Urduja’s face gradually beca paler as more and more possibilities surfaced within her mind. The appearance of the helicopters alone was enough to awaken mories she desperately wished would remain buried.
Unfortunately, the similarities between the current situation and the events of her previous life were becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.
Every new detail seed to align with mories she had hoped would never repeat themselves.
In her previous life, there had been a period when the undead tide suddenly changed direction without warning.
Entire regions that had once been overwheld by countless undead suddenly beca empty. Millions of creatures abandoned their original routes and moved toward a single destination. At the ti, humanity had celebrated the phenonon.
Survivors believed the nightmare was finally easing. Military forces believed an opportunity had appeared. Powerful organizations believed they could investigate the source and perhaps even discover a thod to control the undead.
Those hopes had not lasted long.
The first military forces that entered the affected region never returned.
The second wave vanished as well.
Elite parahuman teams disappeared.
Entire armored convoys were swallowed whole.
Communication lines went silent one after another.
Eventually, the truth erged.
The undead had not retreated.
The undead had not beco weaker.
The undead had not lost interest in humanity.
They had been summoned.
Sothing had appeared.
Sothing so important that even millions of undead considered it a higher priority than living humans.
The mory caused Urduja’s hands to tremble.
A King.
That title imdiately surfaced inside her mind.
Only a King possessed enough authority to influence undead on such a scale.
Only a King could attract an entire tide.
Only a King could cause countless undead to move as though they shared a single mind.
Yet the possibility made absolutely no sense.
Urduja rejected it again and again.
There should not be a King here.
There should not be a King now.
The tiline was wrong.
The location was wrong.
Everything was wrong.
Most importantly, she had already altered too many events.
She had obtained treasures that did not belong to her previous tiline.
She had taken opportunities before others could reach them.
She had changed the future.
The existence of a King should have beco even less likely.
Then why was the situation unfolding this way?
Why did history seem determined to repeat itself?
Why did she feel as though the future was correcting itself no matter what she did?
Urduja clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palms.
No.
Sothing was different.
The more she observed the movent of the undead tide, the more she felt that sothing was fundantally different from the catastrophe she rembered.
This did not feel like an Undead King.
At least, not yet.
The attraction was real.
The movent was real.
The danger was real.
Yet her instincts continuously warned her that the source was still alive.
The realization only made her more uneasy.
Because if the source was alive, then the situation could beco even worse.
A living monster capable of attracting millions of undead was not sothing that should exist during this early stage of the apocalypse.
No matter how powerful such a creature was, it would eventually be overwheld by the sheer number of undead surrounding it.
And if that creature died...
Urduja’s stomach tightened.
Because she knew exactly what would happen next.
The corpse would beco nourishnt.
The undead would evolve.
The winner would ascend.
And then a true King would erge.
The thought alone was enough to make her scalp go numb.
Then, as she desperately searched through her mories for answers, another realization suddenly struck her like lightning.
The Corrode Family.
The na exploded inside her mind so violently that her entire body froze.
Everything seed to connect at once.
The strange attraction.
The changed tiline.
The impossible growth.
The undead movent.
The helicopters.
The uncertainty.
And above all else...
Clayne Corrode.
The young man she had left behind.
The young man she had convinced herself would probably die.
The young man whose surna alone carried enough weight to haunt her mories even after death and rebirth.
Urduja’s breathing gradually beca unstable.
The Corrode Family.
In her previous life, countless factions had investigated them.
Countless powers had attempted to uncover the secrets hidden within their bloodline.
The more people learned, the more terrifying the family beca.
Every mber of the Corrode Family carried sothing within them.
Most researchers referred to it as a parasite.
Yet that description was inaccurate.
Parasites weakened their hosts.
The things inside the Corrode Family strengthened them.
Protected them.
Evolved alongside them.
The stronger the host beca, the stronger the parasite beca.
The stronger the parasite beca, the stronger the host beca.
It was a perfect cycle.
An endless cycle.
A horrifying cycle.
One that had transford the Corrode Family into one of humanity’s greatest powers.
Urduja had personally witnessed their strength.
She rembered battlefields where entire armies collapsed.
She rembered monster tides being erased.
She rembered cities being destroyed during conflicts involving mbers of that family.
Most terrifying of all, she rembered the effort required to suppress even a single Corrode Family mber.
Thousands of top-tier parahumans.
Thousands.
And even then, victory was never guaranteed.
The mory caused her heart to sink.
Then she rembered Clayne.
Back before the apocalypse.
Back before the red mist.
Back before the world ended.
He had already been different.
Now she t him, he had already possessed unusual strength.
He had already stood apart from ordinary students.
Even without visible mutations.
Even without awakened tentacles.
Even without any special opportunities.
Now the apocalypse had long begun.
Now evolution had started.
Now countless opportunities existed.
The possibility forming inside Urduja’s mind beca increasingly difficult to ignore.
What if the source of the disturbance was not so unknown monster?
What if the source was not a hidden King?
What if the source was Clayne?
The thought nearly made her lose her composure.
She had been reborn.
She had prepared.
She had planned.
She had sacrificed.
She had sworn to change the future.
Yet sohow, despite all of her efforts, she felt as though she had still failed.
The students standing behind her quickly noticed her condition.
Several exchanged nervous glances.
One girl cautiously stepped forward.
"Miss Wells, are you alright?"
Another student imdiately added his own concern.
"You don’t look well."
The others remained silent, yet their worried expressions spoke for themselves.
Urduja did not answer imdiately.
Her gaze remained fixed upon the helicopters moving across the distant sky.
The rotors echoed across the city.
The machines continued advancing toward the source of the disturbance.
Toward the answer she desperately needed.
Toward the truth.
Eventually, Urduja made her decision.
A dangerous decision.
A reckless decision.
A decision she could not avoid.
She needed answers.
She needed confirmation.
Most importantly, she needed to know whether Clayne Corrode was involved.
Slowly, she turned toward the students.
"I have to go."
The group imdiately beca alard.
One of the boys pointed toward the distant helicopters.
"Go where?"
Urduja followed his gesture.
"There."
The students stared.
Then panic spread through the group.
Several imdiately attempted to stop her.
The helicopters were flying toward the center of the disturbance.
Toward danger.
Toward death.
Yet before anyone could say another word, five crimson tentacles erupted from behind her.
The sight remained shocking despite everything they had already witnessed.
The tentacles twisted through the air.
The rooftop beneath her feet cracked.
Concrete fragnted.
The surrounding students instinctively retreated.
Urduja inhaled deeply.
Then she jumped.
The rooftop exploded beneath her.
Fragnts of concrete scattered in every direction.
Her body launched forward like a projectile.
The wind roared around her.
The city blurred beneath her feet.
The tentacles extended and contracted repeatedly, allowing her to travel through the air with astonishing speed.
Her destination remained clear.
One of the helicopters.
One of the helicopters heading toward the source.
One of the helicopters heading toward the answer.
...
anwhile, back at the campus, Clayne remained completely unaware of everything happening elsewhere in the city. At that mont, his attention was focused entirely on his newly hatched mantis. The creature continued rampaging through the surrounding streets with terrifying efficiency. Every few monts another monster died. Every few monts another crystal disappeared into its mouth. Every few monts its aura beca slightly stronger.
Watching the creature hunt was strangely satisfying.
The mantis moved like a crimson phantom.
One mont it stood atop a building.
The next mont a beast several streets away was already dead.
Its speed was increasing.
Its attacks were becoming sharper.
Its control over the strange wind blades was becoming increasingly refined.
Clayne could practically see it growing stronger in real ti.
Then suddenly, sothing felt wrong.
A strange sensation traveled through his consciousness.
The feeling was noticeable at first.
Yet it rapidly beca stronger.
The connection did not originate from the mantis.
It ca from sowhere else.
Imdiately, Clayne focused his attention on the Tiny World.
The mont his consciousness entered, he froze.
His expression changed instantly.
His eyes widened.
For several seconds, he could only stare.
Silent River Hill...
The place that saved his life.
The place where he had repeatedly restored rivers, forests, and mountains.
The place that had beco the center of his miniature cultivation world.
It was devastated.
Entire forests had disappeared.
Mountain peaks had collapsed.
Huge sections of land had been torn apart.
Gigantic scars stretched across the terrain.
The landscape looked as though countless powerful cultivators had fought a war there while he was distracted.
The destruction extended far beyond anything caused by previous heavenly tribulations.
The damage looked intentional.
The damage looked recent.
The damage looked personal.
Clayne simply stared at the scene.
The more he looked, the more shocked he beca.
Because this was not ordinary destruction.
Soone had attacked Silent River Hill.
Soone had targeted it directly.
And as that realization settled inside his mind, a single thought erged.
A thought that imdiately caused his expression to darken.
What exactly happened to my Silent River Hill while I wasn’t looking?
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