Chapter 141

High-energy particle, invisible to the naked eye, yet its trajectory tearing through the air was clearly visible.

All sound vanished entirely, time dragged out an instant’s lag, space along the trajectory slightly collapsed, then rebounded in the next moment into a ring of distorted shockwaves, carrying scorched gray smoke. Such a tiny thing, fragilely embedding into the enormous heart right before their eyes.

The heart glowed with an eerie green light, the enlarged cavity pitch black inside. No alien emerged, nor did it close.

An instant’s deathly silence almost made Horne think time had frozen.

“Thump thump, thump thump.” Were it not for the heart still beating.

Nothing happened.

The two men’s postures remained unchanged.

Had it… failed?

Horne opened his mouth: “Hels…”

“Boom——!!”

An explosion, and Horne’s vision went black. The heat behind him vanished abruptly, and in that instant he was flung away, flying out before slamming hard into the wall. He had not even climbed up.

Immediately, a second explosion followed.

“Boom!!”

That was no physical blast; it was the low-frequency sonic explosion’s vibration they had felt passing through the corridor.

Dust, shockwaves, all swept into his lungs. Horne coughed violently, rolled over and crawled up. Just as he was about to speak, a third explosion hurled him away again.

New wounds tore open atop old ones. Horne had not even stood when his brain buzzed, his body swayed, and he collapsed.

…

Particles floated, dust floated too, and behind him was only darkness.

“Click… click… clack…”

What sound was that? Like a Geiger counter’s detection readings at first, intermittent beeps, then gradually turning into continuous crackling white noise.

“Hiss——”

Like the blank noise of an old phonograph without signal.

Then, fragmented human voices came through: “Colonel, do you still… want to, military… technology, teach… faith.”

“December… sent message…”

“Like… cry… Loch City.”

When Horne woke, the explosions had stopped. He had just sat up when choking smoke made him cough, blood’s metallic taste rising in his throat. Only after several coughs did he shakily stand.

The blood had long coagulated, both from his wounds and on the ground.

The vast room stood empty, save for debris shaken loose from the walls by the blasts and hazy fog. Nothing else remained; even the dust stirred by the explosions had settled back to the floor.

It must have been a long time. He might have been unconscious for two or three days.

Horne steadied himself against the wall for two seconds. His first step forward staggered, but he caught himself and incredulously took several more steps ahead.

It was gone. The Fate Community was gone, that pulsating mass in the center was gone!

He no longer had it either.

“Hels?” Horne called hoarsely, his dry voice piercing the ruins, echo buried amid the rubble.

He called again. Nothing but the echo responded.

“Hels?” Horne grew anxious, raising his voice, but the structure merely echoed it back louder.

“Hels?!” Horne bellowed, straining his throat. “Hels!!”

“Cough cough cough…” Fierce coughing followed his shout, the walls reflecting it back perfectly.

He was definitely not there; otherwise, Horne would not have woken alone.

So quiet. Sounds clashed against the cold walls, and without his voice, the room fell silent once more.

Dust mingled with particles, slowly floating in the air. Horne spotted that clump of black particles suspended midair, unmoving.

Horne immediately limped over.

The particles drifted before his eyes, like his own sigh.

“Hels?” Horne’s voice trembled.

No one responded.

Everything before him blurred into absurdity. He raised his hand to touch the black speck, but the particles nimbly evaded his fingertips, clinging to the ceiling and vanishing.

What to do? What to do?

Horne accessed his terminal, holding a sliver of hope, but inside, no red dot appeared.

Gone. No vital signs, no position reading.

Horne closed his eyes.

He squatted down, sat on the ground, curled into his arms, head buried between his knees.

He leaned against the wall, silent.

Send time: 14/12/2210 08:13

Sender: Wan Ji

They’re heading to the Tower tomorrow. I couldn’t sleep, eyes open till dawn.

I wanted to join them too, but the supreme commander ordered me to stay. I don’t know why, but in this moment, I feel the ones left behind suffer more than those who left.

Still, someone always has to go, and someone has to stay.

I want to live well, to tell those who come after what humanity once gained, and what it lost.

Send time: 17/12/2210 23:46

Sender: Wang Wudao

So many people outside have gone mad. Haven’t dared go out these two days. Plan delayed, no idea for how long. You Wenjie is gone too.

It’s pure hell…

If I survive this hell, sigh, craving hotpot in the middle of the night. Wonder if you can eat it after death.

This okay to post in the channel? If it has to be serious, I’ll delete and repost.

Send time: 21/12/2210 19:01

Sender: Ye Shu

I’m Lan Zhong, six years old this year. Mommy made me write a message for her. What to write?

At noon I ate carrot egg pancake and a little apple. While eating, Mommy told me again to guard the door. She says it often. I asked her, what’s behind the door?

She said, all the children of the future.

Kids behind the door? Scared me.

Send time: 25/12/2210 16:15

Sender: ?

Coming back? Waiting by the tree.

Perhaps another day or two passed, who knew. Horne stood in the ruins, lingering long before finally stepping forward, dragging his injured body, limping along.

He passed through the black metal door, back into the long, dim corridor, hollow black like a deep underground bunker.

Others rushed inward hand in hand, but Horne walked slowly outward. Their anxiety rippled through him like water waves as the three brushed past.

He entered the cold ascending elevator. Inside, two people huddled together, stitching each other’s wounds while talking, faint worry in their voices. One looked up, blank pupils instantly reflecting the straight-standing Horne beside them, his bloodstained but expressionless face.

The Obelisk lay split in two, its green shaft collapsed on the ground—finely crafted marble. The Corinthian Columns had toppled for the most part, overlapping and broken amid the wreckage. Those seven inverted colorful banners on the columns finally fell face-up, spread on the ground, revealing the gods’ likenesses.

Horne thus slowly emerged from underground.

He surfaced at sunset. Blue-pink, hanging in the distance.

Too blinding. Horne looked up, immediately shielding his eyes with his hand, squinting uncomfortably for a moment before slowly opening them.

The Plaza District lay in deathly silence, even under the sunset’s glow, which brought no warmth. No insect chirps or bird calls, no wingbeats, no voices—as if no one had come in ages. Deep craters scarred the ground, bloodstains lingered, clothing fragments scattered, but no people, not even body tissue.

Only the East District’s buildings stood with silver flowing patterns; the West District’s castles lay in ruins.

Horne dragged his legs across the half-collapsed Tower District gate.

His mask slowly peeled off and dropped to the ground; a Recon Drone’s alarm blared behind him.

He halted abruptly, turned back. Behind lay a quiet wasteland.

Past the Tower District gate faced Central Avenue directly. Most black glass panes had shattered, but some still stood; the city exhibition had not ended.

People dotted the street, few, but were they human?

They seemed to be…

Horne’s steps continued, his military boots’ steady thud unchanged.

He walked the street. Beside it, a man knelt crying, cradling glassified sculpture fragments. The man’s sobs sounded like an animal’s wail; listening closely, even like an alien’s screech.

A clothing store’s mannequins lay limbless, tumbled from the broken display window.

A woman stood by the mannequin, talking loudly. Bloodstained face, she turned casually and spotted Horne, shouting joyfully: “Five thousand bucks! You’re still alive!”

Horne’s steps nearly paused. He turned toward her voice, but the woman did not look at him, did not call to him—still facing away, hands on hips, conversing with the mannequin.

The glass corpse forest refracted Horne’s figure, splintering his forward steps into countless shards, each seeming like him, yet not.

“Ding dong… ding dong…” A roadside homeless man held a music box, watching the figurine spin, lips moving to the tune.

“He’ll come back next year, he’ll come back next year…”

Ahead, a crowd gathered, perhaps a hundred people, cheering yet weary. Red walls lit their flushed faces as they drank, celebrated, tossing masks into the air.

Horne passed them by.

“Colonel Horne?! Colonel Horne!” An unfamiliar voice from the crowd, hurried footsteps approaching. “Humanity won!”

“Colonel Horne! You succeeded!”

“Colonel! You’re finally back! You’re alive!”

“Colonel, care for a drink? We can discuss reconstruction later!”

“Two hundred years! Colonel!”

Horne showed no reaction. His legs swung forward like clock pendulums, the shouts fading distant and weak, dissolving into sunset murmurs.

Horne did not know where he was going; he simply pressed on, along the straight avenue, forward.

The avenue sank into desolation, flanking buildings exposing rebar skeletons and dissociated interiors. Every structure along the street seemed bisected, half remaining. Horne’s silhouette squeezed through the hollow centers, amid the endless road.

Scattered newspapers, dissipated gunpowder smoke, shattered windows, slashed walls. Someone sang.

His figure was but an insignificant dot in the city, a reddish-brown dot, slowly advancing.

Far ahead, at the street’s end, the city gate stood open. Beyond lay pallid expanse, farther still, at the world’s edge, that blood-red sun.

He walked on, past the gate, wind tousling his hair.

He finally reached the Snowfield, but upon arrival, he suddenly stopped.

He stood rooted, waiting long—until sunset fell, blue-pink turning deep blue, deep blue plunging into darkness. The Snowfield’s night wind blew cold as ever.

He turned his head, half-turned his body, ice-blue pupils faintly reflecting the path he had come.

That seemed the end, humanity’s fate’s end—like barren void.

–