Apocalypse Gachapon

Among the ten types of cards, aside from the final three, the most attention-grabbing were undoubtedly the Angel Card and the Demon Card.

Cards like the Head Start Card or Summon Card were ultimately just tools to seize initiative—their effects weren’t as directly impactful on one’s own strength.

The Angel Card was different. It could directly enhance a team’s combat power, and even more remarkably, the angel could be upgraded, remaining with the team indefinitely. In terms of cost-effectiveness, it was the best choice.

In this regard, the Demon Card fell short. Even though it could also be upgraded, each enhancement came at a price, making many evolved hesitate.

Earlier, during the card purchases, the Angel Cards had been the first to sell out.

Who managed to snatch them? No one knew except the buyers themselves. Now, the first of the five Angel Cards made its appearance.

A lifeform strikingly similar to the angels of Earth legend materialized above Great America’s evolved ranks. Its pristine white wings fluttered gently, its body adorned with feathers of the same hue. Its humanoid form boasted slightly elongated arms, one wielding a sharp spear, the other a beautiful round shield.

The moment it appeared, the shield-bearing hand pointed at a wounded evolver. A beam of light shot from its finger, sinking into the injured fighter—whose wounds visibly improved.

Simultaneously, its piercing eyes swept across the swamp before it tilted its head back and spat out a luminous pearl.

The pearl hovered midair, dispelling the surrounding mist and clearing the field of vision.

“There!”

No matter how fast this guardian beast was, its emergence from the swamp’s countless water pits would always create ripples. Previously, the evolvers had struggled to detect these due to the obscuring fog. Now, even the faintest disturbance was enough to trigger a response.

A single action had turned the tide.

Governor Spade laughed heartily, his gaze lingering on the angel with a hint of something dark—even licking his lips.

The guardian beast resumed its attacks after a brief pause. This time, it didn’t emerge from the water pits but from beneath a pile of sludge.

It burst forth, splattering mud everywhere and obstructing sightlines. Seizing an evolved, it attempted to drag its prey underwater as before.

But the angel—alongside several elite evolved—reacted instantly.

Spade, positioned at the team’s core surrounded by trusted aides, spotted the beast’s silhouette. His hand moved imperceptibly, launching a fist through the crowd’s gaps. As the guardian beast retreated, the blow struck its flank.

A few other scattered attacks followed, most missing. Only a silver-grade crossbow bolt grazed its head, tearing off a small patch of flesh.

Its defense is mediocre!

This assessment flashed through many minds. That bolt had been merely silver-grade, and while the weapon itself was green-grade, its power wasn’t exceptional.

The angel’s attack arrived next. Without descending, it fired twin beams from its eyes—one missing, the other striking the beast’s exposed shoulder.

The beam and Spade’s flying fist landed simultaneously. The guardian beast toppled sideways, dragging its captive with it. Subsequent attacks meant for the beast instead pummeled the hapless evolved, silencing his screams in moments.

Dozens rushed forward, weapons indiscriminately pulverizing the area into a crater—only to find nothing beneath the evolved’s mangled corpse except a pool of non-human blood.

“Gone?”

A shriek rang out behind them. Turning, they saw only a thrashing arm vanishing into a water pit.

Another evolved had been taken—this time without even the angel reacting.

“Governor, can you control it?!” A man snarled, face twisted—the dead evolved had been his younger brother.

Spade shook his head, eyes scanning the terrain. The angel, once summoned, fought purely on instinct.

Observers watching via the screen shared a collective headache over the guardian beast’s elusiveness.

The battle raged on. The beast struck repeatedly from impossible angles, killing with single blows—even a seven-star evolved fell without resistance.

Yet as Great America’s numbers dwindled, their formation tightened. They spotted the beast more frequently now. The angel attacked intermittently, sometimes pausing—“sluggish,” some muttered.

What should’ve been a head-on clash had devolved into a deadly game of predator and prey.

After losing over seventy members, Great America finally cornered the now-wounded guardian beast. The angel hurled its spear, pinning the creature to the ground, and the surviving evolved tore it apart.

Cloud Peak lost a Bright Star. Great America gained one.

With the earlier lead, the Mechanical Genius and Cloud Peak had been frontrunners for the Mountain King Crown. Now, despite both losing a star, they still held a numerical advantage.

The implication was clear: to win, others would need to eliminate these two factions outright.

Yes, eliminate—total annihilation was the only way.

Alternatively, an alliance could gradually erode their Bright Stars—though with the gap so wide, crippling one faction might be possible, but both? Unlikely.

This was why those cards had been so feverishly purchased. Many believed hidden opportunities lurked within—the wheel would never let victory come easily.

Overthinking it led to madness, as this problem was too complicated.

Move too fast, and you surrender fate to others. Too slow, and you’d drown in relentless challenges.

Alliances were unreliable—everyone coveted the final prize. Only preexisting arrangements like Cannibal Chain and Cloud Peak’s, bound by deep mutual interests, could work. Yet refusing to cooperate meant conceding victory to Cloud Peak and the Mechanical Genius.

Every decision carried existential weight.

Next was Gyanendra, the West Asian Saint. His earlier strategy—racing to the center—had earned him numerous rewards.

But with so few Bright Stars, everyone wondered how he planned to overturn the odds.

The Soaring Crystal flew out, steady and swift.

“Bright Star No. 7—owned by Gyanendra!”

He’d landed on his own territory.

As everyone pondered whether this was good or bad, Gyanendra’s team vanished, reappearing on their star.

Then, the Saint produced a card. It split midair, streaking toward two adjacent stars.

A system announcement left everyone stunned:

“Gyanendra uses Bad Neighbor Card, seizing Bright Stars No. 6 and 8. Women Guard loses No. 6. Cloud Peak loses No. 8.”

What the hell was a Bad Neighbor Card?! The wheel space had never mentioned this!

Frantically, many queried the system—only to receive silence.

“A reward from his earlier advance?”

Ye Zhongming and others reached the same conclusion—the only plausible explanation.

Yet even if this card was a reward for speed, how had Gyanendra known about it beforehand?

“Stellar Prophet!”

Ye Zhongming refused to believe Gyanendra had prior knowledge of the rewards. That left only one explanation:

The old man’s job. An utterly mysterious and esoteric job.

Ye Zhongming’s expression darkened—not because of another lost star, but because Gyanendra’s abilities had once again introduced a cataclysmic variable.