Chapter 154: Everyone Against Luke

Luke moved through the collapsed tunnels of the mine like a ghost, shifting into mist to slip through narrow paths and blocked corridors. But no matter how far he walked, no matter how many names he called, there was no one. No answers. Only corpses — many of them beyond recognition.

He searched for Allison. For Jonathan. For Cecilia. All he found was silence. The chamber where they had fought the ant queen no longer existed — buried beneath rubble. Entire Wild Zone structures had caved in on top of it. There was no telling what remained under all that stone.

As for the Midnight Wardens… nothing. No trace. They had done their job. Appeared, killed, and vanished like a plague. Maybe it was the hour. Six in the morning. They had likely returned to whatever hellhole they came from.

When Luke finally emerged from the mine, he spotted Bartholomew’s soldiers entering the tunnels. He tried to approach, but they mistook him for a renegade. He had to flee — slipping through alleys, vanishing into the shadows once again.

Even so, he heard enough. Some of the wounded had been taken to the makeshift infirmary in the city’s central square. Bartholomew had issued a public order: heal everyone. A generous decree, thinly veiled behind political intent. But Luke didn’t head to the square. Not yet. He had something more urgent to do. He wanted to kill Paul.

The Safe Zone was waking beneath the wreckage. Archers lined the rooftops. The streets were streaked with blood and ant carcasses. Fighters and civilians worked to clear the ruins, their faces hollow. Others simply tried to survive another day.

When Luke turned onto the street leading to the camp, conversations stopped. People stared, eyes wide with disbelief. But no one moved toward him. His pace quickened. And then he saw him. Paul. Sitting on the hotel steps.

“Paul,” Luke said, approaching.

Paul slowly looked up. “What are you doing here?” His voice was calm. “You still have the nerve to show your face here?”

Luke didn’t answer. All around, people began to gather. Some held weapons. From the rooftops, archers trained their bows on him. Then a voice tore through the air.

“YOU KILLED HER!” It was Jonathan.

His missing arm hung like a phantom limb, a reminder of what he’d lost. His body was ruined. But his eyes… his eyes burned with hate.

Luke looked straight at him, unmoving. “I’m glad you survived.”

“You bastard…” Jonathan limped toward him. “You killed Angelica!”

Luke took a deep breath. “I did. But not the way you think. She was poisoned. She asked me. She wanted—”

“Liar!” Jonathan grabbed him by the collar and, with his one arm, punched Luke in the face.

Luke staggered back two steps, but didn’t strike back. He had reinforced his face with stamina. He let Jonathan hit him.

The crowd circled in. “TRAITOR!”

“MURDERER!” The voices rose from all sides, a jury without a judge.

Luke turned his head, scanning the faces — once familiar, now twisted by rage.

“You were with the renegades the whole time, weren’t you?” Paul’s voice came from atop the stairs.

“You’re the one who stole Bartholomew’s crates!” someone shouted.

Luke pointed up the steps, at Paul — standing there holding a healing potion. One of the very ones Luke had given him.

“It was him,” Luke said. “Paul killed Angelica.”

Jonathan stepped forward again, ready to strike. “Liar! You’re the one who was stealing supplies! It was you all along!”

“No!” Luke shouted. “I told you where those potions came from! And you all know the thefts started before I even got here!”

But no one was listening anymore. And Paul, standing at the top of the stairs, simply watched—like a conductor before his chaotic orchestra. He clutched the potion in his hands, pretending to be nervous, but his eyes were gleaming. The crowd wanted blood. And Luke… was alone.

“But you escalated things,” Paul said, his voice steady, though laced with false regret. “Maybe you didn’t work with the Renegades directly, but you stole. You made everything worse for this place… and you killed Angelica.”

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He stepped forward, eyes locked on Luke. “You’re a fucking psychopath.”

“You killed Angelica!” Jonathan shouted, blind with fury. “You killed her!”

“It was all a setup by Paul!” Luke shouted back, struggling to be heard. “He and Bartholomew planned everything! This was all part of it!”

But no one wanted to listen. Someone lunged at him with a knife. Luke dodged and shoved the attacker to the ground—but before he could even breathe, an arrow whistled past his face, slicing the air. Jonathan was next, grabbing Luke by the neck with his only arm. Luke used the imbalance, twisted, and threw him down.

“Listen to me!” Luke yelled again. “You need to hear what I’m saying!”

Another arrow flew. He dodged.

“STOP!” The voice cut through the crowd like a blade.

Allison.

She pushed through the people, stepping in front of Luke with her arms spread wide. “What are you doing? You said you’d listen before acting!” she shouted, turning her head toward the crowd. “He’s telling the truth. Luke is not a bad person. I’m vouching for him with my own name.”