Before Alen could react, they crawled like insects, surging toward him in a frenzied swarm.
Alen, on the other hand, gripped his sword tightly and instinctively stepped back. His mind was a complete blank, yet his gaze remained locked onto the grotesque, distorted forms of the undead—those creatures Adamn had called "Unded."
He swung his blade in a swift diagonal
slash
Severed limbs dropped to the ground, eliciting even more furious growls from the creatures.
Alen retreated another step, adjusting his stance as he readied his sword once again, the sword being light it was surprisingly easy to use it. The creatures mirrored his movement—stepping back, then lunging in with greater ferocity.
He leaped to the side, rebounding off the wall with practiced agility. "Wah—! They don't even feel pain!" he shouted. "Hey, Furball! Can you eat these things too?"
He glanced at Furball—Momo—who was sprawled lazily on the floor, clutching his fat stomach with a contented look. Alen sighed, a helpless smile curling on his lips.
"Wow... So all along, you wanted to eat those metal bullets. Is that why you didn't touch the noodles I cooked for you?"
At the memory of those grayish-purple noodles, slimy and mutated from strange cooking books, Momo groaned in disgust. "Mo...mo~" His tiny face turned pale.
"So you didn't like it, huh?" Alen muttered laughing, ducking another swipe from an Unded claw.
The fight raged on. Alen moved swiftly, slicing through limbs and slowing the creatures with each precise blow.
From a distance, Adamn watched with bored detachment. Momo held no interest for him—for Adamn, the creature was merely a cat of some unfamiliar breed.
Everything was going smoothly. A few more minutes and Alen could have disabled the entire swarm. No, they weren't dead—but with their legs severed, their speed was reduced.
And a few more minutes were all he needed. Just enough to corner Adamn, seize him by the neck, slap the cuffs on, and—boom. Game over.
Alen had been fighting for over twenty minutes now, yet his body bore only light scratches. After all, even with whatever dark force possessed them, these people weren't trained fighters.
So no—this wasn't a big deal for someone like Alen.
But Adamn… Adamn was losing patience. A crack in his calm façade began to show.
CRASH
The sound of shattering porcelain rang out as a coffee cup smashed against the floor.
"Enough," Adamn muttered, low and dangerous.
"Oh wow, you're already losing it—" Alen smirked, raising his sword again. But before he could finish, the ground beneath his feet shuddered.
BOOM
A deafening blast split the air. The floor cracked apart in a quake, swallowing the ground Alen stood on.
The Unded began to drop, one by one.
At the very last second, Alen pushed off and leapt onto a half-broken ledge. He barely landed before the remaining patch of ground crumbled beneath him.
And then—he fell.
Momo's ears perked at the sound of the blast. His eyes widened in alarm as he saw Alen plummeting into the void.
"Momo!" he cried—more to himself than anyone—as a portal snapped open before him. In a flash of light, he vanished, reappearing just above Alen mid-fall.
Alen's pupils shrank in terror. For the first time in his life, a new kind of fear consumed him—not for himself, but for someone else.
He twisted midair and wrapped his arms tightly around Furball, shielding him.
Just as he braced for impact, something unexpected happened.
SLASH
They fell—not onto solid ground—but into a massive tank filled with thick, red liquid. It surged into Alen's eyes, ears, nose, and mouth with blistering agony. It was like being thrown into a vat of acid.
Alen gasped, struggling to breathe as he pushed Furball above the surface.
"W-Wait… Something's got my leg—" he choked, trying to gasp for air.
But it was useless. His veins screamed in agony. His skin sizzled as if it were being seared from the inside. Bones felt as if they were melting away.
He couldn't feel his legs anymore.
Above him, Momo's fur began to melt in patches. Still, the little creature's eyes never left Alen's.
"Momo… momo…" the creature whimpered, tears welling in his wide eyes as he kicked and squirmed, trying to free himself.
Tip. Tip.
Droplets of Momo's tears hit Alen's face, sliding down his melting skin.
"Teleport… Momo… get out of here," Alen rasped, his voice broken and low. "Someone will come for you."
Half of his face had already dissolved into the liquid, fusing with it.
But Momo refused to listen.
He let out a raw, desperate screech—"Momo!!" His body trembled violently as he focused, summoning energy. A glowing portal began to form behind him, shimmering with unstable light.
It was just big enough for Momo to escape.
"Momo…" he whispered again, squeezing his eyes shut. His small body quivered as he tried to expand the portal, refusing to leave Alen behind.
"Go," Alen muttered. Using his rapidly deteriorating palm as support, he lifted Momo up.
If his body hadn't belonged to the SUPREME timeline, he would've died the moment he hit that fluid.
Above, Adamn stood on the fractured floor, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
"Why are you still struggling?" he muttered with quiet disdain.
Then, noticing a black hole like thing forming above them, his eyes narrowed. "What now? …Shit."
His gaze darted around, searching for something—anything. He spotted a jagged slab of concrete nearby.
"Just die," he spat.
And with that, he hurled it down.
"NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"
A scream, raw and primal, tore through the space—echoing through the tunnels like a curse cast from the depths of hell.
THUD.
WARNING. WARNING. WARNING.
A rift cracked open. From within it, several figures in military-grade suits with a glowing stick in hand descended into the chaos.
Devices scanned the area, pulsing with light as they zeroed in on the tank.
"Sir," one of them said into a communicator, voice flat but urgent. "The officer is dead. What are your orders?"
"Retrieve him. We need something to show the higher-ups."
"Understood."
They secured the tank, hauled it upright, and vanished through the portal with it.
As the rift closed, Adamn collapsed behind a wall, trembling. His eyes were wide, his face pale and drenched with sweat.
His heart pounded in his chest like a war drum. He clutched his head, breathing in ragged gasps.
"Wha… What was that…"
____
Back in the SUPREME timeline, everything was peaceful—almost eerily so. The sky was clear, the academy's towering buildings gleamed in the light, and yet...
A quiet funeral was taking place on the campus grounds.
A sea of students stood gathered, their faces a mixture of curiosity, confusion, and disbelief.
They were here because they'd heard that Alen Hampson—the useless loser—was being hailed a hero. And not by just anyone.
By the Principal himself.
A man so detached, so far above the daily affairs of the academy, that he hadn't even shown up for their biggest festivals.
"He was a hero," the professor said into the mic, his voice unsteady as he read from the page. "He fought valiantly against a major criminal on Earth-1232. It was an honor... an honor to have a student like him among us."
But his words fell flat.
Whispers began, low at first. Then sneers. Then the quiet sound of snorting.
The laughter simmered just beneath the surface, subtle but sharp—cutting deeper than any blade.
In the crowd, Doc stood in silence, eyes red and glassy.
Beside him, Mrs. Broody sobbed softly, clinging to Jaka's arm. Maybe that was it. Maybe that was all—just them. The only ones who truly mourned him.
The thought hung in the air like a bitter wind.
What was Alen thinking?
Why did he go up against a high-ranking criminal alone?
Why didn't he just call the Bureau so they could send someone better?
He was a loser. Wasn't he?
The unspoken words echoed in the minds of the crowd, and the weight of them made the professor pause.
He fumbled, lips trembling, then glanced toward the Principal.
The man's red eyes met his, calm and cold.
"Sir," the professor whispered nervously. "Perhaps… you could say a few words?"
Silence fell like a stone across the hall.
Even the birds outside seemed to quiet. Everyone stared.
And then—he moved.
The Principal stood. The sound of his polished cane tapping against the floor echoed through the courtyard.
His glasses glinted sharply under the sun. His slicked-white hair and crisp uniform made him look like a figure carved out of authority.
He approached the podium, pausing.
At last, he opened his mouth.
"That child—" he began, but then he paused turning, looking at the professor.
A whisper passed between them.
Then he looked forward again.
"—Alen Hampson was good."
Just that.
And that's when the crowd broke.
A ripple of laughter spread like fire catching dry grass. Low chuckles at first, then outright cackles.
He forgot his name.
The Principal stepped back.
And a moment later, a portal shimmered into existence behind him—he walked through it without another word.
Gone.
"Hahahah! I thought the Principal would say something profound—he didn't even remember his name!"
"Alen something-something... who?"
"Pffft... hero my ass."
The crowd dispersed like scattered leaves, their mocking voices trailing behind them.
And what was left behind was a question—no, a condemnation:
Were these the people Alen had tried so hard to impress?
Was this the society he bled and burned for?
Will they ever value your sacrifice—when you're gone?