Chapter 736: 736. Apollo Called Me His Reliable Best Friend. I Just Killed Two of His Harem

Apollo’s gaze was locked, paralyzed, on the hand that had intercepted Zane’s fist. The impact had sent a shudder through the very air, a silent testament to the sheer force that had been inches away from shattering Apollo’s ribs.

He had spent months studying Rex Rexilion. He had seen him across breakfast tables in the quiet of the morning, watched him through the grit of expedition camps, and tracked his shadow through the polished corridors of the Academy.

Apollo knew the nuances of Rex’s face, the subtle shifts in muscle, the calm of a man at rest. But this? This was not the face of a comrade.

This was the face of a predator that had materialized from the chaos with a terrifying, surgical composure. That stillness didn’t bring Apollo peace; it brought a cold, visceral dread that complicated the simple relief of not being broken.

He felt the relief anyway, a jagged, desperate thing, because the alternative was the sickening realization that Zane’s fist would have pulverized his chest, and Apollo was too fucking exhausted to have stopped it.

"Rex," Apollo rasped, his voice cracking through the dust and the metallic tang of blood in the air. "Thank the goddess of life... you’re here..."

Rex didn’t respond immediately, but his mind was screaming in his mind.

’GODDAMIT! WHY THE FUCK WOULD THEY INTERVENE THE GOOD STUFF!?’

’AND WHY THE FUCK IS THIS BUM HAVE THE AUDACITY TO THANK THE GODESS OF LIFE?!’

’I CAME HERE BY MYSELF TO THE POINT I SPLIT MYSELF WITH MY AVATAR CREATION SO THAT I COULD TEACH THESE LEGIONS A FUCKING LESSON THEY’D DESERVE!’

Rex didn’t answer immediately. He stared at Apollo across the tension of Zane’s extended, trembling arm.

For one agonizing second, the world seemed to hold its breath. It was a silence heavy with the scent of ozone, pulverized stone, and the metallic tang of fresh blood.

Then, Rex released Zane’s wrist with a dismissive flick. He stepped back, his eyes sweeping the plaza with the cold, calculating gaze of a man surveying a massacre.

The scene was a nightmare incarnate. And what’s worse is that the plaza was a graveyard of architecture.

The golem network’s violent, elevated output had shredded the surrounding commercial district, snapping its structural bones. The Academy’s outer courtyard wall hadn’t just fallen; it had been torn open, a jagged wound of masonry and dust.

Decorative pillars that once stood as symbols of grace were now nothing more than jagged, blood-stained rubble.

Morwenna lay sprawled on the ground, her body jerking rhythmically as gravity manipulation crushed her into the dirt at six times the standard pressure, the sound of her labored, wet breathing cutting through the settling dust.

Valentina was a wreck; she knelt at the academy gate, her reserve completely bled dry, her muscles twitching with exhaustion, yet she forced her posture to remain controlled despite the grit and sweat coating her skin.

Kaelira was slumped against a remnant of the wall, her energy signature flickering like a dying candle, her face pale and smeared with crimson. Calivara and Eryndra were down motionless, broken, and swallowed by the debris.

And in the center of this hellscape, standing at the plaza’s far edge like an unmoving god of destruction, was Tremor that was regenerating. He faced Valentina; his stone armor came back unyielding, the geological anchor humming with a low, bone-deep vibration that made the teeth ache. And his mask also remained impassive, a void of emotion amidst the carnage.

Rex’s eyes shifted from the wreckage to the titan standing in the center of it all.

"That," Rex said, his voice cutting through the heavy air with the lethal precision of a blade, "is a fucking problem."

Apollo’s eyes drifted toward Rex, his vision slightly blurred by the grit and the stinging salt of his own sweat. He searched Rex’s face for a sign of the chaos that was currently tearing the world apart but found only that terrifying, unshakeable calm.

"You know who that is," Apollo managed to grate out, the words feeling heavy and thick in his throat.

"I have a very good guess," Rex replied.

His voice carried the dry, lethal certainty of a man who had already calculated the odds and found them wanting. He didn’t look at Apollo; instead, his gaze swept over the carnage: the splintered wood of the stalls, the pulverized stone of the streets, and the jagged, broken outlines of the market district beyond.

His eyes finally settled back on Tremor’s monolithic form. "The Underlayer’s new governance said it was going to make a statement..."

"I did not think the statement would involve the entire fucking market district."

He spoke with the detached annoyance of a man inconvenienced by a minor delay, a tone so jarringly normal amidst the scent of blood and ozone that it landed like a physical weight on everyone present. It was a tone that demanded a reality where they weren’t all on the verge of death.

Apollo stared at him, the silence between them stretching uncomfortably long. There was a question burning in Apollo’s chest, a desperate need to understand why Rex was here, why he had appeared now, but Rex had a way of occupying the very air around him.

His presence was so absolute that the words Apollo wanted to scream felt lost in the vacuum of Rex’s composure.

"Where the hell were you?" Apollo demanded, his voice cracking with a mixture of exhaustion and burgeoning frustration. "We really could use some of that help from the reliable best friend that I’ve known."

’What a fucking joke to call me a reliable best friend even though I’ve just killed two of his harem...’

Rex turned his gaze to Apollo, his expression as level as a calm sea before a storm. "I came through the northern approach to check on something related to the Underlayer."

"The geological interference from the mineral veins made the route slower than I anticipated." He paused, his eyes flickering toward the collapsed, jagged teeth of the Academy wall, then back to the center of the plaza where Tremor stood like a monument to destruction. "I should have arrived earlier... I do, in fact... am sorry about that."

It wasn’t a performance. There was no practiced humility or the careful, hollow delivery of a man trying to soothe an ego.

It was a flat, sincere acknowledgment of a standard missed, a cold, mathematical admission of a failure in timing. The sheer honesty of it made Apollo feel momentarily foolish, as if he were the one being irrational for feeling the weight of the moment.

"Rex," Apollo started, his lungs burning as he tried to find the breath to continue. "Grggh..."

"Your reserve is close to empty," Rex interrupted, his voice cutting through Apollo’s attempt like a scalpel.

He wasn’t looking at Apollo; his eyes were locked onto Tremor, tracking the subtle shifts in the giant’s stone armor.

"The life affinity’s passive restoration is managing it, but not fast enough to combat the sheer output currently active in this plaza." He didn’t move, but the tension radiating from him was palpable. "Let Aisella restore you first..."

"Then ask me whatever the fuck you need to ask."

Zane, who had been standing just a few feet away, his wrist still red from the interception and his void energy humming at a low, predatory readiness, finally broke his silence. He stepped slightly forward, his eyes narrowed, his entire body coiled like a spring.

"He told you to stand down," Zane said. It wasn’t a suggestion; it was a warning.