Apocalypse: Transmigrated with an Overlord System
Chapter 224: Grief in the Heart of the Base

Chapter 224: Chapter 224: Grief in the Heart of the Base

The battle outside shook the very ground beneath the base.

And inside... it was no less cruel.

Smoke curled through the air like a mourning veil. The once-lively central plaza was now filled with the wounded and the dying. Blood stained the stone paths, seeping into the cracks as limp bodies were carried in one after another. Some were breathing. Some were not.

And some... were screaming.

A boy no older than sixteen cried out, clutching his leg as a trail of blood poured from a deep gash. He had been thrown from the west wall and dragged in by two fellow guards. One of them was still weeping—face pale, lips trembling—as he kept repeating, "I couldn’t save him... I couldn’t... I tried..."

Behind them, an older woman wailed as she knelt beside her son, who lay unconscious with his chest barely moving. Her cries tore through the air like a blade, echoing across the square, making those nearby freeze and lower their heads.

Everywhere, there were more scenes like that.

People sobbing into their hands. Some sitting silently in shock, staring blankly at the blood on their clothes. Children crying in confusion as their mothers held them tight, whispering hollow words of comfort that didn’t match the fear in their own eyes.

Mei knelt beside a wounded man, her hands glowing faintly as she poured her healing ability into him. Her face was streaked with tears, but she didn’t stop.

"Don’t fall asleep," she whispered, voice cracking. "Stay with me. Just a little more."

The man’s eyes fluttered weakly, his breathing ragged.

"I’m sorry," he whispered. "I couldn’t... stop them..."

"You did enough," Mei said, her voice shaking as she pressed harder on his wound. "You made it back. That’s enough."

A few feet away, Old Man Zhou was working without pause. His white beard was stained red at the ends, and sweat poured down his wrinkled face as he crushed herbs and poured mixtures into open wounds.

"Someone hold this down!" he barked. "He’s convulsing!"

Two residents rushed to help, pressing down a young girl whose body thrashed from the poison running through her veins. Her skin was pale, her eyes wide with terror.

"I don’t want to die," she gasped, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. "Please... I don’t want to die..."

"You won’t," Old Zhou said firmly, his voice both rough and steady. "Not while I still have hands."

He reached for a dark blue potion and poured it carefully into her mouth, holding her jaw shut until she swallowed.

"Don’t cry, little one," he said softly as her breathing began to calm. "Your story doesn’t end today."

Around them, dozens of volunteers were working like their lives depended on it—because they did. They moved back and forth, carrying bandages, stitching wounds, cleaning blood, and replacing potions. Some had never touched a weapon in their life, yet now their hands were shaking from carrying the wounded.

An old woman with cloudy eyes sat near the edge of the plaza, holding a bloody cloth to her mouth as she tried to stifle her sobs. A younger girl beside her, barely ten years old, wrapped her arms around her and whispered, "Grandma, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m here..."

And yet, the tears kept falling.

A father clung to his son’s body, refusing to let go. "He said he’d come back," he muttered over and over again. "He promised me he’d come back..."

No one had the heart to pry him away.

The sirens still echoed faintly in the distance, mixed with the roars of the mutated beasts outside. Every boom from the west wall made the wounded flinch, and every time a new body was brought in, a new cry followed.

"Get out of the way!" someone shouted.

Two guards came rushing in, carrying a woman whose entire side had been torn open. Blood gushed from her wounds, soaking the floor beneath her.

Mei ran over without hesitation, hands already glowing.

"She needs blood. Fast!"

Another volunteer dashed away to fetch supplies, while Mei pressed down on the wound with trembling hands. Her voice was calm, but her eyes were brimming with panic.

"You’re going to be okay," she whispered, though her throat felt tight. "You’re strong. Just hold on."

Behind them, Old Man Zhou gave instructions to a group of teen boys and girls mixing potions.

"Three drops of the red vial. Then the yellow. No more. You give too much and they won’t wake up," he warned, his voice stern but urgent.

The kids nodded quickly, hands shaking as they worked. They weren’t trained medics. They were just residents. But now, they were all that stood between life and death.

A mother clutched her daughter tightly in a corner, shielding her eyes from the blood and horror. The little girl cried softly into her shoulder. "Will the monsters come inside?"

"No," the mother said, voice soft but fierce. "As long as Miss Liora stands, they won’t."

That name gave many people strength.

Liora.

The one who stood at the gate. The one who didn’t retreat. Even now, even as the base shook with destruction, her figure had not fallen.

Xu Kai stood near one of the walls, watching everything unfold in stunned silence.

He had seen the horde outside. He had seen the courage of the fighters. But this... this was the true cost of war.

The hopelessness.

The grief.

The tears that didn’t stop even when the blood did.

And yet, no one gave up.

Even when hands shook. Even when their knees buckled from exhaustion. They kept going. Because if they didn’t... no one else would.

"Another one!" someone cried, as a young man was brought in, barely breathing.

"No more space!" a medic shouted. "Put him by the stairs!"

"We’ll make space," Mei said firmly, standing up and rushing over. "We have to."

And so they did.

Because even if the sky was falling... they would hold it up with their hands.