Apocalypse Forecast

Loud noises kept bursting forth, as if heralding some terrifying struggle.

Even distanced from her homeland and aged as she was, Baba Yaga's power at this moment still made the steel cruise ship tremble uncontrollably, unable to bear the load. It was as if she intended to tear the entire ship apart.

That woman had completely succumbed to madness...

"What's going on?"

Huai Shi turned, puzzled, but suddenly sensed something was amiss. He quickly moved to the window and violently smashed it open, reaching his hand outside.

A swift wind blew in.

But it was utterly different from the wind he had experienced just a few hours before.

In this silent abyss of the Sea, when had there ever been such a luxury as wind? This was the surge created by the speeding cruise ship, but now, this surge's airflow gave Huai Shi an uneasy feeling.

The speed of the ship... seemed to be increasing!

"On a ship attempting to navigate the underworld, each Soul is a heavy burden."

A voice spoke up. It was Yin Yan standing at the doorway, tilting his head and looking at the stunned Huai Shi with a mocking smile. "Now you understand, don't you? Indeed, the gods are cruel, but the White Crown King is without pity. It's not that the gods' Curse doesn't perfectly play into his hands. Rather, he desires not the weak but those strong enough to survive this ordeal. This is the command he inscribed upon the ship: Should one persist in evasion and forbearance, the passengers will never reach new lands. The fuel it requires is none other than Souls and death. The more who die, the faster it goes..."

Huai Shi turned coldly and raised the axe in his hand. "Why are you here?"

"Of course, to help you," Yin Yan replied with a shrug, leaning against the doorframe. "I remember that we're still allies... Your secret is to kill someone, right?"

As he spoke, he took out a palm-sized notebook from his pocket. The leather cover was marked with scratches and seemed quite old, branded with the name of the ship—Mayflower.

"Besides that useless draft, I also found this on the captain's remains—a gift from the White Crown King to the astute," Yin Yan said with a smugly triumphant smile. "It's the 'passenger list,' which records all passenger names and their true identities. With this in hand, finding anyone is a breeze. What do you think, Huai Shi? Or should I say... The Church's vampire—Abraham Van Helsing!"

Having called out Huai Shi's 'real name', he confirmed the truth of his words.

"I already know where the person you're looking for is." He pocketed the passenger list. "Follow me."

In the silence, apart from the distant screams and murmurs, Huai Shi suddenly heard Ai Qing's sigh.

"All these years, you've always liked to be too clever, cousin..."

In that instant, the Teenage Girl's intent to kill was unmistakably revealed:

"—Huai Shi, kill him."

Without any hesitation, Huai Shi pulled the trigger of the crossbow on his arm.

BOOM!

Accompanied by the shattering of a wall, the youth's form emerged from the broken gap, stumbling backward into the corridor.

The wolf-like creatures lost in frenzy that were lingering in the hallway suddenly turned their heads, looking at the dark-skinned youth. Their expressions instantly became ferocious and ravenous as they lunged at him, slicing a gash across his face.

"Scum, back off!"

In a fury, the Pharaoh's crimson eyes lifted as he gestured with his hand. From beneath his wide robe, countless golden lights flew out—the Scarabs dwelling within his shell ascended, like bullets, ripping the aggressors to shreds in the blink of an eye.

Then, as a bandage emerged from the gash on his face, it seamlessly restored that handsome visage.

The mummy. No, more appropriately called—the embryonic form of the path to godhood.

This was a Stigma unique to the Pharaohs of Egypt. Each Sacrifice eligible to become the Pharaoh would receive this Stigma, gaining a body that could be deemed immortal, impervious to blade and axe, frost and flame. Upon passing through the Path of Osiris and receiving the gods' approval, they were endowed with a divine Soul. They became the master of the two realms, upper and lower, crowned with the Red and White Crown, merging God Spirit and human.

And now, while the divine Soul bestowed by the gods had been reclaimed, the sacred embryonic form had not departed. He retained the noble bloodline and Power, tolerating no infringement from any inferiors.

Yet this seemed to be powerless against that mad old woman.

Baba Yaga.

She was howling, screaming, furiously bellowing and cursing, uttering unclean language and heresy-filled Curses that no one could unravel, her eyes fixated on the Sphinx guarding in front of the Pharaoh.

And the conspicuous purple bloodstain at the corner of its mouth. So eye-catching.

"It's you... you damn scoundrel..." she screamed furiously. "How dare you kill my poor child, my only remaining child! I curse you! I curse you! You damned beast! I swear, you will sink with your master into this sinful deep Sea! I swear!!!"

Hysterically screaming, she reached out and tore out pieces of viscera from the rotting chicken carcass, hurling them at the Sphinx.

Even though it was just rotting viscera, the Sphinx didn't dare to catch them directly and kept dodging. Filled with Baba Yaga's Curses and Bobby's resentment before his death, the viscera had now become bona fide projectiles of vengeance.

Countless viscous poisons and shadows burst forth, soaring through the air, clawing and gnashing as they slammed into the Sphinx, leaving marks on the body of this hybrid God Beast like lashes from a whip. Every lash tore flesh and showed bone, leaving deep, decaying traces.

The Sphinx had now reverted to its original form: a lion's body with a human face. However, its size did not match the terrifying dimensions of its paternal lineage; it was only a few meters tall. The human face still bore traces of a beast; its eyes showed no spark of intelligence, but instead the fury and ferocity typical of an animal.

A declining breed, or rather, a mongrel.

Just like its master, the Pharaoh's Guard, having lost the power to question Souls, now had nothing left but the brute strength and life of a beast. Yet, it was still enough to confront Baba Yaga head-on, without being at a disadvantage!

"Koshchey!!!" the Pharaoh roared, glaring at the old man sitting in the wheelchair, lost in thought in the dining room. "Do you wish to break our pact over one damned chicken eaten by my Guard? If that's your desire, I can grant you the destruction your kind has been dreaming of!"

The old man remained silent, just staring blankly at the bowl of soup that had long since gone cold in front of him, as if suffering from senility.

Yet the wolf-like, out-of-control ones didn't even dare to approach him; even just catching his scent, they would flee in panic, as if evading a Natural Enemy, even though he looked like nothing more than an old man on death's doorstep.

His trembling hand clutched the soup spoon, quivering as he poured the poisonous broth down his throat, slowly and deliberately... until the bowl of wolf-poisoned thick soup was consumed.

He set down his gold-threaded soup spoon, picked up a napkin, and slowly wiped at the corners of his mouth.

"Enough, Yaga."

Koshchey lifted his head, his eyes clouded as he gazed at his frenzied sister. "Dinner time is over. How much longer do you plan on acting wild?"

Yaga whirled around furiously, a scream piercing the air as she glared at him!

"I said, enough."

Koshchey raised his voice, as if scolding, but then immediately broke into a violent cough, turning the wolf poison from the soup into thick phlegm that he spewed onto the ground.

"Let's end it here." He looked at his sister, issuing a resolute decree in his native language, word by word, "Forget that damned chicken! Forget that ruined house that holds nothing but bones! You've spent enough time in that damned Hell, my dear sister!"

Glaring as if her eyeballs might pop out, Yaga's face twisted in rage as she stared back at her brother. "So you brought me to another Hell?"

Suppressing his cough, Koshchey's voice was hoarse. "I just wanted... I just wanted to set you free."

"Ha! Free!" Yaga laughed madly. "Look around you, a ship destined to sink, an inescapable Curse. Dear brother, is this the freedom you offer me?"

"The Curse can be broken, Yaga, believe me," Koshchey insisted hoarsely. "I promise you, we will have a new beginning in America! There's just a little problem now... just a little..."

But he couldn't finish his sentence before another bout of coughing began, heart-wrenching, the hollow sound as if even his lungs were no longer there. Painful and sharp.

He clutched his throat, gasping for air. Baba Yaga stepped forward, pulled his hands away, drew out a small silver flask, and poured the Magic Potion brewed by the Witch into his lungs, carefully, one drop.

Instantly, the coughing stopped, and Koshchey slumped in his chair, breathing heavily, speechless. Only Baba Yaga looked down at him, her gaze lingering before shaking her head in disappointment:

"Brother, you have truly broken my heart."

Without another word, and with the sounds of sobbing choking her, she left, carrying Bobby's body.

In the ensuing silence, the Pharaoh's clapping rang out.

"What a splendid performance." The Pharaoh sneered, tilting his head as he looked at him. "Koshchey, how do you plan to compensate for her offense?"

Koshchey did not speak. He just breathed heavily, and after a long while, he picked up the napkin to wipe away the drool from the corner of his mouth and leaned on his wheelchair, exhausted.

"Amonmis, do you understand?" Koshchey suddenly said. "Respect is mutual."

"Respect?" The Pharaoh laughed mockingly. "You dare talk to me about 'respect'?"

"Yes," Koshchey replied. "Isn't it a fitting topic between one homeless stray and another?"