Entering Apocalypse in Easy-Mode-Chapter 586: The Dream

The remaining people in the safe zone stood frozen. The two men who had been standing beside the leader stared at the corpse on the ground, then at Clyde, their mouths hanging open.

Blood pooled around the man named Marlon’s headless body, still warm, and still steaming faintly in the cold air.

They did not respond to Clyde’s question.

For a few heartbeats, nothing happened. Because they havent been able to registered it.

Then it finally registered.

"What... what the hell just happened?" someone whispered.

"He... he just killed Marlon with one slash!"

A tremor ran through the group. Fear spread fast, crawling from face to face.

"What are you doing?" another man shouted, his voice cracking. "Kill them!"

No one moved.

They only stared at Clyde and Mina, shock locking their limbs in place. They had seen killing before, but not like this. Not effortless and clean like this. This death was done by someone who looked more exhausted than excited.

That scared them more than their rage.

Clyde’s cold and heavy eyes swept over them. More tired than alert.

"Come on," he said flatly. "I want to sleep."

That words broke the silencr.

A woman screamed and rushed forward, weapon raised. Her charge jolted the others out of their paralysis.

Shouts erupted as several thugs followed her, desperation pushing them into motion.

Clyde moved as well and magic surged through his arm and poured into the Demonic sword. The blade hummed louder, vibrating with dense power.

He stepped forward and slashed.

One strike split a man cleanly in half. Another slash took a head from shoulders. A third slash carved through armor and bone. Every swing was precise with no wasted movement or hesitation.

They died fast.

Mina also moved with him, her daggers flashing as she slipped between enemies. Throats opened, spines were pierced, then bodies fell before screams could fully form.

It was not a battle. It was an execution.

When the last body hit the ground, only ten thugs remained.

They backed away instinctively, pressing themselves against the inner edge of the safe zone.

Terror twisted their faces. Weapons shook in their hands, but none dared to raise them.

Clyde stepped fully into the safe zone.

"I’ll let you live," he said calmly, "if you leave. Now."

The remaining ten flinched.

"B-but... where do we go?" one of them stammered.

"I don’t care," Clyde replied. "You were part of the group that wanted me dead. I won’t rest with you here. If you hadn’t shown aggression, maybe I would’ve let you stay."

His gaze hardened.

"Now get out!"

They did not argue.

One by one, the thugs stumbled out of the safe zone, disappearing into the moving city rather than risk another second in front of him.

Silence returned.

Clyde sighed and lowered himself onto the concrete, his body finally giving in to exhaustion.

The Demonic sword rested beside him, its hum fading to a low whisper.

Mina sat down near him while still alert, eyes scanning the barrier and the moving streets beyond.

"I’ll sleep for a bit," Clyde said quietly. "Guard for me. Then we’ll take turns."

Mina nodded once.

"Okay."

Clyde closed his eyes. He let himself rest for a bit.

Clyde drifted into sleep the moment his breathing evened out.

Then the world dissolved.

Thick and smothering Heat wrapped around him first. The air burned his lungs with every breath. When his senses returned, he found himself moving through a vast cavernous realm carved from blackened stone.

Rivers of lava flowed like veins through the ground, casting a violent orange glow against jagged walls. Fire geysers erupted in the distance, painting the ceiling with flickering shadows.

He was not walking. He was flying.

His body moved effortlessly through the air, drawn forward by something he could not see but instinctively understood. Beneath him, Demon soldiers marched in endless columns. Their armor was fused to their flesh. They have horned helmets and blades dripping molten heat.

They did not look up. They did not acknowledge him.

Far ahead, rising from the sea of fire, stood a massive castle.

It was built from obsidian rock and bleached bones stacked into towering spires. Chains as thick as buildings hung from its walls and vanished into the lava below. Crimson light pulsed faintly from cracks in its structure.

Clyde flew straight toward it.

He passed through gates without resistance. Inside, the castle opened into a colossal chamber.

At its center stretched a long platform of black stone, suspended above a vast lake of lava. The heat rolled upward in waves, distorting the air.

At the far end of the platform stood a throne.

It was carved from rock and piled high with bones. Skulls embedded into its sides stared outward in eternal silence. Power pressed down on the space around it, ancient and suffocating.

Before the throne stood a figure that Clyde was familiar with.

A towering Demon King. Asmodeus.

Clyde knew him instantly. The same presence and the same aura.

Asmodeus sat still, his massive frame turned slightly away. His gaze was lowered, focused on the ground at his feet, as if lost in thought.

Clyde drifted closer.

The moment his vision crossed a certain distance, Asmodeus stiffened.

His head snapped up. His Massive eyes locked directly onto Clyde.

The Demon King jolted as if struck.

"What...?"

His voice boomed through the cavern with shock rippling through every word.

Clyde was just as shocked as Asmodeus was. He had no idea what had just happened or why he was here, standing in front of the Demon King . His thoughts raced, but instinct cut through the confusion.

This might be a chance.

He acted before he could overthink it.

"Asmodeus," Clyde called out. "Can you hear me?"

He could hear himself clearly, but he had no way of knowing if the Demon King could hear him.

Asmodeus stared at him, his massive form unmoving.

"Clyde..." the Demon King said slowly, uncertainty heavy in his voice.

"It’s me," he said quickly. "Can you hear me?"

Asmodeus did not answer.

Instead, his expression changed. His brows furrowed. He shook his head slowly, as if rejecting what he was seeing.

Clyde heard him murmur, low and disbelieving.

"...Impossible."

A sharp curse formed in Clyde’s chest.

Before he could say anything else, the world lurched.

The heat vanished. The cavern cracked apart like glass. An invisible force seized his consciousness and yanked it backward.

The realm of fire collapsed into darkness.

Clyde was pulled out of the dream.

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