Apocalypse: I Raised the Ultimate Antagonist from Scratch

Deep within the dark void of her subconscious mind, Lin Qing was tumbling through an endless, suffocating haze.

She wasn’t in physical pain, but an overwhelming, hollow sense of loss pressed down on her chest like a heavy lead weight. Silhouettes, muffled voices, and fleeting fragments of warmth floated past her reach in the dark—warm hands holding her own, a young child’s sharp and solemn eyes staring up at her, and a commanding, deep voice calling her name from across an ever-widening divide.

She reached out frantically into the gloom, her heart pounding against her ribs in sheer desperate impulse. She knew with absolute, instinctual certainty that these slipping fragments were the most vital anchors of her existence.

But as hard as she strained her body to grasp them, her fingers closed around empty, cold air. The figures and memories drifted farther and farther away into the shadow, dissolving before she could hold them tight.

In the quiet medical bay of the secondary subterranean depot, Lin Qing lay restless on the metal cot.

Her head was bound neatly in fresh, clean linen bandages, but a cold, feverish moisture glistened across her forehead. Her dark brows were pulled together in deep distress, her head turning slowly from side to side against the coarse fabric of the pillow.

"Don’t..." she rasped in a barely audible whisper, her voice dry, raspy, and strained. "Wait..."

The heavy steel door of the medical room creaked open on oiled hinges, and Song Yan stepped inside. He had shed his thick outer coat, wearing a dark, form-fitting fatigue shirt that emphasized his broad shoulders and disciplined posture. In his hands, he carried a small metal basin of cool water and a folded linen cloth.

Song Yan walked quietly across the stone floor to the side of the cot, setting the basin down on the wooden table next to where her pristine military sidearm sat. He stood over her, looking down at her pale, troubled face and listening to her low, frantic mumbles.

He dipped the cloth into the cool water, wrung it out with practiced hands, and gently wiped the beads of sweat from her brow and temples.

As the cool dampness touched her skin, Lin Qing let out a soft, subconscious sigh. Her tense jaw relaxed slightly, her head leaning instinctively toward his cool, steady touch before settling back into a quiet, fitful stillness.

Song Yan paused, his hand remaining still for a long second as his hazel eyes lingered on her soft features.

He did not know her name, her history, or what dark shadows she was running from inside her own mind, but watching her fight through her delirium touched something raw and deeply buried within him.

As a former soldier who had once watched his entire squad perish in the early days of the apocalypse, seeing this soilder stranded and fighting for her life stirred a protective instinct in his chest.

"Rest," Song Yan said softly, his voice low, steady, and reassuring as he rinsed the cloth. "You’re safe here."

---

Two miles to the north, the high mountain pass was eerily quiet, enveloped in the bitter, thin air of the high altitude.

Commander Han Zheng stood at the edge of a wide, barren ridge of swept sheet-ice, his boots anchored firmly into the frozen ground. Behind him, Lieutenant Chen, Ah Hua, Xiao Li, and Zhou Ming held a tight defensive perimeter, their heavy weapons trained outward on the surrounding granite crags.

A hundred yards behind them, the distinct southern trail of fresh boot prints had abruptly vanished.

"Nothing," Lieutenant Chen reported, dropping down to one knee to examine the flat, polished expanse of clear ice with his gloved fingers. "The boot prints completely disappear right here. It’s as if they walked off the face of the earth."

Zhou Ming stepped up beside Han Zheng, his face tight with growing anxiety. "Did the high winds sweep away their tracks? Or did they take a high-ridge climbing route over the peak?"

"Neither," Han Zheng said coldly, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the desolate expanse. "Look at the ice margin near the snowbank. The edges were deliberately smoothed over and packed down."

He was entirely right. Song Yan and his scavengers were disciplined, seasoned survivors who had spent weeks hiding from wandering infected packs and hostile surface factions.

They were expert at physical and thermal concealment. After retrieving Lin Qing from the ravine floor, they had systematically neutralized their tracks using localized gravity disruptions and heavy camouflage brushes, ensuring no surface search party could trace their path back to their sanctuary.

Unbeknownst to Han Zheng’s team, they were standing less than a mile from the hidden secondary depot.

The subterranean facility was built deep beneath the mountain’s granite core, its external access hatch disguised weeks ago under heavy artificial rock caps, soil layering, and natural snow accumulation, rendering it completely invisible to the naked eye.

Xiao Li gripped his shield tightly, his face setting in stubborn resolve. "Commander, let’s fan out. We can sweep a three-mile grid search toward the southern peaks right now. We’ll find their hideout."

"No," Han Zheng replied calmly, though the vein along his tight jaw pulsed with restrained tension. "A blind sweep out here without detailed topographical maps or thermal imaging gear will only drain our stamina, waste ammunition, and risk surrounding all of us in unfamiliar, hostile territory. Mountain terrain can trap a team in minutes."

Zhou Ming looked at his commander in quiet surprise. "Are we falling back?"

"We return to base," Han Zheng commanded, turning back toward the SUV parked further up the pass. His voice carried an absolute, unwavering authority that brooked no argument. "She is alive. Whoever took her possessed powers and high discipline. We fall back, pull high-altitude satellite topographies from the main terminal, arm a heavy response unit, and conduct a systematic, grid-by-grid rescue operation."

He paused, looking back over his shoulder toward the silent, towering southern peaks. His dark eyes burned with a cold, ruthless determination.

"We will find her."

---

Back at Sanctuary Base, the interior corridors were shrouded in dim, subdued night lighting.

In the reserch centre hallways, the air was heavy and motionless. Five-year-old Han Ye moved silently through the shadowy passageways, his small feet making zero sound against the smooth floor.

Utilizing his shadow manipulation, Han Ye merged his body seamlessly with the pitch-black shadows cast by the high ventilation ducts along the upper walls. To any passing person, the corridor looked completely empty, but the regressor was gliding through the darkness like an invisible ghost, his sharp, dark eyes locked continuously on Yang Jun.

Yang Jun stood near the armory room entrance at the end of the hall, leaning casually against the doorframe. He had just finished his duty rotation and was waiting for his squadmates to wrap up their shifts.

Han Ye observed him from the dark shadow of an overhead water pipe ten feet away. Hours after delivering his weeping, frantic report about the "thaw collapse" in the loading bay,

Yang Jun’s posture remained unbothered, light, and easy. He tapped his fingers rhythmically against his belt, a subtle, contented expression resting on his face.

’He thinks he buried his crime under that cliff,’ Han Ye thought coldly, his small hands clenching into tight fists within the gloom. ’He thinks my father will return empty-handed, mourn her loss, and accept his story without question.’

Heavy, rapid footsteps echoed sharply from the main junction down the hall, shattering the quiet atmosphere.

Guo Jian—the broad-shouldered, quiet vanguard of Lu Feng’s fireteam—strode quickly down the corridor, his combat boots thuding firmly against the floor. Old Wang was walking rapidly beside him, leaning in and speaking in a low and unrgent voice.

Yang Jun straightened up from the doorframe, adjusting his rifle sling as Guo Jian approached. "What’s going on, Guo Jian?"

Guo Jian stopped in front of Yang Jun, his broad face serious and unreadable. He gestured toward Old Wang beside him.

"The main gate just signaled," Guo Jian said, his deep voice carrying through the quiet hallway. "Commander Han Zheng’s SUV just cleared the outer barrier. The search team is back."

The casual, contented demeanor on Yang Jun’s face vanished in a single, violent instant.

His dark eyes widened in sheer shock, his hands freezing completely over his rifle strap. The peaceful, relaxed posture he had maintained all evening collapsed, replaced by a sudden, rigid spike of suffocating anxiety.

"They’re... back already?" Yang Jun swallowed hard, his raspy voice catching in his dry throat. "Did they... did they find anything at the ravine?"

"Sun Hao is at the gate and he didn’t say," Guo Jian replied, narrowing his eyes slightly at Yang Jun’s sudden, extreme nervousness. "The Commander ordered all squad leaders to assemble in the main command deck immediately."

Tucked in the dark corner of the hallway, Han Ye watched the color drain completely from Yang Jun’s face. The five-year-old regressor boy’s lips curved into a tiny, icy smile within the shadows.

’The hunt begins now.’

---

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!