Apocalypse Forecast

In Helios, the middle level, layers of mystic ritual enveloping it, flames burned in the narrow camp. The alchemists gathered expressionlessly around the fire, quietly gazing at the flickering light.

In the increasingly dense darkness, this was the only solace.

The only lighthouse amidst countless nightmares.

Yet just beyond the firelight, in the darkness, footsteps suddenly echoed, like cold rain tapping against the window in the winter night, so deep and crisp, carrying a chilling unease, gradually approaching.

The people before the bonfire raised their eyes, their expressions turning sombre, drawing weapons and aiming at the origin of the footsteps.

They saw a glimmer of light flickering in the darkness.

Gradually approaching, the outline becoming clearer.

It revealed the young man’s appearance, smiling at them, waving, a wisp of blue smoke rising from the cigar at his lips.

A familiar scent drifted over.

In that instant, a faint sound of relief could be heard.

Only one person was still grasping their knife.

"Iz, you’re late."

"Ah haha, sorry, met an old acquaintance on the road, stayed to chat a bit and accidentally lost track of time."

Iz patted his head, observing their expressions, increasingly pleased: "You all look pretty lively, really wonderful to see!"

His steps halted outside the boundary of the mystic ritual, not approaching further.

Merely smiling, studying those familiar faces.

The elderly Egyptian lady Emara, the metallography master of the Russian Federation, Valery... and lastly, the trembling Rachelle!

"Hmm?" Iz curiously asked, "Where’s Huai Shi?"

Rachelle’s expression twisted slightly, coldly saying: "He’s dead!"

"Is that so, such a pity."

He shrugged regretfully, casting a meaningful glance at Rachelle, "So how did you escape?"

"..."

Rachelle’s expression shifted abruptly, seemingly restraining his anger and venom with effort, his lips moved slightly but eventually withdrew his gaze: "None of your business!"

He hid his slightly deformed body behind his robe, avoiding Iz’s scrutinizing gaze.

Iz withdrew his gaze, smiling: "Well then, any gains?"

No one responded.

"Came back empty-handed?"

He sighed sympathetically, then stepped aside, cheerfully revealing the lineup behind him in the darkness: "But I am different... I’ve brought Garandor back!"

Silence came abruptly.

Everyone raised their heads in astonishment.

And in the darkness, among those silent alchemists, the leading figure lifted his helmet, revealing an ancient face.

"The exploration base is ready."

The stern old man said calmly: "Please follow me, everyone."

In that moment, everyone’s expressions changed dramatically.

"Wa... wait a minute..." Rachelle exclaimed in disbelief: "Gr... Great Grandmaster why..."

"Perhaps because couldn’t rest assured, following beside us from the start." Iz shrugged, smoking: "Ah, to be honest, it gave me quite a fright, how about it? Surprised? Unexpected?"

"I... I..."

Rachelle’s expression twitched, unable to voice his thoughts.

—He saw with his own eyes, Garandor decapitated by Publius!

But gradually, the twitching expression swiftly twisted, muscles writhing, seemingly morphing into another face.

A cold will inhabiting his shell, making him lift his head, smiling at the long-lost ’friends’.

Yet that smile was devoid of warmth.

So cold.

Full of mockery.

"Weren’t you the one who despises those layers, ’Garandor.’"

Separated by a vast distance, Publius chuckled malevolently, "When did you start studying Life Science, a mere small trick for scraping by?"

"I am not like you, Publius, we have never been the same."

Garandor replied even frostier, "Apart from soul, blood, and bone, how many versions of yourself can you distinguish? Only to futilely decay."

The cane tapped down, colliding with the floor, emitting a sharp noise.

Severing the connection from afar.

"No, we are the same, right from the beginning..."

At the final moment, Rachelle’s cold smile gradually faded, only vague whispers arose from his spasming throat: "This is... part of Fate’s design..."

In the deathly silence, he finally lay on the ground, breathing laboriously.

Tears and mucus freely flowing.

The alchemy matrix etched onto the deformed shell’s back silently dissipated at some unknown time, leaving only an ugly scar resembling a burn.

"I don’t know... I didn’t say anything..." he screamed in defense: "I’m innocent, Great Grandmaster, believe me!"

"I know."

Garandor was indifferent, "Rise, Rachelle, there’s still a place for you."

Rachelle paused, then swiftly rejoiced, his tear-streaked and snot-covered face breaking into a relieved smile, nodding vigorously.

"Great Grandmaster, I need an explanation."

In the silence, Valery spoke: "What on earth is all this?"

"Unexpected." Garandor said: "But my promise remains valid."

He raised his eyes, gazing at the alchemists gathered beside the fire as instructed: "Only, need everyone to play a part."

As his words flowed, threads of blood seeped from above the ceiling.

Stretching, dispersing, pulled into strands, myriad threads, transforming into rain.