It was clear.
The pyramid's collapse had directly reactivated the reactor that had lain dormant for countless years. The sunlight shining through might have been the final step in Apocalypse's consciousness transfer ritual. Herman had already realized something was wrong the moment the pyramid began tilting and collapsing.
Because of that, he could only sigh inwardly in exasperation. Apocalypse's luck was truly something else—even accidents beyond human control seemed to be aiding his revival.
"Protagonist's aura?"
A faint smile tugged at Herman's lips, his expression carrying a trace of amusement. He made no attempt to stop the energy flow of the miniature pyramid reactor.
With his enhanced vision, he could see everything clearly beneath the rubble and the surface—the intricate movements of the small pyramid reactor coming to life once again.
Apocalypse's resurrection brought Herman no pressure whatsoever. Since things had already aligned so conveniently, he was genuinely curious to see just how powerful this so-called Sky Father–level being truly was.
Of course, Apocalypse didn't actually possess some kind of "protagonist's aura." Herman was confident that he wouldn't fall victim to some unexpected reversal of fortune.
It was simply a matter of judgment.
Just by observing the energy within Apocalypse's body, Herman could tell at a glance—the flow was chaotic, low in quality, and scarce in quantity. It wasn't even enough to sink a continent, let alone destroy a star.
"Truly a disgrace among Sky Father–level beings."
As for Universal-level or higher beings, Herman hadn't yet reached that level himself, so he didn't consider himself qualified to judge them.
However, if he were to define the concept of a Sky Father more precisely, he believed it came down to whether a being possessed its own miniature universe or internal world.
Take, for example, Odin of Norse mythology, Zeus of Greek legend, and the Jade Emperor of Chinese myth—they all fit that description.
In certain parallel universes, these Earthly Sky Fathers had even formed a council—the Divine Council, also known as the Council of Skyfathers—to oversee Earth's affairs.
They would gather to discuss and decide the planet's future direction. What all these deities had in common was that each possessed their own miniature world—an independent dimension of their own making.
The Norse gods resided in Asgard, the Greek gods in Olympus, and the Chinese deities in the Ta Lo Heaven. A shared trait among the supreme gods of all mythologies was that they could command the power of their respective dimensions, making them vastly stronger within their own realms than outside them.
Apocalypse clearly lacked such a foundation. By Herman's classification, he didn't even qualify to be mentioned alongside the true Sky Fathers.
"Boom—"
A massive rumble echoed through the chamber.
"It's collapsing! Quick! We have to get out of here!"
Evelyn snapped back to her senses, panic flooding her face as she shouted toward Herman.
"No need to panic. This is just a small scene."
Herman lifted his hand and sent a streak of golden light toward her.
As the light neared Evelyn, it expanded into a large golden barrier that enveloped her completely.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Evelyn flinched as rocks crashed down around her. Terrified, she crouched and covered her head. After several tense seconds, she slowly looked up—and her eyes widened in astonishment. The golden barrier had stopped every falling stone in midair.
"Witchcraft!"
Evelyn reached out tentatively to touch the barrier. It felt smooth and fragile, like thin glass. The sensation made her amber eyes shimmer with amazement.
"Stay right there."
Herman's gaze remained fixed on the ground beneath them.
Beneath the ruins, the glowing runes of the miniature pyramid reactor illuminated even the deepest layer. The gray energy buried under the debris began to flow again for the first time in millennia, extending downward toward Apocalypse's body.
Apocalypse's aura grew stronger with each passing moment. When the gray substance fully converged and streamed through the reactor's apex into the forehead of the buried body, the figure beneath the earth—encased entirely in armor—suddenly opened his eyes.
"This is betrayal!"
The moment he opened his eyes, a furious roar burst from Apocalypse's mouth.
During the final stage of his body transfer, he had already regained enough consciousness to perceive his surroundings through sheer will, and thus, he had clearly witnessed the betrayal of his guards and subjects.
For thousands of years, his mind had remained trapped within this new vessel, buried deep beneath the earth—isolated from all light, sealed in endless darkness.
Such torment filled Apocalypse's heart with rage and hatred. Throughout those millennia, one thought burned unwaveringly in his mind: once he awoke, he would exact vengeance upon all of humanity.
Truth be told, a self-absorbed tyrant like Apocalypse would never reflect upon his own actions. It never occurred to him that his cruel reign had driven the people to desperation, forcing them to rise up against him.
In his mind, he was a god above all others—and therefore, those who had dared to betray him deserved nothing less than the harshest punishment imaginable.
"I have returned to the mortal realm!"
Blue flames flickered within Apocalypse's eyes. As his power surged forth, the massive slabs of rock that had buried him crumbled into dust.
"Those human insects… dared to defile my ritual!"
Apocalypse sat up from the stone altar, flexing his limbs. Fortunately, the body he had taken over possessed immense vitality and longevity; otherwise, after thousands of years, it would have decayed into a desiccated corpse like a mummy. The memory of betrayal fanned the flames of vengeance that blazed within his mind.
"The price of blasphemy is extinction—the human race must be wiped out completely!"
Apocalypse had always possessed a mindset of mutant supremacy. Now, having been betrayed and entombed by the very humans he despised, his rage and humiliation only drove him further into the madness of annihilation.
He believed he had the power to do it.
Looking upward toward the sealed ceiling, a faint violet energy shimmered across his body. As the pulsating aura enveloped him, Apocalypse vanished into the ruins below.
...
In the great hall where Herman stood, a purple spatial rift tore open. From its swirling light, Apocalypse slowly stepped forth.
"My god… he looks exactly the same!"
Inside the golden energy dome, Evelyn stared wide-eyed at the towering, blue-skinned figure before her, her face frozen in disbelief.
The "abandoned body" that had fallen from the stone slab during the pyramid's collapse looked identical to the resurrected Apocalypse standing before them now.
To Evelyn, it was utterly incomprehensible. Could this ancient being, Apocalypse, have deliberately chosen a host who looked exactly like himself? What were the odds of finding someone so perfectly identical?
And besides, blue-skinned mutants were practically unheard of. If such people existed in any significant number, surely there would have been historical records of them long ago. Evelyn's gaze darted back and forth between the discarded corpse and the newly awakened Apocalypse.
She couldn't understand why—but Herman did.
Anyone possessed by Apocalypse would inevitably be reshaped by his power, their appearance altered to mirror his original form.
The miniature pyramid reactor didn't merely transfer Apocalypse's consciousness—it also transplanted a vast portion of his genetic material into the new body.
When Herman had examined the discarded corpse earlier, he'd already discovered that it contained not a single trace of the X-Gene.
The process seemed unbelievable, yet the reactor's power made such a miracle entirely possible.
It was like something created by a civilization of the highest technological order—or rather, a divine artifact born from the fusion of supreme technology and transcendent power.
One must understand: the Celestials were not only beings of immense life levels—their technological civilization itself was god-tier.
Across countless worlds, they conducted genetic experiments. Mutants, the Titan race born from Thanos—all were living testaments to the terrifying technological prowess of the Celestial Group.
Such powerful species existed throughout the universe, and behind nearly every mighty civilization, there were traces of the Celestials' influence.
"It seems that upon awakening, I've already encountered one of my kin," Apocalypse said, stepping slowly out of the violet portal.
His eyes swept first over Evelyn—still protected within the golden barrier—before fixing upon Herman.
Though limited in perspective, Apocalypse's discernment was sharp. He instantly recognized that Herman was the one who had conjured the protective shield. Yet, constrained by his understanding, he naturally assumed that anyone capable of wielding such power must be a mutant.
To Apocalypse, the very existence of Herman's energy shield confirmed his "mutant" identity. His ignorance of the broader cosmos was almost pitiful.
"Child," Apocalypse said, his voice echoing with imperious authority, "tell me—who rules this world now?"
He had slept for thousands of years.
Apocalypse knew that the world outside must have changed beyond recognition. Though his tone seemed calm, his gaze never left Herman. As he spoke, he examined both Herman himself and the golden barrier surrounding Evelyn, evaluating whether this "kin" possessed the potential to serve as his new Knight.
If Herman's power impressed him, Apocalypse might even consider him a suitable "spare vessel" for the future.
That was always how he operated. The so-called Four Horsemen of Apocalypse were not only his enforcers—they were also his reserve bodies. For someone like him, loyalty meant nothing.
It was arrogance befitting a god—or at least, what he imagined a god should be.
Of course, from Herman's perspective, Apocalypse was nothing more than a deluded mortal—someone who had inherited the arrogance of divinity without ever possessing its true essence.
"Not bad."
Apocalypse examined the energy shield Herman had conjured and quickly realized it would take considerable effort to break through.
Because of that, he couldn't help but praise Herman's power.
"Interested in following me—and achieving something truly great?" Apocalypse spoke softly, his tone carrying an air of superiority, as though he were offering a favor rather than a proposal.
It was a recruitment.
Of course, if he knew that the shield protecting Evelyn was nothing more than a casual flicker of divine power from Herman, he might not have been so lofty in his invitation.
"Something great? You mean ruling this world?" Herman's lips curled slightly, inwardly mocking Apocalypse, who didn't even comprehend how vast the world truly was.
But his expression remained calm, his tone perfectly composed—so his disdain went unnoticed.
Apocalypse misread his composure as reverence. A pleased smile spread across his face. "Ah, so you are one of my followers?"
To Apocalypse, anyone aware of his "grand vision" was most likely a descendant of his ancient worshipers. The loyal mutant families that once served him were not few.
"Followers? Heh… Do you think you're worthy of my faith?"
Those words finally made Apocalypse realize his mistake.
"Ignorant fool! Do you even know who you're speaking to?" His tone turned sharp with fury. Blue fire ignited in his eyes, spilling from the corners, casting a fierce light across his armored face and making his features look all the more monstrous.
"Apocalypse—the ancient mutant monarch revived from the past," Herman said evenly. "Not only do I know who you are, but I can also tell you this: your destiny… ends here."
A torrent of black death energy erupted from his body, flooding the collapsed pyramid hall and wrapping everything in the chilling power of death.
Yet Apocalypse felt nothing.
"Heh… I see. You're one of those arrogant mortals who believe they can slay gods." He smirked, certain he'd seen through Herman's heart.
A cold, merciless grin crept across his face.
"Ant… you will soon understand the vast gulf between your existence and mine. I'll even grant you the honor of kneeling before me to beg for mercy."
"Then I'll refuse your plea—and let you die in despair. The price of blasphemy, even for one of my own kind, is death!"
As his words fell, Apocalypse's form burst into motion, transforming into a streak of blazing light as he charged straight toward Herman.