Apocalypse Forecast

It’s almost like witnessing the scene of a Hell Church sacrifice.

Too tragic to look at.

In the vast space behind the door, everywhere the eye can see—the walls, ceiling, floor—are covered with countless twisted markings painted in blood...

Like murals drawn in madness, or things written with the last hope in despair...

Yet it’s hard to discern what’s actually written.

All the handwriting has been completely distorted.

Only the laughter, like hallucinations, echoes around, sending shivers down the spine.

Huai Shi tightly grips the Resentment Water, glances around, and even though detection equipment has found the presence of air outside, he still doesn’t dare to remove the heavy defenses.

Is all this an illusion or something else?

He cannot determine.

But what Garandor said was indeed correct—the Gate of the Kingdom, being the furthest from the central engine’s outflow layer, is the safest place.

Everyone knows.

Including the alchemists on Helios.

Thus, they chose to escape... to flee to this place furthest from the nightmare.

Unfortunately, the edge of the nightmare is still only a nightmare.

The ground is in disarray, as if a dozen beggars have lived here for a long time, with old clothes, trash, even piles of excrement everywhere.

And bodies.

The bodies of the deceased.

Huai Shi can only glance briefly before looking away.

Too bizarre, some have already turned into skeletons while others remain lifelike, perfectly preserving every detail of their dying expressions, and some are both at once. Some have become beds for plants, and others are completely petrified.

The only commonality is the twisted faces, the corners of the mouths raised in... a smile.

A genuine smile.

As if, empathetically sharing the joy they feel.

Yet the eyes are bloodshot, shrunken, dried, with traces of blood tears remaining, the pain already materialized and overflowing.

Because worldly joy no longer exists.

Long before death, inexpressible joy and sorrow had already torn apart the souls of these survivors.

Without exception, driven mad to death.

Huai Shi grips the Resentment Water, picks up the precious materials and Border Relics scattered on the ground, flipping through them to find remaining clues, and feels genuine bafflement as he looks around.

"So desperate?"

He scratched his head through the helmet, "Could it be that someone on Helios organized a collective viewing of ’Animal Girls Zoo’?"

Or both seasons back-to-back, with no sleep allowed before finishing?

Isn’t that a bit too cruel?

Unfortunately, no one seems to understand the joke meant to lighten the mood.

In the tense atmosphere, everyone is stern, filled with vigilance and caution, taking out all their protective tools and relics, meticulously surveying the surroundings.

Yet the alchemists from the Stone Pot Society seem like mindless machines, witnessing the scene without any hesitation.

After the initial investigation, they quickly removed standardized flamethrowers from their backs, skillfully loading block-shaped fuse afterward, and upon pulling the trigger, aimed at the scattered remnants.

Immediately, blue-green tongues of flame burst out, like living creatures, following the user’s will, slowly gliding, burning everything in its path to the ground.

Disintegrating into final dust.

Rachelle reacted a beat late, nearly caught by the flames, hastily dropped the Border Relic she had just picked up and stepped aside.

Yet she dared not say anything, only muttered a vague curse.

Soon, most of the garbage and remains in the hall were burned.

It was then, that Valery, the Russian Federation alchemist exploring with a bronze cane at the hall’s edge, suddenly cried out, attracting everyone’s attention.

"Survivor!"

Valery yelled on the public channel, "There’s a survivor..."

Everyone paused for a moment, simultaneously looking at the small mountain formed by piled-up boxes.

Valery raised the bronze cane in his hand, lightly tapped the floor, and immediately the box-stacked ruins emitted a muffled sound.

Huai Shi sensitively caught the process within.

Like his Extreme Interpretation, it was using material to transmit impact, embedding siege hammer-like power in a tiny tap, delivering it afar, shattering the sticky disguise thoroughly.

Then everyone saw that hunched-back silhouette.

The bare-chested, emaciated man sat amidst the grisly crimson.

His hair had been violently torn off, leaving only a few strays clinging to the swollen scalp, his body filthy and stinking, it’s been unclear how long since he last bathed.

On him and underfoot, even all around, were layers of horrific mystic rituals painted in blood.

At the moment, he was numbly tearing blood scabs off his body, fingers dipped in dried blood, repeatedly touching up the faded, peeling marks.

Mumbling to himself.

Completely oblivious to the presence of this group of intruders around him.

Just chanting to himself, sealing himself within the mystic rituals.

What’s even more eye-catching is the equipment almost covering him entirely.

Necklaces, jewels, collars, earrings, and on the belt are a string of talismans stained with blood, even various ornaments haphazardly taped onto him.

Huai Shi was nearly blinded by the Source Fluctuations amongst them.

Resisting the urge to suck in a sharp breath, suddenly wanting to damn well rob him...