Apocalypse Forecast

"The first step in controlling the Stigma is to fully harness the power brought by Liberator. Last time, you wasted more than half of the power in those three grains."

Raven stood by the table, staring at him. "Do you remember those Sublimators you've seen? The ones with the most obvious animal transformations are the weakest. The more they transform, the weaker their control. Even if they seem imposing, they are merely for show. The Stigma isn't independent. It's a part of you; you are the Stigma, and the Stigma is you. You need to control this miracle and merge it with yourself!"

"But I cannot control it."

Huai Shi spread out his hands in despair. As he attempted to suppress the fire on his arms, the Source of fire, teeming with Apocalypse, sprayed out from the palm of his hands, reaching over two feet high. That was actually a pretty good attacking technique. It looked spectacular but did absolutely nothing to suppress it.

"First, you need to calm down, to become as placid as still water," Raven suggested. "Try meditating first. Your meditation training was quite successful, wasn't it?"

Huai Shi got up and carried the violin case down from upstairs. After carefully containing the flames, he had just picked up the bow when he heard a fine cracking sound—his own strength was so fierce that he was about to crush the bow.

He tried to relax, and the bow fell from his hands to the ground. But when he subconsciously tightened his grip, the bow simply snapped cleanly in two, even cracking the fingerboard on the neck of the violin. Great.

Luckily, there was a spare bow at home.

This time Huai Shi was extra, extra careful and did not crush it, but when he tried to play, he realized he couldn't calm his mind at all, feeling a burning within. Under the violent turmoil of Apocalypse, he was agitated, and his mind kept flashing through various unpleasant scenes, making the sounds he produced shrill and grating. He even started to doubt whether meditation was useful.

"You lack concentration," Raven remarked with a sigh. "Do you know about Li Jian Amber's training method?"

"Hmm?"

"In Yingzhou, Samurai combine Monk Zen meditation with their mental training in an attempt to grasp the so-called 'Veil of Concealment.' Ultimately, it is about entering a state of absolute calm. Eventually, this led to the practice known as 'Sword Zen,' which is just like what you are doing now."

Raven spoke slowly, "You can indulge, but with reservation; you can be zealous, but must not cross the line... You have the miracle, not the miracle possessing you. Otherwise, if you keep indulging like this, you'll eventually be assimilated by a high-rank Stigma and turn into a walking dead."

"I understand, I understand."

Huai Shi clenched his teeth, striving to cast aside the conflicting thoughts flooding his consciousness, wanting to immerse himself in the sound of the violin. But despite years of habit, the sound he produced was still intermittent; he just couldn't throw himself into it.

Until Raven whispered in his ear, "Just think, every minute you delay, you're burning off ten thousand..."

In an instant, the melodious sound of the violin rose.

Huai Shi, as placid as still water!

This was undoubtedly the most agonizing day Huai Shi had ever spent playing the violin.

He continued until after nine o'clock at night, and after wasting four grains of Liberator, he finally managed to initially harness the Source of fire in a meditative state to a marginally acceptable range.

The special state brought about by Liberator was extended by one-third, lasting fifteen minutes.

Even in a low-power state, Huai Shi felt as if he was suffocating every single moment, yet he remained alert, enduring the tremendous pressure from within.

"If you keep training like this, you'll start to see results after a bit more than a month." Raven nodded, finally allowing him to go and finish his meal.

Like clockwork, Uncle Fang presented an appetizing dinner just as Huai Shi sat down at the table, then stood beside him, watching him devour the meal with pride.

Huai Shi looked up at him blankly. "Uncle Fang, won't you eat with me?"

"Please don't worry about me, young master; I have already eaten." Uncle Fang patted his chest, quite proudly saying, "In a few minutes, the hot water will be ready. Afterward, you can take a bath, and the change of clothes is in the basket in the bathroom." Everything was arranged perfectly.

Huai Shi shook his head. "No need to change. I plan to train a bit more tonight; I'll just sweat again."

"No, too much is as bad as too little; that's enough for today. If you're still interested later tonight, we have another program prepared."

Raven lowered its head and swallowed a snail much larger than its own head in one gulp, exhaling a satisfied breath and admiring, "The cooking is excellent."

Uncle Fang smiled happily, bowing to signal them to enjoy their meal, then quietly left.

"Ah, I always feel bad about this," Huai Shi scratched his head. "He's an old man, working so much every day. I feel guilty."

"Save it." Raven glanced at him. "He's the embodiment of the Stone Marrow Pavilion now. Don't judge him by human standards. For him, maintaining this place is as simple as your daily eating and drinking. It's nowhere near as hard as you think. If you truly want to thank him, advance quickly, then go to the Border and find some quality materials to refurbish this place. The maintenance of the Spirit Coffin costs a fortune; you need to feel a sense of urgency and be mentally prepared."

"I understand, I understand."

Huai Shi nodded, quickly finished his meal, and, after a brief rest, went to bathe. Wearing pajamas and slumped on the couch, he looked utterly lethargic and unwilling to move.

"What's this evening program you mentioned?"

"Didn't we just talk about the Border?"

Raven flapped its wings, and the Book of Fate flew out. The pages rapidly flipped until finally settling on the last fragment of the records of Red Gloves.

"Today, you'll experience for yourself what the Border and Hell are like."

The Event Branch initiated.

Huai Shi closed his eyes, accustomed to the darkness before him.

Like the countless times before, he felt himself gradually disintegrating, spreading out like invisible gas and rainwater, slowly merging into the records of the Book of Fate.

Once again, he became Red Gloves.

The first time he opened his eyes, he saw the sticky fusion of blood and flesh known as embryos, and the embryo that was himself.

In the cold storage, countless embryos suspended in petri dishes were arrayed in formation, stretching to the end of his sight. Life lay dormant in numerous fish tanks like fry.

Waiting to mature.

...

The second time he opened his eyes, he saw the steel cradle and the White-Clothed caregivers. They changed his diaper and fed him without expression, carrying with them the scent of disinfectant.

What followed were innumerable fragmented pieces.

It was as if the process of growth had been omitted, leaving only injections, examinations, and daily repeated indoctrination in loyalty.

What wasn't forgotten was deliberately cut off, not permitted to exist.

Erased.

The entire process was like production on an assembly line, moving through checkpoint after checkpoint, with the qualified passing and the disqualified being destroyed.

Before the age of seventeen, their consciousness was entrusted to Priests. Zealous instructors continuously engraved loyalty into their brains, and their bodies were dedicated to the motherland by stern drillmasters, who added skills and instincts for fratricide.

In the end, four hundred and seventy so-called perfect beings were selected from numbers tenfold greater.

Even these fleeting fragments were enough to stir within Huai Shi a profound sense of fear and loathing.

Life seemed like a product, manipulated by many hands, growing in the planned direction, coldly assessed on every parameter, even reproductive capability.

The qualified succeeded; the disqualified were destroyed.

Thus, along the assembly line, they advanced, passing through check after check, overcoming trial after trial.

Finally, in the seventeenth year of birth, the ultimate trial arrived.

"Today, you will face the final test, where your seventeen years of effort will be judged. Those who qualify will, after Sublimation, become citizens Rome can take pride in."

Smiling Scholars stood beside a huge machine, bidding farewell and offering blessings to each student tested, as Priests anointed them with Sacred Oil, instructors spoke encouragingly, and drillmasters gave stern reminders.

The whole world seemed to grow warm.

So kind.

Until the person Huai Shi was representing stepped into the colossal machine, limbs secured, bound on a cross, and finally enclosed within a capsule like a hamster ball.

Incredibly, he could still see the world outside—those gentle and warm faces, those expectant eyes, and those solemn expressions filled with anticipation.

In the corner, he saw the display of the depth gauge: Current Circumstances.

Then, myriad lights on the instruments lit up, and odd parameters swiftly changed until, through the hatch, he saw a Priest solemnly chanting, pulling a lever sharply down.

It was like cutting the rope on a Guillotine.

In that instant, a violent shake began. Amid the dizzying, shrill sounds, it felt as if something was being stripped away—maybe reason, maybe the air, or perhaps something vital to human existence.

The display now read: Border.

He fell from the sky, yet it seemed he had always been there.

The illusion of reality shattered, and he glimpsed scenes hidden behind the veil.

Amid severe dizziness and pain, he saw endless deserts from the outside of the capsule, spreading desolation and solitude to the ends of the earth and sky.

The Sky Dome was riddled with fissures, even revealing black voids.

Huge things flew past the broken sky, casting ferocious shadows upon the ground...

Roaring sounds came through the wind.

Vague shadows passed by outside the capsule.

They formed long lines like spirits; their indistinct outlines twisted under the scorching sun.

Among them, something cast a detached glance towards him, filled with vicious mockery and merciful pity.

Fear made him cry out, but as if no one heard, they gradually moved away. Who knew how long passed, but the violent shaking started again.

He began to plummet.

More things were stripped away, or rather, he abandoned himself, sinking deeper.