Falling into the Simulation pt 5 - Chapter 59
Minutes before the planned time for the attack, drums and screams echoed across the horizon. Tyrin and his group watched closely as fifteen people ran in desperation, chased by a colossal war beast. Above them, some Tyranos beat their drums and laughed frenetically, encouraging the titanic creature in its ruthless hunt.
Tyrin needed only a few seconds to recognize the threat: a Titayaraus, a beast used by the Tyranos' royalty. It was a formidable creature, imposing in its own right. However, upon analyzing the riders mounted on it, he felt a brief sense of relief — they were merely low-ranking vassals. No noble or high-ranking figure among them.
"Ty, they won't reach the castle before they're caught! What do we do?" — a worried voice broke his train of thought.
Tyrin wanted to help them too, but acting without a plan would be suicide. He quickly activated his skill to assess the enemy:
🌀 ENEMY STATUS 🌀
Name: Titayaraus Malek
Level: 25
Class: A+
Strength: 120
Endurance: 300
Speed: 20
Skill: 20
Psyche: N/A
Analyzing the stats, Tyrin realized that despite the absurd strength and massive endurance, the creature's speed and skills were limited. It was definitely a heavy transport mount, not one meant for combat.
"Help me put on the armor."
Without wasting time, his group helped him into the Zenthral Armor, a suit powered by stones extracted from defeated beasts. The only downside? Its consumption was voracious. But, considering the pile of corpses around, that wouldn't be a problem now.
"Where's the weapon?"
Tyrin searched the area until he found it: a colossal rifle with a chainsaw attached to the end. Before, he had considered it clumsy and excessively large for his build. But now, clad in armor, it made sense. The bullets were the size of a fist and looked capable of causing massive destruction.
"Holy shit, Ty! You look like a war monster!" — exclaimed Damian, eyes wide in amazement.
Cassandra and Eleonora nodded, equally impressed. With the armor equipped, Tyrin had become an imposing figure, a 2.5-meter-tall warrior, ready for battle. He then activated the armor's visor to check his own status.
🌀 ARMOR STATUS 🌀
Zenthral Armor – Unrefined
Class: Epic
Active Abilities:
✔ +150 Endurance (Enabled)
✔ +30 Speed (Enabled)
Owner: Tyrin
He flexed his fingers inside the metal gloves, feeling the energy pulsing around his body.
"Yeah… it's pretty comfortable."
He turned toward the castle gate and moved to leave. However, as he approached, he realized an obvious problem: he was too big to pass through the main entrance.
Without hesitation, he activated one of the armor's functions — built-in foot thrusters. In an instant, he blasted into the air, clearing the wall with a powerful leap.
"Okay… time to test this out."
He landed on the outer grounds and advanced toward the creature, crossing paths with the survivors.
"Run to the castle! I'll take care of this creature!"
The drums fell silent. The vassals atop the Titayaraus leapt to attack him, but before they could touch the ground, they were met with precise bursts from Cassandra and Eleonora, who took them down from a distance.
Now, it was just him and the beast.
"Well... just you and me now, big guy."
The stench of rotting flesh hung thick in the air. Shattered bodies, torn apart by bullets, lay around him like silent spectators awaiting the battle's conclusion. His armor creaked softly as he adjusted his grip on the rifle, its metal gleaming under the crimson glow of the sky.
At the tip of the weapon, the built-in chainsaw buzzed eagerly.
In front of him, the Beast growled — a grotesque mass of muscle, claws long enough to impale a man, and jaws capable of snapping armor in two. Its hungry eyes gleamed with primal malice, fixed on him with feral fury.
Tyrin didn't hesitate. He pulled the trigger.
The rifle's roar tore through the air, and the bullets struck the monster with devastating force. Craters opened in the deformed flesh, spilling black blood, but the creature didn't flinch. It only roared and charged, its limbs shattering the ground like colossal hammers.
He hurled himself aside at the last second, using the thrusters on his feet, feeling the gust of air from the beast's brutal charge. The ground quaked under its weight. Spinning onto one knee, he fired twice at the creature's knee. The projectiles exploded on impact, making the leg falter—but not give out.
The monster's response was immediate. One of its claws swept past Tyrin's helmet, grazing the metal and ripping off a piece of the side — what was supposed to be the strongest material in the universe was now torn like paper.
He felt the heat of his own blood trickling down the side of his face. But there was no time for pain.
"Come on, you pile of rotting meat!" he snarled, yanking the chainsaw to life.
The blade roared, spinning at high speed and spitting sparks as it sliced through the air. Tyrin charged. The Beast tried to strike again, but this time he slid beneath the attack, feet gliding over blood-soaked sand. He rose with an upward strike.
The chainsaw sank into the creature's side.
Its roar was deafening. Tyrin pushed the blade deeper, feeling the serrated teeth grind through bone and muscle. But the monster, in a clumsy, desperate blow, flung him away.
His world spun. The impact of the fall made pain explode in his skull.
But he couldn't stop.
He rolled away just in time, dodging the claws that came down to tear him apart. He raised the rifle, hands shaking with adrenaline, and pulled the trigger again.
The bullets pierced the creature's skull, scattering chunks of flesh and bone across the ground. For the first time, the Beast recoiled.
This was his chance.
With a furious shout, Tyrin activated the armor's thrusters and launched himself toward the monster. He climbed its deformed back, holding onto twisted flesh as the creature thrashed.
The chainsaw blade found the base of the neck.
The monster's roar was earth-shattering. Hot blood gushed out like a grotesque fountain, covering his armor.
The creature tried to shake him off, tried to throw him down — but it was too late.
Tyrin drove the saw deeper, the spinning teeth shredding through muscle, tendons, and bone. The sound of the chainsaw tearing through flesh merged with the beast's scream of agony. Nearly a minute later, with a brutal snap, the blade sliced clean through the neck.
The head finally detached and crashed to the ground with a dull thud.
Silence.
Tyrin stood atop the carcass, panting, black blood dripping from his armor. He had won.
But the stench of rot still lingered in the air.
And then, movement on the horizon.
Shadows were approaching.
Tyrin narrowed his eyes and managed to make out the figures running toward the castle. His chest tightened as he recognized the danger.
Belzebuth.
Same number. A new horde.
"Damn... I need to get back, fast."
He shot back toward the castle, arriving just in time to see the fifteen survivors still alive.
"Tyrin, we've separated them. We got lucky — four of them are soldiers."
Eleonora was the first to approach, reporting the situation.
"That's it?" Tyrin frowned.
"The group was bigger, but the remaining soldiers stayed behind to buy time for the civilians."
Tyrin clenched his fists, frustration creeping through his mind. But there was no time to dwell on it.
"Okay. No problem. Anyone who can handle a weapon, get to the wall and defend the castle."
"But we don't have enough weapons!"
Tyrin took a deep breath. He already knew that.
"Take mine. I'll fight outside, hand-to-hand."
Eleonora hesitated.
"But without your helmet—"
"Don't worry." Tyrin looked toward the gates, his eyes glowing with the adrenaline of the impending battle. "I won't die to those things."
He had already tested the armor's power — its resilience, its speed.
With his dagger, he would be unstoppable.
But first, he had to make sure the castle would be safe without him.
It made sense to meet the enemy head-on.
"Alright. I'll let the others know."
"Thank you."
Tyrin took a deep breath and tightened his fists.
Out there, the monsters were advancing.
Tyrin could feel his body calling for battle. Adrenaline surged through his veins, each heartbeat pounding like a war drum.
"I'm not that scared kid anymore. I'll kill them all."
He remained outside the castle, facing the approaching black tide.
The earth trembled beneath thousands of monstrous feet. The sunny sky darkened under the shadow of the Belzebuth, coming like a wave of rotting flesh, crimson eyes glowing through the chaos. Grotesque creatures climbed over each other, crawling like demonic worms, howling as if doom itself had been unleashed.
And Tyrin stood there. Alone.
Armed only with his serrated dagger and his fury.
Behind him, the castle's northern wall. He was the last line of defense.
The first monsters came like living projectiles.
Tyrin leapt to meet them, slicing through the air like a blade. He drove the dagger straight into the skull of the first enemy before his feet even hit the ground. The creature twitched, suffocated by instant death, and collapsed.
But another was already coming from behind.
He spun, delivering a brutal punch. The creature's jaw shattered with a sickening crack, but Tyrin didn't stop. With a swift motion, he slashed its throat, pulling the blade sideways in a wide, lethal cut. Black blood sprayed across his face, but he didn't even blink.
Then more came.
Three at once.
The first crawled low — Tyrin crushed its spine with a stomp, snapping the creature in two.
The second lunged with claws outstretched. He dodged and grabbed it by the neck, twisting with a sharp motion that snapped its spine.
The third was faster. Its claws scraped against his armor, carving a bloody groove in his shoulder. The pain burst like fire — but Tyrin didn't flinch. He never would.
With both hands, he drove the dagger into the creature's chest and ripped upward.
The beast split nearly in half, collapsing as a shredded carcass.
The ground became a field of carnage.
But the Belzebuth didn't stop.
Tyrin felt his body grow heavy. Sweat mixed with the blood covering his skin and armor. Fatigue clawed at him, but he refused to fall.
One of the monsters grabbed his leg.
Tyrin kicked so hard the demon's head exploded against a rock.
Another tried to tackle him.
Tyrin seized its arm and used the creature like a weapon, smashing others with its twisted body.
Claws shattered against his armor.
Teeth broke without even scratching the Zenthral.
He kept fighting.
Slash.
Stab.
Punch.
Kick.
Blood.
Broken bones.
Tyrin was a hurricane of destruction.
He fought like a cornered animal.
Like a god of war.
Like a man who refused to lose.
The Belzebuth began to hesitate.
They were countless. They were monstrous. But Tyrin didn't stop.
And fear began to spread among them.
The sun was already low on the horizon when the last monster charged.
Tyrin drove the dagger straight into the creature's eye and pushed it all the way to the hilt.
The monster convulsed, twisted, and dropped dead at his feet.
Then…
Silence.
Tyrin stood there, soaked in blood, his breath tearing through the air.
The field around him was littered with mangled corpses. None of them moved.
He spat blood onto the ground.
He had won.
Behind him, the gates still stood. The castle was still safe.
Because he had been there to hold the line.
Cassandra arrived at the battlefield shortly after to aid Tyrin.
The iron stench of blood hung thick in the air, and the last rays of the sun painted the earth an even deeper red.
She found Tyrin standing… but unconscious.
The front of his armor was so drenched in blood that its original color had vanished.
But the back still gleamed like pure metal, not a single drop of filth.
Meanwhile, in Custer's observation room…
Everyone stared in stunned silence at the screen, which showed exactly what Cassandra was seeing.
Some held their breath. None of them had ever witnessed anything like it.
A student finally broke the silence:
"Professor… are the ultras' armors really that powerful?"
Custer didn't answer immediately.