Damian Cross: Almighty Apocalypse System

Chapter 10

At that exact moment, Damien felt his entire body go rigid with shock, and it was not the shock of receiving another system mission that froze him in place, it was the single word attached to that mission, a name that struck something deep and painful inside him the second it registered in his mind.

Whitmore.

That name alone was enough to send a cold shiver crawling up his spine, a name he had never once expected to hear again so soon, a name that belonged to the very family who had destroyed everything he once loved in the life he had already lived through. Clara, his wife in that frozen future, the woman who stood over him with a bat in her hands and broke every bone in his body without a flicker of guilt on her face, her family name had been Whitmore.

That could only mean one thing, and the realization hit him like a punch to the gut, this woman lying on the ground bleeding out in front of him, this Megan Whitmore, had to be connected somehow to that same bloodline, to that same rotten family who left him to freeze to death in a pit after using him for everything he was worth.

Why would the system, of all things, ask him to save someone from that family?

Damien shook his head violently, his fists clenching so tightly at his sides that his knuckles turned white. "I can't," he muttered under his breath. "I won't do this. I do not want anything, anything at all, connecting me to that demonic family ever again."

He had promised himself, in the final moments before the cold swallowed him whole in that frozen pit, that if fate ever gave him the chance to face the Whitmore family again, he would show them no mercy whatsoever, he would crush every single one of them without hesitation because people that evil, people that heartless, did not deserve a second chance at survival when the apocalypse came crashing down on the world again.

But even as those thoughts burned through his mind, even as his resolve hardened like ice around his heart, the system spoke again, and this time its tone carried a weight that made his stomach drop.

[FAILURE TO COMPLETE THIS MISSION WILL RESULT IN SEVERE CONSEQUENCES.]

[PENALTY: SYSTEM FUNCTIONS WILL BE SUSPENDED FOR 24 HOURS.]

Damien's breath caught in his throat the moment those words appeared in front of him, and his mind raced through the calculations almost automatically now, the numbers forming with terrifying clarity. Twenty-four hours of suspended system function did not simply mean losing a single day, it meant losing every single benefit the time dilation offered him, losing twenty-four hours of access meant losing four years, of harvesting, of training, of building the very foundation he needed to survive what was coming.

In four years inside that system he could plant, harvest, and sell enough crops to build an empire from nothing, he could train his body, unlock new levels, gather enough resources to shelter hundreds if not thousands of people when the frozen apocalypse finally struck. Losing that kind of time over old hatred, no matter how justified that hatred felt, would be the single most foolish decision he could make on the very first day of his second chance.

He had no choice.

Gritting his teeth against the resentment burning inside his chest, Damien forced his legs to move, weaving quickly through the gathering crowd until he reached the center of the commotion where the injured woman lay sprawled across the pavement, her blood pooling dark and slow beneath her.

The moment his eyes landed on her face, every angry thought in his mind went completely silent.

She looked like Clara, there was no denying that, the same delicate bone structure, the same striking eyes, clearly cut from the same bloodline, but where Clara's beauty had always carried something cold and calculating behind it, this woman's face held something entirely different even now, pale and slick with sweat, her lips trembling with pain, there was a softness to her that Clara never once possessed.

And without needing anyone to confirm it, Damien already knew in his bones that this woman, Megan, belonged to the Whitmore family just the same, though clearly she was not the same person, not the same soul, not someone who had earned his hatred through her own actions.

Still, hatred and duty were two very different things, and right now duty demanded action.

The woman kneeling over Megan, both hands pressed hard against the wound in a desperate attempt to slow the bleeding, looked up sharply the moment Damien crouched down beside them.

"Let me help," he said.

Her jaw tightened instantly, her eyes sweeping over him from head to toe with open distrust, taking in his youthful face, his graduation clothes, the complete absence of anything resembling medical equipment. She did not know him, had never seen him before in her life, and in a moment like this, with Megan's life slipping away second by second, trusting a stranger who appeared out of nowhere felt like an impossible risk to take. Everyone around them looked suspicious to her now, every face in the crowd a potential threat, and she had absolutely no reason to believe this stranger was any different.

But before she could voice her doubts, Damien spoke again, his voice steady and urgent.

"I know you do not trust me, and honestly, I understand why," he said quickly, already lowering himself to the ground beside them without waiting for her approval.

"But she has been shot, and if I do not act right now, she will not survive another thirty minutes. She is losing far too much blood already, and very soon she is going to start struggling to breathe, look at her hands, they are already turning cold, that means shock is beginning to set in, and shock alone kills just as fast as the bleeding does if it is left untreated. I need to help her immediately, right now, there is no more time to waste."

Immediately the woman's mouth opened, ready to protest, ready to demand answers he did not have time to give her, but no words ever made it out.

Because that was the exact moment a sleek black Mercedes bus came screeching to a violent stop directly in front of them, tires shrieking against the pavement, and its doors flew open as more than ten men came pouring out onto the street all at once.