Surviving the Apocalypse: All I Want Is to Find a Husband-Chapter 192: A Demon’s Playground (2)

Like a ghost in the snow, she weaved between them in silence. She didn’t strike. Not yet. Instead, she reached out with precision, snatching helmets right off their heads before they even realized she was there.

Then, chaos erupted.

"What the hell was that?!"

"Where’s your helmet?!"

"What?! I—I was just wearing it a second ago!"

"Something’s here! It’s like a demon!"

They spun in circles, weapons raised, eyes darting wildly. Fear crept in, the unknown far more terrifying than a visible enemy.

Their captain, a grizzled man in his forties, barked over the rising panic. "You, Private! Keep moving, don’t stop!"

The nineteen-year-old soldier stood frozen, his breath caught in his throat.

The bodies of his three fallen comrades lay sprawled before him, their blood staining the snow. They hadn’t even had time to mourn. And yet, his captain still barked out the order and still expected him to move forward.

"But, Sir! This place... it looks like a minefield!"

"Do I look like I care, Private Mason?!" the captain snapped.

Mason clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He was trying to calm his heart before speaking, "No, Sir!"

He took a single step forward.

His hands trembled at his sides. His pulse pounded in his ears. His mind screamed at him to stop, to turn around, to run, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

His foot hovered over the ground, heart hammering as he braced for impact of the explosion and the pain.

But it never came.

Before his foot could even touch the ground, an invisible force snatched him up. It lifted him from the ground, then pulled into the mist.

The remaining soldiers froze in place, their eyes darted wildly, their grips tightening on their weapons.

Because Mason was gone.

And none of them had seen what took him.

"W-where did he go?!"

The Captain’s eyes widened in shock, his breath hitching as one of his soldiers was yanked into the fog and gone in the blink of an eye.

"Was that... his ability?!"

"No, Sir!" a soldier stammered, gripping his gun tighter. "Mason can only phase through solid objects, he can’t fly, Sir!"

"Then what the fuck just happened?!" The Captain’s voice cracked like a whip. His patience was thinning, his nerves fraying. "Keep moving! Now!"

"Sir... shouldn’t we—shouldn’t we try to find Mason?" another soldier hesitated, glancing toward the swirling mist where his comrade had disappeared.

The Captain let out a dry, humorless laugh. "For what?"

He didn’t even look back.

"That idiot is probably dead by now." His voice was cold, unfeeling. "That’s what happens when you’re too weak for this world."

Suddenly, a sound—a laugh—rippled through the canyon, bouncing off the jagged walls and echoing all around them.

It wasn’t loud, but it was enough.

Enough to send a shiver down their spines.

Hidden within the cracks of the canyon walls, Medeia’s lips curled into a wicked smile.

"Too weak for this world, huh?" she murmured to herself, her voice barely above a whisper.

Fine.

Let’s see if he’ll still say that after watching a demon crawl straight out of hell.

One by one, the young soldiers were yanked away by an unseen force, disappearing into the thick mist before they could even scream or run and within mere seconds, they were gone.

The air grew colder.

Medeia’s low, haunting laugh slithered through the battlefield, sending a chill down the soldiers’ spines. They thought—no, they hoped—that it was a ghost. But they knew better.

"Ghosts ..." someone muttered.

Ghosts would’ve been a mercy for them.

Ghosts didn’t kill for sport.

Ghosts didn’t toy with their prey just for the thrill of it.

No—ghosts were nothing compared to the demon watching them now.

"Just fire, damn it!" the captain snapped.

Gunfire exploded in all directions—bullets ricocheting off canyon walls, shredding through the mist, hitting nothing.

The fog only grew thicker.

Medeia smiled. Lucian was playing with them.

She hadn’t expected him to turn this into such a fun playground, but damn, she wasn’t complaining.

[Countdown: 00:23:22]

Seven minutes left. A blink of an eye for her.

But for these men? Seven minutes would feel like an eternity.

"Captain! The mist is getting worse!" someone shouted. "We should fall back!"

"The privates are gone, sir!"

The captain scoffed. "Fall back? Are you cowards?! The fog is perfect for us to move! Riker, use your wind and clear it out!"

Ah, so one of them had an air manipulation ability.

How adorable.

Medeia’s smile deepened as the soldier stepped forward, summoning a gust of wind. A Grade-A ability.

For most people, that was impressive.

But Grade-A? Against Lucian’s Grade-SSS++?

That was like trying to blow away a hurricane with a hand fan.

The wind howled, trying to push the mist aside, but it didn’t move at all.

Instead, it thickened, denser, darker.

Until they couldn’t even see their own hands.

Medeia finally stepped out of her hiding place, the Abyssal Sword in her grasp pulsing with dark energy. Her footsteps made no sound, but the whisper of her blade cutting through the air rang clear and sharp in their ears.

As they fumbled blindly through the thick mist, she struck. With one smooth motion, her sword plunged into a soldier’s chest, slicing through his bulletproof gear as if it were paper.

The impact knocked the breath from his lungs. His eyes went wide in shock, his hands clutching at the blade embedded in his torso, as if that could stop what was coming.

His bulletproof gear, the thing he had trusted to protect him, had failed spectacularly.

Medeia leaned in close, her breath brushing against his trembling ear. Her voice was soft, melodic, sounding like a lullaby for the damned.

"Soldier," she murmured, her tone almost sweet. "This is your final lesson. Instead of relying on a bulletproof vest, you should have sharpened your senses."

His body shuddered as the weight of his fate sank in. And then, through the thick fog, he finally saw her.

Not a ghost. Not a soldier.

A demon.

Her lips curled into a wide, wicked smile, her fangs peeking through like a wolf ready to sink its teeth into prey.

The soldier opened his mouth, perhaps to scream—perhaps to beg—but before a single sound could escape, her slender finger pierced through his forehead.

His body convulsed as she ripped his soul away, devouring his soul that formed as a black pearl. She smiled. "Thank you for the dinner."

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