing a lithe woman, crouched low like a jungle cat ready to strike.

Her eyes gleamed bright yellow, slit like a predator's.

Black fur covered parts of her body in streaks: across her arms, down her legs, along the curve of her tail that twitched behind her with perfect balance.

Panther.

She flexed her fingers—long, curved claws clicking softly with each motion.

Then she sniffed the air and in the blink of an eye she vanished.

Then reappeared behind her own hologram.

Fangs bared. Eyes wild. A hunter's grin spread across her face.

Alex let out a low whistle.

"Half-human, half-animal, huh?"

To him these weren't just alien races—they were fantasy creatures.

Legends made real.

And he was in it. Living the dream.

He chuckled to himself, eyes still locked on the panther woman's tail as it flicked lazily.

"Maybe... if I get the chance... I could touch it."

"Just once."

Next race.

Demons – Not all demons are evil—but all of them are dangerous. Twisted magic, destructive auras, and unshakable egos defined them. They wielded cursed Emi like second nature—warping the battlefield, setting traps, and dominating through psychological pressure.

The 3D image of the demon was that of a crimson-skinned male with onyx horns and burning eyes floating just above the ground. His Emi pulsed erratically—fiery one second, shadowy the next. Sigils crawled across his skin like living tattoos. An eerie smile on his face.

"Nah."

Alex shook his head.

He wasn't buying that 'Not all are evil crap.'