Chapter 965: Madness of the End

Chapter 965: The Madness of the End

On the northern beaches of Batoya Province, soldiers from Willant Province disembarked from hastily requisitioned fishing boats at a makeshift pier built by the 117th Myriarch.

A man in uniform, gripping binoculars, squinted as he surveyed the surroundings, and after a long pause, finally forced a single sentence from his throat.

“…Is this Batoya Province?”

His name was Newman, a Myriarch of the 10th Myriarch of the Willant Alliance.

Though he served in Triumph City, years ago he had spent time as an instructor on these northern beaches of Batoya Province.

He recalled a small town called Rhino Horn, named for the beach’s resemblance to a rhino’s head. On idle days, he would rent a boat there, take a few friends out to sea for fishing.

Now, not even a village remained. Even the concentration camp that had once stood there was torn down to nothing. The once-beautiful beach was left with only shattered concrete bunkers, craters, and sandbag fortifications.

Everything had changed.

And it had become hell.

The Myriarch of the 11th Myriarch also stepped off the boat, pulled out a lighter, lit a cigarette, and gazed at the land so altered, squinting as he took a drag.

“Quite a change, isn’t it? Everything’s back to how it was right after the war two hundred years ago. But look on the bright side… at least Tyl doesn’t have that much high tech, at least we didn’t end up like this.”

Newman’s throat bobbed as he slowly nodded.

“Mm.”

He still couldn’t fathom why Tyl had started this foolish war, but he suddenly understood why the Academy had hidden those pre-war technologies…

…

Tens of thousands of troops poured through the breach opened by the 117th Myriarch in northern Batoya Province.

Seeing it was Triumph City’s forces, survivors along the way wept with joy as they rushed forward to greet them.

They would have offered food and drink, but there was little nutrition paste left in their homes, and they might still carry the “Death Agent” strain.

The 117th’s Perfica ordered soldiers to distribute some food to the survivors, then handed them over to units tasked with setting up quarantine zones.

They had to not only defeat Tyl but also clean up the mess he left behind.

Thick black smoke dotted the southern part of Avant City. Steel airships hovering low opened fire on the sky and ground, while rockets howled with a mournful roar in the air from time to time.

Facing the Alliance’s dense assault, even the steel airships began to falter.

Due to a shortage of close-defense ammunition, one airship’s fire net was breached by a guided weapon, striking the gun pod beneath its hull.

A brilliant firework burst instantly, and rolling smoke swallowed half the airship.

Though its captain reacted quickly, ordering the detonating gun pod jettisoned, the airship’s structural components were severely damaged in the explosion. In the despairing gaze of a group of soldiers, it slowly crashed onto a pile of rubble.

Deflector shields couldn’t provide absolute defense against guided missiles like these; at best, they offered some resistance.

The airships relied on fixed machine guns and 20mm anti-aircraft cannons to shoot down missiles while they struggled against the deflector shields.

It sounded reckless, but it was quite effective.

However, in the long struggle against the Legion, the Alliance had found a solution.

Replace the missile casing with armored steel.

As long as the seeker head and propulsion could withstand a burst from a 20mm cannon, that was enough.

Leave the rest to fate and numbers…

With the first steel airship down, the air advantage began to tilt toward the Alliance.

The 200th Myriarch of the Home Defense Force launched a counterattack against the Death Corps’ positions, but it lasted less than an hour before the Skeleton Corps’ mobile units cut behind them, forcing a halt.

Replenished with ammunition, the Death Corps advanced again, coordinating with the Skeleton Corps’ armored units to occupy the captured positions while hunting down remnants hiding behind cover.

Though Myriarch Baldwin of the Southern Legion still led his men in valiant resistance, anyone could see their final outcome.

The victor was decided.

The only question was which day in February it would be settled.

Objectively speaking, Tyl, who stopped at nothing, had done a few decent things—just not many.

For instance, in terms of results, he had “evacuated” the civilians of Batoya Province before the final battle began, greatly reducing potential civilian casualties in street fighting.

But that was only in terms of results.

After all, Tyl clearly hadn’t done it to minimize civilian harm; his aim was to drag survivors from one quagmire into an even deeper one.

His intentions were bad, but the outcome was executed well.

On the other hand, Willant soldiers disdained mingling with Willant civilians. Some deserters simply shed their uniforms and nothing more—they didn’t hide a gun after discarding their gear, doing what their families had done in Snake State and Mammoth State.

This further reduced civilian casualties by eighty percent.

Even so, the war inflicted heavy wounds on Avant City’s residents.

But compared to neutron plumes falling from the sky, this was still far more merciful…

…

On the 68th floor of the “World Tower.”

Standing before an alloy wall, Tyl stared expressionlessly at a holographic window.

The flames of war crept closer to his feet, while his loyal soldiers were either wiped out as units or surrendered en masse, as if the power granted by the “Gestalt Lifeform” technology was a sham.

A deep sense of helplessness crawled over Tyl, followed by rage and frustration.

For the first time, the man who held supreme power tasted the feeling of the steering wheel refusing to obey.

Just then, hurried footsteps sounded behind him. Haggard Chief of Staff Augustus stopped, saluted, and spoke quickly.

“Respected Lord Commander… Triumph City has declared war on us. The defected 117th Myriarch has landed on the northern beaches of Batoya Province. The vassal 10th Myriarch responsible for defense has been annihilated. According to frontline intelligence, at least four Myriarchs have lost contact—they may have surrendered to Triumph City…”

Augustus had used the gentlest tone possible.

But no gentleness could change the Southern Legion’s dire situation.

“Running on empty” no longer sufficed.

Perhaps “besieged on all sides” was the word…

Tyl’s fists clenched tightly, bones creaking, before slowly relaxing after a long moment.

Taking a deep breath, he spoke with his back to Augustus.

“I understand.”

Augustus waited quietly for Tyl’s orders, but after a long wait, no further words came.

A trace of anxiety crept into the Chief of Staff’s brow, and he couldn’t help but urge.

“Lord Commander… the Home Defense Force is about to collapse. The Alliance’s troops are closing in… I don’t know if I should say this, but we should prepare for what comes after, as soon as possible.”

“What comes after?” Tyl turned around, fixing his gaze on the anxious Augustus.

Meeting that cold, sharp stare, Augustus instantly held his breath, cold sweat trickling down his forehead.

He quickly lowered his head, trembling as he awaited Tyl’s reprimand.

But to his surprise, Tyl did not do so this time.

"Go back."

Augustus was stunned, not reacting for a moment, then his face slowly turned pale.

Go back?

At this critical juncture... the entire city of Avant was surrounded; where could he even return?

Reading the meaning in those eyes, Augustus trembled and nodded, slowly forcing out a single word, "Yes," then stiffly walked toward the door.

He should have known this would be the outcome all along.

He was the chief of staff of the Southern Legion; there was no "higher-up" left for him to rely on.

From the moment he had exhausted his tricks, the fate of the Southern Legion was sealed.

At least in the final moments, he wanted to be with his family, then go to the other world together...

Watching Augustus leave, Thiel turned his gaze to the holographic screen and slowly closed his eyes.

Why?

Where had things gone wrong?

Was it because of that pangolin?

If not for that creature stepping onto the steps of the Hall of Glory and revealing the news of Julius's death, causing the once-united legion to splinter, the Southern Legion would never have ended up in such a sorry state...

He had thought so at first, but on second thought, it didn't quite hold up.

The once-united legion...

When had the legion ever been united?

"Respected Emperor Julius... your children have all abandoned you; only we Vlandrians still remember your teachings."

He let out a long sigh, switched off the holographic screen, and strode briskly into the laboratory next door.

The lab on the 68th floor of the World Tower was the breeding ground for the "Death Agent," and Martin, who had offered him his final card, was here.

Seeing Thiel enter the lab, Martin's expression grew uneasy, but he still nodded slightly in respect.

"Mr. Thiel..."

Thiel asked expressionlessly.

"Any new progress?"

Martin shook his head awkwardly.

"We're... still working on it, but unfortunately, no significant breakthroughs yet."

The Death Agent had been designed quite perfectly, but it hadn't been able to spread, stopped on the beaches south of the Vlandrian Province.

The researchers from the Alliance and the Academy had stabilized the patients with minimal medication, and the Triumph City's rich experience in setting up quarantine zones was something they hadn't anticipated.

Perhaps the infectious disease route wasn't a good idea; the wasteland held too many uncertainties, and this was a lesson for the Enlightened Society.

They should adopt more efficient methods...

But the "Torch Plan" hadn't worked, and neither had the methods of the Torch Church. What else was there?

Blow up the planet?

That... seemed a bit too extreme.

The Enlightened Society needed a pure planet, not a shattered asteroid belt.

Besides, destroying a planet wasn't that easy.

While Martin was lost in thought, Thiel had already walked up to him.

"Keep up the good work. Bring me my biological power armor."

That was another gift from the Enlightened Society to the Southern Legion—a legacy of the Torch Church.

Actually, it was more like borrowing a hen to lay eggs.

The Enlightened Society planned to use the Southern Legion's production capacity and the ongoing wars, combined with Vault technology, to improve the Torch Church's biological power armor.

After all, the Enlightened Society's individual combat capability was too weak; they had already suffered a loss, and the gray mutants and wastelanders of the Great Desert were unreliable. Producing power armor required a complete supply chain, so they had to find alternative paths.

However...

That biological power armor was still an experimental model, never tested on the battlefield.

Martin's face showed reluctance.

"But that armor isn't finished yet—"

Before he could finish, Thiel placed a hand on his shoulder.

"No time. Take me there."

The undisguised killing intent made Martin hold his breath involuntarily; he dared not utter a word of refusal.

He slowly swallowed, stiffly nodding.

"Please, follow me..."

Thiel released his grip on Martin's collar and gestured for him to lead the way.

The lab fell silent; the researchers averted their eyes, not daring to meet Thiel's gaze.

The two walked one after the other through rows of experimental equipment and culture tanks, heading deeper into the lab, soon arriving before a silver-white metal cabinet.

Biological power armor was different from ordinary power armor. The latter was just auxiliary equipment, easily removable, while the former had to connect with the wearer's internal circulatory system; if something went wrong, it couldn't be taken off.

Martin nervously approached the control panel, tapped the interface twice with his index finger, and soon rows of green signal lights lit up on the surface of the silver-white metal cabinet.

With a hissing sound of escaping air, a steep crack split the smooth metal surface, and the sealed alloy door quickly opened to both sides.

And at the same moment the alloy door opened, a crimson mass of flesh extended from the gap, swelling and rolling like boiling magma.

Seeing that sanity-shattering sight, even Thiel couldn't help but frown.

"Can this thing really be worn on a person?"

Martin nodded fearfully.

"Theoretically... yes. The Torch Church used it on the battlefield in the Coastal Province; you should know about that, right?"

That thing had caused no small trouble for the Allied Forces, even nearly succeeding in a sneak attack on the Alliance's administrator—at least, that's what the Torch Church people told them.

Thiel nodded expressionlessly.

Of course, he knew.

After all, he had sent a 902mm heavy cannon over back then, as a display of the Southern Legion's military might.

He never expected that times would change, and now the Southern Legion was at the end of its rope.

"How do you use this thing?"

Hearing Thiel's question, the tense Martin was taken aback and instinctively replied.

"Just touch it and respond to its craving... Wait, you want to use it yourself?!"

"Yes."

As his words fell, Tyr had already stepped forward, reaching out to press his hand against the crimson mass of flesh.

Blood-colored tendrils extended from the lump, winding around his fingers and creeping up his arm, as if becoming a part of his body.

And at that very same moment, a vast tide of negative emotions surged into his mind like a flood.

Slay!

Devour!

Destroy!

Consume everything!

A pained groan escaped Tyr's lips, but soon that low growl transformed into one of pleasure.

The ripples emanating from that unspeakable mass were precisely what he craved from the depths of his soul!

Yes—

Perhaps that was what he truly desired: a deep-seated yearning to destroy everything, to annihilate all that stood in his way.

Including those who opposed him.

Even those who supported him.

And the Verrants as well.

He hadn't gone mad; rather, he naturally absorbed the ripples and energy radiating from the mass, embracing with his whole being that madness capable of destroying all.

If victory was impossible—

Then let it all be destroyed!

The Verrants who had lost to the wasteland were no longer exalted; they were without doubt the most inferior race, and the inferior should be weeded out by the jungle without exception!

That was the choice of nature!

The only path to a higher form of life!

At this moment, Tyr was like a furious, disappointed racetrack owner, about to kill his best horse with his own hands because it had failed to win the race.

If no one was willing to charge with him one more time—

Then he would do it himself!

The crimson mass had already crawled over Tyr's entire body, spreading in all directions along the floor beneath his feet.

In that instant, he seemed to become a monster.

Or rather, a species that did not exist on Earth.

Martin's face was etched with terror; he shuffled his leaden legs and trembled backward.

This was no damn power armor at all!?

Something must have gone wrong!

Suddenly, he recalled that in a previous experiment, he had tentatively added a segment of genetic code from a mutant slime mold hive—one suspected to enhance an organism's mimicry and regenerative abilities—into the power armor.

That code, now that he thought of it, was quite old.

It had been obtained by the pioneers of the Torch Church from the hive in Clearspring City—

"Disconnect from it now!"

Martin shouted, grabbing a liquid nitrogen tank from nearby and, without a second thought, aimed the nozzle at Tyr.

But before he could unscrew the safety lock, a crimson tendril whipped the tank from his hand, then swiftly coiled around his body, lifting him off the ground.

"Ahh—"

Martin struggled desperately, kicking wildly, but in the end, he was just a weak researcher.

Tyr, now fully merged with the mass, flashed in front of him in an instant, his thick legs seeming rooted to the floor wrapped in flesh.

"Disconnect what?"

Looking at Martin's pale face, he squeezed a satisfied smile from his twisted visage.

At the same time, the mass creeping along the floor had already seeped into the other rooms of the laboratory.

Watching the crimson tide surge toward them like a flood, the researchers in the lab were all dumbstruck.

And in that moment of their stunned hesitation, the crimson mass lunged at them.

"Ahhh!"

Like Martin's fate, the nearest researcher was instantly bound by crimson tendrils into a cocoon, then crushed like a squeezed tomato into a pulp of flesh.

The sudden horror terrified everyone; the stunned researchers snapped out of it and bolted for the emergency exits.

"Sample leak! Run!"

"Damn it! Let me go!"

"Urgh—crack!"

Screams rose one after another!

In just a few breaths, the virus lab on the 68th floor of the World Tower had become a living hell.

The rampaging tide naturally wouldn't spare these "nutrients" practically fed to its mouth; freshly awakened from hibernation, they were ravenous, needing to devour flesh and blood to expand.

Tendrils, like pythons targeting prey, caught up to the fleeing researchers with a few effortless twists, dragging them into the crimson abyss.

Even those who narrowly escaped were not truly safe.

After the crimson tendrils had reaped twenty lives in succession and shattered the nutrient tanks in the lab's storage, the nourished crimson mass began to spread up and down the building through ventilation ducts and elevator shafts.

Looking at Martin's pale face, Tyr squeezed a hint of pleasure from his twisted features.

"...Your gift pleases me greatly. When I have time, I will pay you a visit."

Martin stared at him in terror, his mouth trembling open and shut, despair in his eyes.

"You... monster."

Tyr smiled faintly.

"Insects see humans the same way."

With those words, his hand gave a gentle squeeze, and the tendrils binding Martin began to tighten.

Like popping a water-filled balloon, he merely moved his fingers, crushing the weak and incompetent researcher into a pulp of flesh.

"Squelch—"

The gushing blood splattered over Tyr, and within a few breaths, it seeped into his skin, absorbed and digested completely, becoming part of him.

A satisfied smile spread across his twisted face.

At that moment, he was like an omnipotent god, standing at the top of the food chain, looking down upon all beings.

There should be no life stronger than him on the surface.

As for his identity as a Verrant—

It no longer seemed to matter much.

"Come, let us fight to our hearts' content... the Alliance, the Corporation, and the Academy... and the Legion."

"Ha ha ha ha!"

A terrifying murderous gleam shone from his scarlet eyes as Tyr burst into laughter, as if he had truly gone mad.

At the same moment, gunfire erupted within the "World Tower."

The armed security guards and Tyr's personal guards were all driven back step by step by the rampaging experiment, despairingly turning into nourishment for that indescribable thing.

Within just a few hours, the bloody flesh had engulfed the entire alloy-built skyscraper and spread from the open alloy gates to the neighboring streets.

Watching the horrific scene on the ground, Old Bai, standing on the Viper transport aircraft, wore a face full of shock.

According to intelligence extracted from Southern Legion prisoners, the laboratory for the Death Agent was located on one floor of this landmark building called the "World Tower."

They had planned to launch a raid here, but never expected that before they could even jump down, the enemy had already exploded on their own.

"Good heavens... did we stir up a nest of excrement?" Quit Smoking, sitting across from him, also looked down and couldn't help but mutter a complaint.

Old Bai said with a grave expression.

"I don't know... but to be honest, this thing looks a bit like the hive of a mutant slime mold."

Quit Smoking was taken aback and immediately said.

"A hive? Then it's perfect to leave it to Xiao Yu."

In theory, that was true—Xiao Yu was practically the nemesis of all mutant slime mold hives.

In fact, it wasn't just Quit Smoking who thought of Xiao Yu; Old Bai had thought of him at the same time.

As it happened, the Goblin Corps where Luo Yu was stationed was right on the front line.

Without hesitation, Old Bai immediately switched communication channels and got in touch with Luo Yu, who was flying in the sky.

"Luo Yu! It's up to you!"