Apocalypse Gachapon

The young man turned his head, his pupils narrowing to vertical slits.

On his youthful yet deathly pale face was a grotesque, unnatural contortion.

“Me what?”

His voice was hoarser now, lacking its previous sharpness.

“Which passage will you choose?” The bound captive stared at the screens behind the youth. “You’re preventing every faction from securing passage rights—so which one is your ultimate target?”

In the apocalypse, everyone seized chances to survive. These prisoners had resigned themselves to death, but the youth’s actions rekindled hope. Perhaps they could offer advice, pledge service, or at least provide intel on other factions?

Alas, they fundamentally misunderstood this young… young madman.

“Which one should I choose?”

The youth strode into the group of prisoners, stopping beside the speaker.

The man’s face lit up. Straining against his bonds, he pushed off the ground to straighten his posture.

“Twenty factions, only seven passages. If we number them clockwise—with the Spade Governor’s nearest passage as #1—then #4 would be easiest to take.”

His articulate response gave the youth pause. He hadn’t expected such a structured analysis.

Encouraged by the silence, the man grew bolder: “The Spade Governor dominates passage #1—no ordinary faction can challenge him. You could, but clashing titans would incur heavy losses. Wasting precious—”

“Mechanical Puppets,” the youth supplied tonelessly.

“Yes! Squandering our precious Mechanical Puppets wouldn’t be worth it.”

“Your Electromagnetic Bees overturned passage #2’s balance, but both remaining factions are strong. They’ll either probe cautiously or fight decisively. If the latter, #2 would be ideal—but another force is approaching, making the situation chaotic.”

“As for #3—”

“Skip to #4.” The youth cut him off.

“Ah, right!” The man hastily complied. *”Passage #4 has many factions, but none are elite. The Motley Crusaders from the East have numbers but no top-tier experts. Then there’s the all-female squad—the Women Camp—led by the white woman Ella and the black woman Giana. Decent fighters, but few in number. The other two factions are equally unremarkable. They’ve been skirmishing—perfect for us to sweep them all! So—Eh?!”*

He broke off as the youth walked away.

At his startled noise, the youth glanced back. “I thought you had insights. Pathetic. Still want my attention?”

The man hesitated, then nodded desperately, hoping his mediocre analysis might prove useful.

The youth returned, yanking him up by the collar.

“Those who call for me become my Mechanical Puppets.”

Confused, the man began struggling as primal fear surged at the manic gleam in the youth’s eyes.

“&%#@￥&^%$#…”*

A stream of guttural syllables spilled from the youth’s lips. His free hand hovered near the man’s head as molten metal—impure, chocolate-like sludge—coalesced above his palm.

“Let go! What are you—?!”

The youth’s grip tightened, silencing him mid-scream.

“Wondering why I kept you alive? Let me demonstrate.” The metallic sludge engulfed the man’s body. Released, he crashed to the ground, writhing futilely within the viscous shell.

Soon, his movements ceased.

“You serve two purposes.” The youth addressed the horrified onlookers as screams erupted. “First, as nutrients for my Mechanical Puppets—even they need to eat!”

Terror shook the prisoners.

“Second—” He kicked the metallic cocoon. “—as raw materials. You’re barely fit for low-tier Mechanical Soldiers, but they’ll replenish my losses. Rejoice! You’ll fight for me!”

Fight for him?! This was being turned into living terracotta warriors!

Struggles intensified.

The youth exited, snapping his fingers. Mechanical Puppets surged forward amidst fresh screams.

“Forgot to mention—Mechanical Soldiers can be made from living OR freshly dead subjects. The latter works better!”

Arms sweeping a grand arc, he conjured a metallic portal. A downpour of liquid metal drenched the prisoners.

Meanwhile, the first cocoon stirred. The sludge had solidified into a second skin.

The youth circled his creation, nodding approvingly. A dagger flashed, sculpting jagged metallic spikes along its arms, legs, and chest—its hands elongating into meter-long conical blades.

“Good. You’ll be called Ade—my Mechanical Soldier Captain. Serve well.”

Humming tunelessly, he returned to the screens without waiting for the other transformations to complete.

“Choose #4? No—I choose ALL! Why pick one passage when I can CRUSH every faction here? Then I’ll take whichever I please!”

He giggled hysterically.

“So stupid… they’re all so stupid!”