Chương 143: 142: What's happening?

The screens flickered across every continent. News anchors sat behind desks with pale faces and trembling hands, their rehearsed composure collapsing beneath the weight of what they were being forced to report. Some had been broadcasting for days without sleep. Others had stopped pretending they were calm.

"Good evening. I'm..." The anchor swallowed.

"I'm not sure how to say this. We are receiving reports of... things that cannot be explained." Footage appeared behind him. A street in Tokyo. Cars abandoned in the middle of the road. Buildings reduced to rubble. Smoke rolling between shattered towers. Something enormous moved through the haze.

"What you are seeing is..." His voice cracked.

"We don't know what it is. It appeared moments ago and has been moving through the city ever since. We have no name for it. We have no explanation. We only know that everything it touches is destroyed." The camera zoomed in. The creature was massive, its elongated body covered in crimson scales, its limbs folding at angles that made no anatomical sense. Its head resembled that of a grotesque fish, narrow and piscine, with glassy eyes glowing from within.

A long tail swept through a row of buildings, reducing concrete and steel to clouds of dust. Its mouth opened. A torrent of water erupted from its throat and flooded the street. The anchor stared at the footage.

"Dear God." In London, a reporter stood beneath the rain with her umbrella hanging uselessly at her side. Behind her, the Thames had risen several feet, its surface churning against the embankments.

"We're receiving reports that something has been sighted in the Channel," she said, struggling to keep her voice steady.

"Witnesses describe a creature that is large, serpentine, and covered in what appear to be... mouths. We've also been told that its body may be composed entirely of living water." The camera turned toward the river. Something enormous moved beneath the surface. The reporter took an involuntary step backward.

"It's coming this way." She looked directly into the camera.

"God help us all."... In Mumbai, a man with a bloodied bandage around his head struggled to explain what he had witnessed.

"It was like a dream," he said, words slurring together.

"A nightmare. It was standing in the street, and its eyes were glowing, and it just... looked at us." He swallowed.

"Everyone started screaming. Nobody knew why. We just knew we had to run." A woman beside him nodded rapidly.

"I saw the woman. The one with the tentacles. She was floating in the air. Six arms, all of them... wrong. There was something about her."

"What happened?" the reporter asked. The man stared blankly at the ground.

"I woke up in a field. I was freezing. I don't know where I was or how I got there. I remember her." His expression tightened.

"After that, nothing." In New York, a mother clutched her daughter against her chest while emergency sirens screamed somewhere beyond the barricades.

"I saw the giant eel things with legs," she whispered.

"They came out of the water. They had teeth. So many teeth. They just kept coming."

"Did anyone help you?" The woman nodded.

"There was a thing. A wolf-thing. He moved so fast I couldn't even see him. He grabbed us, and suddenly we were somewhere else." She looked down at her daughter.

"We were safe."

"Where is he now?" The mother shook her head.

"I don't know. He was gone before I could thank him."... In Moscow, a soldier stood behind a barricade, his face hidden beneath a helmet. His voice was flat with exhaustion.

"We're being overrun. We've lost contact with most of the eastern districts. The creatures are everywhere. Conventional weapons aren't stopping them."

"Have you seen the woman?" Silence. The soldier finally nodded.

"Once."

"What did she do?"

"She stood on a building." He looked toward the ruined city behind him.

"She just watched."

"What did she look like?" The soldier hesitated.

"Beautiful." His voice dropped.

"Beautiful, but... not human. Something else. Something that should not exist." — The internet had become a sea of panic. Social media platforms flooded with videos of the destruction. Some showed eel-like creatures tearing through cities. Others captured the enormous crimson beast moving through oceans and streets. A handful had even managed to record the woman with tentacle-like hair. The internet gave her a name. Mother of Judgement. It spread within hours.

The footage showed her floating above ruined cities, six arms extended, blindfold rippling in the wind. Sometimes she moved. Sometimes she spoke. Often she simply watched. One comment appeared beneath a video.

"Does anyone know what she wants? She doesn't seem to attack people directly. She just appears, and then everything goes wrong." Another answered.

"She isn't attacking. She's judging."

"That's insane."

"Look at the survivors." The next reply contained a list of names. People rescued from collapsed buildings. Children found alive beneath rubble. Families discovered untouched in districts that had otherwise been destroyed.

"They're all the same. They never hurt anyone. They're just... good." Someone replied:"That isn't how the world works." The answer appeared seconds later.

"It is now." In Patagonia, a group of survivors huddled together inside the remains of a damaged shelter, their faces illuminated by a single phone screen. Nobody spoke. The footage had been taken from a helicopter that had flown too close to the devastation. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. The camera swept across the mountains. The snow was red. Bodies covered the slopes. Thousands became tens of thousands as the camera continued moving.

The scale became difficult to comprehend. Entire sections of the mountain looked less like a battlefield and more like a graveyard stretching beyond the limits of the image. Someone behind the camera began crying.

"Oh God..." Another survivor covered their mouth.

"That's impossible."

"There are too many." A man stepped backward from the screen, shaking his head. The camera continued panning.... A figure suddenly crossed the frame. It moved with impossible speed, its silhouette resembling something between a humanoid and a machine, encased in a strange suit that seemed almost inspired by the frantic geometry of a hummingbird. The camera operator jerked the lens toward it. The figure had stopped. It was looking through the bodies. Searching.

It moved again, lifting corpses, examining faces, pushing aside debris, searching through the dead as though looking for one specific person.

"Is it looking for someone?" a survivor whispered.

"Who?" Nobody knew. The figure disappeared between the mountains. The helicopter remained silent for several seconds. Then someone whispered the question everyone had been avoiding.

"What happens if it finds them?" Back in the studio, the anchor sat motionless, his hands clasped before him. His face was pale, his eyes hollow.

"We have received reports that several major cities have been completely evacuated," he said. He glanced toward the papers in front of him.

"The death toll is currently impossible to verify. Early estimates suggest it may already be in the billions." His voice faltered.

"The creatures, whatever they are, continue to spread. Military forces have been deployed across multiple regions, but reports indicate that conventional weapons have been... ineffective." He stared into the camera. There was no rehearsed line waiting for him this time.

"I'm not sure what to say." His fingers tightened around each other.

"I'm not sure what to do." He swallowed.

"I'm not sure if there is anything any of us can do." Another channel had assembled a panel. Religious leaders sat around a polished table, their faces grim beneath the studio lights.

"This is the Rapture," one of them said, his voice trembling.

"This is what we were warned about. The end of days. The final judgment."

"Or perhaps it is something else entirely," another replied.

"Something we do not yet understand."

"Does it matter what we call it?" a third asked.

"People are dying. Cities are burning. The world is ending. Do we need a name before we are allowed to be afraid?" The first speaker shook his head.

"We need to pray. We need to repent. This is our only hope."

"And if that does not work?" His composure finally broke.

"Then we are lost." Deep within the collapsing internet, a single post went viral. It showed a young girl at a sporting event years earlier, grinning beneath streaks of face paint, her eyes bright with uncomplicated joy. She held a sign above her head. I'M NOT SCARED. The caption beneath it read: The world is ending. But there are still people fighting. There are still people who refuse to give up. If we can hold on a little longer, maybe we can still find a way through this. Millions shared it.

People translated it into dozens of languages. Strangers reposted it alongside messages to their families, their friends, their children. Some printed the photograph and taped it inside shelters. Others simply stared at the girl's smile when they needed something to believe in. Nobody knew who had created the post. It did not matter. For a world drowning in fear, the image became a small reason to keep breathing. A scientist stood before a wall of screens, her face illuminated by streams of data.

"We are seeing a pattern," she said.

"The creatures are not acting randomly. Their movements are coordinated. They are being directed."

"By whom?" the reporter asked. The scientist hesitated.

"I don't know." She enlarged a series of maps. Red markers spread across continents, converging along strange geometric patterns.

"But whoever is controlling them has a purpose."

"A military objective?"

"No." The scientist stared at the maps.

"Conviction." The reporter frowned.

"What does that mean?"

"They aren't doing this because they hate us. They genuinely believe they are saving us."

"By destroying us?" The scientist's expression tightened.

"Perhaps they believe humanity as it exists is beyond saving." She turned back toward the screens.

"Perhaps they think we must be broken before we can be remade." The reporter was silent.

"What do we do?" The scientist looked at her, and something almost like pity settled in her eyes.

"Pray," she whispered.

"Pray they are wrong." She glanced toward the endless stream of casualty reports.

"And if they aren't, pray there is still enough of us left to prove them wrong." The world descended further into chaos. — The Calamities continued their march across continents, each leaving devastation in its wake. Nightmares emerged from oceans, cities, forests, underground facilities, and places where reality itself had begun to deteriorate. Governments collapsed beneath the scale of the catastrophe. Military forces fought battles they could not win.

Families abandoned their homes and fled toward anywhere that still had electricity, food, or shelter. Humanity no longer knew what tomorrow would look like. Some prayed. Some fought. Some hid. Some simply waited. And somewhere beyond all of it, untouched by the destruction, a perfect world continued turning beneath an artificial sky. Inside an immaculate house, Sylvia sat comfortably with Butter in her arms.

The windows overlooked a peaceful city filled with warm lights, quiet streets, beautiful homes, and families who had no idea the rest of creation was dying. Butter rested against her. Sylvia stroked her hair. She smiled. She was happy. Everything was exactly as it was supposed to be. — The Nest hummed with frantic activity. Repair teams swarmed through the damaged corridors, welding torches casting harsh blue light across twisted metal and fractured stone.

Engineers shouted over the machinery as they coordinated repairs to the structural breaches left by the battle, while medical teams rushed past with stretchers, carrying the wounded toward the infirmary. Operatives barked orders at exhausted Steppers who had already spent hours fighting. At the centre of it all stood Alistair Voss, his black hair still perfectly slicked back despite the chaos surrounding him. His voice cut through the noise like a blade.

"Structural integrity reports. I want them on my desk in ten minutes."

"Sir, the eastern wing—""I don't care about the eastern wing. I need to know whether the core is stable."

"We're working on it!"

"Work faster." He turned toward another team.

"Apis conduits. Status?"

"Seventy-three percent operational, sir. The rest are being rerouted."

"Reroute faster." A young engineer stumbled past, her face pale, hands trembling. Alistair caught her arm.

"Where are you going?"

"I-I need to find my family. I don't know if they're—""They're alive. Everyone in the residential district was evacuated before the breach." He released her.

"Now get back to work." She stared at him for a moment before nodding and hurrying away. Alistair watched her disappear into the crowd. There was no room for sympathy now. Too much was at stake.... Rumours spread through the Nest faster than the repair crews could contain the damage. They travelled through corridors, mess halls, dormitories, maintenance shafts, and cramped quarters where exhausted trainees gathered around tablets and whispered about everything they had witnessed.

"Did you hear? They're calling him the Angel of Death now. The white-haired guy. The one who surfed on a guitar."

"I heard he killed fourteen Abominations by himself."

"Fourteen? I heard twenty. I hope he got that Amalgation bastard too."

"I heard he killed them all in one night."

"And his eyes are violet, just like the founder's. You think he's her son?"

"No chance. The founder was on another level. She could probably kill a million experiments without breaking a sweat."

"His name is Clock. He's from the Antarctic Faction."

"Seriously?"

"An actual assassin?"

"That's what I heard."

"That's insane."

"That's what I said." Nearby, another group had gathered around a tablet, replaying footage captured during the battle.

"Wait. Look at this." The video zoomed in.

"That's Ouro. The Chain Serpent."

"I thought she was one of ours."

"She was an experiment."

"Then why is she fighting with him?"

"I have no idea."

"Wait." Someone leaned closer.

"Are they holding hands?" The footage sharpened. Clock stood beside Ouro and Korhess, their hands intertwined amid the devastation. Silence.

"Is that Korhess?"

"The First Antler?"

"The Final Obstacle herself?"

"Oh my God. They're standing beside her like it's nothing."

"They have to be insanely strong."

"I'm surprised Korhess didn't kill him for touching her."

"Korhess kills people for looking at her wrong."

"Ouro swallows people."

"What?"

"I'm serious. She literally swallows enemies." Another trainee squinted at the screen.

"So what you're saying is that Clock is dating two terrifying experiments?"

"Apparently."

"All three of them?"

"That's what everyone's saying."

"That's actually kind of sweet."

"It's also terrifying." Someone laughed.

"Imagine getting into an argument with Korhess."

"I wouldn't survive the first sentence."

"Forget Korhess. Imagine making Ouro angry."

"I'd rather fight an Abomination." Another trainee narrowed his eyes at the footage.

"I think he's a furry."

"What?"

"I'm just saying. He kills all these experiments, but somehow the deer woman and snake woman survive." A pause.

"Oh." Someone slowly nodded.

"That is suspicious."

"You people are idiots."

"Maybe he has a thing for antlers."

"Korhess would eviscerate you for saying that."

"I'm just observing the evidence."

"You're going to get yourself killed." Another trainee pointed at the screen.

"Enough. Look at the footage." The joking stopped. The recording showed Clock, Ouro, and Korhess standing together against something enormous moving beyond the ruined skyline.

"I heard that roar earlier," someone whispered.

"It was horrible."

"They fought that thing together."

"And they still couldn't kill it."

"That's the part I don't understan d."

"What could possibly be strong enough to fight all three of them?" Nobody answered. The tablet continued playing. Beyond the ruined Nest, something roared again. The entire group fell silent. One trainee slowly lowered the tablet.

"I think we're about to find out."... In the residential district, Kasina's parents sat together in their quarters, their faces hollow with grief. Their daughter was dead.

"She was so young," her mother whispered.

"She had so much life ahead of her." Her father placed a hand on her shoulder.

"She knew the risks. We all did."

"But she didn't deserve this."

"No. She didn't." They had kept her body inside a temperature-controlled chamber, preserving it against decay because neither of them could bear to decide what came next. They sat in silence until Kasina's mother finally looked toward the door.

"There are rumours," she said quietly.

"About what happened to her. About the blue-haired girl." Her father's jaw tightened.

"I've heard them."

"Did she really kill her?"

"I don't know. I don't think anyone knows."

"They're saying she drained her. Took something from her and left her body empty." Her father stared at the floor.

"Whatever happened," he finally said, "we'll find out. And we'll make sure it never happens again."... In the training halls, the trainees who had witnessed Kasina's death remained gathered in small groups, speaking in voices barely louder than whispers.

"I can still see it," Liora said, her hands trembling.

"She reached out, and then she was just... gone." Gideon shook his head.

"I still don't understand it. How does someone just drain another person like that?"

"The blue-haired girl," Sera whispered.

"She isn't human anymore. She can take whatever makes you who you are and leave nothing behind."

"Kasina was a trainee," Milo said.

"She was trying to help. She didn't deserve that."

"No one does." Noel stared at the floor.

"The Decipherer said her power can rewrite reality. If that's true, we aren't dealing with an ordinary experiment."

"Are you going to tell the Commander?" Nina asked. Liora gave her a strange look.

"He already knows." The others fell silent.

"He knows everything," she continued.

"They're bringing everyone to the great hall. He's going to address the Nest." A nervous silence followed.

"What do we tell them?"

"The truth," Liora said.

"Whatever we actually know." The rumours changed as they spread.