Novel & Cerita Apocalypse Tamer

As Alpha, there is nothing I can do. I’m being tamed by omega.

If not for Jayme’s snark jokes and Teira’s energy who knows which state of mind I would have currently been in, totally insane that was for sure. She made to pull away but I held her tighter, settling in with the warmth from her slim body. “Any luck?” She asked. “Not yet…” She sighed, her fingers moving through my hair. “We should torture the new recruit, he should have something to give us.” I scoffed, Teira always had a sadistic side to her. “I’d have known if he was lying, besides, the Revolt Pack is popularly known for being unknown.” “Yeah that’s true.” She agreed

"That is what happened. The gods were a major part of our lives then. Today, the people have all but forgotten them except in myth and story." "Okaaaay." Liv drew out the word. "We'll go with that for now." Brodi frowned at her but continued. "The gods wanted to contain the power of my family so they cursed us. If the male heir, the pack Alpha, did not find his fated mate within a certain time, he turned into a Berserker. A Berserker is a being who has immeasurable strength but no reason. He kills indiscriminately. He cannot, therefore, lead a clan or pack. He must be put down." Brodi's voice lowered. "Many members of my family were killed over the years by an Alpha who went Berserker before

But after years of repeated pregnancies, my body was weak and fragile. He easily grabbed my neck and slowly crushed my windpipe. He told me that the daughter who had been sent away had already died of illness long ago. Everything went black before my eyes, and I violently coughed up blood and died. After my death, he threw my and my daughter's corpses into the wilderness to be devoured by hungry wolves. He then ceremoniously married Briar, who was five months pregnant. Damien was focused on getting sons to inherit the throne, but I learned that I had awakened the Creator Goddess bloodline after my death, and my daughters would have inherited ancient power to end this apocalypse.

“Before it finds someone else first.” Echo’s form dimmed slightly, almost like a sigh. “Then prepare yourself, Kiami Lynn. For when the storm takes shape… it may wear a human face.” ⸻ Lightning cracked across the horizon again — brighter, sharper, and this time, it roared with something almost alive. The next battle wouldn’t just be survival. It would be evolution. And as the last echo of thunder rolled through the valley, I knew: the apocalypse was no longer coming. It was here.

“Not yet. He’s fighting… Somehow, he is fighting.” Bishop stepped forward, pale under the electric storm, his arrogance cracking. “You fools don’t understand! He’s beyond control. Azrael’s seed—it’s the apocalypse in a body!” Vex’s face twisted into something dark, a smile with no humour. “Then why aren’t we celebrating?” Because, I realised with icy clarity, that victory was impossible. Luca’s energy surged outward, consuming cars, tearing buildings, and ripping chunks of asphalt into the air. The Serpents we had seen arriving moments before were obliterated by mere proximity.

"The Apex Bloom was designed to leave one survivor. A single, ruthless victor. You spared the soldier. You defied the architecture." "The architecture was flawed, Franco," I replied. My voice rang clear and cold in the morning air. I walked slowly toward him, my tactical boots crunching over the broken glass from last night’s chaos. "You built a game to test who could be the most vicious animal in a cage. But I am not an animal. And I am entirely finished with cages." I stopped inches from him. I let my gaze trail over his exhausted, awe – struck face. The professional distance was completely gone. He was practically vibrating with a dark, consuming heat.

Being a saint was the deadliest during an apocalypse. [Ding! The human body fishing ended successfully. Time to settle the rewards!] [Congratulations, you've received: 1 small nuclear fusion generator, 1 high-pressure water gun, 1 indoor soilless cultivation base, 3 premium cold-resistant combat suits!] Looking at the generator that was flashing blue in the system storage, I was elated. With this thing around, our home could still feel like spring all year round, even if the power outside was completely cut off. We could even have a barbecue.

"The temple also gave you a magic customer service voice. Maybe it has bugs." [Temple records do not have bugs.] I looked up. "You heard that?" The first argument in the new temple was about where people could pee. That was the moment the apocalypse became real to me. Not the dead. Not the system. Not my impossible brother's name burning on a divine tablet. It was Aunt Lan standing in the kitchen with a flashlight under her chin, declaring that if people wanted to survive in a holy place, they could start by not turning the courtyard into a sewer.

Then he stood, leaned toward the microphone clipped to his lapel, and said one line. That single line traveled through the control board, through twenty-three million live streams, down the hallway, past the control room, past the partition wall, past that concrete door we'd broken open with three hammer strikes — and into the bunker. A bunker with no one left in it. "Ouroboros, Season 7 — that's a wrap." On the big screen, all eight snake logos went dark at once. The comment feed started its final surge. Not typed words. The same template, repeated who knows how many times — "Seven years."