My 100th Rebirth a day before the Apocalypse novel Chapter 552

He always maintained his composure, his trust in their resilience unshaken.

But now, as he called out to Sparrow over the radio without a response, something within him was unraveling.

Why was this different? What was it about Sparrow’s silence that caused Vulture to lose his iron grip on control?

The unspoken question hung heavy in the air, and the unease among them deepened as they watched their unyielding leader teeter on the edge of rage and despair.

They all wanted to know what was running through Vulture’s mind, but the sheer weight of his fury kept them at bay.

The oppressive tension in the air made their nerves fray, and none of them dared to step closer or ask.

An icy dread crept up their spines, turning their feet numb, while cold sweat trickled down their backs.

The group fell into an uneasy silence, each unwilling to confront the fears that mirrored in the others’ eyes.

Suddenly, a voice called out from the distance, cutting through the oppressive stillness like a knife.

"Ah! It’s them!"

The cry echoed through the wreckage of the animal farm, shattering the silence and snapping everyone’s attention toward the direction of the sound.

Some of the Winters’ men turned toward the source of the voice, their eyes narrowing as they scanned the wreckage of the animal farm.

In the distance, figures clad in black emerged, steadily pushing aside debris as they advanced.

Their identities were unclear in the bright sunlight and swirling dust, casting an unsettling shadow over the scene.

Instinctively, the group shifted into defensive stances, muscles tensing as they prepared for the unknown.

Yet, Vulture remained detached from the moment, his thoughts consumed by the storm of emotions raging within him.

His usual sharp instincts seemed dulled, his awareness of the outside world faltering as his senses betrayed him.

"Captain, Vulture, we’ve got movement—people are heading our way," one of the Winters’ men reported sharply, his voice steady despite the tension in the air.

The team instinctively shifted into formation, their training kicking in as they prepared for potential confrontation.

Recognizing Vulture’s distracted state, one of them nudged the team’s STAU forward, positioning him close to Vulture to make sure that he was just as protected.

The rest of the group tightened their defensive perimeter, their eyes locked on the approaching figures.

They couldn’t afford to take any chances—not when Vulture, their strongest pillar, seemed completely consumed by whatever storm raged inside him.

The team drew their daggers in one hand and pistols in the other, their postures tense and deliberate.

Each of them silently prepared to summon their awakened abilities, ready to adapt their tactics based on how the approaching group might react.

The air around them buzzed with the weight of unspoken strategy, every member poised to respond to the slightest sign of hostility.

But the figures advancing toward them were in no rush.

Their unhurried pace only heightened the tension, the agonizing slowness building an unbearable pressure in the team’s already taut muscles.

Every second dragged on, amplifying the nervous anticipation of the inevitable confrontation.

The group standing under the glaring sunlight seemed to notice the tense and solemn atmosphere emanating from Vulture’s team.

Their movement faltered, and they came to an abrupt stop, an action that only heightened the unease among Vulture’s men. Every muscle in the team coiled tighter, nerves stretched to their limit.