Apocalypse Gachapon

On the ice plains, the howling wind and snow made this place increasingly inhospitable to life.

Yet life stubbornly persisted here.

An army trudged through the ice and snow, its long formation stretching hundreds of meters.

What made this an army wasn’t just its numbers—though with over a thousand people, it barely qualified as one—but its equipment.

Not personal gear, but armored vehicles, robots, mechanical devices, and even… aircraft.

From above, just the armored vehicles alone numbered over fifty. These weren’t the traditional armored vehicles of Earth but hyper-technological constructs, evident from their hover-based movement.

While these vehicles still fell within the bounds of human imagination, the other war machines in the procession were entirely products of the wheel or alien races.

Humanoid robots of varying sizes, resembling Transformers, fully mechanical beasts, and grotesque hybrids of machinery and organic tissue.

Beyond these, flying machines were towed by evolvers on sledges through the frozen wasteland.

Heavy-duty trucks, modified for travel across the ice, carried cargo concealed under white tarps—contents unknown.

Three motorcycles raced in from the distance, kicking up a storm of snow in their wake.

Soon, they merged with the main force, stopping beneath a colossal mechanical beast at the front—five meters tall and over a hundred meters long. After a brief pause, a beam of light shot from the belly of the machine, enveloping the bikes before both vanished.

A moment later, the three dust-covered motorcycles reappeared inside the mechanical beast.

The riders dismounted, removed their helmets, and walked down a high-tech corridor before entering the cockpit at the front.

Inside, a man stood within the beast’s “eyes,” gazing at the endless white outside.

“Saint!”

The three riders saluted respectfully, their faces filled with reverence for the man’s back.

The man turned, revealing a clean, fair face—it was Gyanendra.

Compared to the last two times Ye Zhongming had seen this West Asian Saint, he looked much younger, now appearing to be in his forties.

“Yakutsk city is currently swarming with mutated lifeforms lifeforms. A human army is camped outside, and the two sides have clashed multiple times, though there’s no sign of an all-out battle.”

“Hm.” Gyanendra nodded in acknowledgment.

“We’ve made contact with Alamos’ people. They’re on the move, but they didn’t disclose their route.”

The same speaker relayed another piece of intelligence.

“What about the others? Any news?”

Gyanendra pressed further.

The man before him was his intelligence chief, also his most skilled scout-type evolved. With the aid of his job skills, he could survey an area exceeding a hundred kilometers in a single sweep, though such a wide-range scan sacrificed detail.

“The Thousand Beast Villa from the China shows no signs of mobilizing toward us. They’re still hunting that mutated elephant herd with four level-eight creatures in a mountainous region. As for Deacon Water… forgive me, Saint, we still haven’t located their camp.”

Gyanendra waved a hand. “No matter. This is already useful intel. As long as the Thousand Beast Villa stays away, that’s enough. They… have quite a few troublesome assets.”

“And Cloud Peak Mountain Villa?”

Gyanendra asked the question that concerned him most.

The intelligence chief bowed his head in shame. “Forgive me, Saint. Initially, I couldn’t get close to Cloud Peak’s territory—their security was too tight. Later, even when I infiltrated near the villa at night, I couldn’t breach their defenses. So… I can’t confirm whether Ye Zhongming has set out.”

He knew full well who the Saint was most interested in. This mission to the China had prioritized Cloud Peak above all else—yet he’d clearly underperformed. The reconnaissance on Yakutsk had been incidental.

“He will come.”

Gyanendra turned back to the blizzard outside, murmuring to himself.

The intelligence chief bowed and retreated, guilt weighing on him.

The moment he left, the pilot’s seat swiveled around, revealing a veiled face.

“Saint, the King has rejected your proposal.”

Gyanendra glanced at the screen before the pilot and smirked. “Not surprising, is it? He needs to preserve his strength to secure his throne.”

The woman shrugged but said nothing.

“What he forgets is that this world isn’t just ours—nor is it just Earth’s. There are far greater forces out there. Without sacrifice, how can he guarantee his throne in the future? If this planet ceases to exist, whose king will he be then?!”

It was rare to see Gyanendra, the Saint, so agitated. The female pilot stood and poured him a glass of water.

Taking it, Gyanendra spun the cup rapidly in his hand—yet not a single drop spilled.

“But then again, whether it’s civilizations on this planet or beyond, who doesn’t need a puppet now and then?”

Outside the window, the snowstorm seemed to intensify as the procession quickened its pace.

Ye Zhongming stood motionless at the entrance, his gaze shifting from the black cat to Talking Lady, whose eyes were closed, before finally settling on the white, thread-like filaments that filled the cave.

These silken strands intertwined, forming a three-dimensional web at the center of which Talking Lady was ensnared, eyes shut.

Ye Zhongming’s breathing grew heavier, his muscles tensing because he sensed danger.

Not the urgent, life-threatening kind, but a faint, creeping sensation of being watched.

Yet, apart from Talking Lady and the black cat, there was no other presence here. That was what unsettled him, because it usually meant the source of this feeling far surpassed him in strength.

After several seconds of scrutiny, Ye Zhongming pinpointed the source: the white filaments themselves.

But why did they evoke such a reaction? Focusing his fully recovered vision, he examined the threads inch by inch—until he noticed something.

There were slight protrusions where the strands coiled around Talking Lady’s body. They… were piercing into her flesh.