40 No Mercy

A guttural laugh ripped from Zephyr's throat as the makeshift mob lumbered into view. It was a chilling sound, the first genuine amusement he'd felt since returning to this forgotten past. "Ignorance truly is bliss," he muttered in Apexian, a language those savages wouldn't understand.

They hadn't noticed the Exosuits tucked away in his inventory, a clear sign of his capabilities, a mark of a Legion – a warrior far beyond their reach. But no, they saw only a lone figure with a curious vehicle, ripe for plunder. Pathetic.

Their actions surprised him not a bit. From the moment the woman appeared, a prickling unease had crawled up his spine, not fear, but a cold certainty. Her pleas for help were a well-rehearsed act. So, he played along, feigning ignorance, letting them reveal their true colors.

Now, they stood poised to strike, their makeshift weapons glinting in the harsh sunlight. Zephyr's hand hovered near the army knife at his thigh, a predator sizing up its prey. The unexpected encounter wouldn't delay him for long. But it presented a question – eliminate them all. Or make an example that would send shivers down the spines of any who dared to underestimate him.

Zephyr scoffed. "It's been a long time since I saw a batch of scavengers." Wiping out these buffoons was a chore, a break from the monotony of hunting Sentinels. But something felt off. Only two men approached, the rest hanging back, silent observers.

A feral grin split Zephyr's face. He was clearly underestimated, a ripe target for plunder. The two men strolled closer, their grins widening as they prepared their lecture. Their comrades chuckled in the background, relishing the easy pickings.

Zephyr mirrored their pace, a predator toying with its prey. He wouldn't waste time with theatrics or their likely nonsensical demands – gibberish in anything but Korean or Apexian. Before they could utter a word, his army knife flashed in a deadly arc.

The two men fell to their knees, covered in blood while twitching, holding their necks in a flash.

The remaining scavengers recoiled, their faces draining of amusement, replaced by a mask of raw terror. They didn't understand and were unable to see Zephyr's movements and how their comrade could die so quickly.

"Why? Lost your tongues, have you? Where are your smiles and giggles? Aren't you going to loot and rob or even kill me? Come on! I know you're not amateurs." Zephyr said, insulting the scavengers without filtering his words.

He really hated people, who rather than working together to help each other survive, instead made innocent people suffer.

"Oh, are you surprised? Ey! That's impossible. I'm sure you're used to killing your targets after you've finished plundering or robbing. Why are you surprised now if someone does the same thing? If you kill, you have to be prepared to be killed too." His words were a venomous whip, cracking across the stunned silence.

Meanwhile, the scavengers could only grit their teeth even though they didn't understand what Zephyr was saying. But they understood that their target was not just anyone. But again, sometimes people always do stupid things when their logic was in turmoil. Driven by blind panic, the mob charged. Even the deceitful woman joined the fray, her fear overriding her cunning.

Zephyr, as calm as water, smiled. With precision, he thrust the army knife right at the two people who came forward first and lunged at him. He then turned around and hit the next person in the face with the back of his right hand.

During that time, he also closed the distance with two other people and launched hard kicks at them in the head and stomach. He also injured the thighs of two other people nearby.

Three got beaten easily, two writhed in agony, and two simply died without much hassle.

But Zephyr didn't stop and gave a lecture. He made the most of his time. He threw the army knife into his right hand from his left hand. He wanted to increase the tempo and increase his efficiency.

Zephyr dropped low, a whirlwind of violence. The army knife blurred, a crimson blossom erupting on the first scavenger's chest as the blade found its mark. Another went down with a choked gasp, a stranglehold squeezing the life from him, punctuated by three brutal jabs to the heart.

One by one, they fell. No time for theatrics and no mercy was given. Each death was swift and silent, a testament to Zephyr's honed lethality. Fear choked the air, thick and suffocating, as the remaining six scavengers sank to their knees, whimpering.

These were the lucky ones, for now. Zephyr surveyed them, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Six left," he murmured, flicking his bloodied knife, the sound echoing in the sudden stillness. "A far cry from the welcoming party you planned, wouldn't you say?"

A tremor ran through the kneeling figures. They'd seen death before, dealt it themselves, but there was a chilling efficiency in Zephyr's movements, a darkness in his eyes that spoke of a past far bloodier than theirs. A past that promised a swift and merciless end to their pathetic games.

Letting them live was a gamble. Weakness could breed strength, and these scavengers would return, preying on the vulnerable. Zephyr couldn't afford that. His mission, his very reason for being in this desolate world, was to protect those who fought for survival, not exploit them.

In a whirlwind of violence, the remaining six were subdued. Blood seeped into the verdant grass, staining the once pristine landscape crimson. Zephyr shook his head, a grim sigh escaping his lips. The Apex World was a breeding ground for such barbarity – a world where the collapse of law had unleashed humanity's darkest impulses.

Even the once-coveted currencies were losing their value as the gravity of the situation sunk in. Yet, something else gnawed at him – the absence of the Sentinels. He had expected them to blend seamlessly with the survivors. But so far, their presence remained a mystery. Was this a new development, or had his previous journey somehow skewed his expectations?

Zephyr slipped behind the wheel of his Swiftwind and peeled away from the scene of the recent skirmish. The verdant landscape of the Valleys of Torak gave way to the sprawling Plains of Zarath. Here, rolling green meadows stretched as far as the eye could see, dotted with the occasional stand of fresh trees. The air, though not as crisp as in the valleys, held a pleasant dampness.

Hours dissolved away as Zephyr traversed the plains. Dusk was settling when he brought the Swiftwind to a halt, drawn in by a sight that sent a jolt of surprise through him.

Before him, a colossal skyscraper jutted from the ground, a testament to a bygone era. But it was a broken testament – the once-proud structure tilted drunkenly, half-buried in the ground. Not far away, another familiar landmark pierced the horizon – Namsan Tower, miraculously intact but dwarfed by its former grandeur. In the distance, a magnificent temple tilted at a precarious angle, completed the tableau of ruined majesty. These were the remnants of Earth, ravaged by the merciless hand of terraforming.

Distant flickers of fire pierced the encroaching darkness, a beacon of life in the desolate landscape. Hope flared in Zephyr's chest. Here, perhaps, were the survivors he sought. But how to bridge the gap? Reaching the Fortress of Divine Light was a swift journey by Swiftwind, a grueling four-or-five-day trek on foot – even assuming a smooth journey, uninterrupted by Sentinels or the mutated horrors that roamed the night.

The Colossus offered a limited solution, its capacity capped at a meager twenty to thirty people. A far cry from the hundreds, the thousands, he hoped to gather.

As he neared the flickering lights, the rudimentary nature of the settlement became clear. The entire population spilled out, drawn by the impossible sight of a hovering vehicle. Children, their faces alive with curiosity, swarmed the Swiftwind, their excited chatter a foreign language to Zephyr's ears.

A groan escaped him as the weight of his predicament settled in. Communication, the very foundation of his mission, was a barrier he hadn't anticipated. How could he convince them to follow him to a future uncertain when they couldn't understand his words?

'F*ck! I'm an idiot! Truly!' Zephyr cursed inwardly.