Apocalypse Gachapon

“In the image was a planet—one Ye Zhongming couldn’t describe, for it bore no resemblance to Earth. Nor was it azure-blue. Instead, it was a monochrome expanse of ashen gray-white.”

This color, whether to Earthlings or the Ten Thousand Races of the cosmos, symbolized ruin, decay, desolation…

Ye Zhongming didn’t understand. They’d spoken of the Slave Race, so why show him a planet?

Was this the Slave Races’ homeworld?

Or their stronghold?

“This was once a vibrant planet. From birth to now, only 150 million cosmic years have passed.”

Ye Zhongming wasn’t sure of the conversion rate between cosmic years and Earth years, but based on hints from Aslan’s teachings, he estimated a 3-4x ratio. Even at 5x Earth years, that meant less than a billion years—astonishingly young compared to Earth’s 4-5 billion.

“This… was its former state.”

The projection shifted. The planet now pulsed with vitality, its surface a seething, vivid crimson that radiated life even from space.

Ye Zhongming nodded. The stark contrast etched into him the cataclysm that must have occurred.

“The cause… was the Slave Race.”

The projection changed again. The same planet, but now encased in a cage.

No—not quite.

Ye Zhongming leaned forward (unnecessary, given the hologram’s clarity, but instinctive). What wrapped the planet wasn’t metal bars, but a fleshy, lattice-like structure resembling a cricket cage—or perhaps a birdcage, given its spherical form.

Through the gaps, the planet’s light dimmed visibly.

“Watch from the beginning.”

Jikesu wanted this seared into Ye Zhongming’s mind.

The scene reset to the planet’s vibrant state. Then, from cosmic depths, what seemed like a slow-moving, flesh-toned “cloth” approached.

This time, Ye Zhongming saw it clearly: no mere fabric, but an irregular, pulsing mass of living tissue—a skin-like entity.

It reached the planet, morphed into the cage structure, and began to breathe.

With each expansion-contraction cycle, the planet’s vitality waned. Ye Zhongming spotted flares erupting and vanishing—likely volcanic eruptions or continent-scale wildfires.

“One-million-fold acceleration.”

Ye Zhongming’s blood ran cold. He shut his eyes.

He understood. The 5-minute timelapse he’d just witnessed? In reality, this process took over nine Earth years.

Nine years to strangle a world.

Humanity had ravaged Earth for millennia with billions of participants—yet failed to “kill” it. This Slave Race had achieved it in less than a decade.

The horror was visceral. Imagine such a creature descending upon your world, condemning all life to a countdown measured in years…

Was this the Slave Race?

But… what was it?

“Countless lifeforms exist in the cosmos—so many none can tally them all,” Jikesu said quietly. “That some are powerful and aberrant isn’t surprising. If the Slave Race—these skin-like, planet-devouring entities—represent destruction’s dark aspect, then the Wheel-makers, the so-called ‘gods,’ embody light and life.”

Ye Zhongming opened his mouth to protest, but Jikesu continued:

“I know your objection. Yes, the Wheel-makers’ methods are brutal. Their ‘selection’ is merciless. But compared to these planet-eating abominations?”

Even Ye Zhongming had to concede. Once, he’d despised the Wheels as the root of all suffering. Now, from this vantage, they seemed almost… salvific.

Perhaps “gods” wasn’t entirely inappropriate.

“Earth—” Ye Zhongming’s breath hitched. “Is it also—?”

The old man nodded. With a tap, the projection changed.

There was Earth.

And wrapped around it—a Slave Race.

Ye Zhongming’s vision tinged red. The apocalypse had lasted seven years. If Earth’s size were comparable to that dead planet, did that mean only two years remained?

Wait—no. In his past life, he’d survived ten years without planetary collapse. No catastrophic environmental shifts either.

There had to be mitigating factors.

Jikesu confirmed:

“Your homeworld won’t perish so quickly. Two reasons.”

“But before explaining… I require your agreement.”

The old man’s tone was polite, but the ultimatum was clear.

Ye Zhongming gestured for him to proceed.

“You are a warrior selected by the Star-Eye Clan, tested and proven. Whatever comes, we ask you to stand with us—even become one of us.”

Ye Zhongming exhaled. This was expected. The Wheels recruited soldiers; cooperation was the price of knowledge.

He was grateful, at least, they hadn’t outright enslaved him.

“On the condition it harms neither me nor those under my protection… I agree.”

Jikesu smiled—genuinely, for the first time—and extended a fist.

“Then welcome… Rookie Ye Zhongming.”