Chapter 145: Lost Cause

Chapter 144

"You damn bastard... Why must you and your guild members always stand in my way?" Drake Voss snarled, his voice laced with fury.

He stood a few meters away, glaring at the figure whose white and black hair split perfectly down the middle—a striking contrast that matched the intensity in his glowing blue eyes.

It was Han.

---

Flashback – One Hour Ago

Drake grinned as he looked down at the chaos unfolding below. The heroes were disoriented, caught between the sudden surge of monsters pouring from the portal and the merciless onslaught of the Red Vanguard.

Han stood nearby, his face calm but his eyes betrayed a glint of satisfaction.

"Let the chaos begin," Drake had whispered moments before the Red Vanguard launched their assault.

Empowered by high-ranking power weapons, the Red Vanguard cut through the heroes with brutal precision. The heroes, already overwhelmed by the portal beasts, were pushed to the brink.

Drake’s eyes glinted with greed. "Striker," he said sharply to the red-cloaked figure at his side, "Get the Evol Shard."



Striker gave a single nod before vanishing in a flash—his speed almost supernatural. In less than a second, he arrived at the pedestal where the coveted Evol Shard was held.

Just as his fingers stretched to seize it, a hand seized his wrist with crushing force.

"That doesn’t belong to you," Han’s voice cut through the noise, trembling with rage.

Before Striker could react, Han’s fist slammed into his chest like a meteor. The impact hurled Striker across the arena, his body crashing violently through the stone walls.

Han stepped toward the shard, ready to claim it. But as he reached for it, instinct kicked in—he threw both arms up to block a sudden strike.

An agonizing surge of pain coursed through him, forcing his body to convulse before he steadied himself. He was stunned. With over 20% resistance to lightning-based attacks and his high defense stats, Han had never felt such raw power.

He looked up.

Floating mid-air, body crackling with crimson lightning, was Striker—already back on his feet, his eyes alight with fury.

"You shouldn’t take that either," Striker sneered. "It doesn’t belong to you." His mocking tone mirrored Han’s earlier words.

Han realized: if he wanted the Evol Shard, Striker had to go first.

Blue energy flared in Han’s eyes as silver lightning began to crackle around him.

Striker raised a brow. "Fire and lightning affinity? That’s rare," he said, grinning with zero trace of fear.

Han struck first, unleashing a barrage of silver lightning bolts. Striker darted through them, countering with bolts of devastating red lightning. The clash was intense—Striker’s lightning was slower but far more destructive. A single red bolt could shatter three of Han’s.

But Han had the edge in speed, strength, and versatility. With his Analyzer Eye tracking every movement, he adapted quickly. The battle raged across the arena in a blur of light and thunder.

Each clash brought devastation—pillars collapsed, stone cracked, the arena groaned under the weight of their power.

Drake watched from afar, frowning.

He was no warrior. He’d said so himself—his skillset wasn’t combat-ready. With the tide turning, and his remaining forces—including the two Dark Emissaries—scattered or downed, he was forced to retreat.

Spectators fled, and soon, the only figures standing in the ruined arena were Han and Striker—locked in battle.

For a few tense minutes, no one emerged from the rubble.

Then, Han dropped from above, landing a few meters away from an enraged Drake.

_ _ _ _

Back to the Present...

"You talk about helping humanity?" Han said, his voice low, eyes blazing with fury. "How can you claim to help them—when you’re the one responsible for most of their suffering and death?"

Drake stared at Han for a moment. Then, he laughed.

Not a normal laugh—a wild, manic howl that echoed across the broken battlefield.

"You have no idea, kid," he said, his voice dancing between amusement and something far darker. "You don’t know what’s coming. I’m the only one who can stop it. I’m creating a way for humanity to survive. To survive the coming calamity."

Han narrowed his eyes, heart pounding. He didn’t understand what Drake meant, but one question burned in his mind—one he couldn’t ignore.

"So you’re saying... you’re willing to sacrifice hundreds of innocent lives to achieve your goals?"

Drake turned to face him, a glint of madness in his eyes.

"Hundreds?" he scoffed—and then burst into laughter again. "I would sacrifice thousands. Tens of thousands if that’s what it takes! You think I care about a few casualties when the world itself is on the brink?"

Han closed his eyes, steadying his breathing. When he opened them again, they were cold—emotionless.

"I don’t care what twisted vision you’re chasing anymore," Han said, raising a finger and pointing it at Drake. A massive fireball formed above it, swirling and compressing tighter... tighter... until it was the size of a needle, yet burning hotter than the sun.

"You’re a lost cause," Han said flatly. "And on top of it all—you’re a madman."

"Die."

The needle-sized flame exploded forward in a straight beam, ripping through the air at impossible speed. Drake’s eyes widened. He was too slow, too weak—death was certain.

But just before impact, his body flickered—and vanished.



The flame beam struck the rooftop where Drake had been standing, disintegrating it into nothing but dust and cinders.

Han’s cold gaze shifted to the side.

"You’re quite persistent," he muttered.

There stood Striker, bloodied and bruised but still upright, red lightning dancing across his body. His breathing was heavy, but his grin remained intact.

"I’ll be the one to kill you and your guild," Striker said, grinning like a savage beast.

Han shook his head slowly. "You’ve caught your leader’s insanity like a disease. Now you’re both infected."

He dropped into a sprinting stance, his body tense with energy.

"Might as well take care of the most troublesome one first," Han said.

"Fourth Jungle Art: Cheetah Stride."

And in a blur—he vanished.

---

Elsewhere...

The battlefield had been divided into zones.

The first unit, Combat Squad X, was tasked with cutting down as many portal monsters as possible and eliminating any bosses that emerged. Their job was pure destruction.

The second team, The Coordinators, had been dispatched to contact nearby hero guilds and call for backup. The more allies they could rally, the better their chances of surviving the onslaught.

The third group was the Rescue Division, assigned to protect civilians and non-awakeners. They guided people toward fortified safe zones or, if possible, to the docking area where ships waited to evacuate them.

But getting to the ships was no easy task. The portals were spawning monsters by the ton—beasts of every shape and rank.

Clara, leader of one of the Rescue Divisions, fought alongside her squad. Her Tech Suit flickered with energy, supported by a small fleet of drones whizzing around her. They were doing well—no, barely holding on would be more accurate.

Beside her, Laura unleashed a freezing wave that trapped several creatures in jagged ice. A few nearby heroes moved in, destroying the frozen monsters with precision strikes.

But it wasn’t enough.

They were exhausted, and the monsters just kept coming.

Clara had just finished blasting down what looked like a high B-rank beast when she heard Laura scream:

"Clara, MOVE!"

Clara turned—too late.

A massive beast loomed above her, its talons raised high, descending like a guillotine.

Too fast. Too sudden.

She didn’t even have time to scream.

Fwoom—BOOM!

A sickening splat echoed through the battlefield.

Clara blinked as warm, black blood splashed across her armor. Her breath caught in her throat. Slowly, she looked up—only to see the headless corpse of the eagle-like beast collapsing in front of her.

It was dead.

"I’m here to help," a firm voice said behind her.

Clara turned sharply, eyes wide—and gasped.

"Kalen...?" she breathed, stunned.

Of all people, she hadn’t expected her. Clara had been sure Kalen would’ve left the city long ago. She had every reason to. But there she stood—calm, determined, and alive.

Kalen, once feared as a high-ranking Smasher, now stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the heroes. Her battle-worn gear was scratched, her body slightly bruised—but her eyes burned with clarity and purpose. She glanced past Clara toward the terrified civilians huddled behind them, then spoke.

"I’ve done a lot of terrible things," Kalen said quietly. "As a Smasher... I destroyed lives. I ended too many to count. But not today. Today, I save them. As many as I can. Maybe it’s not enough—but it’s a start."



Clara felt her chest tighten—not from fear, but from something deeper.

Redemption.

She smiled.

"You’ve changed," Clara said, nodding. "And I’m glad you stayed."

Clara turned back to the others, raising her voice with renewed strength.

"Then let’s crank this up. We’re getting these people out—no matter what."

She tapped the center of her armored chest plate. A deep, resonant hum pulsed from the suit, blue lines flaring across the armor as it came to life.

"Version 2.0—activate." she commanded.

The tech suit shimmered with fresh energy, lights brightening like a dawn cutting through the dark.

Kalen stepped forward beside her, cracking her knuckles.

"Let’s finish this."

To be continued...