Beyond the Apocalypse
Chapter 507: Amara’s skills

Chapter 507: Amara’s skills

Overlord’s gaze swept across the gathered officers, his words resonating with a cold precision that matched his demeanor. "These clusters represent the human-run groups or factions we will encounter in Oceanis. My Sentinels have already collected extensive intelligence. Some of these factions are in extremely precarious condition, barely surviving. Once they witness the might of the Xaos Kingdom and realize the security we can provide, I am confident they will gladly join the Xaos Civilization."

At that point, Overlord paused, letting his aura turn notably frigid and detached. He continued in a low tone that carried a solemn finality. "But we must also prepare for individuals who would rather stir up violence than relinquish power. I have identified multiple examples that are not far from our current location. We will have to take certain steps before even contemplating a diplomatic approach."

A tense hush settled over the group. Their thoughts circled back to earlier discussions about dealing with troublesome leaders. Each and every person recognized a brutal truth: when faced with losing their hold on power, certain despots might well lead their people to a senseless death rather than cede control. The Xaos Kingdom could not, and would not, permit such tyranny. They had already devised measures to address exactly that scenario.

All eyes shifted in unison to Amara, a Royal Guard and renowned master assassin. She stood unflinching under their scrutiny, entirely composed. Her bearing and steady gaze spoke to her acceptance of the lethal missions assigned to her. Her voice showed no hesitation or doubt as she said, "My team is prepared. We will move as soon as Overlord gives us the final packets detailing our targets."

Vlad glanced at the young woman and nodded, satisfied he could rely on her unwavering loyalty and skill. He recalled that even when she had only been a Champion, she had infiltrated a city teeming with angels and managed to inflict serious wounds on their leader. Now that she had progressed to Guardian-level power, there was little to threaten her. The real challenge here was remaining undetected: it was of utmost importance that no evidence trace the disappearances of these problematic individuals back to the Xaos Kingdom.

For several hours afterward, the group continued their discussions, meticulously plotting the order of operations, the timetable for the next advance, as well as short- and long-term objectives. By the time dawn light spilled across the horizon, each person understood precisely the role they would play.

That same morning, hundreds of Xaos Warships departed from the fortified shoreline, carrying thousands of highly trained soldiers on board. Almost simultaneously, shadows flickered across the sand, vanishing at shocking speed toward the nearest human-controlled settlement.

Meanwhile, hundreds of thousands of additional soldiers departed from the stronghold. Grand Marshal Anglius and Freya led one of the primary battalions, assigned to confront a sizeable horde of demons. Overhead, Fafnir soared through the sky, followed by hundreds of thousands of Thiamatos units. Their designated objective was a menacing forest that harbored a savage congregation of Monsters.

High above them all, Vlad floated with an unyielding expression, watching as soldiers marched forward below. Although their mission could be called noble—they planned to protect the human population of Oceanis and introduce them to a better future—he was keenly aware of the inherent irony. The Xaos Kingdom was an invading force, imposing dominion upon everything it surveyed.

Taking a measured breath, a steeled determination gleamed in Vlad’s eyes as he set out toward his own destination. His role was just as critical as the others, perhaps even more so, because these first steps would set the tone for the entire conquest.

A medium-sized city dotted the coast of Oceanis, bearing some resemblance to Xaos City, yet that was where any likeness ended. The battered structures amounted to little more than patched-up remains from before the apocalypse. The streets were littered with demon remains, so abundant that the townspeople had ceased trying to burn or bury them.

Conditions for the living proved equally dismal, teetering on the brink of desperation. Exhaustion, hunger, and despair permeated the atmosphere. And still, by some miracle, no serious crime plagued the place. Someone, somewhere, was imposing a semblance of order, ensuring that at least minimal justice existed.

A middle-aged man stood on the top floor of the city’s tallest surviving building. Unlike the bulk of the population, who looked gaunt and malnourished, he radiated a robust vitality. Around him lay an opulent spread of delicacies—enough to feed tens, even hundreds—arrogantly displayed in his private chamber. Gazing out over the urban sprawl, he smirked to himself. Hunger and fatigue among the citizens meant nothing to him; as far as he was concerned, their only purpose was to cater to his every desire.

"Boss, things have gotten pretty dull lately," announced a bald man sprawled on a plush couch, an unsettling grin lighting his features. "Why don’t we bring over a few little birds to keep us company?"

His suggestion elicited a chorus of nods and wicked smiles from the other sycophants in the room. The man they called "Boss" returned their glances, a faint smile playing on his lips before letting out a small sigh. "You’re right, we’re bored. But that fool of a lawman is watching our every move, so we can’t indulge ourselves like we used to."

"But, Boss, you’re a lot stronger than that naive idiot. You could swat him like a fly," one of his entourage chimed in, clearly trying to flatter him. A self-satisfied grin momentarily graced the leader’s features, only for annoyance to resurface a moment later.

"It’s true I could crush him," he admitted, "but I still need that do-gooder and his men. Demons have been attacking nonstop, and I need them to fend off those beasts. Once they’re no longer useful, they’ll meet their end because this city belongs to me."

He ended those words with a final flourish, confident in his own grandeur and expecting his followers to echo his sentiments. His prideful eyes swept the room, only to find an eerie silence. Where he had anticipated praise and sycophancy, he found something else entirely: his entire entourage lay motionless on the floor, not so much as twitching. They appeared not even to be breathing.

A chill raced up the leader’s spine as he spun, scanning for the threat. His gaze fell on a lone figure in the center of the opulent room: a young, striking woman cloaked in swirling shadows, watching him with a detached coolness. Terror clawed at his insides while realization sank in. Somehow, this woman had slain everyone in total silence, bypassing the man’s senses without the slightest alarm.

Yet, as dread clutched his heart, he was not one to surrender easily. A lifetime of violent power grabs had hardened him. Summoning his energy, he prepared to unleash his full might, fervently hoping to overwhelm her. But the moment he tried to ignite his Force, his strength evaporated as if crushed under a colossal weight. His legs buckled, and he collapsed forward, body spasming in painful jolts. Seconds later, the last light fled his eyes, and his chest stilled.

Only in that final, limp moment did the nature of his wound become apparent. A near-invisible slash ran across his back, slicing arteries and nearly detaching the heart from within. Such a masterful strike could only be accomplished by one wholly versed in death-dealing.

Indeed, Amara was that master assassin. She had completed the kill with such stealth that not even the slightest hint reached the man or his companions. After ensuring each member of the entourage was dead, she inspected the leader’s remains with clinical precision.

With a subtle gesture of her hand, shadows coiled around the bodies, devouring every hint of blood and flesh until nothing remained. Satisfied that no trace of the incident lingered, she stepped away from the center of the room. Silently, her figure dissolved into the darkness, disappearing as swiftly as she had come. Venturing beyond the building’s shattered doorway, she navigated the desolate streets with supernatural grace. Her next target awaited, and she was nothing if not thorough.

---

Two days later, in another building within the same beleaguered city, a handsome middle-aged man with a sheriff’s star pinned to his chest slammed his fist on a stone table. Rage etched across his face as he barked, "What do you mean Albert and his men are gone?"

The deputy standing before him shifted uncomfortably, his expression a mix of frustration and unease. "It’s just as I told you, Rayland. That man and his cronies are nowhere to be found. In fact, it looks like his entire faction has vanished from the city."

"Those bastards!" Rayland spat, his voice thick with anger. "They deserted us when we needed them the most!"

Another voice from the back of the room chimed in, dripping with venom. "Damn criminals! We tolerated them only because they helped with the demons. Now they’re gone, abandoning us right when things get bad. We should’ve killed them all when we had the chance!"

Rayland heard the rage in his men’s voices, and he shared their feelings. Personally, he had always loathed Albert, but the uneasy alliance had been a necessary evil to keep the city standing. Now, with Albert and his men gone, the city was in serious danger—especially given the latest report from their scouts: a massive horde of demons was making its way toward them.

"Dammit!" Rayland growled, slamming his fist down again. He allowed himself a moment to vent his frustration before inhaling deeply. The anger didn’t fade entirely, but it was tempered by a surge of determination. His gaze sharpened as he straightened his posture and addressed the room.

"Mobilize all our men. We must defend the city. Even if those bastards are gone, we’ll fight without them. If we don’t face the demons head-on, it will mean the death of every child, elder, and woman in this place."

The men in the room, a mix of deputies, militia members, and civilian volunteers, exchanged grim looks. They knew the battle ahead would be brutal, and they counted themselves lucky if even half of them survived. But they were not cowards, and Rayland’s words sparked a steely resolve in their hearts. They nodded in agreement and immediately began preparing for the imminent fight.